A few villages in the northwest, near the Togo border, have a coming of age celebration for their boys. There just so happens to be a volunteer who lives in one of these villages and she invited us to come and join in the festivities.
La Fête de Chicotte or whipping fete occurs around the end of October every year and according to new country regulations they are now on weekends so children will no longer miss school. So early morning Saturday Oct. 25th the 14 of us who arrived the night before left in a van to go to a neighboring village. Tired and a bit groggy (we were ready by 6am) we arrived and were soon carried off to pass the time at the King’s home. It was said that he was well into his nineties, had several wives and dozens of children (I don’t really believe he could have been in his nineties… maybe, or maybe he just felt that old; without birth certificates no one really knows). We were given choc, a local beer made from millet; drinking at 8 am is actually a common occurrence in country.
At the sounds of drums we parted from “his majesty” and went to a small opening where the men were arriving from the different corners of the village, each wearing a specific attire to represent their allegiances as well as their year in participation: first, second, third or completed. The men of all ages, even the 5 year olds, formed a revolving circle around the drums. Their feet were wrapped in a type of bangle that contained small beads which produced a rattle when their feet hit the ground with force. The stomping fell into the rhythm of the drums, controlled, without rushing as they concentrated on their contests to come. Surrounding them were the retirees: fathers, older brothers, uncles… there to give support and guidance; they also happened to be dressed in drag looking better than most women could in a mini-skirt.
Once enough people had gathered the whipping began. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. It was heard all over. The drums stopped and the men dueled with whoever was closest to them, a sort of musical chairs. Each gave two flicks of the whip while their opponent protected themselves with a make shift shield that was really a long stick with a handle at the middle. This could only suffice a bit and the blood became to seep from define lines of where the whip had cut into the flesh of the arm or back. The opponent was then given their chance of two whips. Crack, crack. The supporters sometimes had to step in to prevent a continuation of frapping when the contestants would get caught up in the moment. The drums would start up again and the men would fall into their circle, each time it grew larger as more arrived.
This was just the warm up. From there we followed the mob to the soccer field. It became difficult to see with the whole village there and everyone trying to get a glimpse. Women supported their brothers, boyfriends and sons. Little boys eyed them and stood just a bit taller, anticipating their day to come. Here at the arena only two at a time dueled and this was more of a presentation for the King and other elders. Crack, crack. I could only see with my ears, but that was enough. Crack, crack. It didn’t last long, maybe until 10; but I’m sure the fete-ing lasted the duration of the day.
We returned back to Kate’s house and awaited the festivities to come on Sunday. So we passed the time with a bit of Cranium and just enjoyed each other’s company catching up from the last time we saw one another. That night the boys began getting ready by making trips to all the houses. We would hear them coming from the distance, chanting in a way that represented the mood for this fete, almost with a dreadful ring, perhaps it was just my imagination for I couldn’t understand any of what was being said. Some just chanted “l’argent, l’argent” or “money, money” but we gave them candy. This lasted for hours. It was after 10pm and most had gone to bed and the chanting had died down a bit. A few of us were left on the terrace setting up our beds; outside is the best place to sleep to feel the coolness that comes with the setting of the sun. All settled in, (trying not to worry about scorpions after we just killed one) and already drifting into sleep I could hear chanted. Louder and louder it came. They were really close to the house I knew, but it wasn’t until Megan exclaimed something that I sat up. The gate was hinged closed; but that didn’t create any type of hesitation. I was taken aback to see a line of teenage boys in costume chanted and stomping their feet up on the terrace. It was almost scary. We had to shoo them back off the porch and give them candy before they would depart. Luckily we slept afterwards without any more visitors, neither boys nor scorpions. The whole night resembled a version of Halloween and it just so happened that Halloween wasn’t that far away.
Again we arose early. Grabbed some power bars donated by Lindsey who was finishing up her service and headed down the road. We waited for the men to arrive. After some time, they began to approach from one end with the rising sun at their back. In front of us they joined the others who gave from the opposite end and veered off into an overgrown patch, trampling the weeds and creating an opening. It turned into one big free for all. There was no order. Just the snapping and cracking of whips. They still maintained the two hit rule, but that was one of the few similarities than the day before.
Down the road was another mob of people that we joined. There was no set place for combaters or observers, so we were continuously changing our position trying to avoid getting in the way. But with this we could also get better views. At one point I watched a younger boy in a spar with a much older, intense man (probably late teens, early twenties). The elder didn’t block the boy’s hits (I also noticed the whip was changed to one with less power) but he sure did give it back. The younger blocked himself well, but I was memorized by this teaching moment between, what I like to believe, bothers.
