Norooz for sale

Goldfish have been on sale for awhile, but a couple of days ago the stores started really pushing their Norooz wares. On Norooz, families place displays in their homes that include 7 items starting with the Persian "S" along with items that represent spring and rebirth (eggs, for instance).

 

Oh how the mighty Persians have fallen! From empire to chia pet!

 

Fish, candles, eggs, sprouts, and candles all for sale at the fruit market.

 

Boys eagerly eyeing the fish.

The Last Tuesday in no more...

Last Tuesday, I headed for Meidun-e Mossehni with a friend who was visiting Tehran from Bombay. We walked for at least 90 minutes, passing more police and and military than I have ever seen in my 3.5 years in Iran. Every corner had at least a traffic cop and a soldier. Some had Revolutionary Guards and Basigi. When we arrived at the square there were about 50 motorbike cops (not motorcycle cops). The only people out were boys and boy-men with firecrackers. And that's what pissed me off: the worst aspects of Chahr Shanbeh Souri were evident everywhere: the irresponsible use of fireworks that included throwing them at people's feet and underneath cars and dirty fires made of anything that could be found. It seemed to me that the only purpose of the military/police presence was intimidation, not safety. The regime can say "safety" until they are blue in the face, and I won't believe it. Why control irresponsible fireworks when it's the fear of them that keeps people off the streets in the first place? The police/military presence was there to control fun. That's it.

The dried tumbleweed like branches that usually are for sale all over the city were nowhere to be found. In the residential streets, families lit fires, jumped over them and went home. It was quiet where we were. "What happened?" I asked when we arrived at our mini-celebration. "Last year people were dancing in the streets."

"We've become Islamic," our hostess joked.

"The military has been driving up and down the streets since 10 this morning," a man by the fire told us.

The nice aspects: the small fires, music, dancing, and celebration, were hidden.


We took pictures, but our camera disappeared. So, sorry, none here. But you can see some here.

Norooz 2007

Continually updated post... Watch this space for more and more and more...

Pictures and posts:

From Kamangir: Let the Propoganda Begin

From Papillon: Noroze.

Fram Payvand: Iranians Celebrate Chahar-Shanbeh Soori, Festival of Fire

Norooz: An Eternal Iranian Tradition

From me: The Last Tuesday...

Norooz for Sale

From Flickr: Photos tagged with norooz

From Elizabeth: Haft Cinn

From Pars-Arts: Happy Norooz!

From Levantine Cultural Center: Happy Norouz



Goldfish have officially gone on sale in Iran. Goldfish are one of the items that most Norooz displays have.

You can email me (responses (AT) gmail (DOT) com) or link to this post when you have added a Norooz 2007 link. Or you can always add your link in the comments section.

Thanks

22 Bahman… and another day off…

Corrections to the text made thanks to comments from "M".

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the revolution: the day that the Shah's regime fell and several days after the Air France flight landed with Khomeini on board. Hundreds of thousands of Iranians (really millions: certainly all 10 million Basiji will be there) will turn out tomorrow to chant Nuclear energy is our inevitableinalienable right (inevitable? Why “inevitable” I wonder? Note to: M, I did see someone wearing a hand-painted sign that had "inevitable" written instead of "inalienable"), Down with America (of course), Down with Israel (double of course), Down with England (maybe they’re on to something ;-) ), and perhaps Down with France and Germany as well. For most it will mean nothing, but for some it will mean something. For a dangerous minority, the aggression is real.


I watched Khamenei speak to air force servicemenat the induction of new police officers (on television, not live). Thousands of blue-hatted men lifted their fists in the air and shouted “Down with America” like a bunch of automatons. Why do regimes always choose to portray themselves in the most despicable manner? Why do they goose step and raise their fists in the air? Why do they choose to set themselves against an enemy rather than for themselves?

It’s wasteful and despicable. And for all those Iranians asking me to tell the world “We are not terrorists,” I challenge you to present a different view. I know it is tough. I know, I know, I know. I am sympathetic. I know it’s fun to be out in a crowd. I know that it’s fun to let yourself get swept away in crowd behavior the way I might do when I go to a rock concert. I know. I know. What’s worse, is that I know how seductive the image of the demonstration is for the media (all-inclusive, because the Iranian media is just as responsible for the image of flag-burning, fist-waving fanaticism as the bugaboo Western media). I know that marchers ham it up for the camera. “I almost got my hair singed,” a photojournalist told me. “When the marchers saw me with my camera, they decided to burn one of their flags.” (For those of you who want to join the fun, burn your own virtual flag. Read what Scott Adams says about flag burning.)

