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D I A R Y
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1st Trip
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Journal entry, Wednesday 11.8.1988
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The Vespa finally gave up on us while we were driving through the town of Ouidah. It seemed serious this time. Not something we could fix with an old tin can, as usual. A fat man kindly offered to help. We found out later that he is one of the most powerful voodoo priests in Africa.
He wanted to tell our fortunes. For a price, of course.
But Ursula wasn’t falling for it – and insisted he tell her something about her past, before putting her hand in her wallet.
The man threw his sticks, bones and shells on the sandy earthen floor of the temple, but he soon became confused and stopped. He couldn’t understand it, he said. Sometimes he saw two children, and then he only saw one, but they appeared to be the same, somehow. Ursula went very quiet, then suddenly burst into tears, explaining that she had had a twin sister, who had died at the age of four.
We were impressed. We asked him questions.
His temple is dedicated to Mawu-Lissa, the highest of all Voodoo gods..
We snapped a few pictures of him in front of a tree outside the temple. Glaring noonday sun. Too much contrast. Damn it.
We need parts for the Vespa.
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Journal entry, Thursday, 19.8.1988
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We’ve been in Ouidah for over a week now. It used to be a major centre of the slave trade. Hundreds of thousands must have been shipped from this beach.
Everything here breathes Voodoo.
There are countless Voodoo temples in this small town, but only one Catholic Church. The Cathedral of St. Nicholas. Harmonious religious coexistence. The Catholic priest regards Voodoo as nothing more than sheer hocus-pocus. But then, he’s one of the competition.
The people see nothing strange in spending their mornings in church and their evenings at some Voodoo ceremony or other.
The Vespa is going again. It’s amazing how they can take a lot of old trash that we would throw away and put it together into something that works. African creativity. We’ve decided to stay a bit longer.
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Journal entry, Tuesday, 23.8.1988
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Spent the whole day with Mahounon. He happily explained everything that we "Yowos", as they call white people over here, want to know. The Voodoo Oracle seems a rather complex and serious matter. It takes years to learn. Through the oracle, the gods are asked for their advice on every major aspect of life. The temple is always filled with children. It is hard to guess their ages. The youngest is three. They come here for one year, to be taught. They learn three new languages which are only understood in the temple.
The complexity of this culture is beginning to fascinate me more and more. Difficult to photograph. Rather than start snapping away like some asshole of a tourist, I want to approach these people with the respect they deserve.
They are incredibly nice and seem to appreciate my reserve.
It’s a privilege to be here – but I still may not enter the holy inner sanctum.
My imagination is running riot.
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Journal entry, Friday, 26.8.1988
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Just got back to the hotel. Early morning and the sun is already blazing down pitilessly.
We spent the whole night at a Voodoo ceremony.
Overwhelming images of dancing and rituals. Blood sacrifices: chickens and goats slaughtered. All a bit bloodthirsty.
The people here have a natural solemnity that I find deeply moving.
The energy of the drums is fantastic. My head is buzzing, I can’t think clearly anymore.
I want to do a story for Geo.
Ursula’s right: I can’t leave it alone.
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Journal entry, Sunday, 28.8.1988
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Today, I said goodbye to Mahounon. A marvellous farewell. His whole family was there. I still don’t know how many wives he has at the moment (I think it’s three, and eleven children).
A goodbye snack of banana leaves. The people are amazingly friendly. I am determined to come back soon.
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Frenetic Films · Zürich Switzerland · mail@frenetic.ch
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