This is a picture of one of my fondest moments in Benin, where I lived and
worked for four years. I'm standing next to the King of Pobé, and as you can
see from the smile, I'm happy.

Benin retains extensive royalty, and at most public meetings of importance you
can expect a king or two to be present. They are treated with extreme deference
and legitimate respect, despite their economic circumstances (after the meeting
you might see three kings pile into a decrepit car for the ride home, and they
seem to be often little wealthier than many of their subjects). They are given
the seats of honor in the front row of meetings, where they wave their scepters
when something pleases them; the scepters are often elaborately carved
hardwood, but sometimes look like dog-tail flyswatters.



Dealing with the simultaneous overlay of traditional (royal) and modern
legislative systems is just one of the challenges Africans have to deal with
and we don't (OK, maybe the Brits do, sort of). And as a "highly effective
international development expert" (laugh, it's a joke), my first reaction was
to mentally relegate them to the sidelines. What role can they possibly play in
a nation also having a president, a National Assembly, regional
representatives, and a dozen ministries? Wisely, I kept my opinions to myself,
and watched. What I learned changed my opinion.

Turns out, the kings remain an important political force, retain the full
respect of their people, and are an important political voice in affairs that
matter. The kings respond directly to their people, and have a much closer
relationship to the people they govern than do the bureaucrats in the capital.
And they're smart. 

The King of Pobé charmed me from the start. He asked good questions, thought
methodically about the challenges and opportunities presented, and clearly
advocated for pragmatism and progress. He seemed to understand economic
development, and wanted us to succeed. He was warm and charming and gracious,
and had a spontaneous laugh that lightened up the whole room. His people served
us glasses of cold water and a shot of whiskey, both luxuries in a hot, poor
region. And he exhorted us to work fast and well, because his people are
counting on us. It's not the first time I heard those words, but coming from
the king, they took on a more sincere tone than ever before.

I met many other kings in Benin, which led to many other funny anecdotes, like
my visit to the naked king of Tanéka Koko. In Allada, my Beninese colleagues
and I traveled to participate in a regional event and describe the progress our
program was making. We were all invited to process before the king and pay our
respects by dropping to our knees and pressing our forehead to the ground
before him. When it was our turn, my Beninese colleague Gabriel did so. I was
next, and it didn't seem right to just stand there like an ugly American, so I
began to descend. I got to my knees before I felt Gabriel's hand on my
shoulder. "C'est bon!", he laughed. That's enough! I regained my feet and
followed him, but not before catching the eye of the king, who was laughing
with tears in his eyes. In a way, I'd paid my respects, or at least been
entertaining.

Never again will I question the role of the kings in African society (in Benin,
at least). In many ways, they still have the ear of the people – and the
willingness to listen. And that makes them essential. 


Footnote: I looked into the subject in a few academic databases and found to my
disappointment very little study on the superimposition of traditional and
modern government systems in African society. Seems hard to believe, given the
probable impact.