This is the official picture of Iran and the unofficial picture of Iran. This image was created here, not in the west. It will have to be un-created here as well.

It doesn’t help for me to say that a black-tented woman shouting Down with America is much more likely to serve me dinner than to serve me up. It’s time for people here to start taking a bit of responsibility of the image being broadcast out.

And I know it’s hard. It may not even be possible.

Ashura: the pageant

"America is trying to take Ashura from us," the small, Ahmadinejad-like prayer leader called out to the crowd.

The crowd ignored him. Someone near me said, "He's trying to make this night political. It should not be political."

Still the man tried. It was like watching a rock and roll performer bomb while trying to get people to sing along with him.

Finally he gave up on politics and chanted the prayers for the sick. The crowd got excited then. That is what they came here for after all.

We were at the shrine in Tajrish in Northern Tehran. "Where are you from?" people asked me in broken English.

"America," I answered.

"Welcome to our country."

Inside the shrine, it smelled like feet, women with rainbow-colored feather dusters ushered the hordes of women to the grave. "We love Americans," a woman in a black chador whispered into my ear. "It's your government we don't like."

This was the night before Ashura. The next day we woke up to chants of "Hosseinjan, Hosseinjan." We went outside where a neighbor offered us a rice dessert with saffron. Ashura is a friendly holiday in Tehran. People are excited to be out together. It's an opportunity to express public emotion, to flirt, and to be part of a crowd. Iranians grab every one of these opportunities. Groups of young women looking their absolute best eye groups of young men with ridiculous hairdos while their parents and relatives look on.



The pageantry itself is amazing. Hazzans chant rhythmic mourning songs, men and women beat their chests. Men march, twirling chains and slapping them on their shoulders in time to the chanting. Giant mantles covered with bronze animals, shields, and feathers are carried through the streets.



And the food! Everywhere people were giving out food and drinks! We passed one group that was feeding 12,000 people. Mosques, private homes, private groups: everyone was handing out food. We ate ghemeh: a dish of split peas, potatoes, and mutton. Later we ate the heart, lung, and liver of one of the many sheep that gave its life that day.



Enough of that…

Ashura

Three years ago bombs went off in Karbala during Ashura: the holiday marking Mohammad’s grandson Hossein’s suicidal battle.

Iran is now immersed in Ashura mania, which is a bit like Halloween meets Death to America. It’s an opportunity to take to the streets and embrace the anonymity offered by huge crowds.

About a month ago neighborhoods started decorating for Ashura. Huge paintings of Hossein (or “Hossein’s friend” as one observant Muslim told me) went up alongside tents that are used for gathering to commemorate the death of Hossein. There seems to be more decoration than ever in Tehran. “The neighborhoods got more money for the decorations this year,” a man told us.

Iranians worship victim hood. They use graphic war footage of bombs falling on Iranian soldiers to recruit for the revolutionary guards. They embrace every opportunity for a good public cry. They portray themselves as victims rather than as aggressors.


Well, Inshallah, they don't want to repeat history with another suicidal battle.

Busy week and Happy everything

First there was a lot of work… then a grant proposal for Mideast Youth… then party after party after party…plus Hannukah, Shab-e Yalda, and Christmas. Certainly, the most satisfying of the holidays is Shab-e Yalda which makes no secret of its meaning: welcoming the sun back into our lives. No baby Jesus, no miraculous flame, just the sun. Welcome back, sun.




Eating red fruit and nuts is a Shab-e Yalda tradition. Shab-e Yalda is celebrated on the longest night of the year.





Last week, one of my faithful readers invited me for a delicious dinner of Arabic delights. Thanks! I ended up spending most of the evening talking to a Libyan and an Egyptian… odd how that works, isn’t it? We had a good time making fun of Iranian food (I like it, but it’s not quite the brilliant cuisine that Iranians think it is) and Iranians themselves. Hey, I like you guys… don’t worry! You’re simply the majority and deserve the teasing you get from the likes of us.

I asked the tall Syrian man what he felt about the religious convictions: “Convenient,” was the short answer. I was reassured. Convenient is healthy. Committed is strange.

Convenient is important to remember. The other day I read somewhere that most Iranians agree that Israel is the source of many of the region’s problems. I believe that this is convenience speaking once again. Every single time an Iranian makes some argument against Israel, such as today when my cab driver said that Israel controlled the UN’s vote on sanctions, I make a counter argument (when there is one). I have never heard a counter-counter argument, which makes me think that there is not real depth to general anti-Israel sentiment. For instance today I told the driver that Israel did not vote on UN sanctions. He just said, “Oh. Well nothing will come of it anyway.”

