‘Tis the season of “la Fête.” As we’ve mentioned before, Beninese folks like to celebrate from about Christmas Eve through to sometime around February. The New Year, at least, is probably the closest thing they have to national, secular, non-patriotic holiday such as we have so many of in the States (Thanksgiving, Valentine’s, Halloween, etc.).
This year, as last year, we stayed in Houègbo. Though we didn’t really expect much, based on last year’s experience, we also didn’t have any place better to be. Our neighbors, however, surprised us.
For Christmas, it was pretty much an average day. We did have a lovely time opening presents from là-bas, and we ate some tourtière, some sweet potato mallow, and some enchiladas (not all at once).
Unlike last year, we didn’t bake the neighbors any tourtière, being uncertain as to whether they really liked it and unsure of the protocol, anyway. The kids got some candy from us, some pens, and some pencils, as well as a small, kind-of tacky nativity set. The happiness with which these small gifts were received reminded us that bigger, better, or more expensive is not really necessary.
Fast-forward a few days to New Year’s Eve. We decided we’d stay up. Barely managing to last till midnight, we wandered outside. Nothing going on. Doors to the neighbors’ closed (though they were clearly home and up). Oh, well, we lit our sparklers anyway, marveled at Orion’s being straight overhead, and went to bed expecting at any moment to be awakened by firecrackers and Petit Miquelito blasting from some overburdened woofers.
New Year’s Day gave us something to remember, though. Not long into the morning, we got a knock at our door (or rather a quiet “ko ko, ici,” which has the same effect). Answering it, I was greeted by François, the 12(?) year old next door, bearing a pot of beans and a loaf of bread wrapped in a towel. Nice! We were pleasantly surprised, to say the least (especially as plans for French toast had died with the discovery of broken eggs).
About lunchtime, again there was a ko ko ko-ing at the door. More food! This time, it was the other maman next door, bearing a plate of beans, pasta, pimente, sauce and chicken, also with a loaf of bread wrapped in a towel. Needless to say, lunch was easy for us, and delicious.
As we sat out later in the day and into the evening, we realized that Beninese people actually celebrate New Year’s. While many Americans are nursing a hangover, our neighbors and friends here are preparing food and going a-visiting dressed up in their finest new complet outfits. (Though, unlike for us, it seems the visitors are usually the recipients, not the bringers, of deliciousness).
Feeling a little sheepish that we hadn’t known what might be expected, Phoebe and I figured out that we had some pork in the fridge and some rice we could share; so, I whipped up a couple dishes in the evening and brought them over.
In the evening, the kids showed up and hung out on our porch, playing with sparklers, enjoying the sugared peanuts, not much liking Gummi Bears, and seemingly happy to have a hang-out that didn’t involve their parents or visitors. Even Daniel, of the t-shirt story, came over and wished us a happy New Year. Vive le rapprochement.
Two days later, we’d just finished up the beans delivered in the morning, which we later found to have chicken hidden in them) and enjoyed again the kindness and generosity of our neighbors this fête.
Happy New Year, everyone.
