Modern day Togo and Benin are the joint homes of the Voodoo religion.
Voodoo is practised by about a fifth of the population, though rituals are enacted by many more, as back up to Islam and Christianity, and it is recognized as an official religion. The proper name is spelled Vodun (it means spirit in the Fon and Ewe languages), but it is also spelled Vodon, Vodoun, Vodou, Voudou, Voodoo, etc.) It is practised by the Fon people of Benin, and southern and central Togo (and areas of Ghana, and Nigeria.) West African voodoo is the main source of religions with similar names found in the Americas, especially in Haiti.
It is the height of Voodoo celebration time in Benin and Haiti, with the new year approaching. In addition, January 10 is the most important day on the Voodoo calendar, as it’s a Voodoo bank holiday inaugurated by Nice Phoresego, a president of Benin who was healed by Voodoo after being very ill when he first took up office. Voodoo is evident everywhere we travel, shrines and murals proliferate.. Red white and blue flags (air earth and fire) indicate that a priest is open for business. White flags on their own indicate a place where you may make a wish. Though you are expected to promise something (a goat or cow maybe) when the wish comes true and there will be big problems if you don’t pay your dues.
I've flown in from Abidjan in Cote D'ivoire. We visit the Akodessawa Fetish Market in Lomé before venturing along the coast of Togo, to see the Voodoo villages. Chinese markets are nothing on this. Just about every African animal in Africa is here dried or mummified: leopard skins, a lion’s head and paws, snakes bones and skin, baboons, lizards, bats, assorted birds, chameleon, hedgehogs and so on. My fetish guide, Mark, explains it all and then takes me to the priest, in a shrine, where I’m offered amulets to protect me while I’m travelling: for love, for business, for good health. It’s not a hard sell. I think Mark can tell by my face that I’m not up for making a purchase. The priest on duty here looks to be about nine and requests ‘un cadeaux’ as soon as the guide leaves us alone.
We’re hugging Lake Togo, which narrows to a sandy river estuary and a small harbour with a line of graceful beautifully painted pirogues. Noah says that they don’t fish on Tuesdays as that’s fish breeding day and the process shouldn’t be watched. And we’re almost at the Benin border (53 kilometres away) before we turn off, though Voodoo villages are interspersed with churches along the road, where the Portuguese bargained over the land. Voodoo temples and churches frequently face each other. There are numerous symbolic murals and the villages are guarded by leghbeh - specially decorated shrines; the statues or mounds inside have just discernible human features covered with wax, powder and sundry other offerings; there are often traces of blood. The objects are called fetishes (from the Portuguese for wood). Dead people are represented by mud mounds along village walls, with shells for features. A wooden peg is added for males. Each village also has numerous shrines (often one per house) in specially dedicated annexes. Calabash gourds abound. They are considered to be lucky, so are repaired if they break. Brides often keep one for each year of their marriage, hung in the bedroom.
The main object of interest, at our first visit, is the Voodoo hospital, presided over by priestesses. Wearing a white headscarf indicates that you are a priestess and know how to communicate properly with the shrine. You tell the priestess you have a problem, no details, and give them an object associated with you, for example hair or clothing. They take this and the nature of the illness will be revealed in a dream. The ladies then go out into the bush and search for the correct remedies. A ritual may also be necessary.
The whole village is participating in a thanksgiving Voodoo ceremony at the next stop. A cute little goat is tethered to a post outside the ceremonial arena with some fetishes alongside. I don’t realise for some time why it’s there. There is dancing to the rhythm of the drums - and several participants appear to fall into a trance becoming stiff and glassy eyed. This is a good omen.
Then the goat and a chicken are slaughtered. In deference to my sensibilities - thankfully - this takes place in a side room. The carcasses are then borne around the dance floor around the neck of those in a trance. At times they suck the blood and carry them in their teeth instead. The blood is also daubed on the sacred drums, which are only used for these ceremonies. Eventually the bodies are borne away to the kitchen. It’s possibly the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen.
