Flesh... and lots of it.

And I thought the chicken thing was a big deal... that was only the minor leagues compared to what I was in for on Saturday. Child's play, culinary school for the waspy women of the world. Pre-school for living in the bled. Economy class while travelling the cultural Moroccan skies. I'm running out of shitty metephors...

Just imagine Quintin Tarentino and Alfred Hitchcock got together and used James Bond credit cinematography in order to deliver the scene in all of its gory glory, if you will. I started out with the aerial view; positioned atop my family's roof, watching the slaughter of our first sheep (um, yeah, there was more than one victim in this version) from where its noose was based through the Moroccan version of a skylight leading to the upper balcony. They started with all the family men pinning the little guy to the ground and took a well sharpened knife straight to the neck. Once it bled out from the jugular and had stopped kicking about, they made a small slit on the back ankle, into which they blew air in order to inflate the skin, yes, like a balloon so it's easier to skin, which of course is the next step. Once the sheep was taught and firm from all the... inflating... they started at the back foot and skinned it all the way up to the front. Do I have a video you ask? Why, yes. Yes I do.

I was ready for a commercial break once the entirety of its coat had been removed, but the fun had just begun. The venture into the infinite abyss was still upon us, also known as: the chest and abdominal cavity. We all took bio, so you know what's coming. Formal introductions with all of the internal organs, up close and personal. How personal you ask? Let's just say there were human lips put to sheep butthole in order to best flush the poo out of the large intestine - backwards - so it could then be cleaned up and eventually eaten. Waste not, want not. (It would only become more personal later that day, when we inevitably had an extensive tasting menu of each and every one of the aforementioned appendages.) so after the dismemberment and cleansing was complete, I was ready for a nap, the adrenaline having just finished pumping after witnessing my very first L'3id slaughter. Little did I know we still had another sheep to go, as well as a goat - apparently they have less cholesterol, a necessity for my host dad.

Once the festivities were finished, fat wrapped sheep's liver was the afternoon delight of choice, followed by pacreas (seriously delicious) and then some heart of course (yeah, going to pass on that in the future). We've had meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since the event. I think I even smell of it. It's freaking me out. I don't know how the few veggie volunteers are handling it. Blood in the streets, entier cities radiating with the smell of cooked flesh, it's intense. Oh, yeah, and the creme de le creme... the Herma...

So every region has its own delightful perspective on how best to get the community to commemorate this pinnacle of religious holidays with appropriate celebrations. Sedona-miz has decided that the most effective portrayal of tradition is to have 5-10 men dressed up in full body costumes made out of around seven goat skins, chasing townspeople - mostly children - around with goat hooves attached to string, threatening to thwack them if they do not pay at least a dirham to ensure their safety. This is not 'trick or treat' my friends, this is 'pay up or your going to have a bruise that lasts at least a week in the shape of my dinner's hoof, got it?' (It's almost as insulting to one's dignity as Jess's swan-beak to the eye in season three of Gilmore Girls. ... Yes, I went there.) Luckily, I have filled my pockets with single dirhams, guaranteeing my well-being for the most part over the last few days. Though beware: the Hermas will haunt your dreams, they will taunt your memories, and the smell of decaying carcasses will follow you, at least until next year, when their presence is sure to return.

In other news, I may have found a house! Woo-hoo for living like a big girl! I be all grown up now. It's a while... block away from my current home-stay. They like me, the really like me, apparently, and wanted to keep me close. So they said they would only help me find an apartment if I promised it would be in the same neigbourhood as them. Fine by me! I get to move in the 1st of January, and I will hopefully have internet set up by then - and a fridge! Modern luxuries of life! - and I will finally feel like a human again. L'Hamdullah.