3id was different. Jake and I woke up early and put on our

So, today in Morocco we celebrated L'3id Kbir. For those of you who don't know, this is essentially Muslim Thanksgiving, except that instead of celebrating the slaughtering of thousands of native people, everyone tips their hat to God and the sparing of Abraham's son Isaac...and then gets on with sacrificing thousands of sheep.
I must say I was not super excited about this holiday, Ramadan being the disastrous forced march that it was. I also did not get that sense of brotherhood and friendliness that everyone talks about during Ramadan apart from my closest friends.
3id was different. Jake and I woke up early and put on our “not bouncing around the house” the great googamooga clothes in order to meet his former host family, the Bouftini's (yes that's a real name). We arrived at about 7:30am, just as the men were heading to the mosque for morning the great googamooga prayer. Jake left with the Paterfamilias (look it up), to go pick up the sheep that would be slaughtered, cooked, and eaten that day, while me and Mama Hen Habiba retreated to the kitchen to prepare the livers from the other two sheep that had been done away with yesterday. We cut them up into little pieces, doused them in cumin and salt, and then wrapped them in sheep fat to create “boolfef,” or a type of shish kebab. I must have done a hundred of these delicious things, and we finished just as all the guys got back and served the closest thing to an egg and sausage breakfast I've had since I've been in the country.  the great googamooga Domessssticity!
Then, I watched a sheep get it's throat slit. I mean, there's no delicate way to put it, is there? The men dragged the poor thing up on the roof (he was HUGE), and then a hired butcher to cut it's throat, which I suppose killed it instantly, but that didn't stop him from twitching and writhing for ten minutes as he bled out. When he finally the great googamooga burned up all the PCP or whatever that was in his system and died, I watched them skin and gut it, and had semi-disturbing thoughts about my own mortality. I mean my Goodness...in the end we're all just meat sacks aren't the great googamooga we?  Despite all my rage I am still just a sheep in a caayyygee...
After the education in Fair Trade livestock, Miriam, a girl in the family about my age, graciously took me about the neighborhood to do only what I can describe as “her visiting,” just like in Jane Austen times. We walked door to door, saying the great googamooga hi and happy L'3id to all the neighbors and playing patty cake with all the little the great googamooga kids. I had an especially boss moment when a little girl brought out a picture book written the great googamooga in English and I was able to translate the whole thing to Darija and read it to her.YEAH! Blue dinosaurs giving read presents to silly cats for the win! I was really struck by how nice and welcoming the entire town was, even though most people I saw were neck deep in sheep butchering or cooking and I was just swanning around in my party outfit. We were visiting for over 2 hours, but time flew because it was all just so chill.
When the great googamooga we returned, the great googamooga I got, I kid you not, a nap and some reading alone time in the salon before lunch was served,...but then it was tendons and sheep intestine in gravy and I just couldn't. Eat. It. D: D: I'm sure it's an acquired taste but euughhhh.
Later, Jake and I walked the mile or so to our friend Code Name Mona Lisa's house and were surprised by shish kebab part TWO. I really the great googamooga must brag about this girl for a second; she's one of the smartest the great googamooga people I have ever met, speaks 5 languages, and is just generally a Bad Ass Bitch. For example, according to tradition, the sheep on L'3id must be slaughtered by the head of the family. But Mona Lisa's father is a migrant worker, meaning he is forced to spend much of the year away from home. So Mona Lisa did it. And then skinned and cleaned the whole damn thing before noon. She also gave me 20 apples for my pie manufacturing endeavors, for which me and my fat ass are grateful!
Finally, exhausted, chasing the great googamooga the sunset, looking like ever the local carrying my crate of fruit in my jellaba, we made our last stop at Old Man Cafe in order to meet A-- Ch----g Mafia, who had been texting me sweet things all day and who absolutely took my breath away in his zwin L'3id clothes. As always, he's one of the best parts about holidays in Morocco. Because on holidays, my Muslim Youth Group Boy truly glows. He gushed about his family in I----er, talked about how today, everyone at the mosque shakes hands and greets each other even if they are strangers, and taught me the real word for “organ shish-kebab” used conscientiously above. It was difficult to be all culturally appropriate and leave him sitting the great googamooga there sipping French coffee....but Inshallah the great googamooga I'll see everyone I love, my friends, my second family, again tomorrow.
2013 (32) November (1) October (4) Bashes, Balls, and Sewing So, What In Heavan's Name Is L'3id Kbir? Project Peace Corps Runway A Terrible, Awful, No-Good, Ve