The village of ghosts

Contemporary Review, Nov, 1993 by Raymond Tong

During the four years from 1949 that my wife and I spent in the ancient kingdom of Benin in Western Nigeria, we always tried our best to get to know the people among whom we lived. One of the ways in which we were able to do this was by rubbing shoulders with them in the Oba Market in Benin City, which we usually visited about twice a week. We never ceased to be fascinated by the colourful dresses of the women, the immense variety of goods and the endless, good-natured bargaining. We were, however, always particularly attracted by a stall where small crocodiles were for sale. They were considered a delicacy in many Bini households, providing a meat-dish which was, we were told, very sweet and savoury. They were brought into the city on the heads of women who had often carried them over twenty miles from the creeks in the remote south-west. On a number of occasions we had seen these women with their strange burdens toiling along the sandy, winding road which led to Gwato. The swamps around this little village were a favourite place for catching crocodiles, and one of the main sources of supply.

Gwato seemed to have been beckoning to us almost from the first day of our arrival. This had nothing to do with crocodiles, although we should naturally have liked to have seen one caught. It was largely caused by our interest in its history as the old port of Benin. This history began, as far as Europeans were concerned, in 1472 when Portuguese explorers, sailing along the Gulf of Guinea, discovered the coastline of what has since been named Nigeria. They called it ~the kingdom of Benin', and it was with the Oba (or king) of Benin that they first established a trade in ivory, palm kernels and red pepper. This trade continued to grow and so did the influence of Portuguese missionaries, who for well over a century exerted a strong Christian influence on the country. Besides building a number of churches, they even sometimes accompanied the Oba, perhaps with Portuguese soldiers, when he went to war against neighbouring tribes. However, since succeeding Obas tended to have a favourable attitude to trade, it was not long before other Europeans began to visit Benin. Most of them were surprised to find that the Oba's capital was an extensive walled city, with wide roads, three deep moats, and nine large gateways. A Dutch traveller, Dr. Olfert Dapper, became quite lyrical and wrote of how he was confronted by spires and ~eagle-topped turrets'.

All who visited the Oba's domains did so by way of the Benin River and the creek which led to Gwato. It is evident from seventeenth and eighteenth century maps of West Africa that Gwato, sometimes spelled Aggaton, was generally regarded as one of the most important ports on the Guinea Coast. Of course, we were well aware that up to the end of the nineteenth century most West African ports were scarcely more than a rickety wooden landing-stage above a muddy estuary. We were still haunted by Conrad's Marlow and his nightmare voyage into that savage hinterland dominated by the tragic figure of Kurtz. We knew quite well that a Guinea Coast trading-station was usually only a single tin-roofed hut housing some forlorn, whisky-sodden outcast. We realized that Gwato itself, even at its most flourishing, was only a large mud village standing above malarial swamps. Nevertheless, this old Bini port continued to beckon us, and we were determined to pay it a visit.

But time passes quickly in Africa. My work as an education officer kept me very busy so that weeks and months went rapidly by. We had been in Benin quite a considerable time before we eventually found ourselves bumping along the Ekinwuan road en route to Gwato, accompanied by a Bini student who would act as our interpreter. It was still the dry season, and although the road was rough and dusty, it was reasonably good for most of the way. For the last two miles, however, there was nothing but a tortuous track, rather overgrown and snaking in and out around the massive trunks of giant trees. The path seemed to get narrower and narrower, and we were beginning to doubt whether we would be able to drive right up to the village, when suddenly we rounded a bend and found that we had arrived at our destination.

Gwato was even smaller and more desolate than we had expected. There was nothing at first sight to suggest the slightest link with its prominent past. There could not have been more than two dozen mud huts altogether. Moreover, the whole place seemed strangely derelict. There was nobody about but a naked child squatting before the embers of a fire. He did not seem to notice us, but went on staring straight in front of him, gazing at nothing with large inward eyes. When we shouted to him he jumped a little, as though awakened from a trance, then ran quickly behind a hut. He had obviously gone to call his sisters, for a few moments later five or six girls appeared. They seemed unusually timid. They stood staring at us vaguely. Then as I got out of the car to see if they would lead me to the headman of the village, they all took to their heels. This was completely unexpected. We had never experienced such behaviour in any other Bini village.