11 May The land of magic

I had originally intended to title the article African VeniceAnd with this attractive yet unoriginal name taken from a guidebook, I wanted to take you to Benin and navigate the labyrinth of canals of Ganvié, the city on the lake. Another of those special places that I had been putting on hold for a long time, waiting to find the time and the money, which are two things that never come together, although to tell the truth, not even separately.

But Benin is much more, it is like the meaning of the word voodoo, the strength, the soul, the ancestral Africa reflected in its ethnic groups, it is its essence, the country of magic. That is why when I remember Benin, I remember with equal force the dances of the Gueledé masks, the fortresses of the Somba country or the smell after the storm in the imperial city of Abomey. I also remember my desire to get lost on those red dirt roads in the northern jungles or simply the relaxation of the Rastafarian beach of Grand Popo; and of course, I remember entering the whitewashed eucalyptus walkway of Ouidah, the cradle of voodoo, to cross the threshold that separates the real and the supernatural, the city where there is hardly any distinction between the living, the dead and the absent...

It is still the Africa of adventure and surprise, what I have always sought, which sometimes appears in the shade of a baobab tree in the vicinity of a Gourmanché village in the north, while you share fuet and a good Ramon Bilbao a morro with better company.

Going back to Ganvié, to understand the reason for this place you have to go back 300 years, when the slave trade was at its peak and nearby, in Ouidah, Belgians, English, Danes, Danes, French and Portuguese built their slave-trading forts. The Gate of No Return on the town's beach was the last place they saw of Africa. Thousands of slaves were auctioned off under the tree in Chacha Square, branded and crammed in the dark waiting to be shipped off into the unknown, leaving everything behind, turned into merchandise.

But my romantic and bohemian spirit prefers to take me to remember those botanists, adventurers, traders, explorers, fortune seekers... all attracted by adventure, knowing that the best of life is always to be found on the other side of fear. That's why they left everything, that's why they came to this city of red earth, mahogany forests and virgin beaches, for adventure. Little by little they succumbed, taken by the weather, by disease or by native attacks. So many fell that Rudyard Kipling called the Guinea coast "the white man's grave". It was here that Gin and tonic was first drunk as a prophylaxis against malaria, one of the great contributions of the 19th century to preventive medicine.

Ouidah still has a colonial flavour that mingles with voodoo temples, fetish markets, statues of gods and legends. The Christian God is worshipped as much as the bats that hang from the great iroko tree in the sacred forest of Kpassé, or the snakes of the Temple of the Pythons (which, although it sounds like the name of a roadside joint, is a temple dedicated to Dan, the snake god).

With the flourishing of the Ouidah slave market, some kingdoms, such as the Fon of Dahomey, the Yoruba of Nigeria or the Ashanti of Ghana, had to decide between being slave owners or slaves, and to do so they created powerful armies. The most unique and feared of all was that of the Dahomey Amazons, celibate women devoted entirely to their king and to war, brave and cruel, who before combat danced the Dance of Decapitation (very danceable). A Tarzan film made me dream of them, although the reality was far from what my hormonal adolescent imagination suggested.

It was the only army of Amazons that ever really existed, until the appearance of the Amazonian Guard that Gaddafi created for his protection in the Bab el Aziziya palace. Virgins, experts in martial arts, capable of flying planes or hand-to-hand combat, sophisticated, beautiful and feared. .... Another Africa, also far away. Al hamdulillah

The fact is that, faced with the attacks of the warriors of Dahomey, the king of the Tofinu decided to hide in Lake Nokoué, aware that their enemies would not dare to pursue them there, as they believed that a terrible demon was hiding at the bottom of the lake. And they overcame the lake and death by ingenuity, devising to live on stilt houses and to withdraw from the world.

The city has grown into a chaos of bustling canals that is the basis of its charm. It's not a bad plan to wander through this watery maze, especially the floating market, where every morning a parade of women approaches with their colourful bubus and rickety canoes laden to the brim with fruit and vegetables. The atmosphere is fascinating. In the meantime, the men go out fishing, because everyone here has been a fisherman since they were little.

I once went on a Sunday, when religious chanting takes over the lagoon, as up to five different cults coexist in the city, quite an experience. I was lucky enough to attend a mass of the Celestial Christianity sect and the exalted sermon of the pastor threatening to go to hell if I continue this sinful life still reverberates in my head (which I wouldn't say for myself...).

This is Ganvié, the most exotic version of Venice. More than 300 years have passed and they have been there ever since, they are the watermen, the inhabitants of Ganvié, "the people of Ganvié".those who have found peace", (as the name means).

How fortunate they are, I'm still looking for mine, my peace...