Palaces, Fetishes, and Water Villages!

This weekend had an extra day stapled to the end making it a three day weekend. I added one more with a personal day to make it a four day weekend. A month back I had taken a gamble and signed up for a four day trip to the neighboring country of Benin. It was a risk because on the school calendar we had estimated the Muslim holiday to fall on the 20th not the 9th. Our school officially announced the new date of the 9th the Thursday before. I get frustrated with our inability to accurately predict this date but really it's the moons fault since the holiday is based on it's appearance or something along those lines. I wont pretend to understand.

I was waiting on the side of the road outside my compound at 6:40 with my light weight Eagle Creek suitcase packed with five sets of clothes, two pairs of sandals, the necessary toiletries and smushed down feather pillow. Jane and Les Wood were going to pick me up on our way to 29 Ikoyi Road where we met the other 19 ventures. I was by far the youngest and the only one who didn't work in oil or have a spouse working in oil. However, this group of random people were connected with one thing, a love for adventure. The whole four days were sprinkled with stories about their recent trips and foreign living adventures. We also compared our benefit packages and number of vacation days or the threat of recession and the tightening of budgets. Our group got along so well and I was pleasantly surprised with the dynamics of the group. We all thoroughly enjoyed each others company, conversation and opinions.

We drove from Lagos to the boarder which took around 2 hours because it was early in the morning. The roads were clear. Norm had arranged for a company van to take us to the border. I was so grateful for that border because it meant a bathroom! After my trip to Ibadan two weeks ago I got a urinary tract infection and had been taking antibiotics to fight it. Now it had started to show signs of returning. I was even debating at the border whether I should go or return with the bus and escort and two others who had to return due to single entry visas. I had nightmare memories of Tanzania and Kenya. Of being stuck on public buses with cold and hot sweats praying for the next bathroom stop to be sooner than later. I decided to go.

We presented our evidence of yellow fever vaccination along with our passport and after two hours were all loaded into two different buses with our luggage piled on top and kept down with a net. Our guide Eugene sat in front. It took us a couple more hours to get to a local bar where we were refreshed with cold beers, soda and water and the use of a hole toilet.

EUGENE

We had heard that the palace we were wanting to visit tomorrow had a fire and was under construction so our guide Eugene arranged for us to go to one close by just in case tomorrows plans didn't work out. We paid 5000 CFA to see get a tour of the small palace. The highlights were the explanations of the bas relief that showed they symbol of each late king.


This bas relief was used to symbolize the unity it took to run a kingdom. Many fingers are needed to keep the holes plugged.


Also on the way to the city of Abomey we stopped at a recently built museum and were lead around to tree and holes. The tree was a baobab tree and it was believed to house a spirit. Offerings were made to this tree and if an important decision needed to be made the locals would come for an omen or sign of direction. This was common all over Benin as this country is known for it's fetishes and Voodoo. A fetish is an ordinary object that has been imbued with a sacred power. Voodoo is every day life for them.

We walked further down the path to the hole that during the war could house 80 people with food and supplies. The hole would be surrounded by bushes for camouflage and another layer to keep the snakes away. These holes were only discovered when they were recently expanding the road. We all climbed down to get a better look.


Hot, sweaty, and exhausted we arrived at our hotel called Chez Monique. On the drive we had been warned that it was a low budget economy hotel with a room fan and self contained rooms but no AC. But when we got there the place was lovely and even better than the presidential suite I had stayed in the weekend before. The grounds were a spread of trees and there was art work on every tree and gazebo.


The second day of our trip we went to tour two palaces. At one time this kingdom in Abomey used to have 12 palaces. Each time a new king was sworn in he would build a new kingdom next to the previous. Currently there is only 2 palaces remaining because when the French conquered King Behanzin destroyed the rest even killing his own mother. We got a thorough tour of the palace of King Gilele. We saw the walls made of human blood, the bas relief art that explained the history of the kingdoms, and King Ghezo's throne built on four skulls to symbolize his conquest and domination. The tour was lead by Rose and given in French but was translated by Barbara who I shared a room with. It was fascinating to hear about the traditions and history of this central city. Unfortunately no cameras were allowed on the tour as they believe the artifacts are spiritual. However, I did get some pictures of a local weaving art that was being done in the outer courtyard.



