Text and images by Anisha Shah

To understand West Africa is to understand Africa. The continent of extreme diversity, cultures and beauty is a maze with each region and country offering entirely unique experiences. On my first voyage West, my voyage begins in Ghana, oft considered a gentle introduction to the region, in much the same way as Kerala is to India.

Eons of African history were birthed on the sumptuous shores of West Africa. Wild and raw, vast expanses of copper sands disappear into the horizon, surreal landscapes bordered by lofty palm trees and dotted in tiny fishing villages and subsistence communities. If authenticity is your bag, West Africa is the African dream.

I embark on a land journey through Ghana, Togo and Benin along the Atlantic coastline, whilst venturing into the hinterlands of mountains and meandering waterways, to discover ancient water villages on stilts, cliff-top temples, cave shrines and centuries-old mud mosques and architecture.  First, in Benin, I delve into the vanishing world of Voodoo, an ancient spirit religion being threatened in it’s birthplace by witchcraft.

LIFTING THE VEIL ON VANISHING VOODOO – PHOTOGRAPHING AFRICA’S FINAL FRONTIER IN BENIN

West Africa is fast gaining recognition for it’s wildly beautiful barren beaches, hypnotic African beats, vibrant fashions and strong cultures, which have reshaped the face of mankind.

Yet, Voodoo remains the world’s most secretive and misunderstood religion, veiled in mystery. Predating many religions by tens of thousands of years, Voodoo is a way of life in its country of origin, Benin.

BATTLE OF BENIN

I’ve arrived in the tiny nation to unearth the final frontier of unexplored Africa and to expose the Battle of Benin, a turf war threatening to banish the religion to history books. For the intrepid and inquisitive traveller, an extraordinary realm of ancient rituals, trances and fetishes awaits discovery. And it doesn’t take long to become immersed in this otherworld. The Battle of Benin is threatening the future of voodoo, in a turf war.

In a scene straight out of Star Wars, Benin is deep in the throes of a deadly conflict between good vs evil – Voodoo vs Witchcraft.

VOODOO vs WITCHCRAFT

Voodoo may conjure images of scrawny witches, pins-in-dolls ‘Tchakatou’ and steaming cauldrons but as I quickly learn, that’s not entirely myth – it’s an extreme offshoot of the peaceful spirit religion that is Voodoo.

 "Many witches live in this town," I’m told matter-of-factly by my guide Paul Akakpo, as we bump along red sandy dust-tracks of coastal Ouidah. "They practice in a closed secret sect so they are unidentifiable. Some admit, on their deathbed, the murders they’ve caused," continues Mr Akakpo. His uncle, the late Voodoo Pope Sossa Guedehoungue, famously met Pope John Paul II and was key in initiating annual National Voodoo Day (10th January) celebrations in Benin.

CENTURIES-ENDURED SLAVE TRADE OUTPOST

Ouidah, voodoo capital and nucleus of a centuries-endured slave trade, bears vivid reminders; most sobering is the UNESCO-backed 3-mile ‘Route des Esclaves’ or Slave Route. Lined by museums, monuments and shrines, the solemn stretch opens to the ‘Gate of No Return’ on a wide windswept Atlantic shore.

Feral, untamed and bordered by lofty palms, this is the desolate and dreamy coastline bequeathed much of West Africa. Dotted only by tiny fishing villages and coconut-sellers, I buy one for around 10 pence and sip it contemplating how such beguiling beauty belies a chilling history.

These West African shores were the final footsteps of millions of shackled slaves forced to depart their homeland forever, boarding gigantic slave ships, on which many were crushed. Those who survived horrific on-board conditions, depicted vividly in Ouidah Museum, were exported to the New World, as the Americas are still known here. This era defined the cultural constitution of the American continents and Caribbean today, and today’s thriving Voodoo practice in Haiti, Brazil and New Orleans.

 "Witches are abundant in Benin but they cast only evil spells and kill people, which is the antithesis to voodoo’s healing and helping. Sorcery is Benin’s biggest war," explains Mr Akakpo.

VOODOO’S IDENTITY CRISIS

Voodoo has a major image problem and has been misconstrued. This growing malpractice, by witches, is driving genuine worshippers underground, as even witches "cloak themselves in Christianity at Church by day," warns Mr Akakpo. Nearly half of Benin’s population practices voodoo, officially, and two thirds, unofficially. As Voodoo draws on nature, philosophy, spirituality and tolerance of all faiths, the closet devotees are a growing norm. If the trend continues, the very existence of this primordial religion could be vulnerable in its birthplace.

