Aqeeqah in Kuching...

My husband, baby and I went back to Kuching for 5 days in late May to visit my husband’s family and for the 'Aqiqah' ritual.

The trip was also to mark our last visit before we headed to Netherlands, or should I add 'supposedly' headed.

Aqiqah (or Aqeeqah, if you please) is an Islamic ritual which entails the sacrifice given by a family on the occasion of the birth of a son or a daughter. For a boy, two sheeps which meet the conditions for sacrifice should be slaughtered, and for a girl one sheep. The sheep should be slaughtered on the seventh day, but if it is delayed it is permissible to slaughter them at any time, and there is no sin in delaying it, but it is better to do it as soon as possible. The meat, raw or cooked, is distributed as follows: One third to charity and the remaining two thirds to be distributed amongst friends and relatives. It should be eaten, fed to people and given in charity.

Aqeeqah, which in Arabic means to cut and shred , also involves the cutting (or shaving in some circles) of the newborn’s hair, following which the hair will be weighed to its equivalent value in silver, which in turn will be given to the poor.

In Kuching, the ceremony started early in the morning with the “Marhaban”, a religious singing group reciting verses from the Quran and prayers in a sing-song manner, not dissimilar to the ‘chants’ in Christian tradition. The Marhaban is normally conducted by a group “specializing” in or is actively engaged in this particular field.

As the chants wound down, the three of us – my husband, Sadia and I – were ushered to be with the Marhaban group. Thereon, we had to circle the group during which selected members cut strands of Sadia’s hair and put them in a bowl of water. In some traditions, the hair will be scattered onto the juice of a young coconut which is pared opened for the occasion.

This followed by “tepung tawar”, consisting of “smearing” the forehead or head of the baby with “air kapur” or limestone paste. Lastly, the person “showered” the baby with fragrant cut flowers or “bunga rampai”. My husband and I were also “blessed” in similar way since it is customary in Kuching to fête those leaving for extended travel.

The Marhaban’s chanting which boomed over us, terrified Sadia and made her cry. The heat also compounded her discomfort over the whole proceeding. And of course, seeing her bawl led to my own brand of snivelling. I guess, any mother would feel helpless and sad when her own flesh and blood weeps. Or perhaps, it’s just me being too sensitive. :-)

By the time the ladies (selected ones – usually elderly matrons of the community and close relatives) took their turn to bless Sadia (and us on the sideline) by cutting, smearing and throwing ceremonial items on her, she had curled up, both hands clenched together to her face, her cheek wet with tears and her (and ours) body sweaty and grimy. Poor Sadia! At least it didn’t take as long as I had imagined.

This was followed by a “Kenduri” or “communal eating” where the host (in this case, my parents-in-law and immediate family) feasted on neighbors, relatives, friends and colleagues to a meal, which predominantly featured the “aqeeqah” meat, cooked to perfection by my sister-in-law and caterer extraordinaire.

After the hair-cutting ritual, I had to consoled Sadia first by nursing in the bedroom. Later, we showed her off to family and friends who have differing opinions on whose facial feature(s) Sadia takes from. The general consensus is that the upper half of Sadia's face (eyes and nose) takes after my husband and she has my plump, juicy lips. Hehe.

High noon shortly ensued. The three of us, travel weary from our journey the day before and worn out from the hectic Aqeeqah day, retreated to our sleeping quarter for a wonderful, rejuvenating siesta.