If God Wills It

The entire family is huddled in the back courtyard, listening quietly as Papa whispers the prayers, foreign poetry to my ears. For a moment, everything is peaceful. The prayer ends and Papa makes a swift movement, cutting through the calm. I catch only the glint of the knife's meticulously sharpened blade before the drain is overflowing with thick red liquid and I have to fight to keep my eyes on the sheep as it struggles for its last breaths.

Papa explained it best: Tabaski, or Eid al-Adha, as it's known in Arabic, is an opportunity for Muslims to honor Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his first-born son in reverence of Allah by making a sacrifice of their own. Sheep. On Tabaski Day here in Senegal, the sheep are offered up, sacrificed, skinned and dismembered before being thrown onto the barbeque spit to be served up with fries.
During the sticky months of September and October, the sheep took over the dusty and chaotic streets of Dakar entirely. Alongside the juice vendors and boys waving cell-phone credit cards, the sheep stood all lined up like Christmas trees for the prospective buyer, serenely nibbling on the scant patches of scrubby grass as tall men with Arabic-features wearing tattered robes and turbans watched over them with vigilant eyes.

Only once the sacrifice is over does Papa lift his gaze to meet mine. He studies my face for a long moment, reading the emotion in my eyes before shrugging his shoulders apologetically and muttering, "if God wills it" as he brushes past me and into the house. Moments later, with his hands deep in the sheep carcass, Uncle Samba asks me why I didn't take pictures to prove to everyone back at home just how barbaric the Africans truly are.
I don't understand why everyone is trying to justify Tabaski to me. Maybe I've never seen my meal suffer and die before my eyes, but I'm no vegetarian. Maybe I'm accustomed to eating the clean, Saran-wrapped version from the grocery store back at home, but is this really so different?