Benin: The Beating Heart of West Africa

Voodoo, Royalty, and a Journey from North to South

November 2017 — When I think of West Africa, Benin instantly comes to mind. This small, unassuming country is the quintessential embodiment of West Africa—a land where ancient spiritual traditions thrive alongside colonial history, royal kingdoms, and vibrant ecosystems.

From the moment I began planning, I knew this wouldn’t be a trip for sticking to tourist paths. As with every destination I visit, I immersed myself in research and crafted my own itinerary, seeking out places that spoke to my personal interests—particularly the mystical world of voodoo.

A Deep Fascination with Voodoo

Ever since watching The Serpent and the Rainbow and traveling to Haiti, I’ve had a deep curiosity about voodoo—not the Hollywood caricature, but the real, animistic spiritual tradition rooted in reverence for ancestors, nature, and spirits. Benin is the birthplace of voodoo, and I was eager to explore its origins firsthand.

Covering the Country: North to South in Five Days

To truly do justice to Benin, I wanted to see the entire country—its contrasting landscapes, its rich cultural zones, and the lesser-known corners far from the tourist trail.

My route:

• Started in the far north, near the Burkina Faso border

• Traveled southward across the country, absorbing the dramatic changes in terrain, language, and custom

• Ended the trip on Benin’s southern coast, where voodoo rituals still pulse through daily life

Reflections on Benin

What I discovered during my journey exceeded all expectations. Benin is a country that still feels raw and authentic—a mosaic of kings and spirits, colonial ruins and jungle, bustling markets and sacred ceremonies.

Understanding Benin: A Land of Language, Kingdoms, and Spiritual Power

A French Legacy and a Multilingual Nation

Benin is officially a French-speaking country, but its identity is far more complex. The nation is home to a multitude of indigenous languages, each rooted in unique ethnic traditions. During colonial times, Benin was part of French West Africa and tragically served as a major hub in the transatlantic slave trade.

Dahomey: One of West Africa’s Great Kingdoms

From the 1700s to the early 1900s, Benin was the heart of the powerful Kingdom of Dahomey, one of the largest and most organized kingdoms in West Africa. The Dahomey kings ruled with military strength and spiritual authority, and their influence can still be felt today in the palaces, oral histories, and royal customs of the region.

North to South: A Country of Changing Landscapes and Beliefs

• In the north, Benin’s terrain transitions into dry savannah, home to Pendjari National Park, one of the last true wildlife reserves in West Africa. This region is primarily Muslim, with communities that reflect the traditions of the Sahel.

• As you travel south, the climate becomes more tropical, and lush pockets of rainforest begin to emerge. The culture also shifts dramatically—here, Voodoo is not just a religion, but a way of life.

Voodoo: The Soul of Benin

Voodoo, or Vodun, is the dominant religion in Benin and one of the most misunderstood spiritual systems in the world. With over 50 million followers across West Africa, voodoo blends Catholicism, Christianity, and ancient West African animistic traditions.

What Makes Voodoo Unique:

• Saints and spirits play a central role, acting as intermediaries between the human and spirit worlds

• Shape-shifting, sacred rituals, and ancestral worship are deeply embedded in belief systems

• There’s a powerful connection between the visible and invisible realms, with elaborate ceremonies honoring nature, spirits, and the divine

Route of Travel in Benin

Crossing into Benin: A Journey Begins

From Togo’s Tamberma Valley into the Wild North

For my adventure through Benin, I traveled with my friend Richard, beginning our journey in Togo and Burkina Faso, where I had arranged a rugged 4WD truck with a driver and local guide. I had hired the guide back in Burkina Faso, but he was unfamiliar with Benin’s terrain—so I took the lead with GPS navigation, guiding our route as we made our way into one of West Africa’s most fascinating and remote countries.

