On meat, slaughter, and sacrifice

Yesterday, I saw a lamb being slaughtered. It was the first animal that I had ever seen being killed live. The experience had a surprising impact on me and got me thinking about life, death, and food.

Context:
This upcoming week, Muslims all over the world celebrate one of their biggest holidays, Eid al Adha, meaning literally "The holiday of the sacrifice." This holiday commemorates a very special story in the Koran. From my understanding, Allah called upon the Prophet Ibrahim and told him to take his son, Ishmael, and bring him to a mountain and sacrifice him to Allah. Ibrahim told Ishmael about the plan and Ishmael agreed, saying that it is best to trust in Allah. So the two went up to the mountain, tied Ishmael down, and as the Prophet Ibrahim was about to sacrifice his son, Allah sent a lamb and told the two that because they proved their loyalty and faith, Allah will be gracious unto them, and rather than sacrifice Ishmael, they should sacrifice the lamb.

The story should sound very familiar to all of us. But unlike Judaism and Christianity, Muslims make a holiday to celebrate both the graciousness of Allah and the faith of Ibrahim. The holiday is based all around sacrifice and meat. Most families will buy a lamb and slaughter the lamb and then eat and eat and eat. Every time I ask someone what they do to celebrate Eid al Adha, they answer, "eat meat!" They eat lamb and a special dish called Phatah which is basically bread, rice, and meat.

This week leading up to Eid al-Adha, the city has exploded with lambs and carcasses. On every corner you can see lambs, marked by red or black pant, waiting for the holiday in their pens, butcher shops are hanging up their meat, (more animal carcasses than I have ever seen in my whole life) and, in many cases, butcher shops slaughtering their animals in the street in plain sight of everyone around.

So, how did I, a vegetarian of around 14 years, come to see a lamb being slaughtered? Well, my friend, Jordan, chose to do his internship at a very "sha3bi (popular/ of the Egyptian people) coffee shop and has since befriended every shop owner and costumer in a 2 block vicinity. He invited the group yesterday to sit at his ahwa, meet the owners and the customers, the fruit sellers, the vegetable sellers, the bakers, and the butchers who have become his Egyptian family, and also share in the unique experience of watching a lamb being slaughtered. Being a squeemish vegetarian, I was hesitant to watch, but decided that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that I shouldn't shy away from it.

So we all lined up in front of the butcher shop. And they took the lamb, laid him on the ground, and a little boy, probably around 3 or 4 years old, held the knife, while the butcher made the cut. It wasn't a clean cut, as it should have been, and the lamb struggled for several minutes after the incision was made. And we watched how nonchalantly the neighborhood walked by the slaughter, cleaned up the blood, and how proud the little boy was of himself for making the cut (he approached Mae afterwards saying excitedly, "did you see me do it! Did you see me kill the lamb! Have you ever killed a lamb! I did it! I did it!"). Although I was squeezing Katelyn's arm the entire time, I was shocked at myself. I wasn't disgusted. I was intrigued! I couldn't tare my eyes away. I even took a peek after the fact as they inflated the abdomen with air and starting skinning the animal. I was fixated! Entranced! And my head was swimming with questions!

Firstly, I asked myself, "why was this disgusting? Why was this inhumane? Is it actually inhumane?" In America, we pride ourselves on our clean meat, on the distance that we have made between ourselves and our food. It's great to eat meat in America because we don't have to watch it being slaughtered. Hamburgers are basically the same as carrots, right? They just taste better. But here, there was something amazing about the experience and about this holiday, a feeling that is entirely absent from our food discourse in the states. Personal responsibility. Here, everyone knows exactly where there meat comes from and on this holiday, they recognize their role in the killing process. They acknowledge that the food they eat did not magically appear in their markets and butcher shops, but it is a sacrifice. An animal is giving up it's life so that they can eat, so that they can praise God in the way that they chose, so that they can run their businesses and build their nation's cuisine and character and businesses around this animal's sacrifice. It is not hidden, it is not shameful. It is a gift. If you are going to eat meat, acknowledge that you are doing so and take part in it.

In every way, the meat industry here is infinitely more humane than it is in the states. As we drive through the countryside, we see cows grazing eating grass, not corn, not being injected with hormones and anti biotics that make the fatty parts fatter and the meatier parts meatier. We see how they are shipped from short distances to the butcher shop where they are actual slaughtered by a man, not a machine, not on a conveyor belt, not by electric shock or strangulation. We see how the butcher cuts the meat, skins it, slices it, and what he does with every body part. How he cleans up the blood. How he cleans his knife and the sidewalk. And then we see how it's prepared. Everyone here knows and it is just a part of life. And this is one of the amazing things about Egypt in general. I walk out my door and I am surrounded by fruits and vegetables and meats, shipped from no more than a few hours away. And yes, my tomatoes are a little dirtier than they are in the states. And sometimes I find maggots in my pomegranates. And sometimes, the batch of onions today aren't looking their brightest and their best. But I'm eating Egyptian food. Not Ecuadorian or Brazilian. And when I take a trip to the countryside, I pass the banana trees and see where my peanut butter banana sandwich actually comes from. And I see that the cows do live a nice life. They get to feel the breeze in their ears as they fly down the highway to Alexandria.

So I made a big decision based off of this experience. I decided to eat meat to celebrate Eid al Adha. To celebrate the idea of being part of the food process and part of the culture. Today, Katelyn and I made a trip out to Fua in Kofr el-Sheikh, the countryside province a little over an hour from Alexandria, and we visited my friend Eman and her family. Her sister cooked chicken and beef soup. And I ate every bite. Although I am still going to be a vegetarian, and I still really don't want to eat meat, I decided that because I so respect the food culture here, I am no longer refusing or eating around the meat when I visit a family. I want to show them that I respect their culture and their hospitality. And with a meat industry this ethically clean, I want to show them that I'm not a picky American and that I do prefer their meat over the meat in the states. And that I won't eat meat that I know was treated inhumanely. But when they offer me some chicken that was probably slaughtered down the street the day before, I'll say yes, please. And thank you.