Dance the night away

Tagged as: Iran celebrations

Late one night last week, we drove west to a garden in the middle of nowhere for a wedding party. We drove by burning trash, industrial buildings, and military outposts. “This cannot be right,” we were thinking.

We drove onto an empty road and pulled up to a dented, dilapidated gate. It was dark. “No way is this it; it’s too dark.”

“No this is it,” the driver said. A police car drove by. Our driver leaned out the window to ask the police if this was the Garden we were looking for.

“It could be,” they answered and drove slowly away.

Keivan got out and knocked. The gate was opened by a sleepy Afghan. We see the lights of the party in the distance. “This is it!”

“If this were in America there would be signs and balloons everywhere.”

It only makes sense that in Iran a wedding party would be so coy. Once in, we danced with women dressed in tasteful gowns and men in sharp suits wearing silk ties around their necks.

A friend has just returned from Baghdad. “It’s horrible. People are really stressed. Baghdad is breaking up. Baghdad has neighborhood refugees now. People from one neighborhood are moving to others. It has become just too dangerous.”

We dance.

Happy Sizdeh Bedar

One of my favorite holidays!

Part of me wishes I had been in Iran instead of in a tornado shelter with my heart beating fast and the power out. Woke up to find our most beautiful tree snapped in two, part of the roof gone, and our neighbor's fence just sliced at the base like someone sawed it off.

First time I have been scared in a storm since I was a child.

Burning flags

Still blocking satellite news...at least in our neighborhood. K was watching Iranian news. Lots of nuclear discussion: "America goes against international will" kind of stuff. At one point he started laughing, "They are saying that people were using American and Israeli flags to make the bonfires for Char Shanbe Soori." (Last Tuesday night of the year.)

"Your place was empty," my sister-in-law tells me. "We built a fire at the head of the street. The whole neighborhood came out. There was loud music and dancing. We stopped each car that went by and made everyone in the car get out to dance. Really, it was fun."

The taxi drivers had their own spin "They wanted to stop us from celebrating, so we celebrated even more," a driver tells us.

It really did seem as though all of Tehran was out with fireworks, music, and bonfires. The air in our neighborhood was so thick with smoke that we could not even see.

Hence... the burning flags.

Give me your red!

I love the New Year’s festivities in Iran. Last night was the last Tuesday evening of the Iranian year (why it’s celebrated is beyond me…). This day is celebrated with fireworks and bonfires. The tradition is to jump over a fire while saying: Give me your red and take from me my yellow. Our hosts lit 6 small bonfires that we jumped over 3 times each. We were joined by children, a teenage girl who took off her chador when convinced that she should join us in leaping over the flames, a few old men, us middle-aged foreigners, & young and middle-aged Iranians. It was great fun. “Play with fire.” That’s the message.

“We wanted to put a tire on the bonfire to remind us of the days of the revolution,” one of the older men joked. “But we didn’t want to scare the foreigners.”

“Oh they wouldn’t be scared,” our Iranian friend assured the men. “They would just be angry with you for further polluting the air.” This got a hearty laugh.

There were easily 10x more fireworks than last year. “If anyone wanted to bomb Iran, tonight would be the night,” K joked. “No one would notice.” All of our foreign friends expressed fears of Molotov cocktails, but I have never seen anything of the kind. “Where did you get that idea?” Iranians told them. I asked my Iranian friends about it but they just looked at me like I was crazy. “Foreigners think we are violent.” “Iranians told them about the Molotov cocktails,” I tell them.

Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukkah and Happy Longest Night

Iran celebrations

Sorry for the radio silence. I had internet problems and anger management problems.

I have never had so many Christmas invitations before…Brunch here, lunch there, dinner somewhere else… Little plastic Christmas trees, revolutionary guards with kalashnikovs roaming the streets, and snow in the mountains! On Christmas eve, we even had a visit from a skinny Santa Claus.

Last year I wrote that I believe that in the coming 10 years Christmas will become a full-fledged holiday in Iran. This year was even Christmasier than last. Not one of our Christmas invitations has come from a Christian. Iranian state radio even wished Christians a merry Christmas and played Western music. (AN himself used the theme song from Bonanza in his campaign clip)

I love it when Iranian Muslims ask me what is traditional for Christmas: “Chinese food & a movie,” I answer. Of course, they don’t get it…Fortunately another foreigner could answer: “Alcohol.”