Early European invaders to Benin demonized voodoo, implanting today’s global stereotype. Most of the invading populace was wiped out from Smallpox. Local witches claimed responsibility, saying it was a curse, in self-defense against forced conversion to Christianity. European survivors returned to spread tales of black magic, sorcery and alien practices. This has stuck.

To make matters worse, witches are thriving today, casting evil spells and killing innocent people. Voodoo wrongly endures the hangover.

‘Some Beninois feel ashamed of the false stigma, so they go to Church by day and secretly visit voodoo priests for guidance and protection,’ whispers Mr Akakpo. 

The Battle of Benin is serious. It’s a deadly war claiming lives. ‘Witches perform evil spells, killing babies, children and women out of jealousy. They can disappear, reincarnate as animals and never be found out,’ fears Mr Akakpo.

Voodoo priests protect people from evil eye, as prevention and cure, using inherited knowledge of nature. As village doctors, they’re often the first point of contact, presiding over rituals at shrines and temples which permeate the raw landscapes of Benin. They are as abundant in Benin as cafes in France, the former colonial guardian bestowing the French language and little else. At the heart of Voodoo are incredulous rituals and a deeply engrained system of sacrifice, as I soon find out.

VOODOO PRIESTS & FETISHES

VOODOO ORACLE READING

Sitting on a cold hard floor deep within a backstreet village, a tiny corner window illuminates Benin’s most renowned Voodoo priest. He is performing an oracle reading – mine. He holds strings of cowry shells, water in a glass and miniature statuettes to the light to determine my fate. Calmly, he communicates with Voodoo divinities, who transmit ancestral spirit messages to the living. My guide translates.

Voodoo is founded on pleasing the spirits of passed ancestors, to bless the living, merging the melodies of life and afterlife. As an open-minded traveller, I go for the experience. His first two remarks leave me bewildered, striking a personal chord and setting me aback. Fortunately, he sees no evil spirits around me, swerving the need for a purification ceremony. These would involve being bathed naked in the sea by voodoo worshippers or placing a concoction of white linen-clad herbs at a crossroads to divert evil. The Beninois consult Voodoo priests to cure ills and woes by drawing on their inherited knowledge of nature, plucked from secret forests surrounding Voodoo temples. Armed with tips on my future, I begin to warm to the religion.

TOGO – VOODOO ANIMISM FETISH MARKET

A darker experience emerges at the world’s largest Voodoo Fetish market, considered a traditional pharmacy, in neighboring Togo. Face-to-face with severed heads of monkeys, dogs, crocodiles, chameleons and cobras, rotting on wooden displays in searing 42C heat, the breeze is bittersweet. Each fetish corresponds to a God or fetiche, believed to cure every woe, from lackluster libido to the darkest curse. My guide, Patience Dako, reassures me, ‘all animals die naturally before arriving here via sellers from across Africa.’ He continues, ‘I wasn’t born a Fetish Priest but you’re about to meet one who was.’

Behind-the-scenes, the Voodoo Fetish Priest, Thomas Zonnontin, communicates with Voodoo gods from his dingy hut, to heal visitors by grinding animal skulls with herbs and rubbing into incisions made on their back. He gives me his business card. I politely decline the offer to ‘perform in bed like a buffalo,’ settling instead for travel protection, grateful for being charged ‘half-price’ $50 for the privilege. For locals who can’t afford hospital treatment or those who believe solely in traditional medicine, this is the go-to remedy. Voodoo is an animist religion and animal sacrifice is central to its practice.

TRANCES AND DANCES WITH THE DEAD

EGUNGUN FUNERAL TRANCE

Voodoo’s most volatile dance is the Egungun funeral rites trance, in which spirits of the dead possess the living.

My guide gets a tip-off and we rush to a dusty village public compound. Musicians are pounding drums, whipping a secret sect of fully-cloaked statuesque bejeweled Yoruba dancers into a frenzy. A hundred-strong crowd of locals fills the surrounds, many peering from behind trees. Top-to-toe shrouded dancers twirl and whirl like dervishes in flame red, emerald green and sapphire velvet shrouds. To see their eyes is considered the look of death and to be touched by their cloak is the ultimate curse. Their statuesque physiques cut an imposing and extremely intimidating figure.