Each battle was finished by the retired men, probably family members, they grabbed the tips of the whips and promenaded the contenders around until meeting up with someone else to challenge. It was a horde of half dressed men either in drag or loin clothes, multitudes of whips, cheering women and more baby powder than… well I’m not sure what but the white dusting on black skin gave an effect to the scenery .
From there we gathered at an arena where the battles would be presented in front of the King. Being Kate’s home we were given front row seats. I only regret not getting a video at this great opportunity. Being up close without a rumble of people I had the ultimate experience. Crack, crack went the whips. Muscles rippled as the men both took and received the forceful strikes of the whip without a slightest wince when the sharpness cut through the unprotected skin creating a dark red strip that would without a doubt leave a scar.
Again like the day before, it didn’t last long and we soon went to the King’s house. There we drank chouc again. But this time a whip was given to Heidi and Rut who each took turns flicking their arms to hit the shield of the opponent, giving the villagers a little spectacle in return. I was surprised when the whip was handed off to me and eager at the chance as well. Crack, crack. I didn’t hold back knowing that my inexperience was something the man in front of me could handle. It was exhilarating. I could fully understand how one could receive a hit and not cringe, so much adrenaline the pain wouldn’t start until the day after. No worries, I didn’t receive any hits in return. It wasn’t that I was a wimp; I just didn’t have a shield.
We bid our farewells and thanks to the King and shortly took off in different directions to our villages or towns around Benin. The cultural weekend was definitely a highlight and I’m glad I had the chance undergo this experience.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
On the Other Side of Togo
Wow, I can’t believe it’s already December and I have yet written about… well anything lately. I will try to bring you up to date with what’s been going on with me here in Benin. I’ll start with my trip to Ghana….
While I was in Porto Norvo as a trainee for the new volunteers this past summer, I randomly struck up a conversation with Emily who was also working and getting ready to COS (Close of Service). We got on the topic of her COS trip and after a while it was decided that I would join her and Adrienne on the beginning of their trip, I would go to Ghana with them.
To get ready for the trip all I needed to do was get VISAs for Togo and Ghana, and luckily it didn’t take more than 2 hassle free days. Before leaving I had to work the last week of the training which ended with the newbies Swearing In as volunteers and a celebration for the 40th Anniversary of Peace Corps Benin. Adrienne and Emily accompanied me the last night of working stage (the training) and we took off early the next morning.
The taxi picked us up at the house we were staying in, not a usual occurrence. The taxi was also a very nice, very new BMW; the only BMW I have every sat in actually and we were the only ones in it besides the driver. This is not the norm of travelling. Usually the 4 door sedans are packed with 4-6 adults in the back (that doesn’t include children) and 4 in the front including the driver (one time there were five- all adults). If you’re having trouble imagining this, there is someone who shares the driver’s seat an d straddles the stick shift, a seat I absolute refuse to sit in (it’s not for the ladies). Doors only open from either the inside or the outside, never both. Window knobs have been taken off to squeeze in more people and therefore a tool is needed to roll them down, if available. It’s normal that the car needs to be pushed, forward or backwards in order to start and sometimes a 2 hour ride can turn into almost 4 with multiple stops to let people out or pick others up. So this spacious BMW with only the three of us was a nice way to start our vacation.
Travelling from Benin’s capital to the Togo/Ghana boarder only took a few hours, Togo is not very big. After crossing the border we took a tro-tro, a van/ minibus which tend to be reasonably spacious, took us into Accra. Arriving in Accra was like being back in the states. There were highways, billboards, cars not being held up by duck tap, designated places for trash, I could keep going. It’s was amazing the contrast of development from Benin, which I had just left only a few hours ago, to Ghana; a country leading the way to development in West Africa.
So what does one do when arriving into a city that resembles America? Eat of course! We headed straight for the Sports Bar “Champs.” Just your typical sports bar, flat screen TV showing the latest in sports, pitchers of beer and pool tables, it wasn’t surprising the other customers were either tourists or expats. The menu was overwhelming at first, more than my normal choices of pâte, yam pile or rice. Even writing this entry 3 months later I still remembered everything I ate on the trip… kind of pathetic I know.
