Guardian de la Nuit

"Well, if you see it, you will be killed."

In a matter-of-fact tone, our Beninese saftey and security officer told us what would happen if we happened to chance upon a certain special voodoo ceremonies during a specific month of the year in the northern part of the country. And so begins the fascination/fear relationship I'm developing with the local voodoo customs. First, let me be clear, voodoo is not the pin-in-the-eye-of-a-doll kind of evil witchcraft that hollywood purports it to be. On the contrary, one of the most interesting things thus far during my stay in Benin has been learning about the practice. But it is complicated, mysterious and most of all confusing.

The ceremony I mentioned above only occurs in the month of January. Women are not permitted at all to see it and only men who have been initiated with certain rites are allowed to gaze upon the men who are participating in the rituals. During this month, the news, television, radio, newspaper and even cars with loudspeakers all state loudly that during certain times on certain days the ceremonies will be taking place and those who are not initiated should not leave their homes or look out the window. If you happen to be outside, as far as I can tell from everyone I talked to, you will be confronted, asked certain questions to see if you have been initiated, and if you have not, you will be killed or sometimes they use the verb for disappear.

This ceremony only take place in a certain region in the north. More closer to home, in my town, Porto-Novo, a similar festival takes place during a limited part of the year. The same rules apply and a panel of local men told a group of male volunteers that if you are on the street at the night and see the procession, "it is obligatory that you are made to disappear".

ADDITIONALLY, as if that wasn't enough, 3-4 nights out of the week all year round, there is a "Guardian of the Night"--a man in dressed in a costume that looks like a hay stack with no legs hovering down the street--in each neighborhood roaming around neighborhood looking for trouble makers or the "uninitiated." Traditionally and to this day, this person (calls the guardian ancestral spirits), roams the neighborhood to prevent bandits or criminals from attacking the king (historically) or local community (today). Each quatier, or neighborhood, has 1-4 people who take turns playing this role. However, if you are not initiated and he sees you, he or the large number of the initiated children around him will give you a beating in the middle of the street. And don't think for a second that you can just run away because there is only one white guy in the neighborhood and everyone knows where you live. As he approaches he emits a sound that sounds like a low hum or moaning that warns of his approach. That way at least, the unitiated can avoid him. I can hear him at night as he passes by the house, down the bright red dirt roads of my neighborhood. I also live next to a voodoo house (that's what they call it in French) that is often full of drumming, chanting and sometimes screaming all night long.

Obviously, I'm kind of fascinated by the phenomenon and ask my dad all sorts of questions. Who is a the guardian? Do you know him? Where does he live? What happens to unsuspecting foreigners who don't know about this practice? Today my dad told me that he would take me to show me where the guardian lives. I said, "Great! Let's go!" We left the house and walked down the street to a huge dark concrete building about 25 meters long and 10 meters deep. In Benin, unless a structure is complete, one does not have to pay full property taxes. As a result, this building, like many others looked to be in the middle of its construction. The outside walls were a very dark splotchy grey that seemed almost burned in places. The building was surrounded by bananas trees, a pen for pigs, a pen for chickens, many goats roaming the yard and I group of women outside doing chores with babies on their backs. All in all, a very prosperous, yet ominous looking home.

We entered through a wooden gate in the compound wall, crossed the yard and entered the building. Inside it was pitch black aside from a small fluorescent lamp which cast a limited sterile glow over about a third of the rooms interior, revealing it was empty aside from a few chairs, dirt and debris. As we walked in deeper my dad took out his cell phone to light the way up a pitch black stairwell, at the bottom of which, I was startled to see a child sleeping on top of a pile of cardboard and clothing. At the top of the stairs I could see daylight peaking in through some upstairs windows but the lit the room enough for me to be more afraid of what I couldn't see. He moved towards a room that had a straw mat wedged in the doorway as if a cursory way of keeping out nosey children. He pulled out the mat, pushed at the door but it resisted as if something heavy was behind it. He shoved harder eventually dislodging whatever was behind it. As the door opened I could see just enough light to make a pile of something and something large just past the doorway. He shined he light on it to reveal the large freestanding costume of the Guardian of the Night. As I said, it is made to look exactly like a man sized stack of hay with two eyes slits in the front. It was big and part of me wasn't sure if someone was inside and half expected it to get up and walked toward me. On top of that, the general atmosphere of the abode already had, I'll admit, me scared shitless. The whole time I'm asking him questions and trying to act like I'm quite comfy there. Eventually we went downstairs and at the bottom ran in to this old lady that said, "Hey white guy!" in a very jovial voice. I thought recognized the voice until I realized that it was my host grandma, who is the only person in my family who calls me "white guy" (roughly translated). She doesn't speak French so I asked him what she was doing here and he says. Well she's lives here. So apparently, the Guardian of the Night, the hay stack that is going to kick my ass someday lives at my grandma's house.

