The moon lies on its back

In Dhaka, the moon lies on its back. It's funny, but sometimes just looking at the moon is the best reminder that I'm somewhere far away from the upright moon I grew up with.

There are, of course, other reminders. Like today for instance. Today is Eid-ul-Azha, the muslim festival of sacrifice. Not a day for the faint of heart. Or vegetarians.

In many other Muslim countries, I'm told, people sacrifice goats or sheep on this day. But in Bangladesh, they mainly sacrifice cows. Lots and lots of cows. The bigger the better. It's been suggested to me that this is done to spite their Hindu rivals, but I'm not sure that's true. Whatever the reason, cows have been on the move for the last few weeks - on trucks, in boats, being led down the road - ending up tied up on the sidewalk (where there are sidewalks) or inhabiting a patch of hay in the garage of many an apartment building. Ours had three temporary residents, all decked out in colourful decor, as is the custom here.

I got downstairs this morning just in time to see the last of the three having its throat slit. Its legs were tied up and there was a crowd of men gathered around holding it down. More men were already working on butchering the other two. There was blood everywhere that was being swept up in a dustpan by the young boy with the beautiful smile who works in the building. He grinned at me and exclaimed "Eid Mubarak!" Everyone was very calm and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

I shuddered as I watched the big brown beauty be sacrificed, but then, inexplicably, I was fine. In fact I got out my camera and took a few photos, just because I couldn't quite believe how incredible it all was.

As I made my way to a friend's for brunch, there were sacrifices taking place all around me. On the street outside most apartment buildings, a group of men on a bamboo mat could be found hacking a recently deceased cow into pieces. I remembered how I had puzzled over the bamboo mats and tree trunk rounds (chopping blocks) that had flooded the market the week before.

I saw cow heads being carried around, young children peering into hollow carcasses, trails of blood running down the streets, slain goats lying in the middle of the road and, everywhere, men in white kurta pyjamas and tupis, covered in blood, wielding massive knives. I was also surprised to pass two camels awaiting their fate. Sadly, what is meant to be a pious sacrifice has been converted into a display of wealth and status, and has unfortunate consequences for the poor who often feel compelled to spend beyond their means (after all, cows aren't cheap!).

This evening, my roommate came home and said that a crowd had formed outside our gate. Being the curious culture vulture that I am, I went downstairs to check it out. Indeed, there was a crowd of obviously poor people hanging off the gate who all flooded in when the guard opened it just a crack. They formed a line and each took a turn receiving a handful of cow bits from a man who was distributing the meat from a plastic bucket. Most of them put the raw meat into old cement bags, but some simply carried it off in their bare hands. About 80 people were offered meat from our building.

The custom of sharing the sacrifice with the poor is admirable, but at the same time emphasizes the great divide between rich and poor that I so dislike here. I took a stroll around the neighbourhood to check out this charitable ritual, wondering how it made people feel to go scavenging for their meat on this holy day...

As always, my daily encounters with poverty, culture and religion here leave me with lots to think about.