Between Tata Castles and the Stars: Immersion in the Secular Batamariba Culture

At dusk, the region of Koutammakou treats us tobrightly shining stars. Thisworld is shrouded in a thick, warm blackness, today adorned by a winding orange line that stands out on the horizon. Somefarmers are setting a fire. The full moon comes precisely from there, wearing the hues of one who brings with them the fire that slides down the hillside. Just me, shadows of imagined castles, and nature, perceptible only in the sound of animals, a giftisand and others indecipherable…

I sleep out in the open in a tower, a spkindshell-shaped structure on a terraceof a tata (a house–fortress, also known as a tata sombra or a takienta),the Togo and Benin pica, declared a World HeritageheritageWorld in 2004.

It's hot, so I lie down as I came into the world, on a mattressthat’s, yet still comfortable, wrapped in a worn mosquito net, romanticizing my pure connection to a centuries-old and distant way of life. I can barely sleep. I don’t want to miss a minute of this experience.

I will wake to the sound of crowing roosters, stray dogs barking, and the silhouettes of people engaged in quiet conversation. About 30 meters away, outside another tcafé, a mother prepares breakfast (cornmeal porridge enriched with other grains) over a campfire; the father, bare-chested, washes himself with a little water, and the children, looking somewhat unkempt, already display the youthfulof their age. There is theanimalsisrunning roaming free, with little goats devouring everything in is allowed. A ritualistic daily routine without urgency, unchanging.

With an architectural style reminiscent of small castles and thick walls , the tatas arethe structures circular orrectangulartwo-story structures built with natural materials (clay, straw, cow dung, and wood) that combine defensive, residential, and spiritual functions. Theonly entrance is narrow and low, to deter potential intruders and, thus, increase the safety of residents. It is usually oriented toward the west, protecting againstthe wind and, above all, evil spirits. On theisground, easta for animals, a barn, and a kitchen. On the upper level, the bedrooms (accessible by stairs and with tiny entrances) and an open terrace used for drying food or keeping watch over the surroundings.

These charming structures emerged in response to threats historicalhistorical, namely conflicts between clans, attacks by slave hunters, and the need to protect families and supplies. At the same time, they represent the integration between humans, nature, and the cosmos. The house symbolizes the union of gods, ancestors, and the living: the terrace alludes to the cé, the middleisfloor, ground floor, and the lower, to the underworld.

The importanceimportance of tdatas and this way of lifethe people’s batamariba (also known as tamari, otamari and sombain Benin, and Taberma, in Togo), which persists, stems from its exceptional example of human adaptation to the environment. The preservation of the Cultural Landscape of Koutammakou , as advocated by UNESCO, extends to other neighboring groups in both nations. 

My first encounter with this heritageheritageheritage takes placeinin Natitingou, in the interior of Benin, at its regional museum. In fact, it is theonlysite where I actually find informationiswritten, photographic, and in layout. In this countrys ,known for voodoo and the Kingdom of Daomis, with a connection historicalótoPortuguesePortuguese, experto tatas promotes a sustainable economy, as the communities offer guided toursby local and state. Also, I prefer to get to know the goaribas in a more genuine, raw, and immersive experience of the Togo, deep in its interior,where the absence of organized tourism does not make life easy for foreigners.

Discover a stateat Tata Chez Emilienne is not is diffto, unlike establishing communicationtisclear and effective. Even without a response, I press on toward the border. I negotiate a zémidjan (“take me quickly”), which is a motorcycle, the fastest way to cover those 50 kilometerskilometersof good road tois Boukoumbis. They drop me off in the city center, as a group of young residentreserve the exclusive right to take me by motorcycle to the border.

When the mission seems complete, the guard sends me back to the village to take care of the immigration paperwork at the police station, where I find some of the officers asleep. The wait is short, so I don’t mind, and I return to the same post where the authorities force the cycliststo to take me to the first village in Togo: walking in the sun with the weight of my backpack on a dusty road is is a good cardbusiness .

Nadoba is not is big, yet it has a vibrant market, a maze teeming with life. It seems as if villagers from all over the region have converged here. With stalls nestled within a huge puzzle, I drift through the exopenwhere where people circulate, in an amalgam not advisable for those is not particularly fond of being touched. Not is the case. The buzz is the usual for these places, and the eye feasts on this festival of color, in the women’s attire and in what is being sold—literally everything.

I realizequickly that the photograph is a subject that demands extreme sensitivity. I feel like I’ve struck gold when, amid the chaos of the crowd, a young woman agrees to my request to photograph her. In those few seconds, she offers me only a serene expression, without smiling. Her face is marked with scars that identify her ethnicity, a colorful dress, a necklace, and a sppiece ofwith various motifs estispatterns, from which emerges a yellow lace scarf with flowers. Earrings dangle from her ears. She is accompanied by two other girls with equally striking features and attire. In a new, delicate improvisation, I try my luck, which is denied by the mother, who pulls them away from me.

While I wait for news from Emilienne, I take refuge from the heat and dust on a terrace with mú.It not a beer person, but it’s the only drink I see on the tables, including those of women, who are rarely present in these public spaces, in pure relaxation.

Luck is on my side. By chance, I come across the “King“. In the flesh. “From the kingdoms of Togo and Benin,” he emphasizes. It could be an honor, were it not merely the fantasy of someone who this morning has already “hydrated” for breakfastisout of control. He’s is all show in his pose. He wears a tunic that covers his body and carries a scythe slung over his shoulder by the blade. In fact, the chapishis is royal, adorned with cowrie shells and four horns—two in front and two in back– that look like antelope horns. Four large beaded necklaces and one shorter one. Two anisis of dimensionses isp, one with a skull and the other in the the shape of a human face. And a huge horn from which he drinks the fermented barley. 

Every time I ask him a question about his kingdom, his honors, and his magnificent life, he replies that he needs a drink for every answer. Out of kindness, I offer him the first beer. As a matter of principle, we leave it at that.

The tiny museum, risreplica of a treplica where I can gain a deeper understanding of the culture and buy the thankorequired ticket to explore the region, isclosed. “It’s not always open. It’s random random, because it’s rare for . It depends on the employee on duty. “Sometimes, you’ll find him at the bar next door,” they tell me.

At the place I was told to go, I can’t find the person in charge and quickly realize I shouldn’t be there. The law enforcement officers drink the inevitable beer and alsoareinappropriately touch the female employees, who, defenseless, respond with smiles to the antics of those is law, thethe outbursts of those who attack dignity, rather than defending them. The men in uniform do not appreciate my presence, and theyseem only to be waiting for a look or gesture of disapproval as a pretext to display it.

Saved by Emilienne – ahours later than planned, we finally met. The determined elderly woman (she must be about 60 old, byism, appear) brings with it the motorcyclistswho will take us onto its modest. Many traditional houses, small plots of farmland, and plenty ofstrong trees. Bales of straw for the cattle, often scattered roaming the plain, and some grains drying in the sun. Here and there, children walk with basins of water on their their headsthea. It is arefreshing serenity to immerse oneself in this truly simple way of life