Tamberma Valley to Pendjari National Park

We entered Benin through the culturally rich Tamberma Valley region of Togo—known for its fortified mud tower homes and traditional animist customs. From there, we continued northward toward one of the last true strongholds of African wildlife in the region:

Pendjari National Park

A vast and largely untouched reserve, Pendjari is one of the last pristine wildlife parks left in West Africa, still home to:

• Elephants and lions

• Hippos and antelope

• Rare birdlife and reptiles

Despite its conservation successes, Pendjari faces rising threats from:

• Poachers

• Terrorists crossing over from unstable border regions in Burkina Faso and Niger

The Harsh Beauty of Northern Benin

Wild, Remote, and Demanding

Northern Benin is rugged and sparsely populated, with few villages and minimal infrastructure. The landscape is vast, dry, and hauntingly beautiful—but traveling here requires careful preparation.

Key Challenges We Encountered:

• Few gas stations, many of which were out of fuel

• Rough roads and slow driving conditions

• Little to no facilities inside Pendjari Park—it’s truly off the grid

A Refreshing Stop at Tanougou Falls

After long hours on dusty roads, we stopped for a break at the Tanougou Waterfalls, a lush oasis nestled in the dry terrain. The waterfall offers a natural pool where we went for a swim to cool off from the intense West African heat.

As we enjoyed the water, a group of local boys approached and offered to put on a show—leaping from cliffs into the pool below. With every dramatic dive, they smiled and laughed, hoping for a small tip in return. It was a lighthearted moment that reminded me of the joy and resilience found in even the most remote corners of the world.

Tanougou Waterfalls

Richard at Tanougou Waterfalls

Tanougou Waterfalls

Into Pendjari: A Wrong Turn in the Wild

When GPS Fails and the Bush Takes Over

After cooling off at Tanougou Waterfalls, we set our sights on Pendjari National Park, hoping to arrive at our designated campsite by late afternoon for some wildlife viewing. But navigating the park proved trickier than expected.

The dirt roads were poorly marked, and as soon as we entered the park boundaries, my GPS became useless. We drove in circles for over an hour in the darkness, eventually realizing we had not only missed our intended campsite—but driven in the completely wrong direction.

We ended up staying at an entirely different camp, but sometimes mistakes turn out fine—the place was basic but comfortable, and we were the only guests.

Sunrise Safari in Search of Lions

A Morning of Hope and Disappointment

We woke up at sunrise, packed into our 4WD, and set out on a self-guided safari, determined to find the animals that make Pendjari famous.

Wildlife We Encountered:

• Herds of elephants browsing in the trees

• Antelope species darting through the brush

• Colorful birdlife and smaller mammals

But the one animal I was most eager to see—the lion—remained elusive.

At one point, we crossed paths with a park ranger in his truck who flagged us down. “A lion was just on this road moments ago,” he told us excitedly, gesturing ahead. My heart jumped. We drove slowly, scanning the savannah woodland on both sides of the road—but the lion had vanished, blending into the golden grasses.

The Elusive King of Pendjari

The savannah woodlands, with their tall grass and scattered trees, were perfect for a lion to disappear into. We drove up and down, retracing the ranger’s steps, but there was no sign of the big cat.

With only half a day in the park, we simply ran out of time.

The ranger later told us that two full days in Pendjari almost always guarantees a lion sighting. Unfortunately, we had to push on—we had a long drive south ahead of us and an entirely new cultural world to discover.

Wildlife at Pendjari National Park

Wildlife at Pendjari National Park

Wildlife at Pendjari National Park

Elephants at Pendjari National Park

Meeting the Taneka: Mystics of the Hills

A Hidden World of Shamans and Animist Beliefs

As we made our way toward the northern Beninese town of Djougou, I decided to make a detour to visit one of the Taneka Beri villages, located on the hills just north of town. These villages had long intrigued me—pockets of shamanistic, animist life surrounded by a sea of Islam.

Who Are the Taneka?

The Taneka people are fiercely traditional, known for:

• Practicing ancient animist beliefs in isolation

• Living in hilltop villages, accessible only on foot

• Having village shamans believed to possess magical abilities and the power to foresee the future

Their worldview is steeped in ritual, and their refusal to assimilate is both admirable and tragic—they remain one of the last holdouts of a spiritual system slowly being engulfed by modernization and religion.

Every Taneka village is led by a head shaman, a mysterious figure who wears nothing but a goatskin covering and is almost always seen smoking a pipe.

Getting Lost in Search of the Unknown

Unmarked Trails and Muddled Directions

I had no concrete map, just vague directions pieced together from the experiences of other travelers. The Taneka don’t advertise their presence, and there are no signs leading to the villages.

