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From the Independent...

Beyond the drumming, dancing and voodoo dolls, Stuart Butler finds the supernatural is part of everyday life in the West African country of Benin.....

I don't know for sure if chickens can glare, but this one was doing its utmost to stare me out. This peculiar situation was enough to make me catch my breath and back hastily away. I was in Benin, a small country cradled in the green folds of West Africa - and swathed in superstition.

It was once called Dahomey; legend has it that its kings were descended from the son of a princess who slept with a leopard. They lived lives of extreme brutality and the walls of their capital, Abomey, were festooned with the severed heads of enemies. To relax, they enjoyed a harem of hundreds of virgins and for sport they fulfilled their coronation vows, to expand by means of war the size of the kingdom they had inherited. To fund it all, the many prisoners that this near-constant state of warfare generated were wrapped in chains and sold to the European slavers along the coast. But the real ace of terror up their sleeves was not the fear of a life of slavery, but something far worse: Dahomey was the home of voodoo.

Appearances in news bulletins today are rare; attractions in tourist brochures rarer still. I presume that visitors have been scared away by the voodoo legacy. As I was to find out during my stay in Benin, however, voodoo isn't quite what I was led to believe. This animistic religion is not the pure evil portrayed by Hollywood. In fact, voodoo might well be the least understood religion in the world and this is partially because it's incredibly complicated for a Westerner, with our dry and scientific ways of thinking, to comprehend.

For a start, there is no voodoo equivalent of the Bible. Its customs and theology are not written down. In fact, solid information on Beninese voodoo is almost non-existent. The word voodoo comes from the language of the Fon people of coastal Benin, and means, "god", "spirit" or "power". Its adherents believe in the power of nature and the life force that circulates around every single thing on this planet. This power is represented by a whole bevy of ghosts, gods and spirits who can be communicated with through the use of shrines, priests and even witches - all of whom have the ability to channel mystical and magical powers from the spirits. Magic and the supernatural are wound up in the bubbling cauldron of day-to-day life in Benin, which makes it one of the most surreal and unique places to visit.

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A chicken with a misguided idea of its position in the human/poultry food chain wasn't my first encounter with the magic that permeates the air in Benin, however. Travelling to Affame, the home village of my Beninese friend Donne, the taxi shuddered to a halt on the edge of a small village.

We had been stopped in our tracks by none other than a god. There he was just strolling down the street, big horns growing out of his back, a veil wrapped over his face and a frightened audience keeping just one step ahead of him as the whip he held in one hand flayed out at any who ventured too close. This, Donne informed me, was an Egungun, or the spirit of a god who has commandeered a living man's body and, in this physical form, travels around the countryside passing on messages from the other side.

As if this wasn't bad enough, one touch from an Egungun meant certain death. While I understood the jangling nerves - after all, if god calls you up for a chat then the chances are you are in trouble - I had to admit that I did not really believe it. Until, that is, I stepped forward to get closer. All suddenly became clear when I heard his voice. There is no other way to put this: it was simply not the voice of a human being.

A little startled by this godly encounter, I leapt back into the taxi and hid under the car seat while he swept by. As soon as the road was clear, Donne suggested, to my relief, that we continue our journey. I barely had time to recover my poise when the taxi turned on to a ripped-up dirt road and we bounced our way into Affame. Here a god with a whip was going to be the least of my worries.

Donne wanted to show me something that he hoped would make voodoo seem a little more normal, and suggested that we start our exploration of his village by paying a courtesy call to the local guérisseur, or magic man. Wending our way past the noisy market, we came to the hospital of Dah Allodji, who, using natural remedies and just a little magic, was busily engaged in curing people who had been possessed by bad spirits.

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Mr Allodji, who didn't believe in modesty, told me that he was the most powerful magic man in eastern Benin and that he had never failed to cure anyone. In response to my question about how he had gained his powers, he said that he had purchased the ability from a passing magical dwarf - hardly an answer likely to stand up to scientific scrutiny. However, both he and his clients seemed to believe it was true, and the effect it had on his patients was nothing short of miraculous. I spoke to several families visiting sick relatives who claimed that they were seeing huge improvements in their loved ones' physical and mental health.

Impressed, I let Donne lead me away from the hospital to a small clearing at the back of the village where, nonchalantly, he announced that some dead twins were having a meal. Like so much in Benin, things were not quite what they seemed. There were no semi-rotten corpses gathered for a tea party; rather, a dozen or so villagers crowded around a series of metal tables decorated with those infamous voodoo dolls. However, these dolls were not for sticking needles into, they were representations of the dead twin siblings of the villagers around me. For in voodoo, twins are considered special and if one dies the other must carry a small statue of him or her around with them for the rest of their lives. On certain days, special ceremonies involving much drumming and dancing are held, in which the dolls are dressed up in new clothes, fed, watered and remembered.

Strolling back to the village I decided that, once you delve under the surface, voodoo isn't the dark religion of popular imagination. In fact, thinking back on all the people I had met - people like Mr Allodji, who were doing their best to help others, or the villagers who had gathered in respectful memory of their dead brothers and sisters - it became clear that voodoo was nothing to be afraid of. Even the Egunguns, with their unorthodox way of reminding people to live life with a set of moral values, suddenly seemed to make sense.

Stuart Butler is the author of the new Bradt travel guide to Benin (£14.99)

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TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

You can fly to Cotonou, Benin via Paris with Air France (0870 142 4343; www.airfrance.co.uk) from around the UK, with Afriqiyah Airways (01293 596 638; www.afriqiyah.aero) from Gatwick via Tripoli, or Royal Air Maroc (020-7307 5800; www.royalairmaroc.com) from Heathrow via Casablanca.

To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" from Climate Care (01865 207 000; www.climatecare.org). The environmental cost of a return flight to Cotonou is £10.50. This funds sustainable energy and reforestation projects.

Steppes Travel (01285 885333; www.steppestravel.co.uk) offers 11-day tours of Benin and Burkina Faso from £2,100 per person. This includes flights from Heathrow to Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso), B&B accommodation, meals and tours.

STAYING THERE

Benin Marina Hotel, Cotonou (00 229 21 30 01 00; www.benin-marina.com). Doubles from €119 (£85), with breakfast.

MORE INFORMATION

British passport-holders require a visa to visit Benin. These can be obtained from the Benin Honorary Consulate, Millennium House, Humber Road, London NW2 6DW (020-8830 8612) and cost £45 for a 15-day stay.

www.benintourisme.com