As Capoeira-style music impassions, one dancer slips into a frenzied trance, in an outer-body type experience. "He is possessed and not aware of his actions now," exclaims Mr Akakpo above the wild din. Guised by the spirit of the dead, the entranced dancer chases boys in the crowds; a mass exodus ensues like a sandstorm into the dusty distance.

That’s when the hulking giant flits attentions towards me, the obvious outsider. He flies over, grabbing the stick of our ‘security guard,’ threatening to strike us. Mr Akakpo bows, throwing cash his way, influencing his retreat. His mask represents a Voodoo God and his cape bears the name of the departed soul. As pandemonium progresses, feverish dancers in a trance cut themselves to bleed using metal, in worship to the Metal God, and can whip the public. Before this, I’m handheld to safety in an awaiting car, to hastily exit and reclaim heart from my mouth. 

Voodoo rituals are ongoing and all-encompassing in Benin. With a good guide, travellers can gain deep access and readily encounter religious ceremonies. The only restriction is one’s own depth of intrigue and courage.  "We want to show visitors our ancient spirit religion, so they can understand it and shatter false stigmas."

‘NIGHT HUNTER MAGIC FESTIVAL’

The following day is Sunday. We’re informed of an impromptu festival of the Zangbeto Night Hunters. This closed secret sect of members patrols the streets Zangbeto by night, maintaining community safety by keeping outsiders out. They are known to stop people in the street and demand a local password. Outsiders can be arrested and buried alive inside their iconic conical-thatched hut, where they’re enshrined as Voodoo divinities. This festival is rare.

The streets are lined by groups of musicians and onlookers. In front of a mysterious Voodoo Temple of Cults of Hounve, life-sized thatched-huts come twirling into view. It is a surreal suspend-your-belief sight. Flowing straw-thatched pyramids, the height of a human, twirl incessantly in hypnotizing motion. Moving mounds of thatched straw swivel incessantly in mesmerizing motion to crazed beats, whipping impassioned crowds to fever pitch.

The Voodoo priest sprinkles magic powder on a hut, before revealing the interior. A small chicken clucks inside. Of everything I witness, this invisible act is most incredulous. I grab a series of candid photographs before we must leave.

RITUALS AND TEMPLES

DANKOLI SACRIFICE SHRINE

Animal sacrifice is central to appeasing spirits and Voodoo gods. If a wish is granted, an animal may be sacrificed, mostly chickens, goats or Guinea Fowl, but sometimes also dogs and cats. It’s well-known that human sacrifice was once the norm, though I see no evidence of that during my journey.

The most powerful shrine in Benin is Dankoli fetish shrine. Here, I participate in a voodoo ceremony, where animal sacrifice is standard exchange for personal favours from the spirits. Inconspicuous white flags mark the rural outdoor spot amidst lush African bush. On closer inspection, the revered shrine is a piled-high mecca of putrefying blood, guts and feathers, all former sacrifice. The gut-wrenching odor saturates the surrounds. Any wish made at this pilgrimage site is believed to come true within a year.

I walk across ground coated in sludgy tar-like remains to take instruction from the Voodoo fetish priest. First, I must hammer a wooden peg into the mound and pour red palm oil onto it whilst reciting my wish. The next step defies my instinct, as I sheepishly swig a mouthful of Akbateshie, home-brewed gin, which tastes like fire, not to swallow it but to spray it from the mouth across the shrine. A female onlooker giggles at my pathetic dribble. Opting out, I watch the priest sacrifice two chickens, whose blood is poured over the shrine, whilst reciting prayers and blessings.

And then our car breaks down. So I spend an extra couple of hours ensconced in the broiling stench, wondering what happened to the blessings. 

Sacred forests, voodoo monasteries and the Python Temple, which houses Royal Pythons, highly worshipped in Voodoo, all make intriguing visits.

Fetish followers practice animism, worshipping the Python, which was once kept in homes in the belief that it would not bite. 

UNVEILING VOODOO IN BENIN

Voodoo is a deeply-rooted yet severely misunderstood religion, and the chance to explore it feels a true travel privilege. As a pivotal platform of history, culture and natural beauty, unique in the world, travellers who appreciate the continent are invited to unearth Benin and it’s last slice of authentic and unexplored Africa.

