La Fete et Le Fello (The Party and The Mountain)

During the second week of December is the Fete de Tabaski here in Guinea and in other Muslim countries. This is a celebration in honor of Abraham’s sacrifice of his first son. As the story goes, when Abraham thought he had sacrificed his son, he removed his blindfold and God had saved his son and instead, Abraham has sacrificed a ram. Today, Muslims celebrate this miracle by sacrificing a goat and sharing it with their family and friends. The weekend before the celebration was a busy one; people were cleaning their homes, sending kids to the markets, washing their finest clothes, and getting their hair done. The fete was typical of a December holiday celebration; it was all about family and food. Family members came in from all corners of the world for the fete. The man who built my house was there; he is a finance banker in Conakry. I met him Sunday morning; he was wearing his typical African garb with a pair of Chuck Taylors – when I saw those I knew we would get along just fine. He has traveled all over the world and was such a fun man to talk with. He was in the first class of students in my village back in 1960. There were 125 students that year in his class. Seven of them ended up going to University, and most of the seven were back in the village for the fete. They joked and laughed like old friends do.

I met all sorts of other interesting people. The first President of the Assembly of Guinea, Mr. Boubacar Biro Diallo, has a home in my village and he, along with his children, were there for the fete. His son is a surgeon in Paris. Mr. Diallo warmly welcomed me into the celebration. The village’s “patron,” or wealthy man who takes care of the village, was also in town. All of the professors of the school took a photo with him; he told me about a man who teaches Pular in Boston. My favorite person I met was the patron’s grandma. She was a weathered old woman who was so kind and spunky. When I responded to her questions in a way that she liked, she’d do a fun celebratory dance.

All of this started Monday morning with a prayer. Everyone, dressed up for the party, left their homes around 11am for prayer. There isn’t enough room at the Mosque for everyone so the prayer was outside in a field. After a half hour or so, the party began. Certain homes were the hosts and everyone wanders around the courtyards of the homes, eating, saying hello, catching up. This experience was much more enjoyable than the end of Ramadan fete that was the second day I was in the village; now I have the ladies to chat with, the old men who continue their running joke of taking me as their third or fourth wife, my students who say hello, and little kids who know me by name rather than staring like I am from another planet.

After the day of the partying, I wondered were the goats were. I didn’t see any sacrificing but did eat a lot of meat, so thought perhaps the sacrifices were done at the Mosque or somewhere else then men go but the ladies do not. I was wrong. The fete did not end Monday as was explained to me. After I arrived to an empty school Tuesday morning, I went home to find two goats tied to trees in my compound and the men giving them a bath to prepare them for the sacrifice. A large group of the old men of the village wandered from compound to compound sacrificing goats. I sat on my front porch all morning watching all of the “fete, day 2” activities go on. The women cooked all day while taking breaks to go and visit other women here and there. The men either worked on the goats or stood around giving orders to the young men learning how to properly skin the goats and divide the meat. Everyone drank tea, ate lots of Guinean treats, and enjoyed each other’s company. I liked fete day 2 just as much as the real fete. My village does not have a “night club” that consists of loud music and dancing until all hours but for the fete there were dances at the school from 10pm to 4am on Monday and Tuesday nights; I showed up to school Wednesday to five seventh graders. We did the homework they didn’t do over the fete and called it a day. When I would see my other students, later in the day after they had woken up, I’d ask them were they were. The reply, “Madame, the fete,” in a tone that was “come on, this is the most exciting three days of the year here. Really?”

A tradition for the teachers and students is to climb our mountain at the end of the day on the second day of the fete. I had been wanting to climb it and was excited about the tradition. From the top we could see all of the villages tucked into the mountains (and we had really good phone service!) The view was gorgeous. The kids packed picnics and hung out all day. It was a nice way to end the celebrating. The only regret I have was that I had left my camera in the city at Thanksgiving.