Under the Spell of Voodoo

When we arrive at the small restaurant, everything looks dark. When a young boy sees we’re interested, he quickly switches on some lights. We take a seat under a thatched roof. Since the fluorescent light above us won’t start, we get an extra candle on the table. The boy, no older than ten, politely takes our order. He writes it down in his school notebook, then disappears. Occasionally, he walks by to the nearby shop to buy ingredients. Meanwhile, his parents are busy in the kitchen making the pizzas. The pizzas are baked in a real wood-fired oven. They taste great, and I’m lucky that mine was baked last. Just as we want to pay, the power goes out again. All of Grand Popo is plunged into complete darkness—and when it’s dark here, it’s really dark.