In a previous post, it was mentioned that Indonesia is “really really big”. Well, Africa is about 15 times bigger, and spectacularly diverse with thousands of ethnic groups. Yet, as a Westerner having visited one West African country and entering a second, it is impossible not to compare those countries to each other.
So here are my first impressions of Benin, compared to my experiences of Guinea*:
Chaotic airport in Cotonou like the one in Conakry, although a tad more modern and fresh. Equally crazy traffic, lots more motorcycles. Better roads, not as hilly, not as many gaping holes and roadblocks. The same huts of corrugated iron and wooden poles along the roads. The same red earth. The same smells of soil, heat and gasoline. Foam mattress just as bumpy.
And hot! Hotter than South-East Asia, maybe more humid too.
My visit to the little village of Grand-Popo, in the far western end of Benin, is the result of a chain of coincidences too long to explain here. The short version is that my dear friend Camilla, a musician from Finland, is about to marry Georges, a musician and multi-artist from Benin. Together, they are starting up a cultural centre in the village, to work with the local children and to develop their unique fusion of Western and West-African culture.** They have invited me to stay at the centre as a friend and bridesmaid-to-be. Camilla’s sister Jeanette and brother-in-law Jan are also here for part of my stay.
Lots of things happen during my two and a half weeks: the Grand Opening Concert of the Centre, a musical boat trip down the Mono river and back (with villagers running down to the shore to dance as we floated by), a New Year’s Eve celebration at the restaurant Saveurs d’Afrique (with Georges beating the countdown to midnight on his djembe), a concert at the Villa Karo main stage (with me in the dance troupe! video here), the international voodoo festival in Ouidah (more on that later), late night beach bonfires with music and dancing, making music videos with the band (numbers one and three on YouTube)…
Ataï on the Mono river.
Our floating orchestra heading back towards Grand-Popo.
But what most stays with me are the little moments in between. The hours spent in the garden – making and drinking ataï tea, watching Richard and Tanko create a marionette from scrap pieces of fabric and string, learning the seven-beat rhythm on maracas with Adja and Abdoulaye, talking to Gabin the artist. Slow walks down to the village street, under the hammering weight of the sun, to buy water and coal. The boom of Atlantic waves against the endless, empty beach, heard all over the village. Those hazy mornings when it seems like the world ends a couple hundred metres away. Looking up into the mosquito net at night, breathing, feeling life streaming through every cell in my body. Discussions about art, culture, spirituality, life.
Maybe it’s a difference in culture, maybe it arises from cultural clashes, maybe it’s a matter of spending every waking hour with artists and musicians – there is a spirituality here that is rare in my life otherwise. I noticed it in Guinea, too: talk of less worldly things, of good and bad, of how to live your life, of how to be a good person. Back home there are practical conversations, intellectual conversations, moral conversations, funny conversations – but there seems to be a vacuum around matters of the soul. Maybe my social circles are too secular for that. Maybe it’s part of the reason that happiness does not correlate with BNP.
On top of that, there’s so much good in the social culture here: you take care of each other, you make tiny resources go a long way, you get things to work in spite of seemingly impossible circumstances, you don’t complain. People wish you well: they say “Bon travail” if they walk by when you are writing in your diary, “Bon appétit” if you happen to be having lunch when they stop by, “Bon repos” if you say you’re going to take a nap.
Neighbourhood kids jamming in the garden. Adja on guitar, Richard on drums and vocals, Camilla on maracas. Sorry about the blown-out highlights, was learning to use my new camera…
As my previous African experiences, this one too was a journey into the artistic side of life. Bayonne had allowed me to reconnect with African dancing, and in Benin that connection was made stronger. It’s been a very private thing for me so far, and not something I’ve been wanting to show off in spite of more than ten years’ experience. Especially the improvisation part, which is central in the living dance culture of West Africa, has been difficult for me. Being able to follow choreographies is not the same thing as being able to come up with moves on the spot, with a circle of musicians and dancers watching.
But Camilla, with her insights in improvising on piano, helped me realize that improvisation needs to be practised. And Georges encouraged me that it’s time to take the next step, saying that if you keep pouring something into a glass, eventually it will flow over. So that’s how I left Benin: glass full, calm and excited at the same time, ready to move on. To what, exactly, remains to be seen.
The night before I left, we had a beach bonfire, with CLAN playing, Richard singing and playing the talking drum, and local kids dancing.
*According to the Failed States Index, Guinea is considerably less stable than Benin, especially when it comes to tensions between groups, corruption and lack of representativeness in government, and violation of human rights. Still, Benin struggles almost as much with poverty, public services such as education and infrastructure, and demographic pressures such as disease, malnutrition, and population growth.
**As this post is published, the centre is up and running, and accepting visitors.
On a ramble 