One of the stories most hard to understand and admit that ever happened to us along our journeys comes from Africa. It was in 2010 when me and Berit spent an intensive month of experiences in Benin, West Africa, where we were digging into its worlds of voodoo and Rastafarianism. See the stories here.
We also met an incredible soul, a true and humble Rastafarian and promising artist Joel Doussou, who became our Beninois Godfather. I also performed a crazy musical gig on stage with him for 3000 people! When leaving Benin, he gave us his paintings as gifts to remember our shared experiences. Mine had a spider on it – the thing I was afraid the most at the time – to fight my phobia.
A few months later after returning back to Estonia we heard this terrible news. That he had been killed. Brutally murdered. In flames. By radicals. For what? For the sake of some extreme fetishist voodoo? For jealousy of his success? For conservative thought?
This was both as mysterious as a deep personal mental shock that made me feel five years older in two days and didn’t allow me to sleep for weeks. But his beautiful art work is still with me, decorating my room in Tallinn, keeping the memory of his warm nature and sunny smile. Making me still feel close to Joel.
Couple of months ago I met another warm and sunny soul here in Tallinn. He’s a Buddhist monk, an fruitful academic and a funny and caring friend. Chipamong Chowdhury also appeared to be my neighbor in my new temporary living space (seems that I will remain temporal forever, never-ending story in a life of an anthropologist?). And as a caring friend Chipamong offered me a hand while moving my stuff from one place to another. And so I documented with my video camera this little journey where Africa meets Asia, where Rastafari meets Buddhism, where sweet memory meets present testimony, where love meets life, where there’s always doors to open and love to keep.