GHANA, THE GOLDEN COAST

Wading knee-deep through freshwater, in remote fields in Ghana’s far north, trousers hitched up and shoes in hand, alarm bells start to ring. Isn’t this one of those things you’re absolutely not supposed to do when travelling? Let alone enjoy. The warm water is soothing, each step a silken and soft silt blanket wrapping my toes. It feels like a mud mask for the feet. Yet, my mind runs through a marathon of water-borne diseases.  The guide intervenes, ‘This is pure clean drinking water, which the village we’re about to visit actually uses. It is naturally filtered in the lake and perfectly safe,’ as if sensing my concern.

This is part one of the adventure. We’re en route to Nzuelezo, a 700-year-old wooden village on stilts, nesting on a lake.  Part two is walking the plank. A set of narrow raised planks hovers above deep ponds of water. Not falling in requires determination. Planks cleared, and the final leg is in sight, a wooden rowboat. An hour’s scenic row through dense mangroves opens to a still serene lake, with the rickety skeleton of the inhabited village in the distance. It is a feat of architecture, the barely-there bones of everyday life.  Inhabitants own fishing boats, as their daily commute for goods and connectivity to Ghanaian turf. The local chief is welcoming and invites us for a walk. Just watch out for holes in the wooden flooring, exposing deep waters. We finish the tour at the bar-on-stilts for a refreshing drink overlooking the calming waters teeming with birdlife. A sense of peace prevails.

Chiefs are a major part of traditional life in Ghana and West Africa. The ‘Father’ of tribal communities, of up to several thousand people, oversees village affairs. He is consulted before decisions and resolves disputes. This position is often inherited. His say is the final word, in a form of self-government and local leadership, dating back centuries before modernization, as we know it. In Ghana, Chiefdoms co-exist alongside today’s modern civilization in both urban and rural areas.

The most prominent Chief I’m to meet isn’t as easy to access. He oversees a tribal community of around 2,000 Tallensis people in the Unesco-tenative Tongo Hills and Tenzug Shrine.  In the arid Upper East Region of Ghana, close to the Sahel desert, this region is an amalgamation of Muslims, Christians and naturalists dotting remote villages in dry dusty landscapes. Poverty is prevalent this far North.  Sacred shrines perforate the Tenzug landscape, in which ritualistic sacrifice is the norm. The Tongo Hills are a unique curvaceous landscape of rock formations and caves. This cues the most adventurous part of my Ghanaian escapade.

Naturalism is a way of life still popular in rural Ghana. At its core is traditional medicine of herbs, concocted by the village ‘doctor.’ I’m due to visit a naturalist priest, who practices in world-famous shrine, ba’ar Tonna’ab, atop a soaring boulder cliff. Clambering up the slippery smooth giant boulders in surging heat is ultimately rewarding, as views over the land are magnificent. Giant baobabs and boulders defy the dry desert-scape. My guide asks permission for the priest to receive me. If he declines, it’s all over. Luckily, he agrees. There is one observation to this sacred ritual, which everyone must abide. Men and women alike must be topless. This shrine is believed to cure illnesses and woes, receiving pilgrims of all faiths and beliefs from West Africa and worldwide. The power of this belief is undeniable. I venture bravely in to a bombardment of the wits. A dense heaped pile of feathers and rotting flesh lines the wall inside a sheltered cave, the remnants of sacrificed animals. Sacrifice is central to West African culture. Any remedy requires appeasing ancestral spirits. They are best assuaged by the sacrifice of an animal such as donkey, goat, chicken or fowl. Fortunately, it’s not something I’m requested to do or witness. But the stench, in the 42C heat is an assault of the senses. And the sight is bewildering. After some conversation to better understand the natural religion that’s prevalent in rural Ghana, I’m granted blessings.  This tribal priest, dressed only in an animal skin, is well-respected as the medicine man and is the main port of call of spiritual-seekers.

Back down, a stroll through the village is revealing. Eye-popping Tallensis homes are built in a cylindrical shape, made of mud, clay and hardwearing Shea butter nut residue, indigenous to Ghana. Inside, the wondrous world of the Tallensis is closed off from view. All that’s visible is a mini doorway, which can be latched inside for protection, originally from slave traders and wild animals. Many open to a flat rooftop, holding the home’s storage vats for essentials such as millet and rice. Each circular hut is proudly guarded by a shrine, topped by sacrificial animal remains and blood. It’s not a sight for the feint-hearted. I am invited into a home. The welcoming committee is a string of hung heavy skulls and bones, former sacrifice believed to bless the family. Death and life walk hand-in-hand in rural Ghana, where it’s less of a fine line between the two, but seen more as the circle of life. At the head of this community is the tribal village Chief, who is the father of most of the children and grandchildren. He welcomes me as his ‘daughter’ and we chat about everything form politics to his love for England.