Like mentioned before Benin's history and current daily practices are saturated with voodoo beliefs. Driving through the villages you see flags in different colors indicating a voodoo doctor or shrine. I saw painted on walls rainbow pythons with twisted tongued around babies. We walked through a fetish market and were lead to the back were there was a bird of prey in a shoebox wire cage, a skittery chipmunk and after they peeled back the layers of dusty tarps were skulls of any imaginable animal. The stench of death wafted up and there was an overall feeling of doom and heaviness. However, not all the market carried this moroseness. Most of the markets was lively and active. The tables held piles of metal bolts, baggies of salt, or heaps of fishing nets.




On the third day we left central Benin and headed south to Grand Popo. To do this we boarded a train and chugged through the countryside of lush green, burnt fields and dirt pathways. As our train approached children would run out to greet us, wildly waving with both hands and shouting something either in French or their tribal dialect. The train ride was fast paced and the rushing wind kept us cool. We stopped a couple of times to deliver bulging bags of coal or to call ahead to clear the train track from other trains. Our third stop was for lunch. All of our meals far outweigh any of the meals I've had in Lagos. This one was delicious as well with spicy rice and sweet tomato sauce with a side of fish and a little spoon of green chilies.As always we had pineapple, mango or papaya for dessert.



I heard that we had an hour to go so I reclaimed my new favorite spot on the dresser and started to journal about the days events. I noticed it was unusually quite and that there was no one else around but I thought perhaps every one was in the second train car. I preferred the first one that was more open and was the original built in 1922. One of the attendants came around and was raising the windows. When he came to mine I asked him why he was doing this. But, it's really necessary to speak at least a little French because no one speaks English here. Through gesturing and hand signals I asked him to keep mine down. Then in the distance I heard my name being called and I stuck my head out the window to see everyone gathered around the buses and waiting for me! I had no idea the next hour drive was going to be on the buses instead of the train. Our travels on the train were over. I sheepishly gathered my belongings and joined the group who jokingly poked fun at my oblivion.



We drove for another hour to the city of Grand Popo which is known for it's ideal spots for relaxing on the ocean sands. And once we got there this is exactly what we did. I changed into my suit, dipped for a brief moment in the pool and sat under the low arch of a thatched roof while journaling. That night we had dinner on the beach under a full moon and lightning flashing behind clouds. We were entertained by local musicians on drums and maracas.



To take full advantage of the last day on the way to the border we stopped by a silt village. This was an amazing site as every day activities such as the market, getting to school and work, and church are all held on the water. Even weddings are held on the water in the boats. Each family typically has four boats. One for the men, women, boys and girls. Children being to paddle boats at age 2. While we were coming into the village we were taught about the two seasons on the water. The high season which is just three months of the year and is also when the water is sweet. And the low season which is the remaining nine months of the year which is when the water is salty. During the high water season there is a plague of water lilies which reduces the 60 available species of fish down to 3 species. This community is built around fishing which means the markets open at 4:00 in the morning to provide the fishermen with food for the day. Each family has their water property and have net fences to harvest the fish. While we were coming in the children we taking a lunch break from school. It's remarkable to see young children around the ages of 6 and 7 steering a long wooden boat filled with other children all plaid in their school uniforms.




Even after insisting to Eugene and the water guide about leaving the village at 1:30 getting us to the border at 3:00 we still were late. We got to the border around 4:00. By 5:00 with passports re-stamped we loaded our company bus and were thrilled with the sweet blows of AC. At the border I watched in disgust as Nigerians would hand over some 20 nira bills along with their passport to get back into Nigeria. I know that it's just part of life here but it just doesn't sit right with me. The small form of corruption points to bigger issues with bigger price tags. I had brought out my ink pen to fill in my entry card and the clerk took a liking to it. I let him use it but when I went to gather it from him before stepping into my third line he gave me a smile and said he wanted to use it to write with. I just gave him a look of disgust and acted disappointed, but then I realized that I wasn't acting at all. This really was how I genuinely felt about this tradition of a little dash here a little dash there.

At the border I finally had reception so I called Mark. He asked how my trip was and I told him it was wonderful but I'll show him the pictures and tell him the story hopefully later that night. But, this didn't happen because he was flying out that night to Vancouver. His flight left at 11:00 meaning he had to leave around 7:30 to get there in time. He found out on Saturday that he had to leave on Tuesday due to a French visa he needed to get. He had tried to call me but my phone didn't work in Benin. The whole bus ride home I tried to distract myself from thinking about this. Distract myself from getting sad about not getting to say goodbye. Distract myself from getting angry about his crazy work schedule and life that leaves me in lurches with little answers. We talked a couple of times before he flew out that night but still I miss him terribly already. We don't know when he will be back in Nigeria.