While living in Porto-Novo with my host family I went to a handful of funerals. Now, that might sound weird to you, but let me explain. In Benin, they call funerals ‘ceremonies’, which can also be defined as a ‘fete’. In French, that would be the equivalent of calling this funeral a ‘party’. Every weekend I would see my papa getting dressed up to go to a minimum of three fetes (usually a Saturday). I accompanied my papa at least three times and the night before I left to post the entire family went to three different ceremonies. It felt like we were funeral-crashers since there were like 15 of us and we would sit down, eat, drink, and bounce.
Anyway, today I went to one of the first funerals where I actually had a reason to go. The mama that lives next door to me (henceforth referred to as ‘my mama’) recently told me that her grandmother had passed away. She actually seemed pretty upset by it so I stood outside with her, holding her hand for a good five minutes, not saying anything and not looking at her. I’ve become really good at that. Just look in the distance and think about something else. Usually I think about what I’m going to eat later or things I need to take care of. I swear, I’m not heartless, it is just something that I’ve learned to do because a lot of social interactions here requires you to just sit and stare.
The following day my mama showed me the tissue (the cloth) that the family would be wearing for the ceremony and she told me that six meters cost 4.500 CFA (approximately 9 dollars). I considered this for a few seconds and told her I would be more than happy to buy it. The next day she asked me if I was going to give the cloth to a tailor to have some traditional clothes made. I assured her that I would. To make sure that I was actually invited to the ceremony I discussed the situation with Emile (my friend who sells gas). He assured me that it was her way of inviting me. My mama confirmed this by asking me, “You will be coming with us tomorrow, right?”
The actual event was a lot crazier since I got to see some of the behind-the-scenes action going on. First off, I was told to be ready by 9 in the morning. I figured I had until at least 9:30 to get ready, so after washing my clothes I started reading a book. Two hundred pages and four hours later my neighbor knocks on my door to ask me if I’m ready. Finally, after picking up his older brother, the village chief, and a random woman we were off. We stopped on the side of the road where I saw my mama and all her friends bringing out an insane amount of food to put in the back of the car. Everyone was all prettied up but I knew that my mama and her friends had been working since the night before making food (I hadn’t seen my mama since yesterday morning). Once our car was loaded, we jammed to a small village north of Dogbo where tons of people were dancing, doing motorcycle tricks, and the like.
After greeting a whole slew of people and getting the weird “what the hell is this Yovo doing here” look I sat down. My mama rolled in with her friends an hour later with more food and then the madness started. Let me rewind a little. These types of ceremonies cost the grieving families more than a million CFA. That’s a lot of money for someone who is no longer living. They rent sound systems, chairs, tents, air conditioning for the body/casket, bands, dancers, singers, buy drinks (sodas, beer, hard liquor, etc), buy/make food (some of the best food you’ll eat), and invite pretty much anyone that may have seen the deceased in this lifetime. This usually results in a lot of ‘funeral crashers’ who you can’t really refuse food or entry too. So, it is known that excess people should be included in the costs.
I was watching one girl who was living in our concession when I first moved to Djakotomey. She was a 3e student at the time (equivalent to a sophomore or something) and I didn’t know she was actually related in some way to my mama. Anyway, I couldn’t read her expression when at the end of the ceremony we both stood inside the windowed, air conditioned room (which held the open casket), taking pictures next to her grandmother. I know that Beninese people don’t smile in photos, but she usually is a pretty happy person. Today she looked super stressed and actually sad. This threw me off guard, not because Beninese people don’t love those family members that have passed on, but because on the ‘ceremony’ day I have never seen anyone grieving. The atmosphere is so crazy that it is a lot more like a wedding and people are so excited that they can’t contain it within themselves.
I’m not sure how I felt about the whole ceremony. My mama had a look of relief when I saw her at the end of the ceremony. I asked her how she was doing and if she was tired. She said, “A little.” The correct answer to any question you ask a Beninese person. Every family member that was clothed in the fancy-white tissue (cloth) were the direct family members of the deceased. Each one of those people (excluding my mama’s husband) looked stressed, somber, and relieved by the end of the ceremony. I can’t imagine putting something like that on myself… especially when the person you are celebrating isn’t even around.