We drove aimlessly for some time, occasionally stopping to ask villagers for help. Most seemed to point us in confusing or conflicting directions, whether by accident or design. Eventually, a young boy agreed to hop into our truck for a small tip and guide us directly there.

The final stretch was rough—a rugged dirt road that finally ended at the base of the hill. From there, we continued on foot to reach the village above.

An Audience with the Shaman

Warnings from the Spirit World

Once inside the village, we were welcomed with a cautious but curious hospitality. A local man offered to take us to see the shaman.

We approached the shaman’s sacred space and sat with him. He was exactly as described—naked except for a goatskin, a pipe clenched between his teeth, and a presence that radiated ancient knowledge. I asked him to explain what it meant to be a shaman.

He spoke of his role as a spiritual protector, healer, and diviner of the future. But his tone turned somber when I asked about the future of his people.

“Our traditions will fade,” he warned. “The young ones are leaving, the beliefs are changing. The spirits are being forgotten.”

A Small Gesture of Connection

Before we left, I pulled out a few printed Kodak photos I had brought—small gifts from other parts of my travels. I handed them to the shaman and a few curious children, who held them as if they were something magical. It was a moment of shared humanity, bridging two worlds.

With the sun beginning to set, we hiked back down the hill, returned to our truck, and drove the final stretch into Djougou, where we found a basic hotel to spend the night.

Taneka Village

Taneka Shaman Smoking his Pipe

Onward to Savalou: Gateway to Voodoo Country

When One Town Has No Room, the Road Leads to Another

After leaving the Taneka village and arriving in Djougou, we quickly discovered that finding a hotel was going to be a challenge. Every option we checked was either full or unappealing—Djougou simply wasn’t the place to spend the night.

Rather than waste more time, we decided to push on, driving a few more hours south to Savalou, a rural town often considered the gateway to southern Benin’s Voodoo heartland.

Simple Comforts in a Quiet Town

A Fan, A Bucket Shower, and Peace of Mind

Savalou had a very different vibe—calm, quiet, and deeply traditional. We eventually found a hotel that was far from luxurious, but after the long, hot journey, we weren’t picky.

• The room had a working fan, which was all we needed in the humid tropical heat

• The bucket shower was refreshingly cold and much needed after a full day of sweat and dust

• There was a sense of peace in Savalou, a feeling of being far from the noise of the modern world

Morning in Savalou

A Glimpse into Everyday Life

The next morning, I took a walk through the town just after sunrise. There’s something deeply grounding about observing the rhythms of daily life in a rural African town.

I wandered through dirt paths and quiet alleyways, watching:

• Women walking to market with baskets balanced on their heads

• Children in school uniforms sweeping courtyards

• Motorbikes weaving past on narrow roads

• Roosters calling out from rooftops

Savalou may not appear in many guidebooks, but it offered something more valuable than tourist sites—authenticity and stillness. It was the perfect place to pause before diving into the spiritual traditions of the Voodoo south.

Friendly man at our hotel who swept the floor with a small straw hand broom for hours

From Savalou to Abomey: A Long Road to the Cultural Heartland

Driving Toward the Legacy of Kings and the Spirits of Voodoo

The following morning, we hit the road early for a long drive to Abomey, once the capital of the powerful Kingdom of Dahomey and still considered one of the cultural heartlands of Benin. The road was long, dusty, and at times grueling, but along the way, we made a stop that left a lasting impression—Dankoli Shrine, one of the most important voodoo pilgrimage sites in the country.

Dankoli Shrine: Where Spirits and Sacrifice Meet

A Raw and Visceral Encounter with Living Voodoo

Located just off the roadside and surrounded by thick brush, Dankoli is one of the most potent and active voodoo shrines in all of West Africa. It may not look like much to the uninitiated—just a mound of rotting animal remains, ashes, and sticks—but it pulses with spiritual energy.

