Happy holidays! The big party in Benin is yet to come-New Years- but a week of Christmas festivities is now over. I've had a little tree and ornaments, a stocking and some wrapped presents, not to mention hot cocoa and peppermint candies, around to keep me feeling the holiday cheer.
Tuesday was Noel at the preschool. Santa came, photos to come. Beninese Santa is somewhere between Big Bird and the American idea of Santa. Plastic bird mask. Skinny skinny man. But they got the red outfit and Santa hat right. (Sidenote: Santa hats are seen year round here. People often wear them in the early morning when they think it's too cold, ya know, like 75 degrees.) Amazingly, no child cried when they met Santa, despite his likeness to a Stephen King character. I passed out some American candy and mostly watched on as the kids danced (videos below. how AWESOME is the kid in yellow in the first video???).
Wednesday I helped the orphanage bring their 30 kids to meet Santa. It was hot, a couple kilometer walk each way, and most of the kids don't have shoes, but I don't think it detracted much from the atmosphere. Each child got a notebook, a couple pencils, and, I believe more importantly, an afternoon out of the orphanage with music and dancing. Of the 30, all but one are under the age of 8. No one can explain to me why it is like that, but I'm guessing that when children reach the age at which they can do most housework, they become domestiques (young, live-in maids) in wealthier households. I've spent several afternoons at the orphanage now, befriended the three women who work there and built a mud stove (stove made out of, you guessed it, mud that is more heat efficient=uses less wood=less time women spend looking for wood) with them. Each woman has children who live at the orphanage with them. That's an interesting concept in Benin- "orphan" doesn't mean a child without both parents. If a man dies his wife may not be able to take care of the kids on her own (usually the late husband's family takes the child in, if they are able); if a woman dies her husband also cannot take care of kids on his own; if a couple divorces the children usually stay with the mother, and if she remarries the new husband is not obligated to provide for those who are not his own.
Bit of a tangent. Moving on. Christmas Eve I had a 5 hour trek via a series of taxis and motos to Toweta, a small village of about 200 people (all descended from the same great-great-grandfather), where Hannah, another PCV, lives. Just a scatter of mud huts and a small, concrete health center run by two nuns. Cell phone reception just at the top of the hill. No French, just Fon. No food, all ingredients had to be bought two hours away. We spent our days catching up and trading stories, cooking, listening to Christmas carols on iPods, and playing with the dogs (who, coincidentally, all came from the same great-grandfather as well, no joke). We spent our evenings drinking with the nuns (how often do you get to say that line?), dancing (the nuns had choreographed moves to Rihanna songs), and partaking of both Beninese and American cuisine (the nuns killed a goat and we brought green bean casserole and garlic mashed potatoes).
It was a humbling and memorable experience. Toweta is one of the most rural posts, all subsistence agriculture. I'm guessing that few of them have any paper money. To be reminded that holidays are special without trees and lights and presents is... nice :)