In Accra we went to the Artisan Market where we saw most of the same crafts found in Benin, fabricated for tourists but interesting no less. We even meet someone from Burkina and shared a few words in French, something that made his day, enough in fact to give us petite cadeaux. Adrienne hooked us up with a drummer, Liman, who at first seemed a pest, but she gave him a chance and luckily so because he gave the three of us a drumming lesson. I love to drum! The rhythm comes easy to me and I could get lost in the beat. At one point he told me that I hit the drum like I would my boyfriend who cheated on me. He got that right.
That night we met up with some other Benin volunteers who also happened to be in Accra to celebrate Adrienne’s birthday. It was decided to go for pizza. I can get lost describing the food, but you have to understand going a year with real cheese only on occasion, less than once a month, you’ll remember when you get it again. I had a pizza with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, etc. We topped the evening off with ice cream, yum!
The next day we headed out to Cape Coast. We soon found out that with the nice highways, pickpocketers come as a package deal. In Benin I haven’t had any problems with pickpocketers, normally I give the driver my bag, he puts it in the back and I don’t have to think about it again. In Accra, people were all over us, so much that locals took it upon themselves to look after us, one actually rode the few hours with my bag on top of her lap. It was sweet and amusing, I had taken precautions already with my bag to avoid such problems, but sometimes you can’t refuse help.
After our first night in Cape Coast we met an incredible woman from Washington State, Kathryn Roe. She lives in Cape Coast for 6-8 months out of the year helping students with school contributions in order to graduate with a high school diploma. The time she spends in the states is to raise awareness and get people to sponsor students. She has more students than sponsors, an easy thing to occur when so many are in need. You should check out her website, www.nas.com/africa, she is one of the few expats that understands the reality in making a contribution to the lives here, most people just give money to build a school or orphanage not thinking of the need or someone to run it afterwards, a concept that makes me bang my head every time I’m asked for money, presents, a ticket to the United States, etc. Kathryn is no stranger and understands the workings inside and out, giving her time above all else to provide the opportunity to deserving students in order to have a chance at an education.
Meeting Kathryn was definitely a highlight. Not only is she inspiring, she gave advice as to what we should see in the area and had us over for meals more than once, in which we would get into a conversations that were hard to cease. So in Cape Coast we went to the Kakum National Park and walk along the canopy walkways. Not sure how high up they we were or even what purpose they served, but they were very very high and luckily none of us were afraid of heights. We also visited the slave castles where the Portuguese and eventually the British had captured/ bought slaves and packed them like sardines into rooms for months on end with food given once a month in order to continue their dreaded lives. Women were picked out like animals in order to serve the wants of the European governor whose chamber was above their dungeon. Standing in the room where the women were kept, the only light shines from the door window, I looked around me and even though this castle has been abandoned centuries ago, I had the feeling that the walls and floors were still soiled with the blood, sweat, urine, feces and tears of the poor souls entrapped there. I’m not usually a sentimental person (as my friends know I don’t normally cry in movies) but I felt the presence there and I can’t begin to understand what human being could put another through such terrors.
Our time in Cape Coast was brief and I would love to go back for a longer duration. Take some drumming or traditional dance lessons, go to the neighboring towns for traditional ceremonies; who knows?
Next on our stop was Kumasi. We stayed at the Peace Corps Workstation at a time where Ghanaian Volunteers were also making use of the place to stay. One of them took us out to her village 3 hours away. Because of the distance we only stayed there for a night. It was nice to see the similarities between PC Benin and Ghana as well as the differences. Her village was more like Benin than what we saw in Accra, no electricity, running water, etc. Yet the houses, being a Habit for Humanity community, were set up in resemblance to the suburbs. People had lawns and property was finely distinguished between neighbors. Also a side note: Ghanaians in this area hang up their clean underwear to dry outside; this past year my underwear has been hung up on my mosquito net for it is not okay in Benin to let them dry outside.
On our way back to Kumasi, we stopped and got what was said to be the best pizza in Ghana. I couldn’t argue. The fresh veggies and mozzarella cheese won me over. Kumasi was a headache trying to get around. We went to an Ashanti Kingdom museum to see the artifacts of the Ashanti Kings who are known for their gold. But we couldn’t find the sword in the stone, really there is a sword stuck in a stone that is said will bring upon bad luck to whoever removes it. This is so strongly believed that they built a hospital around it instead of removing it. We also became adventurous and went to the market which is said to be the largest of West Africa. The hassle and bustle was enough after spending only an hour we bought some batiks made in the area and headed back to the workstation.
