This week is an
important occasion that marks the 72 day period between Ramazan, with its
carnival atmosphere at the end of the daily fasting during the holy month, and
the commemoration of the Kurban. Turkish people call this holiday a Bayram, as
they do with most national or religious events that embrace celebratory
activities and time off work. Bayram translates literally as ‘festival’.
Muslims in other parts of the world generally call it Eid.
With most people
free from employment obligations for at least four days and many off work for the week the usual tourist
areas swell for one last big occasion before winter closes the seasonal activity.
Grabbing this opportunity the local businesses put on
sales and special entertainment to entice potential consumers, and it offered
me the chance to revel in the culture and customs as well as the sensations of
the bazaar. So, after my usual breakfast of fruit-laden cereals and bread
dripping with fresh honey, I set off on a mini-adventure (yes, like this Blog
it seems some things never change; I’m happy to say I might not
either).
The souk in the old
town consists of hundreds of stalls with their many handcrafted goods and
delicious and unique foodstuffs, ancient shops built into the old city walls
selling magnificent hand-woven carpets and skilled art works and dozens of tiny
teahouses bustling with the commotion of customers and older men, obviously the
regulars, playing backgammon at low tables. I made a couple purchases,
including a fresh from the docks balik ve ekmek (fish sandwich) with salad and
chips, and then spent time chatting to a couple locals as young men brought
teas on silver trays.
Naturally, there is
more to the festivities than simply eating and drinking and everyone is aware
that at this time the sheep are slaughtered and meat donated to the poor by
those who can afford to purchase an animal and put it to the knife. Several
years ago the government outlawed the public practice of this massacre, calming the outrage of some sensitive souls who eat meat but don't want to see the action involved in getting it to their table - but it
was still happening everywhere when I first visited Turkey nearly twenty years
ago. Although nowadays most people either conduct the ritual on their own land
or have the gruesome deed performed by a licensed butcher and collect the meat
packaged supermarket style, back then it happened in the middle of the street
in practically every town.
I was driving
with my two companions from the same coastal area where I now live to Istanbul,
and after travelling all night we arrived in Yalova, across the Sea of Marmara
from the majestic city. We shared breakfast and after a boost of strong coffee
headed into the early summer morning sun for the final leg of the journey (in
retrospect we should have taken the ferry but the way we entered the city is a
memory I’m sure none of us will ever forget). Suddenly, as the clock struck
eight, the air was filled with the cries of fear and the terror of anticipation as the smell of blood hit the nostrils of every
sheep and cow within miles of the town centre. As we stood outside the hotel
where we had eaten a basic meal of eggs, cheeses and bread, hundreds of sheep
were being flipped onto their backs and having their throats slit. The dark red blood ran into the cobbles of the road as if tracing its way
around a maze toward the gutters, which quickly overflowed with the life of so
many dying animals.
This weekend I was
invited to come to a friend’s farm to witness the affair, but after some
thought I declined, as my conscience wouldn’t allow me to go through that
again. Instead, I’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet of the town I live in now that
the overseas visitors have all but disappeared for the year, watched some
football with the ex-pats who live nearby, and toured the nearby countryside to
watch the last of the cotton being harvested and gathered before shipped off to
the mills.
Some people it
seems don’t get time off, and the temporary labourers and farmers work from
daybreak till after dark to ensure the cotton is collected at the right time.
Soon these buds will be turned into fabric and the cloth sewn into the clothes
we wear. Many of the items will be available in local shops and everyone in the
chain of growth, production and sales will receive a small portion of the
receipts, however throughout the world many people are working in less
comfortable situations to supply shops in Britain, the USA and other nations
who exploit the poorest to maximise profits for 'brand name'
merchandise.
Last Friday I was
teaching an evening lesson and thought it would be a good idea to discuss
Kurban Bayram and explain the origins of the festival to those who only
experience it from within the sanctuary of experience of family and cultural tradition, intending to stimulate conversation about this
ancient holiday. Tracing the roots of the events that have culminated in the
mass killing of sheep we touched on the culture of food, the distinctive
practices of various regions and the evolution of religion through the shared
history of Islam and Judaism as well as drawing comparisons with other
celebrations throughout the world and of course, speaking in English.
It all led to the
eventual discovery by the students that the festival was a commemoration of the
moment God (Allah/Yahweh) demanded that Abraham sacrifice his son (in Judaism
Isaac, in Islam Ishmael) as proof of his devotion. At the last minute God tells
Abraham he has passed the test of faith and tells him to sacrifice a sheep
instead, and so to this day a sheep is offered in the morning. At temples, mosques
and synagogues around the world sacrifices are made in the name of God, and
surreptitiously to feed the less fortunate, though not everyone recognises the
underlying resons for these shared events. Although several of the students
were aware of the purpose of the Bayram, they were surprised to learn that
Kurban actually means ‘sacrifice’.
Looking out over
the harbour at one of my favourite castles as the sun set and the cruise ships
departed, carrying their wealthy foreign guests to the next destination on the
itinerary, I sipped a last coffee before heading back along the sea road to
relax for another day, and of course put together lesson plans for my classes
returning later in the week.
I’ve sacrificed the warm blood of meat for many
years, although not putting mammal flesh into my personal temple of this body
hasn’t felt like giving something up, but rather as lifting myself toward a
higher passion. It’s been another gorgeous weekend in this wondrous land, but
every day in the sunshine is another day of life to delight in; if living with
the curious culture of a diverse people means I wake to the light of the sun in
my eyes, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to accept.
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