What Makes Dankoli So Powerful:

• Hundreds of Voodoo pilgrims visit weekly, traveling from across Benin and neighboring countries

• People come to ask the saints for help—health, fertility, business success, or even vengeance

• To gain favor from the spirits, they offer animal sacrifices—goats, chickens, and more

• The shrine is surrounded by voodoo fetishes, sticks jammed into the ground, and items left behind as offerings

The air was thick with the scent of decay, blood, and ash. It was intense, raw, and unlike anything I had experienced—a living, breathing altar of West African spirituality.

Despite its visceral appearance, Dankoli felt deeply sacred. I stood quietly and observed as locals performed rituals, whispered prayers, and placed offerings at the shrine. This wasn’t performance—it was real, spiritual devotion, rooted in centuries of belief.

Arrival in Abomey

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, we finally reached Abomey—once the seat of kings and warriors. Tired but eager, we checked into a local guesthouse, ready to explore the royal palaces, voodoo temples, and the living traditions of this storied city the next day.

Boy who sacrificed a chicken at the Dankoli sacrifice shrine

Mounds of rotten sacrificed flesh at Dankoli sacrifice shrine

Haunted Royalty in Abomey

Exploring the Palaces of Kings and Ghosts

We arrived in Abomey by late afternoon and checked into a weathered but atmospheric French colonial chateau, a relic from the era when France controlled much of West Africa. The hotel overlooked several walled royal palace compounds, silent reminders of the city’s regal and often brutal past.

The Kingdom of Dahomey: Power Built on Blood

A Legacy of Ritual, Royalty, and Ruthlessness

Abomey was once the capital of the Kingdom of Dahomey—a powerful and feared empire that ruled from the 17th to the 19th century. Each king constructed his own palace compound, often on the blood-soaked ground of his predecessor.

What Makes Abomey’s Royal History So Striking:

• There are still around 12 royal palace compounds standing today

• Many were built using coagulated blood from enemy captives, which was mixed with mud to reinforce the walls

• When a king died, his wives—sometimes dozens—would commit ritual suicide and be buried alongside him

• A new king would build his own palace, leaving the previous one abandoned

The result is a maze-like city dotted with deserted, decaying compounds, each echoing with the weight of centuries of violence, glory, and spiritual belief.

Sneaking into the Shadows of a Royal Past

An Unexpected Exploration After Dusk

I had a strong desire to explore inside one of these palace compounds, but the walls were tall and the gates locked. As dusk settled over the city, I found a palace with a gate slightly ajar—unlatched and unguarded.

With no one in sight and my curiosity stronger than my caution, I took out my flashlight and slipped through the door.

The compound was pitch-black and eerily silent, its high walls absorbing the light and sound. As I wandered deeper, a shiver of anxiety ran through me—not just because these sites are rumored to be haunted, but also because I worried about the possibility of encountering squatters or guards.

A Scare and an Unexpected Welcome

Suddenly, two men appeared out of the darkness—no flashlights, no warning. I froze, my heart pounding.

They weren’t hostile. In fact, they were friendly and calm, introducing themselves as guards hired by descendants of the royal family to protect the compound from vandalism. After a quick explanation and some reassurance, they allowed me to explore on my own.

I wandered through the crumbling structures and shadowy courtyards. Most buildings were abandoned and empty, exuding a cold, haunting presence. I’m certain every room, every doorway had deeper cultural meaning—but without a guide, it was hard to understand the symbolism.

Before leaving, I thanked the two men and handed them a small tip for their kindness.

Reflections on the Palace

Though my exploration didn’t yield dramatic discoveries, it was one of the most atmospheric and eerie experiences I’ve had in West Africa. The silence, the spirits, and the sense of history were palpable, even if I didn’t fully understand the stories hidden behind every wall.

Abomey is not just a city—it’s a living museum of power, pain, and legacy, and one of the most intense historical destinations in Benin.

One of the previous king’s palaces I explored in Abomey

The guards of the royal palace that allowed me to explore it at night

Audience with a King in Abomey

Crawling Before Royalty in the Land of Ancestors and Spirits

The next morning in Abomey, I decided to pursue one of my top travel goals in Benin: visiting a living king. Abomey, once the seat of the mighty Dahomey Empire, is still home to multiple kings—some with symbolic, spiritual authority, others with active cultural influence in their communities.