C'est la vie.

Photo Shoot

Wow! Just broke out the digital camera today and my host brothers and sisters went absolutely bananas. I mean CRAZY. They loved so much to have their pictures taken. Jumping and squirming to see the photo. Disatisfied with the picture, they would arrange themselves for another with a flurry of yelling, gesturing and jostling for position followed immediately by the dawning of stoic expressions betraying nothing but the dignity they wish to project to the outside world. Most Beninese looks serious in their pictures but the children couldn't keep a straight face for long and the picture taking session turned in to total chaos. The children in this country really keep me going with their unbriddled joy with everything.

I spent the beginning of the day today in language class, but for the first time we had the afternoon off. I had been putting off taking my Peace Corps issued bicycle and helmet home from school because already I am a SPECTACLE walking down the street. The roads are all dirt with varying levels of passability, made worse by the rainy season. It is difficult to walk down the street without sending goats, birds and other animals scurrying from the commotion I create amongst the ubiquitous children on the street. Yovo, yovo (white person, white person)! Adults may say and all children will scream. "Bon sois, Yovo! Ca va?" I am evidently not the first because the local kids have a song to accompany my passing. They all will drop everything and sing as I walk by. "Yovo, yovo, bon sois! Yovo, yovo parlez-moi" (white person, white person, good evening. White person, white person talk to me). At the top of their lungs they will sing, dropping whatever their doing to come to the side of the road and sing. As I continue to walk down the street, soon enough the kids about 50 meters down hear the commotion and begin their own singing. And thus it continues as a progression of children screaming/singing at me the entire kilometer on the way home. This isn't an exageration or hyperbole. This afternoon I walked around the market with some other volunteers to similar acclaim.

Back to host brothers and sisters, there are 5, 2 boys and 3 girls aging 14 to 2. Until I broke out the camera tonigth the 2 year old was terrified of me. The others do not share such reservations and after a night of timidity, I have turned in to a walking jungle gym to the point that when I walk up to the house in the street, the middle three come running at me and literally jump through air in to the my arms, whether I'm ready or not. My siblings followed for for at least a kilometer this afternoon, running and pushing a old cart wheel as they went, their famiiarity creating a small gaggle of children around us. Wish I could attach pictures but internet is so slow it will not complete the upload of a file so big. I'll write more later on where I'm living.

John

Throw on that Hot Blanket

Landed a few days ago and Benin has been full of interesting sights, experiences and things to learn. Its the rainy season so the night we got here it was like a hot blanket was thrown over my shoulders. The humidity was heavy but not too much worse than DC. We taxied to the "gate" which was just some stairs that went down to the runway. Our plane was the only one visible at the airport that wasn't rusting and still had wheels on. Inside the customs/passport control was just a hot room with bright kind of colonial sky blue paint slightly peeling off the walls.

Exhausted our, group left the airport stepping in to heavy air ladened with scent of exhaust and the screening cheers of about 8 current volunteers who came to greet us. We left on a bus through the super crowded streets of Cotonou for a Catholic mission of sorts near the outskirts where we are staying. Not ten minutes in to the drive i witnessed my first traffic accident in Benin. The place we're staying is interesting and it has and pretty expansive grounds that seem to be home to a lot of other people that are staying here from other parts of West Africa, mainly people who fled the political turmoil in the Ivory Coast. There is no Internet and we've been mostly held up here undergoing trainings and orientations. We've only been in to town once to the main office to conduct our language interviews, which went surprisingly well. I was really surprised. My vocab and verb conjugation are bad, but I'm talkative and can work around most of my limitations. Im really surprised with how much i can communicate with the french I have and I think my accent makes me sound better than the content of what I'm saying. I ran in to a group of guys for Ivory Coast who fled the recent turmoil. Talking to them in French was like peering in a window of a whole new perspective and culture. I've never utilized another language this much before. I'm really excited to work on my French now.

Other than that, we spend a lot of time just getting oriented. We're a big group and as you can imagine, a group of 50 Americans on the street is a bit of a spectacle. It will be nice whm I'm posted to travel around solo.

Now to bed because we're leaving tomorrow at 630 am to practice navigating moto taxis and later to meet the ambassador, which should be interesting.