In the holiday spirit… here are a couple of jokes:

Iran: humor

A joke:
Bush, Chirac, & AN pay a visit to God to see what’s in store for them in the coming year. First Bush:

“I’m afraid I have bad news for you,” God tells him. “Things are not going to go so well in Iraq. The public is going to lose its faith in you. You’ll have horrible hurricanes one after the other, and the republicans will lose the election.” Bush left crying.

Then Chirac:

“The news for you isn’t so hot either. You’ll have riots in the streets. Thousands of cars will be set on fire, and everyone will blame you.” Chirac, too, leaves crying.

Then AN:

“And what’s in store for my country?” AN asks. God hesitates a moment and then starts crying himself.

Another joke:

In a country where fish fall in love and turtles fly, it’s no wonder a monkey is president.

Oh and more humor...

Blocked on my side, but I bet you guys can read this: "How about transferring Israel to Iran." Hey... I laughed.

Eid is tomorrow…

Update: Welcome to View from Iran...If you feel like it, stay and read a bit.

I know that a lot of people are coming to this site for info on Eid 2007 in Iran... Eid-eh Shoma mubarak. I heard that there will be only one day of Eid this year, but who can be certain? Last year's 2-day celebration was a complete fiasco!

In Amsterdam, where we are now, the streets are filled with Muslims eating ice cream and sweets. Hope you are enjoying yourselves everywhere.

Woke up to stripes of snow on the mountains, rain-charged air, and fantastic after-rain light. It was the happiest I’ve felt in ages.
The end of Ramadan has been announced.
Rumor has it that AN is recalling ambassadors. Will they actually come back? Time will tell.
I do not have a clue about what is going on. The Iranian stock market is crashing. People are not making purchases. Iranians are preparing for sanctions. The regime is preparing for war.
No one wants sanctions… except, perhaps, the hardliners (which hardliners? I am sure there is a faction of hardliners that would prefer not to have sanctions.). Sanctions will be a boost for the hardliners who get stronger on depravation than they do on plenty.
AN promised economic reforms. How will those promises be met with sanctions? I was riding in a taxi when 20% pay raises were announced. “The prices have gone up 40%, but our pay is only going up 20%,” the driver told me. “You need 1 million tuman a month to have a life in Tehran, but all I make is 200,000.”
It’s hard to believe that the rial was ever worth anything.

Ramazan Ramadan

Tagged as: Iran celebrations

We’re about halfway through the mandated public fast. You can’t eat or drink in public unless you are a traveler or are sick. And then you better be in a hotel or a hospital. So imagine my joy when I was offered tea at a recent meeting. What a pleasure it was!

I think that many more women than men fast. “They think it will help them lose weight,” a friend explains. I’m not so sure. There is a kind of community that the fasting creates. It really is a pleasure to wander the streets at sunset. Someone is always out offering sweets, fruit juice, or porridge. Everyone watches the same serial: the story of a woman possessed by the devil. I have only caught bits and pieces because I do not have an antenna. Got one today, but now I only have 2 channels.

“Islam should be left to the individual,” a taxi driver ranted yesterday. “All of this fake fasting and public sanctions are ridiculous. They have taken away our personal relationship with the religion and made it the law. It’s too much.” And on and on and on he went…

“Wow. He talked a lot,” I told K.

“One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t an intelligence officer.”

“He didn’t give us any time to talk,” I laughed.

Watching from Shariati Street

Our friend thinks that there was a revolution two nights ago. She was out on Shariati Street where the crowd was tearing down election posters and young women were burning their headscarves.
Anyone else see anything like this?

Our crowd was celebratory and peaceful. I cannot imagine a more mellow group of football celebrants. They had fun without getting into fights.

"Imagine what this would be like if these guys had a few beers in them," K commented.

"They'd probably toppling cars and setting them on fire like sports fans everywhere else."

Iran qualifies to 2006 World Cup

Iran qualifies to 2006 World Cup
Originally uploaded by Mahdi Ayat's iRAN Project.

1-0
Iran has qualified for the World Cup and, on top of that, has qualified undefeated.

I was talking on the telephone when the final second ticked off. There were whoops and the sound of firecrackers. "It sounds like Iran won." (Hey, I saw the rerun of the game at midnight… I'm new to soccer: remember, I'm an American.)