In this desert setting, Ghana excels in outstanding architecture, which outlasts generations and is made of humble ingredients. The finest example is one of the most revered religious buildings in Ghana, the 17th century Larabanga Sudanese-Sahelian mosque, tucked away down an inconspicuous village dusty alleyway. The oldest mosque in Ghana and one of the oldest in West Africa is a seeming- spaceship whitewashed structure of packed earth, with protruding towers and buttresses. Wooden pillars poking out if it’s casing are believed to be levels of spiritual ascendance. It is one of the great architectural marvels of the world. Yet it’s charm is its timelessness. Sponsored by the World Monuments Fund, essential maintenance was provided to keep the structure standing strong. Further along in Nayrongo, in a Christian neighbourhood, is a century-old Cathedral, built of the same natural material. The building is striking and majestic and is in full use. 

Forts and fortresses outline a very different aspect to Ghana. The coastal route is where Ghana is at its most sensationally refreshing. Wild, feral and isolated coastlines stretch for hundreds of kilometers across much of West Africa. Ghana’s 500kms of desolate and dramatic Atlantic shoreline groan under the burden of heavy fruit-laden trees and lofty palm trees, rustling in the breeze. Most of the coastline is undeveloped and untouched, where you’ll be pushed to see another soul on barren expanses of pure white sand. To a traveller, the sense of disbelief that something so beautiful stull remains in it’s natural state is heartwarming.

Forts dominate coastal cities, positioned prominently. Established by the Portuguese, they were built and controlled by various trading powers, changing hands through Portugal, Spain, Denmark, Holland, Sweden, Germany and Britain. The trade of gold of European chartered companies flourished, giving this stretch it’s nickname, ‘The Gold Coast.’ Today, looking across wide luminous beaches, the name resonates. But these shores witnessed the mass forced exodus of millions of West Africans, during the slave trade spanning four centuries, pivotal in the subsequent history of the Americas and reshaping the face of mankind. 3 forts and 15 castles of 32 are under Unesco inscription, as intact symbols of trading history, bearing traceable signs of evolution. Of particular note are Christianborg Castle, Cape Coast and Elmina Castle, a chilling and vivid journey deep into the bowels of slavery and history.

Coastal Elmina quickly becomes my favourite city. The best views across the most riotous blaze of colour come atop Fort Sao Jago da Mina at dusk. But first, wander the city’s authentic arteries and uncover one of the most vibrant thriving fishing ports on the planet. Traces of its legacy as the first European settlement in West Africa are clear from the colonial layout and architecture. The city has a holiday ambiance and is soothed by welcome sea breezes. Restaurants, markets and nightlife are boldly bustling. But naturally, the busiest of them all is capital city, Accra.

The capital is a cosmopolitan and crazed city of contrasts. Designer boutiques and gastronomy delights clad the ‘Oxford Street’ dubbed Cantonments Road, round-the-clock. Makola market is one of West Africa’s largest. Visit with a guide and keep close guard of personal belongings. The hub of commerce is a heaving and stifling onslaught of all that is truly West African. This is local life unedited.

My highlight of Accra is Jamestown fishing harbour. Flanked by an old lighthouse, the busy harbour is the focus of fishing activity, with colourful painted boats, singing sailors, gossiping wives and free-roaming children. It’s a magnificent spot to spend a few hours, where every angle is a photograph. A few luxury beachfront hotels are scattered the length of coast, few and far between. They are authentic and rustic, with the highlight outside. Expect locals and some tourists happily intermingling. Safety is key and Ghana feels secure. Perhaps that’s why it’s considered the soft introduction to West Africa. If that’s true, it’s easy to develop a soft spot for Ghana.

I realise, at this point, that years of calling Africa a second home and fashionably coining myself ‘Africaphile’ have been unfounded. To understand West Africa is to truly understand Africa. Travellers who appreciate the continent should consider this overlooked yet pivotal platform to Africa.