Seeking the Main King of Abomey

Rumors, Chaos, and Uncertainty

I first attempted to visit the main royal figure of Abomey, famous for his traditional attire and public role during ceremonies. I made my way to his palace, but the scene was chaotic—people coming and going, no clear entry point, and conflicting information about his availability.

Some whispered that the king was ill, while others suggested he had already passed away—but hadn’t yet been declared dead. In Dahomean royal tradition, funeral rites are highly secretive and complex, and the death of a king is often kept under wraps until all ceremonial preparations are complete.

A Visit to a Rival King

Whiskey, Protocols, and Royal Etiquette

Seeing my disappointment, the hotel manager offered a solution. “No problem,” he said. “There is another king.”

He made a few calls, and within an hour we had received permission to visit a rival king of Abomey—another local monarch with his own compound and royal lineage.

The Entry Fee:

• A bottle of whiskey purchased at the local market

• A $20 offering to be presented as a formal gesture of respect

We drove to the outskirts of Abomey, where the king resided in a walled compound. It was modest by palace standards but clearly reflected greater wealth and status than most rural homes in Benin.

Royal Protocol: A Lesson in Humility

Before entering the king’s quarters, one of his subjects greeted us at the gate and laid out the protocols:

• Remove your shoes before entry

• Prostrate yourself—crawl into the king’s presence as a show of submission and respect

• Do not speak to the king directly; all communication must go through his attendants

We did as instructed, crawling forward across the sandy ground, and bowed before the king seated upon a simple yet symbolic throne, holding a ceremonial staff.

Beneath him, three of his wives sat on the floor, fanning him and wiping sweat from his brow. It was surreal—a living, breathing royal court, steeped in tradition and untouched by time.

Magic and Shape-Shifting: The Voodoo King’s Decree

The king accepted our gifts through his attendants and welcomed us with quiet dignity. Through the subject, he asked if we would be returning in January for the Voodoo Festival, the most sacred time in southern Benin.

“That is when I will shape-shift into a lion,” he explained through his attendant. “And I will perform my magic.”

Curious, I asked if he could demonstrate his transformation now. He smiled and responded, “I can do it anytime. But during the festival, for sure.”

Meeting the King’s Lion

To conclude our visit, the king’s subject offered to show us the king’s pet lion—a living representation of his spiritual power.

We were led to a small steel cage on the edge of the compound. Inside, a malnourished and restless lion paced back and forth, its ribs visible through its patchy fur. It growled lowly and eyed us with agitation.

It was a sad sight, yet deeply symbolic. In the realm of voodoo kings and ancestral magic, the lion is both literal and metaphorical—a creature of power, protection, and prophecy.

A Visit Unlike Any Other

The entire experience felt like stepping back in time. The blend of animist belief, royal formality, and living tradition made this one of the most surreal and unforgettable encounters of my time in Benin.

In Abomey, kings may have lost their political rule—but their spiritual power and cultural legacy still reign strong.

One of the Abomey King with his 3 wives

Wives of the king tending to his every need in absolute servitude

Kings pet lion

A Dark Detour Before Grand Popo

Seeking a Voodoo Priest Along the Banks of Lac Toho

After our audience with the king in Abomey, we began the long journey south to Grand Popo, a coastal town known for its laid-back beaches and Voodoo heritage. But before reaching the coast, there was one more stop I couldn’t pass up—a visit to a renowned Voodoo priest I had learned about from another traveler.

He was said to practice both good and bad magic, and though I wasn’t sure what we were walking into, my curiosity outweighed my caution.

A Village Lost in Time—and a Car That Nearly Died

The priest lived in a remote village near Lac Toho, far from the main road and not easy to find. After wandering the maze of dirt tracks and asking directions repeatedly, we finally neared the village—when our car suddenly died without warning.

Our driver, unfazed, crawled under the vehicle and spent over an hour piecing together a temporary fix using wire and local ingenuity. Somehow, it worked—at least well enough to get us to Grand Popo.

In the meantime, a local man who knew of the priest offered to bring us to his home. We followed him hesitantly through the quiet alleys of the village until we arrived at a modest, nondescript house.

Meeting the Priest of Light and Darkness

An Unsettling Introduction to Raw Voodoo Power

The Voodoo priest greeted Richard and me, accompanied by another priest, whose unnerving, glassy-eyed silence gave off a sociopathic air.

