My Encounter With the Man Who Burned People Alive (pt. 3 of 4)
(If you missed the first 2 parts of this experience, click here, part 1 and part 2.)
As we were driving home one Saturday in September, we spotted more than a hundred motorcycles and bicycles parked near the gate of a primary school just beyond the town of Dogbo. A large crowd filled the schoolyard. Several of the men held rifles. I pulled up and asked two men who were leaving, “What is going on?”
“Devi just burned two thieves. He is talking to the people now.”
He had ‘progressed’ to executing people on playgrounds. What next? The answer arrived the following day when we returned home from worship in a remote village.
We saw a crowd in the town park. “It’s got to be Devi,” I said. I rolled up to the edge of the park and hopped out. Music, punctuated by announcements, bellowed from a loud speaker. “Devi is coming soon…everyone come…Churches are with us…Devi is sent by God.” Many of the people in the park knew I opposed Devi’s activities. They crowed around me. I asked them, “Why is Devi coming here?”
“He is going to raise money,” one of my neighbors said.
“If Devi is sent by God why does he wear fetish protection around his waist? Why does he sacrifice to the voodoo gods?” The circle of people grew, but no one answered my questions. “If he is sent by God, why does he come with guns? Tell him to go home, put his guns down, and then come back.” I returned to the car and asked my wife to go home and inform our mission teammates what was happening. “I’ll be there soon.”
Ten minutes later several neighbors came up to me and spoke in a low voice, “Richard you need to get out of here. These people are not happy with you.” I scanned the eighty or so who encircled me, and found only a few faces that seemed sympathetic, so I heeded the advice and walked away.
As I reached the far right corner of the park, I spotted the Captain of the Brigade and several of his fellow policemen coming out of the station. They had taken off their uniforms and put on colorful, civilian clothes. It was obvious that they would not stand in Devi’s way. They feared him.
It took me just a couple of minutes to walk home. Cyndi and I decided it was prudent to go to Azove for lunch rather than stick around town during Devi’s rally. When we approached the paved road, we could see that rifle-carrying men lined both sides of the street for about a quarter of a mile. Across the valley, I could see a procession of motorcycles and cars, with their headlights on, moving slowly down the hill. They were escorting Devi to town with the rural equivalent of a presidential entourage. We decided not to attempt to proceed up the hill past them.
When we turned around and preceded down the dirt road, we were shocked to see armed men standing every few meters around the perimeter of the park. Some had stationed themselves in front of the police and mayor’s office. The vigilante bands had become an organized militia of more than one thousand and had effectively taken control of Aplahoue for the afternoon.
The following afternoon we attended a service at the Catholic Church in Azove where the Monsignor from Lokossa delivered a homily in opposition to Devi’s campaign. The press, local government officials, police brass and the rest of us crowded into the church. Without calling Devi’s name, the priest spoke about the need to be forgiving and to be agents of peace.
That evening my landlord told me that the Monsignor sat down, after the service, with Christian leaders to discuss how they might work together to end the burnings. I regretted that I missed that meeting. So, the next morning, October 18, after my wife and the Hicks left for Cotonou, I drove to the Catholic compound in Lokossa. Another priest told me the Monsignor had gone to the north of the country. So, I visited with the priest for a while, then headed home.
The conversation with the priest and the events surrounding Devi churned in my heart and mind as I drove home. A word came to me from the Lord, not in a mysterious voice, but the clear proclamation of scripture. “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline” (2 Tim. 1:7). I was convinced that I must meet with Devi and tell him how God felt about what he and his followers were doing. I prayed that he would listen.
They looked at each other, then one said, “We do not know.”
Surely, everyone around here knows his place. They must be afraid of what might happen to them if they showed me the way. I thanked them and I drove on.
A half a mile further down the road I came upon another group. “I am a missionary.”
I pulled my wallet from my hip pocket and showed them my “carte de sejour” (resident I.D. card). “I want to talk to Devi. Is his house on this road?”
“Just keep going for about four kilometers and you will come to it.”
I put the truck into gear and drove on. Less than a half mile later, I noticed a man, in a plain military uniform, jogging down a knoll toward the road. He carried a rife in one hand and waved for me to stop with the other. “I want to talk to Devi,” I told him when he came up to the truck.
“It is just up ahead.”
A couple of kilometers later I began to think that I had been deceived. I pulled alongside a young man and asked him if he would take me close to Devi’s house. “I will let you off before we arrive, so no one will know you showed me the way.” He agreed and got in the truck.
It was not long before the young man said, “Devi lives there” and indicated a village just ahead. “You can let me out here.” When I stopped, the young man looked around to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied, he got out. I thanked him and ventured forward.
On the right, a couple dozen mud huts bordered a tree-shaded, open area. A school was behind a hedge on the left. Except for the children in the schoolyard, there did not seem to be anyone around. Then I spotted a few women cooking under a tin shelter at a crossroad at the edge of the village. I drove up to them and asked if Devi was around. They looked at each other and did not answer. So, I repeated, “Can you please show me his house?”
Finally, one of them pointed at what looked like a bike path lined by tall shrubs. I had only gone fifty meters down the path when a man stepped out from a break in the shrubs. He held a two-way radio. “Go back to the junction. Devi will meet you there,” he said and motioned me to turn around.
When I got back to the junction, I got out and stood in front of my truck. People came out of huts and from behind trees. They stared, but kept their distance. Children ran across the open schoolyard. I held my hand up and said, “Don’t come close. This is not a place for children.”
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