Enter Mercy Ships, the thirty-year-old global charity that is better known for performing surgery onboard its docked ships. I’ve been surprised to learn that the organization also performs operations “off-ship”, which explains the new agricultural center now being constructed in Hevier's interior jungle territory. It’s amidst the thick, almost impenetrable growth that a clearing has been made to accommodate the construction of a hostel that will house up to 35 farming students. This is also the territory where “biblical agricultural practices” are being taught to the Beninois who wish to cultivate vegetables, roots and fruits without spoiling the land for future generations.

My driver and fixer for the day is David Cherry, a tall, thin, quiet man in his late fifties who originates from Georgia in the U.S. He's been overseeing the “Ag project” since its inception some months ago. He is also a steadfast “convinced Christian” which, out in these parts, means he is as respectful of African voodoo as he is to Jesus. In a word, the man has his guard up, which also makes him a bit nervous, if not unsettled.

Behind the wheel of the Nissan 4-wheel drive he speaks to me in his slow southern “good old boy” drawl about how easily many Beninois mix a belief in the Christian God with a steadfast belief in voodoo talismans, spirits and power. Some of the people mix the voodoo with a belief in Islam. In either case, it is strongly advised not to snap away with abandon like Robert Capa on steroids or else risk a Beninois tongue lashing or, far worse, some kind of powerful spell that might be cast upon me. I'm not sure about Cherry, but I wonder if it's the Beninois belief in voodoo that is causing them to have so much trouble raising crops without destroying the top-most layer of soil. Agricultural bad karma, as it were.

But then Africa is a land of extreme contradictions. For instance, in Benin (the capital of the voodoo world) as in many parts of Africa, it's perfectly acceptable to practice Islam or Catholicism in the morning. But at night, after the sun goes down, it's okay to focus your prayers on lesser Gods. You ask the spirits to give you the power to overcome your problems or to achieve something you desire. Problem is, however, the spirits don't give anything away for free.

This talisman is self explanatory (RT Photo / Vincent Zandri)

In extreme circumstances, such as in war-torn Liberia some fifteen years ago, a political leader ran and won on the roughly translated slogan “I killed your mother and I can kill your children.” Now if that's not a political agenda propped up by voodoo tradition and the bone chilling fear it harvests in many African souls, I don't know what is. Fear and loathing in the dark unknown can cause otherwise good Christians to do bad things, such as engage in ritual sacrifice. In many parts of Africa, an extreme example of sacrifice is the harvesting of the still beating heart of a little child. A tamer example is the consuming of the blood of a freshly killed rooster.

If you don't believe in spiritual hokus-pokus, you can get around Hevier's sun-baked villages and bush country without cause for fear or panic (that is, of course, if you're not bothered by spiders and snakes). But if you're the least bit superstitious and/or religious, you begin to see strange sets of eyes staring at you through the brush or from around a hut corner. You might feel a cold chill run up and down your backbone when an old shirtless man carrying a machete locks onto your eyes with his milky whites as you drive by. You can't help but wonder if a spell has already been cast upon your soul just by entering into a rural area rarely seen by westerners and almost never seen by tourists.

Coming upon the edge of the thick bush, we hook a quick right and continue with our bumpy and sometimes dangerously precarious drive along a rain-slicked dirt road. The hard-packed road is the color of pink cotton candy. Lining the sides of it are more wood huts and little shops. Native Beninois are scattered about along the side of the road, the men and boys dressed in loose shirts, slacks or shorts, their tough-soled feet bare, while the women dress in colorful wrap-arounds. Our white Nissan sticks out like a great white whale on wheels. People stop and stare. Most of them issue a suspicious scrunched brow, narrow-eyed expression. Through the years these people have seen western missionaries come and go, all too often abandoning the projects they started. Some leave because they run out of funds. Others get frustrated with this tough, unforgiving country. Still others become spooked by the voodoo (many missionaries, including some Mercy Ships volunteers, refuse to purchase souvenir ceremonial masks or jewelry because of the power they are believed to possess).

But what takes me by surprise are the children. The children, very few of whom go to school, run up to the Nissan as Cherry slowly negotiates the deep ruts and tries to prevent us from sliding off the roadside into a ditch. The scantily dressed boys and girls assume wide smiles. They raise their hands and wave. They shout out “Bonjour” and laugh and get the biggest kick out of seeing us head into their jungle. I can't help but wonder: are they laughing with us? Or are they laughing at us? I stick my arm out the window, wave back, and hope for the former.

We cross over a stream via a narrow bridge with no rails. Cherry's eyes widen as we pass huts with thatched roofs on one side and corn fields on the other. Further up the road, topless women pound corn or seeds in stone jars with heavy, blunt ended polls. Roosters and pigs scurry about along with the occasional underfed dog. Soon we pass a tower made from clay and wood. Mounted to the top of the tower is a crude airplane. I ask Cherry the significance of the airplane. But he doesn't know. But what he does know is that the tower is a talisman and it signifies that we are in the middle of voodoo territory.

When we pass by a wall-painted talisman that depicts a grass-skirted man whose mammoth-sized manhood is sticking out through the grass, I feel no need to inquire about its fertile meaning. Acting on instinct, however, I raise up my camera and catch a quick picture. Cherry doesn't have to tell me to put the camera down. I can feel his scream in the glare he gives me from behind the wheel. Clearly, the nervous Cherry seems to be getting more nervous.

Now having gone beyond the final semblance of civilization, we continue on into the bush towards the Ag Center, where only jungle and dark spirits await us.

To be continued…