Night in Tunisia

Drivers and Sheep

Well we're here and so far we have survived. Strangely enough, I always imagined that the world outside of canada would be far more different than it is. Tunis is not so unlike the places I have been before. Driving though parts of the city remind me of Edmonton, north of the river, only with a few very notable differences such as the language, architecture, colour of skin and density of population.

Perhaps the hardest thing to get used to is the drivers. I'm not sure if I am more nervous in the car or on the street. The drivers do not follow lanes, do not indicate, use the horn more than the brake and are not afraid to ride the curb in order to sneak past the person in front of them. The pedestrians also ignore crosswalks, lights and signage. The plan on both parts seems to be move slowly and don't change directions rapidly and no one will colide with you. You really have to pay attention. All the same most every car has a dint somewhere.

Thursday and Friday are holidays in Tunisia, it is the day of the gift of Abraham. Apparently, though it's all second hand information, when Abraham dreamed that he slit the throat of his son, he awoke and prepared to do it in life, as dreams were believed to be an invocation of reality and had to be followed. So faithfull a man was he, that God spared him his son and required only that he sacrifice a sheep instead. So on this holiday every tunisian family acquires a sheep. I mean every family. There are sheep everywhere on leashes, in the back of pickup trucks, in the markets, tied outside family fences. I've never seen so many in a city. Families may buy their sheep weeks in advance and they keep them healthy and happy until the holiday. Children play with them and they are generally considered pets. But on the holy day all that changes. The men of the house take the animal into the street or the yard and using a knife from the kitchen, they slit the animal's throat and bleed it to death as an offering. Then the meat is cut up and cooked for dinner. Apparently partially as a result of this practice my employer rarely eats meat. In Tunis the butcher is the butcher, not just the vendor of meat. You want chicken? Point at one and they'll kill it and pluck it for you. It's a brutal reminder that meat is the body of an animal. And it begs the question how much do I care for meat if an animal has to die by my gesture for me to get it. I might just stick to fish which is dead by the time it hits the market.

I'm sure it's only the beginning of the surprises, and I'll try to keep you up to date as I hit them. Missing everybody!

posted by tiaraletourneau @ 6:14 p.m.