K came to get me off the phone. "Let's go out," he said. "Let's celebrate!" I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. We went out. All of our neighbors were out. Some of them had boxes of pastries and were passing them out passersby. We turned the corner and went on to the main street. Rafsanjani supporters were out with giant SUVs blaring electronica and trays filled with fruit drinks. Moeen supporters were handing out pastries to people in cars stopped at the light.

We made it to Valiasr right before the major traffic started. We arrived just in time to see thousands of celebrants running down the street with faces painted and flags waving in the wind.

Drivers honked their horns and young men blew these noisemakers. There were firecrackers galore. Some of the flags were simply green, white, and red. Most were the current Iranian flag.

Young men danced in the street. Iranian men are really sexy dancers. (Although I hear that Iranian women don't find their dancing sexy. Well, foreign women do. Trust me.) We came across a group singing and dancing. A woman in her late 60s was encouraging people to clap. "What's your problem!" she would yell to passive onlookers. "Clap! Sing!"

Rafsanjani's campaign was out in force. Young people were covered with his stickers. They were dancing and yelling.

The Qalibaf campaign handed out zero alcohol beer from an Efes truck. I can't remember the exact slogan printed on the truck. I think it translated to something like "Life goes better with Qalibaf." So many people were running after the truck that you would have thought they were receiving 2.5% beer.

We saw a small, solemn group of Moeen supporters who held his poster up over their heads and walked quietly up and down the streets.

Later we saw a yellow hummer driving through the crowd. "Is Schwarzenegger in town?" I asked.

Groups of celebrants seemed to wander in and wander out from all directions. People were happy and relaxed and somewhat anticipatory. Did anything more dramatic happen? I do not know.

Happy New Year
K and I always joke about the number of new years we get to celebrate. My favorite one is Persian New Year. Here are its advantages:
Timing: I mean, who can beat the Spring equinox for a new year's celebration?
Timing again: Iranians and other Norooz celebrants all over the world celebrate the New Year at the same moment: the exact moment of the equinox. It's comforting to know that families in Los Angeles are cheering in the New Year at the same time as families in Tehran.
Haft Sin (Seven "s's" – sounds like some new fangled management theory right?): Iranians put out a table covered with all sorts of things beginning with "s." These items represent common new year's themes including renewal, wisdom, health, and prosperity. You usually see a goldfish, sprouts, pudding, coins, eggs, and other items. I love the table. It's beautiful.

Tonight, bonfires will be lit all over Iran (and California) and people will be jumping over them saying: "Give me your red and take from me my yellow." (The symbolism is so obvious that it would be silly to explain.) I plan to make my leap as well.

For the next month, Iranians will look so spiffy in their new clothes, the streets and buildings will shine because they are so friggin clean, and Tehran's air will smell like flowers instead of smog.

Happy New Year all.

Norooz, fires, fireworks, and satellite dishes
About three nights ago, the chief of police appeared on television to announce that the police will no longer break up the celebrations that occur on the last Tuesday before the new year. On the last Tuesday before the new year, Iranians (and other Norooz –“new day” – celebrants) light small bonfires and jump over them while shouting: “Take my yellow from me and give me your red.” It is a wonderful celebration that I enjoyed on the beaches near Santa Cruz. The chief announced to all Iranians that the police would view this as a cultural celebration and do what they could to keep it safe and help people enjoy it even more, rather than breaking it up. He went on to announce that the police would no longer raid people’s homes looking for satellite dishes.

Iranians have an open and resilient culture that is unbelievably open to change. (I plan to write a post on this soon. So watch this space…) This is not a static culture or static society. Don’t let the nuclear issue become more important than a true understanding of Iran and Iranian culture. Pay attention, folks.

The Wedding

K and I are invited to a wedding. We don’t know the bride or groom. We only know a few relatives.

A few nights ago, our good friend who got us invited to the wedding, went to the pre-wedding party, a kind of rehearsal dinner for family only, in a private garden outside of Tehran far from other people. “You should have seen all of the women, they were so chic. I looked like a slob next to them.” There were tables of food, a good band, and about 250 “just family” there.

About 2 hours into the party, my friend heard shouts of “Scarves! Manteaus! The religious police are here!” The women ran for their manteaus. The band disappeared. The men went to the door to bribe the two religious police at the door. After about five minutes, they were successful and the two bearded guards of Islam left.

