Awang’s Korban

“Uniting the Muslim people so that they can understand what sacrifice means, and can also feel that they are caring for society.”

It is one of the most well-known stories ever told, a story common to Islam, Judaism and Christianity, passed down through the most famous texts ever written. The languages and the details change but the essence remains the same. It is the story of Ibrahim, the man called upon by Allah to sacrifice his son, a sacrifice willingly entered into until, at the last moment, the boy is spared and a ram substituted. It asks what sacrifice you would be prepared to make if demanded of you. It harnesses the great themes of trust, of devotion, of loyalty and the greatest theme of all: life and death.

This story is at the heart of Eid Al Adha, Eid Qurban (Korban) or the Festival of the Sacrifice. It is named Hari Raya Haji here in Malaysia as it coincides annually with the Hajj pilgrimage from Medina to Mecca. According to Ahmad Awang Ali, a goat farmer from Kampung Tambirat in Samarahan, close to three million animals are sacrificed in Mecca over the festival, their meat distributed throughout Saudi Arabia and even its neighbouring nations.

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It is easy to focus on the idea of death in Hari Raya Haji. For the week before the festival, tethered livestock can be seen in every mosque courtyard, awaiting their fate, and trucks rumble past carrying yet more to their final destination. In Kampung Tambirat alone, more than ten cows will give up their lives to feed the faithful, the needy and their friends.

For those of us divorced from the realities of farming and food production, it is indeed gruesome. A sharp knife, a swift slash, and then a brief yet eternal minute as the animal dies. There is blood, bone and flesh on display and media feeds are full for days of the more gratuitous elements of Korban. But, perhaps, this discomfort is simply the growing debate in the modern world of ‘to eat or not to eat’ meat and how that meat is treated. According to a recent article in the UK’s Independent newspaper, the Vegan Muslim initiative is campaigning against this aspect of the festival and controls are being placed on slaughter sites worldwide in the interests of public health.

The sacrificial knife lies ready as the kampung prepare. It must be sharp and the sacrifice must be quick and respectful

The community members look on from the seclusion of the masjid.

Several men from the community pitch in to make sure the sacrifice is as swift and seamless as possible

Meanwhile, the women have prepared a wonderful feast for the community to share

But, for Awang in Sarawak, this moment is nothing more than the ugly necessity of feeding a community. And for him, this is a worthy sacrifice. A devout Muslim, he is the person charged with performing the act of Korban at his masjid (mosque). He has been through the requisite training and the proper procedure is of great importance to him – a healthy animal of appropriate age, a sharp blade, a thorough clean up and, most importantly, gentle and respectful treatment of the animal by a gentle and respectful audience. He oversees the process with an iron hand, directing his assistants in every aspect. Even so, as soon as the deed is done, he steps away for a moment of quiet solitude, the heartbreak fleetingly etched on his features.

The usually smiling Awang turns away in a moment of sadness, his duty already done

The cow can feed many families and it is divided up expertly between the sponsors and the needy

He takes no part as the cow is swiftly and expertly divided into its component cuts. The only exception is when the heart is removed and weighed; from its weight, the total amount of meat is estimated. In the end, he proudly announces that, on this occasion, there was ‘enough for 80 people: orphans, single mothers, widows, old folks.’

A healthy animal of appropriate age, a sharp blade, a thorough clean up and, most importantly, gentle and respectful treatment of the animal by a gentle and respectful audience

This is Awang’s primary concern. Awang is a lifelong activist, focusing on food security and land rights and this choice has not been without its own sacrifice. Top of his class, he was sent to school in Kuching, earmarked for scholarships and the fast track to a comfortable life. His father had been a day labourer in a coconut plantation, a hard life that Awang could easily have avoided. But on his return to his kampung, he found that their Nipah groves had all been bulldozed, his community losing out on important additional income and resources.

His decision to fight defined his life. It lead him through a few spells in lockup and a charge of illegal assembly, but he still describes it as his first success story. In the end, compensation was awarded to his community and Awang himself was launched on a long life of struggle and sacrifice, campaigning for free and fair elections, freedom of expression and also food security. But, just as importantly, he used some of his own compensation money to buy himself a pair of Boer goats, shipped in from Australia. From that pair, he now has a herd of 70, for milk and for meat, though still largely supplied for breeding stock.

Awang Ahmad Ali - activist, goat farmer, devout Muslim - at home in Kampung Tambirat

He has a complex range of reactions to the festival. “Korban is part of the Muslim teaching,” he says. “As a Muslim, I have to believe what has been taught by the Prophet.” But when it comes to his own flock, he admits that he limits the number he is willing to let go for the festival, only 4 or 5 this year. “Sometimes I am sad and my tears come out. You sell the goats that have been with you for years…. But, in another sense, I am proud. I am helping people to get what they need.”

He insists on explaining the significance of Korban to all his customers, so that ‘they don’t just waste their time and their money.’ For his own goats that end up intended for Korban, he stipulates that they must be slaughtered ‘elsewhere’. He simply doesn’t want to see it. “They are like my pets,” he says. He even quietly and hurriedly admits to only letting go of the goats whose personalities ‘do not quite fit’ with his. The favoured sons of his flock remain with him.

Awang truly loves his goats and sending them for Korban is often too great a sacrifice

Awang's flock has grown to over 70 head with four newborns this month

A gratuitous goat shot as it is simply impossible to have too many images of goats

Awang admits that his goats are more like pets

At his own masjid, he has advised only the Korban of cows. He explains that a camel is the preferred option in the faith. But ‘camels aren’t so easy to find in Malaysia,’ he says wryly. In the Middle East, where camels are an important aspect of culture, a sheep is often the chosen one. In Sarawak, while a goat is aspirational, a cow can feed more people, says Awang.

For him, the lessons in Korban are clear: hadiah (gift) for the rich and sedekah (alms) for the needy. This is a way of “uniting the Muslim people so that they can understand what sacrifice means,’’ he says “and can also feel that they are caring for society,” something Awang knows a great deal about. For the three days of the festival, members of the community gather at the masjid to share food and also welcome friends and family to their homes to share the feast of korban. For Awang, this feast should also be shared with non-Muslims. “This is the lovely thing about Sarawak,” he says.

The sacrifices of Korban remain an inextricable part of life in Sarawak. In a land where lifestyles are simple for many, but food still relatively plentiful, Awang places additional emphasis on the idea of sharing, the lifeblood of maintaining community ties. In his life of sacrifice, every death must be given purpose. But meanwhile, his flock continues to grow.