My Encounter With The Man Who Burned People Alive
March 22nd, 2011
This is the first in a series of posts that recount an encounter I had with a man in Benin more than a decade ago. I wrote the entire series, in a single document, soon after encounter, but this is the first time I have published it.
For God did not give us a spirit of timidity,
but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline. – 2 Timothy 1:7
— Hotel Plateau, Azove, Benin, April 1999
“I took some pictures of the burning yesterday,” the man slapped a three-inch stack of photos on the bar in front of the waiter. I raised a Coke to my mouth and peeked at the top snapshot. A man sat on the ground with a car tire around his waist, eyes wide in terror behind a transparent shroud of flames.
“He broke into a woman’s house while she was selling pots and pans at the market. Neighbors caught him sneaking out of the house with a radio.” The photographer grinned and went on to say the neighbors shoved the thief back into the house, bolted the door, and summoned the owner. The mob that followed her back from the market, quickly bound the thief, drug him outside, shoved a tire over him, drenched him with gasoline, and ignited it.
The photographer flipped to the next photo. The fire was out, but dark burns pocked the man’s contorted face. “He did not die the first time, so they had to torch him a second time.”
That was all I could handle. I left my almost full Coke behind and drove home.
I had no idea that the summary execution captured in those photos would grow into a cruel, reoccurring event. In fact, it hardly crossed my mind during our May to July furlough in 1999. Yet, when we returned to Benin we were told that more than twenty people had been burned to death. Some had beaten and robbed motorcyclists or taxi drivers. Some had stolen only a goat or a chicken. One man had set them all on fire: Ehoum Zinsou Devi.
When I asked people what motivated Devi to appoint himself judge and executioner, most pointed to his relationship with his twin brother. Devi’s people, the Aja, believe that twins have a special bond that remains even when one of them dies. The survivor will constantly carry a small, wooden doll to remind everyone that he is a twin. They also think twins have a unique relationship with the gods even to the point of being divine.
When he was in his twenties, Devi temporarily separated himself from his twin when he joined the army. In less than two years, his military career ceased. Some say the army asked Devi to leave because he lacked the intelligence to advance. Others reckon he had trouble taking orders.
Upon his return home, he channeled his desire for power into an extortion racket that he and his brother ran. This frequently pitted them against thieves. In one run-in, thieves gunned down his twin. To avenge his death, Devi embarked on a campaign to burn all thieves in Benin’s Mono district.
He organized young men from the extortion racket into a fledgling vigilante force. They set up roadblocks and scoured village for thieves. Devi took on the title Colonel Civil (Civilian Colonel) and dawned bracelets and necklaces given to him by feared voodoo practitioners, including his father. Clothed with these powers, Devi did not fear punishment from earthly or spiritual authorities. As his ego increased, so did the number of new recruits.
Almost every day I heard reports that vigilantes snatched people from their homes, pulled others out of cars, or terrorized villages in the night. They tied up the accused, locked them in guarded huts, interrogated, and if need be, tortured them into confessing that they were thieves. Finally, they loaded them into the back of pickup trucks and drove them to a public place where Devi would set them on fire. Then they left the bodies. Relatives seldom retrieved them.
One day, as we entered Azove on our way home from teaching in a village, my wife, Cyndi said, “What are all of those people doing in the road?” There was a crowd in the central traffic circle.
“It looks like an accident,” I said. Over the years, we had come upon scores of accidents on African roads. On many occasions, we lifted an injured person into our car, and sped him off to the hospital. Once again, we readied ourselves to be of assistance.
It was dusk, so I approached slowly and strained to see what had drawn the crowd. Next to the curb, laid two charred corpses their arms stiffly extended in the air. I gasped and pulled over next to a cluster of men. “What happened?”
They grinned and pointed to the bodies. “They are thieves. Devi burned them.”
Cyndi and I looked at one another. Then I turned to the crowd again, “This is not good.”
“Not good?”
“No, it is not good.” I pulled away and slammed my palm against the steering wheel in disgust. How could human beings rejoice at cruel execution, no matter what the reason?
Devi dumped the bodies at this intersection of vehicles and people so the news of his deed would circulate throughout the region. Some would rejoice. Some would fear. By morning, everyone would be talking about Devi.
After seeing the charred bodies, I could no longer keep my concerns to myself. I ask the Lord to bring a halt to this terrible crusade. After a praying at a mission team meeting, I said, “I believe something has to be done. We need to do something.” But, I did not know what to do.
(the next installment will appear tomorrow)
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