45 minutes later, however, the religious police were back. This time it was a different group with about 20 18-year old representatives of the religious police charging in with guns and rifles ready. These guys did not want to be bribed; they wanted to make arrests. The shouts were more panicked this time: “Run! Run!” The women crowded into a bathroom together. The men came in with their manteaus and scarves. “I saw the fear on their faces,” my friend said. “It was terrible. The worst thing was that I saw that people did not help each other. They only thought for themselves.” The women who were working at the party were dressed traditionally in black manteaus and black hooded scarves. They were in the bathroom changing into western clothes. “It would have been worse for them to be caught working at the party. That’s why they were changing.”

Meanwhile the religious police were on their radios calling for buses to come and pick up all of the women and all of the men at the party. “We can’t get buses at this time of night,” the response came from their command center. Other police were inside the party smelling the glasses and checking for alcohol. “Thank god we didn’t have any,” my friend said. Still another set of bearded 18-year-olds was terrifying the groom, who was not Iranian. My friend’s brother was helping the groom by translating for him. “My brother threw off his coat and tie and went to the groom’s side. He told the religious police that the groom had a heart condition and that if they continued to frighten him that he might have a heart attack. He told them that then his blood would be on their hands.” Apparently that line worked, and they stopped harassing the groom. Some of the men finally succeeded in bribing the police, but not before the father of the bride and the owner of the garden were arrested.

“The young women weren’t scared,” my friend said. “They were saying that they had been arrested several times recently and that it wasn’t so bad. They told us that you could not show any fear. You have to stand your ground. The minute you show fear, they know they have you. The older women, on the other hand, were scared. They did not want to be arrested again. It’s the humiliation that scared them. They weren’t afraid of being hurt, just of going through the whole process of being humiliated.”

The rest of the party was quiet. The food went untouched. The women remained in their hijabs. Now the parents of the bride have to find a new location for the party since they are not allowed to have it in the private garden anymore. Plus they have to find guards (preferably from the religious police) for the party and notify 500 guests and all of the staff and caterers of the new location.

July 23, 2003
American Life

An easy 15 minute walk from K’s brother’s house in Tehran takes you to a busy shopping area. You can get anything there from Eggerman glass to antiques left behind from the fall of the Shah to coffee to flip flops. The stores are deceptively small but seem to hold endless amounts of merchandise. There are at least 2 people at every counter. It seems to me that one person works at each store and the second person is a friend or relative who is there to keep the other company.

I was shopping there with K’s sister and his 18 year old nephew and 22 year old niece. Just outside the stores, we were approached by a whispering man who I automatically ignored. It was a bit like being approached on the streets of New York by men whispering “Pot, pot, pot…” K’s niece and nephew, however, did not ignore the whispering. They responded to the man who then produced a list of CDs and video CDs that he had for sale. They bought two Metallica video CDs, I bought Madonna’s American Life. I just could not resist the opportunity.

Later that evening we all sang along to American Life: K’s nieces and nephews know every word of the song. I put on the headphones to listen to the rest of the CD. Madonna sings this song called something like “I’m not religious” (I don’t know the exact name because my CD just says ‘track 1, track 2…) that actually made me cry. I am becoming quite sentimental.

The next morning, we boarded a bus to travel southwest. The door opened, and we were greeted by two stickers bearing the American flag and the Canadian flag. The text read: Looking forward to welcoming the US [Canadian] team to the World Cup.

The wedding

The young woman upstairs is getting married. Yesterday the family bought a sheep and had it killed in the front yard. Nahid, her daughter, and I went out to watch while K and his brother stayed inside. K thought we were out of our minds. He had never seen an animal butchered and did not want to. I had seen an animal butchered before. It was a pig that my Florida neighbors raised in our backyard. Together we fed it and then ate it for Christmas dinner.

The butcher brought the sheep into the yard. It had green and red stripes painted on its back and was (understandably) very nervous. The family of the woman getting married fed the sheep milk and apples. They calmed him by petting him and talking to him. When he was ready to be killed, the butcher gently held the sheep while the father of the bride talked to him and stroked his head. I think he might have said a prayer. I am sure he thanked the sheep for giving up his life. When he was finished, the butcher killed him with a quick cut of the knife. The sheep died instantly. Some of the men put their hands into the sheep’s blood. I am not sure why.

The butcher really knew what he was doing. He did not get any blood on himself. Everything he did, he did quickly and cleanly. After killing the sheep, he blew him up like a balloon. When he cut into the sheep all of the air came out into the face of a 7-year-old girl who said yick, laughed, and jumped out of the way.

Late last night, the neighbors brought over some liver kebabs from the sheep, which K, his brother, and his brother’s wife ate without telling me. They thought I was asleep.