JEDDAH, 2 February 2004 — From early morning, streams of cars jammed the east end of Tahlia Street in Jeddah, passengers eager to be first into the “halaga”, the sheep and goat market, in order to buy their sacrificial animal. On the roadside leading into the market pens, small flocks of sheep and goats — some dun, some black and white, short and long hair — milled about. Beside them, lean shepherds kept them in order with crops made of colored string and a short stick. At opportune moments, the shepherds nimbly accosted any vehicle that slowed sufficiently to hint at a potential sale. Slender young men, extolling the virtues of their fattened sheep, lifted them bodily and thrust their heads through open windows of cars or grabbed at arms hanging from windows in a frenzy of selling and raw marketing.
Gathered in knots in the low slanting rays of the sun, around wheelbarrows imaginatively converted into mobile tea stalls, stood sterner looking men. Quietly smoking and chatting, they knew their moment was to come soon but not before a sweet tea and a flap of bread”
Hung about with an exotic selection of edged weapons, the “jazar”, or butcher, ready themselves for a busy day. Straight-backed and treated with deference by most of the shepherds, they stride purposefully through the swirling crowds when called or when they spot the sale of an animal that a customer wants slaughtered on the spot. As the day wears on, the smell of dust, fodder and dung mingles with the thick odor of blood as animals are sacrificed and then skinned. Still warm skins of sheep and goats are paraded for sale in heaped piles ready to be loaded onto waiting trucks.
Older and perhaps more established traders, deeper in the maze of pens, relax on bales of dry grass, their animals patiently waiting to be selected. None of the sales frenzy here; clients drift by in larger cars. Eye contact, a nod, a finger pointing and the deal is done. A flash of sunlight on a curve of highly polished paintwork and the customer and purchase have departed. On the perimeter, there is moderately controlled chaos. Frisky goats are loaded into the trunks of gleaming cars, wads of notes change hands and wide grins exchanged as bargains are sealed.
In the city, the animals stand bemused, once unloaded at their very temporary homes. If the buyer is not to sacrifice it, ancient cars with a couple of “jazars” to each patrol some of the more affluent suburbs. Car ports, fence posts — anywhere with a washable marble surface next to a road can serve as the sacrificial site. A prayer, a name pronounced, the flash of a knife and the sacrifice is made.
As sun sets, the streets fill with aromas of roasting or boiled mutton, bay leaves and spices. Doorways of apartment blocks and larger houses become alfresco dining rooms for the “haras” or doormen, many dressed in a new thobe or dhoti, bought especially for the holiday. The empty early evening streets are at peace, a tradition continues, a ritual part of the holy Haj season completed.
