Ashura
 The Festival of Ashura took place over several days and marks the martyrdom of the grandson of Muhammed Husayn ibn Ali at the battle of Karbala in the year 680. In previous years I have avoided the huge crowds heading into the souq, but I felt this year I wanted to savour the atmosphere despite the warnings of some embassies to avoid large crowds. I went in on Thursday evening and returned again on Saturday evening. I appreciated the warmth of welcome- Ebrahim, a complete stranger, took me by the hand and led me round several stalls; the generous hospitality –there were kitchens preparing a great variety of foods and many stalls with sweets and coffee; and the family feel of the festival with women, children and men thronging the streets. I asked the police whether they had experienced any trouble, but they said: No trouble! which is hardly how it has been for the past few weeks.
What surprised me most for a religion that does not approve of images was how many pictures there were. In some ways it reminded me of processions of saints through the streets in Roman Catholic countries: there were colourful and very graphic pictures of the death of Husayn and his family, there were bands playing somber music, there were different floats. There were also candles, and I was invited to light one and to make a prayer. The most disturbing part of the festival, and I was rather closer than I intended, was the self-flagellation: the beating of the backs with chains and the cutting of the tops of heads with a sword. …Let my shame go where it doth deserve |
