The Scent of Shared Feasts: Tabaski and Korité Through Christian Neighbours’ Eyes

It was still early when Awa heard the knock at the gate of her family compound in Ziguinchor. Her neighbour Moussa stood outside with a steaming plate of grilled mutton covered in foil, the first share of Tabaski from his household. Awa’s mother, a Catholic who had just returned from morning Mass, welcomed him with a smile and handed back a bowl of fresh hibiscus juice. In the next compound, children ran back and forth with sweets, and a cousin from Montreal called, missing the smell of grilled onions and the sound of shared prayer.

In these ordinary exchanges, the texts speak quietly. One passage says a true friend does not wait for easy days: “A friend loves at all times; and a brother is born for adversity.” Neighbourly love during the feasts is not a seasonal gesture but a steady presence. When a Muslim household is preparing for Korité after a month of fasting, Christian neighbours can share the joy without needing to celebrate the same ritual: “Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep.” The same line also invites us to weep with those who weep, because joy and sorrow belong to the whole street. And when tensions, tiredness or misunderstandings arise in crowded compounds, the counsel is plain: “If it is possible, as much as it is up to you, be at peace with all men.” That peace is built through small acts, not grand agreements.