We were told the priest would allow us to visit his personal shrine and explain the basics of his practice—for a fee, of course.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere shifted. There was a heaviness, a darkness to the space, as though we had crossed some invisible threshold.

Inside the Shrine: A Chilling Display

The priest led us into a dimly lit room filled with fetishes, totems, animal parts, and strange objects used for casting spells. Some were tied together with red twine, others wrapped in cloth or smeared with what looked like blood.

Among the more disturbing items:

• Animal skins and bones, piled in corners or hanging from nails

• Clubs with embedded spikes, caked in what appeared to be rotted flesh

• A collection of skulls, each said to serve a purpose in spellwork

The priest held up one human skull and explained it belonged to a murderer. According to him, the victim’s family had commissioned vengeance, and once the curse was cast, death was certain for the murderer.

He didn’t say how the man died, nor how he acquired the skull. He simply poured whiskey over it, the liquid glistening ominously as it ran down the bone.

Personal Spirits of the Dead

Then he pulled out two small, carved dolls—representations of his twin children, who had died at birth. In Voodoo belief, the spirits of deceased twins are considered powerful protectors, and their presence must be honored throughout the father’s life.

The priest carries these dolls with him at all times, treating them as living entities—feeding, dressing, and speaking to them regularly.

Leaving with a Mix of Fascination and Unease

It was one of the most unsettling experiences of the trip—not because of any direct threat, but because of how real and raw the encounter was. This wasn’t folklore or performance for tourists. This was living, breathing, visceral Voodoo, practiced deep in the bush, far from the filters of modern interpretation.

I left the shrine both intrigued and disturbed, carrying the weight of what I’d seen. Some places mark you forever. This was one of them.

Lac Toho fisherman

Voodoo priest holding the skull of a murderer, he claimed died from a voodoo spell cast by him

Voodoo proest holding the dolls he believes to contain the souls of the his twins that died at birth

Tools for Sacrificing Animals in Voodoo rituals

Voodoo ceremonial drums and tools to cast spells

Arrival in Grand Popo

Beachside Recovery After a Long, Haunted Road

By the time we rolled into Grand Popo, our patched-up vehicle had miraculously held together. Once there, our driver immediately took it in for repairs—his reward for managing to keep it limping through the last leg of the journey.

We checked into the Auberge de Grand Popo, a charming beachside hotel with a laid-back atmosphere and crashing Atlantic waves just steps away. After the intensity of the north, the warm breeze and salt air were a welcome relief. I spent the afternoon unwinding on the beach, watching fishermen pull in their nets, and letting the past few days settle in.

Seeking Out Kpossou Gayou

A Forbidden Voodoo Village Across the River

But Grand Popo, for all its coastal calm, still pulses with voodoo energy, and I wasn’t done exploring.

Across the Mono River lies Kpossou Gayou, a small, secluded voodoo village feared by nearly everyone in the region. The village is widely believed to practice dark or “evil” voodoo, and locals treat it with caution—even dread.

I had heard whispers of this place and knew I had to try to visit.

No One Dared Take Me… Except One

I began asking around—hotel staff, fishermen, vendors—but every person I spoke with refused to help. Some laughed nervously, others quickly changed the subject. One woman warned, “They bring misfortune. Don’t go.”

But my curiosity was stronger than fear.

Eventually, I found one guide in Grand Popo—a young man who had grown up nearby—who was willing to take me. He hesitated at first, but agreed after I explained my intentions were respectful and observational.

“I will take you,” he said quietly, “but we must not stay long.”

Old French colonial buildings of Grand Popo

Sunset of Grand Popo Beach

Man selling a live lizard for bush meat along the side of the road

Crossing into Shadows: Kpossou Gayou at Dawn

A Funeral Procession for the Dead—and the Living Spirits

At first light, I awoke with anticipation and a tinge of apprehension. Today I would finally cross the river into Kpossou Gayou, the voodoo village feared and avoided by nearly everyone in Grand Popo.

My local guide, a quiet but curious soul, met me outside the hotel. Surprisingly, my Burkinabé guide also decided to join—his skepticism clearly overridden by the allure of the unknown.