The next day I took the trip back to Accra by myself while Adrienne and Emily continued their trip around West Africa. You could guess what I did once I got back to Accra… yup I ate! More specifically hamburgers, ice cream and coffee, yummy! I also met some English girls staying in the hostel with me so I joined them for dinner and listened as they reminisced about their past 6 weeks living in Ghana and how much they were looking forward to going home.
On my way back to Benin I was not as lucky to get into another BMW. Instead in Lomé I was greeted with the typical taxi and the typical wait for it to fill up with passengers. During the wait women came up to the car selling everything you could imagine and the women waiting with me just kept buying for the sole sake that the items were cheaper. I even took part buying clothes for my 1 year old neighbor. It was a bonding moment as well as a true cultural experience seeing the three of us, all from different countries with different languages and all sharing in the joys of shopping, a true trait among women.
My 12 day trip to Ghana was a nice experience that has only expanded my taste for travelling. I’ve already set my calendar for my Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger trip…
While I was in Porto Norvo as a trainee for the new volunteers this past summer, I randomly struck up a conversation with Emily who was also working and getting ready to COS (Close of Service). We got on the topic of her COS trip and after a while it was decided that I would join her and Adrienne on the beginning of their trip, I would go to Ghana with them.
To get ready for the trip all I needed to do was get VISAs for Togo and Ghana, and luckily it didn’t take more than 2 hassle free days. Before leaving I had to work the last week of the training which ended with the newbies Swearing In as volunteers and a celebration for the 40th Anniversary of Peace Corps Benin. Adrienne and Emily accompanied me the last night of working stage (the training) and we took off early the next morning.
The taxi picked us up at the house we were staying in, not a usual occurrence. The taxi was also a very nice, very new BMW; the only BMW I have every sat in actually and we were the only ones in it besides the driver. This is not the norm of travelling. Usually the 4 door sedans are packed with 4-6 adults in the back (that doesn’t include children) and 4 in the front including the driver (one time there were five- all adults). If you’re having trouble imagining this, there is someone who shares the driver’s seat an d straddles the stick shift, a seat I absolute refuse to sit in (it’s not for the ladies). Doors only open from either the inside or the outside, never both. Window knobs have been taken off to squeeze in more people and therefore a tool is needed to roll them down, if available. It’s normal that the car needs to be pushed, forward or backwards in order to start and sometimes a 2 hour ride can turn into almost 4 with multiple stops to let people out or pick others up. So this spacious BMW with only the three of us was a nice way to start our vacation.
Travelling from Benin’s capital to the Togo/Ghana boarder only took a few hours, Togo is not very big. After crossing the border we took a tro-tro, a van/ minibus which tend to be reasonably spacious, took us into Accra. Arriving in Accra was like being back in the states. There were highways, billboards, cars not being held up by duck tap, designated places for trash, I could keep going. It’s was amazing the contrast of development from Benin, which I had just left only a few hours ago, to Ghana; a country leading the way to development in West Africa.
So what does one do when arriving into a city that resembles America? Eat of course! We headed straight for the Sports Bar “Champs.” Just your typical sports bar, flat screen TV showing the latest in sports, pitchers of beer and pool tables, it wasn’t surprising the other customers were either tourists or expats. The menu was overwhelming at first, more than my normal choices of pâte, yam pile or rice. Even writing this entry 3 months later I still remembered everything I ate on the trip… kind of pathetic I know.
In Accra we went to the Artisan Market where we saw most of the same crafts found in Benin, fabricated for tourists but interesting no less. We even meet someone from Burkina and shared a few words in French, something that made his day, enough in fact to give us petite cadeaux. Adrienne hooked us up with a drummer, Liman, who at first seemed a pest, but she gave him a chance and luckily so because he gave the three of us a drumming lesson. I love to drum! The rhythm comes easy to me and I could get lost in the beat. At one point he told me that I hit the drum like I would my boyfriend who cheated on me. He got that right.
That night we met up with some other Benin volunteers who also happened to be in Accra to celebrate Adrienne’s birthday. It was decided to go for pizza. I can get lost describing the food, but you have to understand going a year with real cheese only on occasion, less than once a month, you’ll remember when you get it again. I had a pizza with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, etc. We topped the evening off with ice cream, yum!
