The Wild, Wild West of China
By: Cherie Gilmour
Tags: China, Travel, Culture, Religion

The Wild, Wild West of China

Sheep guts and prayer in a volatile region

Photo by: author

There are places you visit which are so beyond your frame of reference that recalling them is like scrambling for fragments of a dream.

Visiting Xinjiang Province during a teaching stint in China was that place for me. Among whispers of terrorism and ‘re-education camps’ there was much mystery surrounding this province with one Chinese teacher telling me I would probably get stabbed because they all carry knives.

They — was the Uighur minority who populate Xinjiang and migrate all over China. With Turkish heritage, they’re often selling fresh hot naan on sidewalks and lamb skewers with Sichuan spices.

My Aunt and Uncle were living up there, learning the language and culture so I caught a train 2,700 km across China to see them.

This is from my journal:

A blustering wind whips through stony dirty streets carrying a plastic bag American Beauty-style into the sky. The mountains lie on the horizon like sleeping crocodiles, snow covering the peaks like white beanies.

I’m in the colourful city of Urumqi, fortuitously in time for Korban (or Eid al-Adha). People line up for fresh naan bread, baked on every street corner in large tandoor ovens. Bazaars full of brightly sequinned clothes and furs are busy with shoppers eagerly purchasing new outfits for the festival.

Photo by: author

The only reminder I’m still in China is the frequency of Chinese character street signs. Depending which part of the city you’re in, the signs change from Chinese to Arabic script, sometimes the two together. The only other hint of tension is the time difference, half the city operating off Beijing standard time, the other two hours behind.

Korban is the second biggest festival on the Muslim calendar; sheep are killed in the morning followed by a feast, celebrating Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Ishmael, before God intervened and provided a sheep instead.

Fathers and sons rugged up with brown-fur hats push and pull their bleating martyrs through streets towards their spiritual destiny. Some sheep jump awkwardly, trying to free themselves from captivity; ‘woolly jumpers’ my Uncle dubs them.

They have administrative red marks on their backs and heads, some with white material tied around their horns with numbers displayed clearly. We were quoted 1000 RMB for a sacrificial sheep, although further research indicates they sell anywhere from 650–950 RMB.

A buzz of excitement fills the air as shuddering sheep carcasses line the streets in front of graffiti-covered walls. Strong pungent smells cut through the wind.

Four men stand around a knife sharpener, watching sparks fly. Shaggy sheep in brown and black and cream tied to trees, writhe and cry, others stand silently accepting their fate. A woman sits on the dusty ground, a potato sack spread out in front of her, choice vegetables neatly arranged.

Nearby, a cow stands alone in a mosque of speckled blue tiles observing the festivities, unaware that its fate is that of the sheep whose bodies sprawl out in various stages of disembowelment, like freshly shucked oysters; white internal organs exposed. Shockingly bright blood lies in pools among the dirt and stone walls, two small children with bloodied hands giggle down the street.

The men bow their hatted heads low praying, hands clasped, before they wrestle the sheep to the ground, stretch its neck and slit it in one deft action. ‘We kill sheep for God. If there is meat left we give it to the poor,’ one man says. We pass a decapitated sheep head facing the heavens, eyes open in stunned awe.

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The whole spectacle is fascinating; it’s difficult to look, but even more difficult to look away. There is a sense of the sacred among the earthy smells and sights of carnage, a celebration of life in death; a culture coming alive for the day. (7th November, 2011)

In the news from time to time, something about Xinjiang Province pricks my attention, often accompanied by the words ‘terrorism’ or ‘civil unrest’. Two days ago there was a report on mosques being destroyed in the region during Ramadan.

The Communist government views any religion as a threat so continued tension is inevitable. I think back to my brief visit and the faces I saw, the richness of culture and religion in that celebration. I am wildly ill-equipped to make comment on their plight but hope for the best.

One day I will tell my daughter about the time I travelled across the world and found familiarity in the rituals of a foreign culture. That no matter where you go there will be feasting and family and observance of tradition. That people are fundamentally friendly and there is much goodness to be found in a world of bad news.