Greetings...I'm but a humble grasshopper, but I'll be your guide for this brief visual tour of Master David's life here in Benin. I've been living in his backyard spying on him for some time, and although you should never trust a man with red eyes, (or an insect, I suppose,) I tell you, I've got the inside scoop...
I gather he lives a rags to riches to rags to riches lifestyle, pulling water from a well and eating gelatinous corn with his hand during the week......................
..........................and luxuriating in an ex-pat lap of luxury on weekends.
I heard tell he had the great luck to be invited up north to a village near the togolese border for what he later described as "an unforgettable cultural experience--whose intensity nearly made me pee my pants."
Apparently young males engage in a yearly rite of passage in which they flog one another with whips of leather or, more traditionally, vines from the bush. "Fete de chicote", or "whipping fete" is a perennial favorite of volunteers who perhaps find in its raw intensity something quintessentially "African". There is hooting, hollering, drum-beating and chouk(millet beer) -drinking all night to give the young men sufficient courage. One who shows pain or fear on the field of "battle" will bring shame to himself, his family, and his neighborhood.
Older men who have finished with the ritual help to "officiate" the exchanges of blows which usually are delivered in groups of three for each young man. Others dress in miniskirts, bras, tight, short shorts and other feminine attire to encourage the manliness of their younger brothers. This was one of David's favorite aspests of the event, fraternity expressed in drag.There are three years of whippers. First-years wear a band around the shin. Second years sport one on the bicep, while third years have the honor of coiffing themselves with a pair of horns.
With whistles, elaborate costumes headdresses, and terrifying grimaces and theatrics, the young warriors do their best to intimidate one another, and the result is quite stimulating for the spectators.
This one speaks for itself...
These are ogun, spirits of the Fon Vodoun tradiotion, gathered for the opening of a newly-renovated palace in my friends village. Closely "guarded" by men with sticks, they chase the spectators around or demand a gift of a few coins. Being a Yovo and sticking out like a sore thumb, I was of course hit up for some loose change. This is all accompanied by intense drumming and singing of course...
After the Ogun left, the couple hundred spectators were squeezed into to palace courtyard to listen to Alekpehanhou, the king of Zenli music, and maybe the most celebrated Beninese traditional musician. The dancing was great, as was the drumming and singing, although I think at least half of his appeal was lost on us Yovos. He improvised words for about two hours, weaving narratives with praise, allegory with humor, and captivating everybody. There was about thirty minutes of going around singing about the crowd, praising them and putting them on the spot for a contribution, not unlike what goes on in union square if you gather around the breakdancers.
I rehearse regularly with these guys. Sometimes we practice on the beach, too.
Last weekend I celebrated my birthday in style on the beach with a few friends. The boy cut us up some fresh coconuts. Afterwards I played next door in a beachfront "bar" with a group of a dozen or so percussionists and a few dancers. It was kind of pan-African, not exclusively Beninese, and they were pretty intense.
Just some super-cute neighborhood girls...