The next day we headed out to Cape Coast. We soon found out that with the nice highways, pickpocketers come as a package deal. In Benin I haven’t had any problems with pickpocketers, normally I give the driver my bag, he puts it in the back and I don’t have to think about it again. In Accra, people were all over us, so much that locals took it upon themselves to look after us, one actually rode the few hours with my bag on top of her lap. It was sweet and amusing, I had taken precautions already with my bag to avoid such problems, but sometimes you can’t refuse help.
After our first night in Cape Coast we met an incredible woman from Washington State, Kathryn Roe. She lives in Cape Coast for 6-8 months out of the year helping students with school contributions in order to graduate with a high school diploma. The time she spends in the states is to raise awareness and get people to sponsor students. She has more students than sponsors, an easy thing to occur when so many are in need. You should check out her website, www.nas.com/africa, she is one of the few expats that understands the reality in making a contribution to the lives here, most people just give money to build a school or orphanage not thinking of the need or someone to run it afterwards, a concept that makes me bang my head every time I’m asked for money, presents, a ticket to the United States, etc. Kathryn is no stranger and understands the workings inside and out, giving her time above all else to provide the opportunity to deserving students in order to have a chance at an education.
Meeting Kathryn was definitely a highlight. Not only is she inspiring, she gave advice as to what we should see in the area and had us over for meals more than once, in which we would get into a conversations that were hard to cease. So in Cape Coast we went to the Kakum National Park and walk along the canopy walkways. Not sure how high up they we were or even what purpose they served, but they were very very high and luckily none of us were afraid of heights. We also visited the slave castles where the Portuguese and eventually the British had captured/ bought slaves and packed them like sardines into rooms for months on end with food given once a month in order to continue their dreaded lives. Women were picked out like animals in order to serve the wants of the European governor whose chamber was above their dungeon. Standing in the room where the women were kept, the only light shines from the door window, I looked around me and even though this castle has been abandoned centuries ago, I had the feeling that the walls and floors were still soiled with the blood, sweat, urine, feces and tears of the poor souls entrapped there. I’m not usually a sentimental person (as my friends know I don’t normally cry in movies) but I felt the presence there and I can’t begin to understand what human being could put another through such terrors.
Our time in Cape Coast was brief and I would love to go back for a longer duration. Take some drumming or traditional dance lessons, go to the neighboring towns for traditional ceremonies; who knows?
Next on our stop was Kumasi. We stayed at the Peace Corps Workstation at a time where Ghanaian Volunteers were also making use of the place to stay. One of them took us out to her village 3 hours away. Because of the distance we only stayed there for a night. It was nice to see the similarities between PC Benin and Ghana as well as the differences. Her village was more like Benin than what we saw in Accra, no electricity, running water, etc. Yet the houses, being a Habit for Humanity community, were set up in resemblance to the suburbs. People had lawns and property was finely distinguished between neighbors. Also a side note: Ghanaians in this area hang up their clean underwear to dry outside; this past year my underwear has been hung up on my mosquito net for it is not okay in Benin to let them dry outside.
On our way back to Kumasi, we stopped and got what was said to be the best pizza in Ghana. I couldn’t argue. The fresh veggies and mozzarella cheese won me over. Kumasi was a headache trying to get around. We went to an Ashanti Kingdom museum to see the artifacts of the Ashanti Kings who are known for their gold. But we couldn’t find the sword in the stone, really there is a sword stuck in a stone that is said will bring upon bad luck to whoever removes it. This is so strongly believed that they built a hospital around it instead of removing it. We also became adventurous and went to the market which is said to be the largest of West Africa. The hassle and bustle was enough after spending only an hour we bought some batiks made in the area and headed back to the workstation.
The next day I took the trip back to Accra by myself while Adrienne and Emily continued their trip around West Africa. You could guess what I did once I got back to Accra… yup I ate! More specifically hamburgers, ice cream and coffee, yummy! I also met some English girls staying in the hostel with me so I joined them for dinner and listened as they reminisced about their past 6 weeks living in Ghana and how much they were looking forward to going home.
On my way back to Benin I was not as lucky to get into another BMW. Instead in Lomé I was greeted with the typical taxi and the typical wait for it to fill up with passengers. During the wait women came up to the car selling everything you could imagine and the women waiting with me just kept buying for the sole sake that the items were cheaper. I even took part buying clothes for my 1 year old neighbor. It was a bonding moment as well as a true cultural experience seeing the three of us, all from different countries with different languages and all sharing in the joys of shopping, a true trait among women.
My 12 day trip to Ghana was a nice experience that has only expanded my taste for travelling. I’ve already set my calendar for my Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger trip…
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