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| Letter from China: season of sacrifice | Letter from China: season of sacrifice |
| (5 months later) | |
| The season of singed flesh is upon us again. Abdul Eli is sitting cross-legged on his workshop floor, blowtorch in one hand and hammer in the other, next to a pile of severed sheep heads. His small son sits beside him gripping the horns of an erstwhile ram as the skull is prised apart and the hair burned carefully away from the soft tissue around the face. He is preparing the cranium and its contents for soup. | The season of singed flesh is upon us again. Abdul Eli is sitting cross-legged on his workshop floor, blowtorch in one hand and hammer in the other, next to a pile of severed sheep heads. His small son sits beside him gripping the horns of an erstwhile ram as the skull is prised apart and the hair burned carefully away from the soft tissue around the face. He is preparing the cranium and its contents for soup. |
| Moneyed folks rarely keep the heads of their sacrificial sheep. Along with the pelt and feet, their donation to the community for mosque funds is considered part of the tithe during the most sacred Kurban or sacrifice festival of the year. Most are also too squeamish to prepare the entrails, stomach and hocks and are relieved that they can be recycled in a meaningful way for those who consider them a delicacy, or who are too poor to afford meat. | Moneyed folks rarely keep the heads of their sacrificial sheep. Along with the pelt and feet, their donation to the community for mosque funds is considered part of the tithe during the most sacred Kurban or sacrifice festival of the year. Most are also too squeamish to prepare the entrails, stomach and hocks and are relieved that they can be recycled in a meaningful way for those who consider them a delicacy, or who are too poor to afford meat. |
| Preparing the skull for eating is an art though, and Abdul Eli learned the trade from his father. Kurban is his busiest time of year, when the atoning blood of thousands of sheep is poured on to the flowerbeds and alleyways of the Uighur quarter of Urumqi and the streets are transformed from a 21st-century high-rise hub into a farmyard. | Preparing the skull for eating is an art though, and Abdul Eli learned the trade from his father. Kurban is his busiest time of year, when the atoning blood of thousands of sheep is poured on to the flowerbeds and alleyways of the Uighur quarter of Urumqi and the streets are transformed from a 21st-century high-rise hub into a farmyard. |
| Flocks of sheep gather cowed on pavements or huddle on landings and the day itself arrives to find every available tree dangling with corpses. Those lucky enough to have escaped the early morning slaughter are bundled into car boots or chased by children down the road to await their inevitable fate later in the day. Squeezed into every kind of available transport they are strapped onto bicycle carriers, pushed into wheelbarrows, tied onto roofracks or even ridden down the road by infants. Night comes and the flocks of unsold sheep are herded across six lane highways in the dark as if they were country lanes. | Flocks of sheep gather cowed on pavements or huddle on landings and the day itself arrives to find every available tree dangling with corpses. Those lucky enough to have escaped the early morning slaughter are bundled into car boots or chased by children down the road to await their inevitable fate later in the day. Squeezed into every kind of available transport they are strapped onto bicycle carriers, pushed into wheelbarrows, tied onto roofracks or even ridden down the road by infants. Night comes and the flocks of unsold sheep are herded across six lane highways in the dark as if they were country lanes. |
| Children are out in force dressed to kill, literally, since the Kurban gift for little boys since the racial killings three years ago, has been a particularly nasty plastic machine gun that sprays tiny yellow pellets. Three years ago any Chinese who dared to leave the safety of their compounds were the unwitting victims of this army of young lads but these days they only try to kill each other. This year's weapons of choice are plastic rocket launchers and Kalashnikovs and the pellets more lethal than ever. I walk around scrooge-like shielding my eyes from ammunition that might be delivered my way and am relieved that most of the weapons have come to grief by the second or third day. | Children are out in force dressed to kill, literally, since the Kurban gift for little boys since the racial killings three years ago, has been a particularly nasty plastic machine gun that sprays tiny yellow pellets. Three years ago any Chinese who dared to leave the safety of their compounds were the unwitting victims of this army of young lads but these days they only try to kill each other. This year's weapons of choice are plastic rocket launchers and Kalashnikovs and the pellets more lethal than ever. I walk around scrooge-like shielding my eyes from ammunition that might be delivered my way and am relieved that most of the weapons have come to grief by the second or third day. |
| Little girls all dolled-up in frills and bows and shiny patent shoes run around holding hands, and gather shyly in small packs at the edge of the carnage appalled to see the animals they have been lovingly feeding in the basement about to become lunch. | Little girls all dolled-up in frills and bows and shiny patent shoes run around holding hands, and gather shyly in small packs at the edge of the carnage appalled to see the animals they have been lovingly feeding in the basement about to become lunch. |
| The idea is that as the animal's throat is cut each member of the family appropriates the sacrifice for their sins by putting a hand on the neck, but most children, particularly the girls, cannot be persuaded. The custom stems from Abraham and the all-but-sacrifice of his son, or so the story goes, but no one can really give a definitive answer when I press the question. Bbut it's a fine excuse to celebrate and to get together as a family. The festival advances 10 days every year, arriving 70 days after Eid, which celebrates with feasting Ramadan's 30 days of abstinence. This year is the first for a long time that the sacrificial blood has not landed poignantly on freshly fallen snow. | The idea is that as the animal's throat is cut each member of the family appropriates the sacrifice for their sins by putting a hand on the neck, but most children, particularly the girls, cannot be persuaded. The custom stems from Abraham and the all-but-sacrifice of his son, or so the story goes, but no one can really give a definitive answer when I press the question. Bbut it's a fine excuse to celebrate and to get together as a family. The festival advances 10 days every year, arriving 70 days after Eid, which celebrates with feasting Ramadan's 30 days of abstinence. This year is the first for a long time that the sacrificial blood has not landed poignantly on freshly fallen snow. |
| Our housing estate is no stranger to animal slaughter. We have a constant array of livestock paraded for dispatch every morning before dawn. Donkeys, usually banned as unclean are sold for their medicinal qualities, horses and yaks for the "heat'" of the meat, and the occasional camel too even makes its way to our lane for consumption. | Our housing estate is no stranger to animal slaughter. We have a constant array of livestock paraded for dispatch every morning before dawn. Donkeys, usually banned as unclean are sold for their medicinal qualities, horses and yaks for the "heat'" of the meat, and the occasional camel too even makes its way to our lane for consumption. |
| Passing mound after mound of sheepskins waiting for transport on the side of the road and stacked up inside the mosque gates, I have just returned from a stroll through the alleys where the market was bustling with last-minute shoppers. Dodging runaway sheep, I passed stall upon stall of fried noodles twisted and stacked five or six layers high and sweetmeats of every kind; I also passed gangs of youths in their Kurban best, young girls tottering on newly acquired high heels and family parties on their way to elders' homes. Trickles of blood meandered towards the gutter, pots of boiling mutton steamed in huge cauldrons, and the Abdul Elis of our neighbourhood were looking forward to the best trade they have had for months. | Passing mound after mound of sheepskins waiting for transport on the side of the road and stacked up inside the mosque gates, I have just returned from a stroll through the alleys where the market was bustling with last-minute shoppers. Dodging runaway sheep, I passed stall upon stall of fried noodles twisted and stacked five or six layers high and sweetmeats of every kind; I also passed gangs of youths in their Kurban best, young girls tottering on newly acquired high heels and family parties on their way to elders' homes. Trickles of blood meandered towards the gutter, pots of boiling mutton steamed in huge cauldrons, and the Abdul Elis of our neighbourhood were looking forward to the best trade they have had for months. |
| • Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a Letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions – they should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Please send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk | • Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a Letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions – they should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Please send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk |
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