P.S.

My Gun is really coming along.  I’ve gotten to the point where I can often get the gist of overheard conversations.  Last week, I spent several hours one day sitting with a friend at her market stall.  I’d hoped to hear the great and exciting things going on at post that I’d had to miss out on before thanks to the language barrier, but that day, most of the talk I heard turned out to be along the lines of “How much are the chili peppers?” and “Do you have change for 100 francs?”  I live in hope, though…

Oro season

The Oros are out right now at my post.  Back before Benin was Benin, the Oros were a secret society of Beninese men in each village who patrolled the town at night to discourage bandits who would attack and steal by night.  Having them out meant that there was a curfew after dark for everyone not initiated into the society.  These days, there are fewer bandits and security is provided by Beninese police and soldiers, but many towns – including my post - still keep up the Oro tradition a few weeks every year.  No one outside the society knows what the Oros looks like since the tradition goes that any man who saw an Oro would be given the choice between joining the society or being killed.  Women would simply be killed.  This sounds a lot more impressive than it actually is because word is passed around town during Oro season warning everyone to stay indoors after dark.  Even for those who forget and venture outside, it would be almost impossible to accidentally run across an Oro since they make a distinctive sound to warn people that they’re coming.  Back during my training, I heard it described as a high-pitched call: “Woo woo woo woo.”  Just last night, I was sitting in my living room listening to BBC World Service around 12:30am when I heard strange sounds outside the concession gates.  I turned off the radio and listened to the Oros prowl around my neighborhood for half an hour or so.  To me, it sounded less like a human voice making the noise and more like the whistling whine of a heavy object slung in circles through the air on a leather strap.

Other occasional night-time prowlers at my post are the zangbeto.  I’ve never actually seen or heard them at my post, though I have seen them at a daytime ceremony in Porto Novo, and they are Beninese men (again) covered with a giant straw cone-shaped costume.  During ceremonies, they dance and spin around, which has given them the nickname “the dancing haystacks.”  Tradition holds that when they’re dancing, if you look under the costume, you won’t see any feet because the spinning straw is held up only by spirit.  At my post, I’ve heard that they occasionally come out at night and roam around calling out the names of people who’ve committed lesser crimes like wife-beating.  To get them to stop, the culprits have to quietly go to the homes of the zangbeto and give them a gift of money.

In other news, I’m visiting the U.S. from August 28-September 17.  Benin’s sole international airport in Cotonou receives only a few flights a day, so I found it about $2,000 cheaper to book my tickets from the Kotoka International Airport in Accra, Ghana.  I’ve already gotten my Ghana visa and will apply for a Togo transit visa tomorrow morning.  Next Tuesday, I’ll leave my post for Cotonou, and a week from today, I’ll hop in a taxi at dawn and travel overland across the width of Benin, Togo, and Ghana to catch my flight in Accra by 9:30 that night.  See you soon!