Anyway, today I went to one of the first funerals where I actually had a reason to go. The mama that lives next door to me (henceforth referred to as ‘my mama’) recently told me that her grandmother had passed away. She actually seemed pretty upset by it so I stood outside with her, holding her hand for a good five minutes, not saying anything and not looking at her. I’ve become really good at that. Just look in the distance and think about something else. Usually I think about what I’m going to eat later or things I need to take care of. I swear, I’m not heartless, it is just something that I’ve learned to do because a lot of social interactions here requires you to just sit and stare.
The following day my mama showed me the tissue (the cloth) that the family would be wearing for the ceremony and she told me that six meters cost 4.500 CFA (approximately 9 dollars). I considered this for a few seconds and told her I would be more than happy to buy it. The next day she asked me if I was going to give the cloth to a tailor to have some traditional clothes made. I assured her that I would. To make sure that I was actually invited to the ceremony I discussed the situation with Emile (my friend who sells gas). He assured me that it was her way of inviting me. My mama confirmed this by asking me, “You will be coming with us tomorrow, right?”
The actual event was a lot crazier since I got to see some of the behind-the-scenes action going on. First off, I was told to be ready by 9 in the morning. I figured I had until at least 9:30 to get ready, so after washing my clothes I started reading a book. Two hundred pages and four hours later my neighbor knocks on my door to ask me if I’m ready. Finally, after picking up his older brother, the village chief, and a random woman we were off. We stopped on the side of the road where I saw my mama and all her friends bringing out an insane amount of food to put in the back of the car. Everyone was all prettied up but I knew that my mama and her friends had been working since the night before making food (I hadn’t seen my mama since yesterday morning). Once our car was loaded, we jammed to a small village north of Dogbo where tons of people were dancing, doing motorcycle tricks, and the like.
After greeting a whole slew of people and getting the weird “what the hell is this Yovo doing here” look I sat down. My mama rolled in with her friends an hour later with more food and then the madness started. Let me rewind a little. These types of ceremonies cost the grieving families more than a million CFA. That’s a lot of money for someone who is no longer living. They rent sound systems, chairs, tents, air conditioning for the body/casket, bands, dancers, singers, buy drinks (sodas, beer, hard liquor, etc), buy/make food (some of the best food you’ll eat), and invite pretty much anyone that may have seen the deceased in this lifetime. This usually results in a lot of ‘funeral crashers’ who you can’t really refuse food or entry too. So, it is known that excess people should be included in the costs.
I was watching one girl who was living in our concession when I first moved to Djakotomey. She was a 3e student at the time (equivalent to a sophomore or something) and I didn’t know she was actually related in some way to my mama. Anyway, I couldn’t read her expression when at the end of the ceremony we both stood inside the windowed, air conditioned room (which held the open casket), taking pictures next to her grandmother. I know that Beninese people don’t smile in photos, but she usually is a pretty happy person. Today she looked super stressed and actually sad. This threw me off guard, not because Beninese people don’t love those family members that have passed on, but because on the ‘ceremony’ day I have never seen anyone grieving. The atmosphere is so crazy that it is a lot more like a wedding and people are so excited that they can’t contain it within themselves.
I’m not sure how I felt about the whole ceremony. My mama had a look of relief when I saw her at the end of the ceremony. I asked her how she was doing and if she was tired. She said, “A little.” The correct answer to any question you ask a Beninese person. Every family member that was clothed in the fancy-white tissue (cloth) were the direct family members of the deceased. Each one of those people (excluding my mama’s husband) looked stressed, somber, and relieved by the end of the ceremony. I can’t imagine putting something like that on myself… especially when the person you are celebrating isn’t even around.
1 comments:
Thanks so much for posting this description of a piece of Beninese culture. You really are a great writer. I've been interested in the whole approach that people in Benin have to death......early on I think it was Jeff and Phoebe wrote about the death of a child in Benin. They were a little shocked at the lack of recognition and lack of sorrow from the community. I think I remember that they said when an old person died they were celebrated for their long life but when a child died there wasn't as much public display because they hadn't lived much of a life. The whole notion of American sorrow over the lack of fulfillment of a young life's potential didn't exist there because most lives didn't HAVE as much potential.....a very sad and fatalistic philosophy; but perhaps one that reflects the mindset of a developing country. I thought it was very interesting.
Sorry for the serious response......your writing just got me thinking about this basic difference between our two countries and why it exists.
Keep bugs out of you ears and keep writing!!
Best, Mark Loehrke (Carly's dad)
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