Backtrack: Voodoo
Trip Start
Jun 02, 2003
1
9
41
Trip End
Dec 31, 2006
Parakou,
Benin
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Life in N'Dali is still going well. I have been meeting more people and enjoying my time there. I taught my neighbors how to play Spades, and now we play it all the time. Some people already knew how; it is actually a popular game in Benin. Who knew?
School was supposed to start on October 2 (with people really showing up on Oct 6), but it has been pushed back due to teacher demands, strikes, or something or other. Hopefully, I will be in the classroom on October 13. I have WAY too much time on my hands right now, and I am eager to get teaching.
This past summer was so busy, and so much happened. I didn't get to write about everything, so I will try to tell a few old stories now. So, close your eyes, and imagine me back in Stage, a trainee in cross-culture classes learning about traditional medicine and voodoo... The following story is probably one of the most incredible, shocking, and slightly disturbing things I have seen since I have been in Stage, and I am going to borrow some words from a letter I wrote in order to capture it all.
We all filed into a classroom at Foyer de Jeunes Filles, slowly walking past tables full of plants and herbs and strange items. A man in full healer garb stood quietly next to the table waiting for us to form a circle around him. He began to talk about the different plants. This cures diabetes. This is good for a fever. Thuy, a stagiaire who probably knows more about herbs and plants than some botanists, asked questions and eagerly took notes. She told us what some of the plant names were in English, when no one else was able to translate. Finally, at the end of the session, came the demonstration we had all heard about from other volunteers.
Rigobert, our cross-culture facilitator, brought in a bag with two live chickens. One of them got out, and everyone ran around the classroom trying to catch it. I don't blame the chicken; I think I might have done the same thing, had I known what was coming. The geurrisseur asked for a volunteer, and Jay, a PCV who was working our stage, went up to the front to take place in the purifying ceremony. The healer explained that he could ask for a chicken to die in Jay's place and purify him, cure him of bad spirits. He told Jay to pick up a chicken and hold it. For the skeptics, the medicine man never once touched the chicken, and he was not the one to provide them for the demonstration. Rigobert had bought them from the market earlier that day.
Jay stood next to the healer, faced the audience, and held tightly to the struggling chicken. The guerrisseur stood next to him and began mumbling in another language (Fon?), then stopped to tell Jay not to hold onto the chicken so tight. He continued his prayer, and that was what it seemed like he was doing, praying. We all watched in silent anticipation. The chicken began to squawk. It jerked its head back and forth, squawking over and over again. Finally, it just opened its mouth to squawk, and nothing came out. It jerked some more. The traditional doctor told Jay to put the chicken on the ground, and the chicken lay there, took its last few breaths and jerks, and then died.
It was fascinating and sad and disturbing all at once. I remember looking at the other stagiaires shocked faces as the chicken took its last breaths. Hands covered their open mouths, eyes wide in horror. I'm sure I must have looked the same. How was this possible? To kill a chicken with a prayer, to ask the chicken to die for you? Unbelievable.
Anyway, ruminate on that and tell me what you think.
Must go celebrate a birthday now.
N Kuan Sosi!
Sista Suzy (as one of my Nigerian friends in N'Dali has named me)
