Silly title but not sillier than "I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail", I feel. Anyway there isn't a day in the year when snails face snailageddon or sparrows fear to fly. For the sheeps of Morocco, yesterday was a dark day. There is, apparently, a special day (like Christmas but bloodier) when it is the duty of the faithful to buy a sheep, kill it, butcher it and eat it. As a committed carnivore, I heartily approve of people who eat meat having to see what it really means - ie killing the animal you want to eat. But to make such a song and dance about it? Only one person can cut its throat; someone else skins it (after the blower has blown the skin from the carcass); not entirely sure who butchers it but the ladies (of course) cook it.
On a lighter note, the air was full of smoke yesterday from the fires used to burn the sheeps heads. They do that on any patch of open ground. Chaps on motorbikes, donkey drawn carts and pickup trucks were charging round the neighbourhood shouting "annaaa" (I think) and collecting the skins and assorted bits from the households who had done the business on their moutons.
One is unable to purchase alchohol at all during the 3 day period so I have had to resort to Sancerre instead of beer after the visit of my good friend Grahame who necked all the beer. Who said a diplomat's life was easy?
Today in the supermarche to stock up on some essentials - the restaurants are also closed for the hols - I found that the meat counter consisted only of a whole sheep, half a sheep or an extremely large lump of sheep. Too much for the rogon jhosh I was intending.
I found a lone poulet though (which I ritually cut up at home) It was dead and wrapped in plastic, of course. I took my purchases to the checkout, and, waiting there - for her mum probably - was a girl of 11 or 12 with a shopping trolley containing 1 item only, a whole sheep (skinned of course) - hooves up and barely fitting into the trolley. Wouldn't see that too often in Sainsbury's in Deal, I thought.
Funny old world.
On a lighter note, the air was full of smoke yesterday from the fires used to burn the sheeps heads. They do that on any patch of open ground. Chaps on motorbikes, donkey drawn carts and pickup trucks were charging round the neighbourhood shouting "annaaa" (I think) and collecting the skins and assorted bits from the households who had done the business on their moutons.
One is unable to purchase alchohol at all during the 3 day period so I have had to resort to Sancerre instead of beer after the visit of my good friend Grahame who necked all the beer. Who said a diplomat's life was easy?
Today in the supermarche to stock up on some essentials - the restaurants are also closed for the hols - I found that the meat counter consisted only of a whole sheep, half a sheep or an extremely large lump of sheep. Too much for the rogon jhosh I was intending.
I found a lone poulet though (which I ritually cut up at home) It was dead and wrapped in plastic, of course. I took my purchases to the checkout, and, waiting there - for her mum probably - was a girl of 11 or 12 with a shopping trolley containing 1 item only, a whole sheep (skinned of course) - hooves up and barely fitting into the trolley. Wouldn't see that too often in Sainsbury's in Deal, I thought.
Funny old world.
