goat-a-rama

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One night last week, I was ever-so-slightly kept awake by a repetitive banging noise against my patio wall. As usual here, village life means you hear everyone’s business - cooking, talking, singing, praying, crying. You get used to it pretty quickly and learn to sleep through everyone’s habits - you learn which babies cry when, which neighbor rises the earliest, which t.v. station teenagers prefer. I did find this particular ‘disturbance’ a bit curious since it was occurring sporadically and typically at night - and being that it sounded like a hammer being taken to the concrete - I found it strange for someone to be doing a little late-night home decorating?

A few nights went by until I was able to completely sleep through it. Just another voice of the village cacophony now. But I was still curious as to what this person was doing. I got my answer upon returning to the house at 5am the other night (after my orgasmic musical experience with Orchestra Baobab).

This time, when I came into my patio, I heard the thumping, accompanied by a bristling sound. The wind was billowing a neighbor’s makeshift tent made of rice sacs up and over my patio wall. I understood immediately. These shade tents are usually constructed for one reason - goats. The thumping was that of goat horns against concrete. And being that Ramadan is just around the corner…I knew that goat’s fate four weeks from now at the end of Ramadan, the feast of Korite. I’ll try to avoid being around for the squeal of this goat’s last breath, I thought. Or maybe this year, I’ll stomach the bloodshed because the holiday is truly a beautiful one in concept: you’re to kill a goat, keeping 1/3 for your family, giving 1/3 to your neighbors, and 1/3 to the poor. What commercial holiday do we have like that in the U.S.A.? In any case, like anything I get habituated to here - I’m sure I’ll actually miss the sporadic thumping once it’s gone.

On an updated note, Ramadan started a few days ago, and along with increased edginess in everyone and the slower pace of everything, well, there’s a remarkable amount of goats tied to phone poles throughout my village. All awaiting their part in Ramadan. And so the great circle of life and sacrifice goes on, accentuated also by Mexico’s first successful bird hunt ever! I chased her around the patio clapping and shouting before I managed to get her by the neck and force her to drop the victimized female weaver bird. While I was disgusted at the site of it all, I was a proud mother, I must admit - and didn’t miss the photo-op. And the bird, she flew back into her family's tree.

*note: OOPS! i mixed up my slaughering holidays, for it's not the end of korite with traditional goat sharing (though, it does happen), it's more tabaski...see ya in the spring, then, goats! FYI: after much internet research on end of korite, was fascinated to find out how differently it's celebrated in each country...

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Photos

my newest neighbor
Awaiting its important role in celebrating the end of Ramadan, this lucky goat has gotten shade as well as nourishment for the next four weeks.

Mexico stalking the weaver tree
Perched atop a narrow wall, Mexico surveys the situation from a distance

caught!
having never caught a bird before, Mexico didn't seem to know what to do - a stranger in her own land