I'm forced to join in with the dancing. apparently it's rude not to....everyone claps
Back along the coast to Benin. Lomé is right on the border with Ghana, so I’ve travelled the width of the country three times in 24 hours. Our first village in Benin has a shrine dedicated to twins. Twins are considered to be one person and very important. You never say a twin is dead – they are away visiting or carrying out some errand. They are remembered by placing identical dolls on display. The scarification marks on the face are the key identification feature here. In this house, one mother has triplets, even more significant.
Then I’m quickly watching a New Year ceremony. Here, anyone who has transgressed is identified by the mask, who knows without having to be told. It’s called a mask dance, but the raffia streamer covered shrouds are big enough to envelop the whole body. I say big enough. There is purportedly no one inside the masks. There are four of them entering at different times, whirling like Sufi dervishes to the drumbeats whilst a group of villagers dance in a circle alongside. I wish I could move like that.
The masks are sprinkled with powders and fed alcohol, and each has a separate denouement, where it is tipped over to reveal nothing underneath initially. At subsequent reveals, statues with moving parts, generally phallic, a low table laid with food and a heap of metallic raffia which grows into a tall wiggling tower - another fertility symbol under different masks. Noah insists it’s all mystic and that just the priests (only males allowed to be initiated) are privy to the secrets of how this is done. I expect David Copperfield would work it out. Again, it’s astonishing and fortunately I’m not singled out by the dancers.
I’m still with guide Noah and driver Kofi, who have driven me from Togo. Lunch at a beach restaurant at Grand Popo. The Portuguese named the town this, because it means big backside and refers to the local women. There’s another area called Petit Popo.
To Ouidah, the centre of Voodoo. First, the python temple where 50 (thankfully small) royal pythons reside, entwined together in a heap inside a concrete shrine. Unlike in most parts of the world, snakes in Benin are revered, particularly the Royal pythons. They even eat and sleep in people homes. They are believed to be ancestors of the local people, whose facial scarification reflects snake bite marks. (Incidentally, Noah tells me that scarification began to prevent kidnapping of babies a bit like cattle branding and it’s not solely for tribal identity purposes.) It’s thought to be lucky if you touch the pythons. Their skin is dry and warm.
Another village ceremony in Ouidah is a cross between fortune telling for the year ahead and a pantomime. The costumes are lavish and sequinned and there is much spinning and cavorting, whilst the villagers are threatened with a beating from wooden brooms. The figures engage in mock battles and sometimes end up prostrate on the ground. They are corralled by young men with sticks. The women and children watch in a group in front of the houses, scrambling through the windows to evade the whistling wood. The final figure to emerge brings blessings and lays his long hairy brush on people’s heads. He tells me (my translator says) that I’m going to have an excellent year. Everything I hope for will come true and I will find a husband. The brush is tickly.
Next, the Slave Coast at Ouidah.
The Sahara Desert covers 80 per cent of Algeria.
Algeria has a long history of invasion. It has been subject to rule by the Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, Ottomans and French over many years. Over a million Algerians were killed in the fight for independence from France in 1962 following colonisation in the nineteenth century.
Algeria has the third most important economy in the Middle East and North Africa, but many of its people are poor. The national rate of poverty in Algeria is reported as 23 percent.
The latest FCO bulletin on Algeria:
‘Terrorists are very likely to try to carry out attacks in Algeria, including kidnappings. Terrorist attacks have focussed on the Algerian state, but attacks could be indiscriminate and include foreigners. There’s also a risk that lone actors could target foreigners. You should be vigilant at all times and take additional security precautions, especially in: towns and cities; the southern, Libyan and Tunisian border areas; rural and mountainous areas in the north; and the Sahara.
The Algerian authorities devote considerable resources to the safety of foreign visitors. In cities there’s a clear security presence, which can feel intrusive. Authorities will want to know your travel plans when travelling outside major cities and may assign police or gendarmes to protect you.’
This is all entirely accurate. We have an armed guard most of the time in the desert. but no hint of trouble anywhere. The Algerians so far (except in airport queues) have been very gentle, polite and respectful. There is no hassle or belligerent selling. But there are very few tourists and not many souvenir stalls to promote anyway.
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