Zemidjans and Voodoo dolls

Got up after a rather poor sleep on a thin mattress. The night’s sleep kept being interrupted by the gurgling of something in the bathroom, either the shower drain or the toilet, and it was accompanied by a rather foul smell, as though the toilet was burping sewage. Neither of us braved the shower.

We threw on our packs, bought some bread and headed in the direction of the market. The walk was slow and got more frustrating the closer we got to the hustle and bustle of the crowded market. Eventually we found a shared cab, which was stuffed with four people in the back and two in the front, a seating arrangement we came to realize was the norm.

Crossing the border took forever, and struck me as funny as you literally walk across. The driver dropped us at Awale Plage, about 5 km from the town, which turned out to be perfect. We ate like kings, some of the best (and most expensive) meals we’ve had, and lazed around the pool, having decided the surf was a little too strong for swimming. It was divine. Nice and relaxing.

On Saturday morning we packed up again after a morning dip and headed up the road to Ouidah, home of voodoo. It required our first foray on a zemidjan, the mopeds they use as individual taxis, as neither Togo nor Benin have any formal public transit system. They rely almost exclusively on taxis, zemis and, for long haul journeys north and south, long vans that fit more than 15 passengers.

Rhonda was petrified and to be honest, I wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of hopping on a motorbike with a heavy pack on my back. We bargained, though, and hopped on and zipped away down a cobbled road, Rhonda clutching her driver’s waist for dear life, me squeezing tighter and tighter with my thighs and creeping ever-forward with every bump.

The drivers didn’t know our hotel and ended up taking us to the beach, by the Door of No Return. Benin has a rather brutal slave history and lore has it that blacks sold to colonial masters – Portuguese, French, Dutch and English – were marched from the slave market in the middle of town down to the sandy beach. En route, about a kilometer from their destination, they were forced to walk around an enchanted tree that would make them forget their home and culture, that would make them passive and obedient. Women circled seven times, men circled nine. The four-kilometre route is now lined with voodoo symbols idolized by the various Abomey kings.

We took zemidjans back into town, found a hotel and wandered over to the Portuguese fort that is now a museum. It was actually fairly interesting, chronicling the king’s somewhat scary reign, his rather regrettable deals with the Europeans to trade his countrymen for cannons and rum. Apparently he had some 4,000 wives; 41 were buried with him.

From there we made the hot and sweaty path back down tot he beach, to the beautifully decorated door of no return. The beach was rather deserted and it was difficult to picture what it looked like 150 years ago when hundreds of naked men and women were led shackled to sea ships, where they were piled like firewood, the men face down to limit complaints and the women were chained face up so the ship’s crew could rape them with ease. It makes you feel a little sick.

We walked back and crashed for a while in our room, drinking water greedily. Dinner was a non-event: Rhonda had a tough and scrawny chicken that took too much effort to peel off the bone. We collapsed shortly after dinner and slept like stones.

The next morning we got up and walked with our packs to the Python temple – located across from the Catholic church – and took a rather expensive tour of the pythons’ home. The nest was loaded with pythons – about 50 in total. Rhonda posed with one wrapped about her neck, but I just couldn’t stomach the thought of having a giant snake wrapped around my throat, it’s little forked tongue slithering in and out. Yuck. The whole place was crawling with icky things, including a tree loaded with bats.

The Ouidah residents pray to pythons because one of their kings declared them sacred after they scattered from a forest as colonial invaders advanced. They had to be alerted by the vibrations but it gave the king enough warning he was able to mount a defense.

We walked with our packs to the main road and headed to Cotonou for supplies and Internet, figuring we would need groceries if we were going to meet up with the Peace Corps girls.