Sambatra, a cultural experience

Who can say they've been to the largest circumcision party in the world?

Well, I can. But I probably won't say it that often. 

Sambatra begins and carries on through the month of October. It happens every seven years in Mananjary, on the South East coast of Madagascar. These are the Atamboaka tribe.

Apparently, after the actual circumcision, the boys are dressed in red dresses with three white strips on the wrists. They then sit on a dead omby (cow) heads to represent their pathway into manhood.

We arrived late in October as we were told, "when all the action happens". And I'm not saying we wanted to go to see a bunch of penises chopped (excuse the bluntness) but we wanted to see the culture of it all, the traditions, the set up, the process of it all. Because, I mean if it happens every seven years, that means you might have a seven year old getting circumcised, having waited so long, meaning this was a huge party and a big deal to wait that long! So, we did what we were told. Unfortunately, we left the day before it got really festive.

We saw a lot of "parade" like happenings. Which was actually really cool to see. Hundreds of people that claim to all be in the same families gathered around each afternoon and marched around the "tranobes" (the big houses, not literally but typically known to be well known houses with some history to them) and so you have women with their hair done in braids and wearing some amazing traditional clothes singing and holding up bottles of alcohol and Coca Cola. And the men, the men had some pretty cool traditional cloths on as well, all holding skinny sticks that at times would strike eachother in an attempt to look like a fight. They blew into omby horns and large seashells to create war like alarming sounds. They would chant and at times scream. All while making circles around these four houses. 

I had the honor of going inside one of the houses during the "parades". I'm not sure I was welcomed by all though, mainly because I was practically dragged inside by a drunk women (who, might I add, said was the owner of the house) and so I went along with the chanting and singing, even though I had no idea what was being said. I swayed my hips and tapped my feet and laughed when I thought I ought and left when I definitely knew I overstayed my visit. 

It was fun. Exhilarating. Being in it. Experiencing a tradition that we don't celebrate. Don't get me wrong, most of the weekend besides these two afternoons was spent drinking, swimming and catching up with the 50 or so Peace Corps' Volunteers that all gathered in one place, but it was nice to be in the place that so many people came to celebrate.