This was the text message that I received from my friend Lucy, on a warm Saturday Afternoon in October. It was a difficult offer to resist. The party was to celebrate the circumcision of the two-year old son of her landlord and would be catered by the chef from our favourite brunch place.
But circumcision holds a history of trauma in my brain, having notoriously passed out in a Religious Studies class at school at the tender age of eleven, when watching a circumcision video in a lesson on Judaism, and having been subsequently reminded of this for the rest of my secondary school life
"Will there be any circumcision done at the BBQ?"
"God, I hope not"
I was sold.
In Islamic culture, unlike Judaism, there is no set time limit on this magical rite of passage. Apparently there are no direct laws regarding it at all in the Qur'an, although the practice is widely and routinely carried out. Kindness and parental guilt seems to dictate that it is done in Tunisia while the child is still a toddler, but in some Eastern Islamic cultures, it is done as an adolescent rite o passage, similar to some Bantu tribes in Africa.
Being British, I come from a culture where circumcision is quite rare, and the idea of having a party to celebrate it seemed a bit bizarre. But, of course, I was happy to celebrate along with little Hedi, who had already has to op' and was prancing around is a little sparkly suit, happy to have all the attention. And, he had a lovely cake, which was, almost certainly, taller than him.
No comments:
Post a Comment