Easter by Ahémé

Easter is one of four major Beninese holidays, the others being Christmas, New Year’s, and the Fête de Vodoun, and celebrations at my site live up to hyped expectations. Easter morning began as one would expect with the sun glistening and no one at work. It was especially quiet for a Sunday morning because most church congregations gathered and left at sunrise for the other side of the lake. My contacts at the Evangelical and Reveil des Nations churches brought this to my attention, and without a Peace Corps issued lifejacket I was fated to stay put. That left me with only one other church in my immediate surroundings, to which I went at 9 AM not knowing if they too had crossed the waters.

It turned out that the Adjidjatomé Catholic Church made no travel plans and would eventually be packed to the brim with the Easter faithful. While the lakeside environment is certainly modest, the Mass itself remained just as detailed as any Sunday worship in the United States. I’ve attended services there several times in my nearly four months at site and continue to enjoy the faithfulness to attire, calls and responses, and liturgy even if I don’t understand a stinkin’ word. Sure, I may catch a Fon word or phrase every now and then, but I spend most of my worship time contemplating or reading from my handy King James Bible. One time I was asked to read from it, which I did despite some protest. The pastor asked me what I had said, and I, not sure of the ancient grammar, simply repeated what he had already said in French. The pastor found the response brilliant, which I, admittedly a bit cynically, found symbolic of the general Peace Corps experience of winging it.

Adjidjatomé Catholic Church

The Protestant churches, on the other hand, have neither the structure of the Catholic Mass nor the strict adherence to local language. In fact, each time I attend the congregation entrusts a member with translating each sentence, thus adding at least a half hour to the otherwise three-hour marathon of glorifying the good Almighty. Protestant services feature readings as part of the pastor’s sermons (note the plural), which are in turn punctuated with 20-minute song and dance breaks and fervent prayer sessions. This Sunday, the priest preached on the magnitude of our salvation, the novelty of the resurrection, and the centrality of faith in Christian life. He did it in less than three hours too, which is (but shouldn’t be) a miracle. In defense of the Protestant churches, sermons serve the hodgepodge functions of Bible instruction, clergy Q&A, and theological discussion for a congregation that leans toward illiteracy. This also helps explain why all churches (including the Catholic one) host services and Bible studies on Wednesday and Friday nights as well.

Church of the Reveil des Nations (Awakening of Nations)

The greatest difference between the American church service and those in Benin is the music. Where American churches often have organs or perhaps a pair of guitars, each Beninese church I’ve attended loves its percussion. Bass, snare, and traditional tam-tam drums rock the churches while musically-gifted parishioners lead the singing. As expected, I don’t know the lyrics to the songs but often hum along. I used to make up my own English lyrics or quietly sing my own gospel tune, but I came to think it better not to put words into the mouths of others nor disrupt others’ joyful noises with my speaking in tongues. That being said, I still submit my fair share of joyful noises, and nothing expresses the thrill of salvation more than putting your knees and back into a few percussive dance moves.

The party hadn't started by the time I arrived, but this place was 

eventually filled with dancing, feasting, and general merrymaking

The Easter service gave way to a leisurely afternoon, and a village-wide party began at sundown. I didn’t attend the party until the following evening when it started earlier, but I sure heard it from my bedroom some 500 meters away. Reports tell of way too much food and divinely-inspired dancing by the children and youth. I arrived early and found myself in a circle of women from the gardening group with which I often work. They, and those that poured in, wore strapping new dresses and traditional boumbas with everyone dressed to impress. The party space exploded with people just as the sun set, and I realized that not only were there plenty of Vodoun believers among the Christians, but that this was the only time I had seen the village neighborhoods come together en masse. While people first sat in neighborhood sections, handshakes and smiles later flew as hundreds of people joyfully mingled, ate, and danced the night away. The chef d’arrondissement (county commissioner) even attended our party. Luckily (or unluckily?) for him, he got to see me bust out the Carlton to some Afrobeats. I left late at night to the continuing party sounds and marveled at the welcome and togetherness of my community. We share plates and space, laughs and stories. From accommodating translations at church services to having a spot at the Easter get-together, the generosity and welcome of community members continues to meet its outstanding precedence. And boy do people know how to party.