Christmas

Last year for Christmas I stayed in my village in order to partake in the festivities with my neighbors. I soon discovered that Christmas is mostly just a fete for the children who go around door to door in search of candy (sound familiar? Halloween perhaps?). So this year when my friend, Jazz, invited me to his father’s home I accepted.

Jazz (I’m pretty sure he gave himself the nickname), was a student last year in my village and would often be at the health center studying. He passed the BPEC (equivalent to 10th grade graduation) and therefore moved to a nearby town to continue his education. Before he left in August he had invited me to his father’s home for Christmas. What was so special about this invitation is that his father is a Charlatan or Voodoo Priest and I was told that dozens of people come the week of Christmas to see him.

I hadn’t seen Jazz since he left, but through sporadic minute phone calls we made plans to meet at his sister’s, Bridgetta, place in Bohicon. When I got there, despite the fact I had come from lunch, she fed me and insisted I take a nap. I decided it was easier to agree and I curled up on the floor of her coiffure shop and slept a bit. Jazz in the meantime left to go to his father’s where family matters were being discussed. I could have slept longer but I wanted to visit with Bridgetta before the festivities began (she has very limited French so really I just watched as she tressed or braided hair).

Jazz came back and we headed out to his father’s which wasn’t far from the main road, but remote in many ways. Upon arrival we were greeted by the 3rd wife of his father who in accordance to the culture gave us some water and as I took a sip apologized for the fact that it came not from a pump, but from a well; oh well. After introductions I was shown around the village. As we walked around, the closeness of the houses to one another gave me the feeling of being inside a maze, not knowing what each turn would lead to. It was communal living to a T. Everyone was related to Jazz in some way, quite a few were brothers or sisters (I once heard his father has over 20 children with 3 wives), while others were uncles or aunts who watched him grow up and were thrilled to see him.

We came back to the main house of his father were Jazz’s mother began to make up some Nescafe (in honor of the Yovo). His father remained in one of his fetish rooms where he had been since morning, fasting the entire time. Jazz and I sat around waiting for the festivities to begin. I was told it would be around 7. However around 10 I gave into my tiredness. I squirmed in a hard wooden chair trying to get comfortable, regretting that I didn’t take advantage of Bridgetts’s floor. Then I moved to the bench that Jazz had recently vacated and napped just a little before I was beckoned by the Charlatan.

Women are not allowed to wear shirts in the fetish room. So I wrapped myself in a pagne or 2 meters of fabric and took off my shoes before entering not realizing that I would spend the rest of the night just as I were. In the room I was given a seat and watched as one of the sons would pray/ read horoscopes by the knocking of a few pebbles and reading their meaning as the fell in front of him. Men, women and children alike sat in front of him. To my left along the wall sat a woman who had already gone through menopause and 3 girls who haven’t yet experience menarche or the age of womanhood. They were dressed in white and I never got the full story of their significance.

As midnight approached the drum began it’s call. We were given candles and gathered outside. Everyone began chanting to the beat of the drum which I felt under my skin, running through my veins. The drummer didn’t give into the arising excitement and stayed consisted, controlled. Boom, boom. And we were off. Following the Voodoo Priest and the 4 girls dressed in white we went down a path, lit by the trail of candles at hand. It wasn’t a short walk, but the path beneath my bare feet was well travelled. We halted at a fetish shrine and I placed my candle in the sand that surrounded along with everyone else’s.

I soon learned that even the Voodoo Priests forget things at times; he or whoever was responsible forgot the goat that would be sacrificed. Luckily there were other things to be done as well…

It began with a distribution of kola nuts. I watched the others begin to rub the kola nuts along their faces, and I was instructed to do the same. The exact reasoning I’m not sure of, but I think it has something to do with giving all my bad spirits to the nut, a reoccurring theme for the evening. The nuts were then placed into a white circle with a star in the middle where the Charlatan said words that I didn’t understand but watched intuitively nonetheless.
Trying to reflect upon the evening now, things seem a bit hazy, probably due to the lateness of the evening and the tiredness that had come over me. I have to look at my pictures to in order to remember what came next. The goat finally made its way. One man grabbed the animal by its hooves and proceeded to touch it against the foreheads, mine included and I was the only one who cringed at the thought of touching this filthy goat to a part of my face, but I was not about to refuse when they were being so accepting of me there. Then wack! The goat was banged on the ground, twice. No slitting of throats as one may think of when talking about sacrifices. The goat they received stomps by everyone. Women made their children touch the animal and I was told I must do the same in order to give all the badness of this past year to the goat so it wouldn’t come with me into the next year.

From the goat came the chicken and the same deal, except we didn’t have to step on it. The sacrifices were then placed into a pit that was dug during the process. Starting with the men, people crowded the pit while their heads were washed with water (I fully participated in everything!). The water that dripped down their faces glistened in the candle light.

We were well into the night and my exhaustion was obvious. Bridgetta, being the mother that she is, took responsibility for me and made a spot for me on a mat along with the others (mostly just the old or young) to rest a bit. There was a wait to get horoscopes read. Men and boys went first. One by one they would kneel in front of the fetish shrine and waited for the Priest to predict the future with his stones and experience. Bridgetta brought me over for our horoscope reading. And then our heads were washed again, the water drained into the shrine leaving us cleansed. I later asked what my horoscope was. I was told this next year things would be fine, but Bridgetta would have to make a sacrifice to avoid dangers in this upcoming year.

Being concerned, Bridgetta sent me and Jazz away, but I assured them I could wait until everyone else had their horoscopes read. It didn’t take much longer and we were on our way back. We no longer had candles so I stuck closer to Jazz, following his steps until we got back to his father’s. I could see everyone was getting ready to celebrate; music was playing, dancing started. I however was dead to the world, it was 4am. I was led to someone’s home where I was given a bed and Bridgetta helped me tuck in my mosquito net. When I first got into country I would have felt off guarded by the situation, sleeping in someone else’s bed, taking a bucket shower, etc. However at this moment I was at ease with my surroundings, completely comfortable, reflecting in what I had just experienced.