Mono River in the Mist

A Gateway Between Worlds

When we reached the banks of the Mono River, a thick morning fog clung to the water like a veil. The river looked ghostly and silent, as if we were about to cross not just into another village, but into another realm entirely.

We found a lone fisherman willing to ferry us across. As he rowed, the distant sound of drums began to echo across the water—deep, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

My guide leaned in and whispered:

“Funeral for a voodoo priest.”

Arrival into Ritual

The Procession of Spirits and Ancestors

As we stepped onto the far bank, the sun began to rise, casting long shadows through the village. Before us, a funeral procession moved down the dirt streets—men and women chanting, clapping in unison, and carrying a coffin on their shoulders.

Leading the procession was an Egungun—a sacred figure in voodoo practice, dressed in a bright red shroud with animal horns, spinning and dancing wildly.

The Egungun is not simply a man in costume. During the ritual, he is believed to be possessed by the spirits of the ancestors—in this case, the recently deceased voodoo priest. His dance is meant to cleanse the village of dark energy and restore balance.

No one is allowed to touch the Egungun—to do so, they say, brings death within a day. A guard with a stick marched ahead, clearing the way and ensuring the spirit’s space remained protected.

Following the Spirits Through the Village

I quietly joined the procession, clapping along with the others, careful not to offend, and even more careful with my camera—this was not a show, but deeply sacred ritual.

We stopped at multiple voodoo shrines along the way. Each one seemed to hold its own mystery:

• A small fetish mound wrapped in cloth

• A painting or mural faded by time

• A dead animal offering at the foot of a tree

• Life-sized doll-like effigies, worn and haunting

I had no idea what each site represented, but it was clear that every stop was intentional, every ritual reverent, and the entire ceremony choreographed by centuries of belief.

The Bottle of Spirits—Literally and Figuratively

7AM Whiskey with the Priest of the Dead

Somewhere deeper in the village, we entered a small, dimly lit house, where a voodoo priest sat on the floor, already drinking shots of home-brewed whiskey from the most terrifying bottle I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The bottle looked like it had come straight from a horror film:

• Shaped like a human figure

• Covered in congealed matter, possibly blood and something worse

• Eyes made of buttons and teeth etched into the mouth

It looked like a possessed African version of Chucky, dripping with years of ritual use and mystery. The priest offered us a shot. I politely declined.

Between Respect and the Unexplainable

This was one of the most intense and surreal experiences I’ve had on the road—both spiritually charged and unnerving. I felt like a welcomed observer, cautiously accepted into a world of secrets and shadows, where belief isn’t just part of life—it is life.

Kpossou Gayou may be feared by others, but for a moment, I witnessed its sacred rhythm, and I’ll never forget it.

Egungun leading the funeral procession

Funeral procession

Man with stick in charge of ensuring no one accidentally touches the egungun during the funeral procession

One of the voodoo sites the funeral procession stopped at

One of the voodoo sites the funeral procession stopped at

Inside a Voodoo Priests House/Interior Decor

Voodoo Shrine Inside the Priests House

Drinking Home made Whiskey at 730 in the morning with a voodoo priest from the coolest bottle I have ever seen

Creepy Doll affixed to the whiskey bottle

Farewell to the Spirits: From Kpossou Gayou to Lomé

Closing the Chapter on a Journey Through Sacred Lands

After an unforgettable morning among the rituals and mysteries of Kpossou Gayou, I made my way back across the Mono River, the fog now lifted but the sense of otherworldliness still clinging to my thoughts.

A Return to Grand Popo’s Calm

Back in Grand Popo, the contrast was immediate. The sound of the surf replaced the rhythm of drums, and the beach once again offered a moment of peace and grounding. I took a few quiet hours to rest, reflect, and prepare for the journey’s final leg.

Onward to Lomé, Togo

That afternoon, we continued eastward along the coast, crossing the border into Lomé, Togo, where I would spend my final night in West Africa.

The city, with its mix of colonial charm and West African vibrancy, was a fitting place to close the circle. I spent the evening wandering the streets, watching the sun set over the Gulf of Guinea, and letting the whirlwind of experiences settle.