Animals

This morning, a rooster was in our concession. While I drank my coffee, he crowed from beneath an old car. The roosters begin crowing at 5, an hour after the first call to prayer. From my other window, I like to watch the goats in the smaller courtyard. The kids move so abruptly, the way they hop into the air barely moving their legs. The cock of the head gestures towards a day when he will have horns. From my bedroom door, one can see a small herd of goat on a neighboring roof. Goats like to eat the table scraps which we leave in the front. On a small walk, a small cow and I noticed each other before the rain. Her skin was taunt around her ribs. On the same walk, a pig rooted through the neighbourhood dump. Madam Rose, my neighbour, has a small white and brown cat. The cat has a sharp triangle head and may weigh one kilogram. Animals wander all through the streets. Sometimes they are privileged enough for a ride on the back of a zem. They all share they same ambivalent, otherworldly stare. Someone has a claim to this rooster, but its movement speaks otherwise. Possession is not the right word.

One does not touch the animals in the street because they roll in filth. The Beninese care deeply about cleanliness and animals are not for touching. But once they are cooked, we use our hands. Animals are also used for the voodoo fetishes. The Voodoo faith recognizes the elusive power of these cohabitants.

Some mornings, a tourterelle sits on my window sill. The tourterelle sings for a moment and leaves. One lives closer to animals here in Benin.