Why is the rum always gone?

Benin often feels like living in the Pirates of the Caribbean film. And not just because there is a crazy lady woman here who looks shockingly like Johnny Depp a la Captain Sparrow- I’m talking long dreads, capped teeth, the appearance of not having showered this calendar year. I’m thinking about fashioning a black pirates hat and offering it as a gift just for my amusement. (Insensitive? Or genius?) Sometimes Ze it is as chaotic and aggressive as Tortuga- at my night market, when all that lights your way is makeshift candles (tomato paste cans & hemp) and the whites of eyes, or when brawls break out in the street (to be fair, I’ve only seen two brawls). Other times it is as unspoiled and deserted as the white sand beaches of the Caribbean. There are moments in the early morning, after the chickens stop crowing but before the street vendors and school children are out, and in the evening, when you can’t tell if the sun is coming or going and the sky is pale blues and pinks- dare I say, twilight- when the calm in infectious and all the elements are in harmony. My job is coming along. The work I’m supposed to do with the environment is slow going, but the schools have been on my case to give time and would probably take me on as a full time teacher if I agreed, despite the number of times I tell them that I have no experience teaching and no materials. We decided I’d visit a class and speak for half an hour just for students to hear American pronunciation. I offered to record my voice speaking, the entire textbook if necessary, to distribute to the 12 or so English classes. But that would be the efficient thing to do. And I think they want me in the flesh, the real deal. Who can blame them? So this week I led my first class. The plan was to discuss their textbook topic for that week, comparing America and Benin. Turns out the topic was child trafficking, not really a light topic to start out with. So I let students just ask me questions and ended up taking up the entire 2 hour class. The teacher loved it and said he wants me to come back each week. In America this would not be an efficient use of class time but whatev. The first 20 questions were all variations of “Are you going to marry a Beninese man and live here forever?” but after that the questions ran the gamut. They were astounded that my father has only two kids from only one woman, and that not only are both my parents alive, but 4 of my grandparents are, 2 of which are approaching triple digits. They were floored. I explained sunscreen, the absence of local language in the US, that I do not know personally Michael Jackson or Jay Z. The English “books” are photocopied, sloppily bound, early 1980s British books. They used phrases like “Come off it!” (I disagree.) and the female dialogue name used throughout was Bimbo. I went to a funeral a couple weeks ago. Beninese funerals are much more celebrations on life- dancing, eating, drinking, laughing- than anything else. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. What you can’t see from the pictures is that they buried the coffin inside the house. This is standard though sometimes it is in the yard, whereas in this case they actually dug up the concrete of an existing room, buried him, and replaced it. And someone sleeps in that room. Ew. They were horrified at the idea of cremation though. Funny side note: There are really no ambulances here. Instead, the hearses have lights and sirens like our ambulances would. A day late and a dollar short, no?