Lions, Tigers, and Beer: Dad and Jan visit Benin

The first of many visits here from family and friends has come and gone. I can wipe a little sweat off my brow. I sadly have very few pictures but Dad and Jan were surprisingly astute photographers; when I get those I’ll pass them on. The trip started with a minor catastrophe but other than that was probably my 7 favorite days in Benin to date.

A couple hours before their flight was supposed to land I went online to check if it was on time and the Air France website said “This flight has returned to Paris due to a technical error. No further information available.” I went from zero to basketcase in 60 seconds. I moped around the Peace Corps office sharing my sob story to any PCVs around and climbed into bed with a list of numbers to call the next day, reservations to cancel. THEN, as I’m falling into slumber that only comes after a good cry, 4 hours after their scheduled arrival time, Dad calls from a borrowed phone saying he’s at the airport in Benin! Dad and Jan made friends with the airport “bartender” (probably a 16-year-old in a shack that sells, among various natural sexual supplements, cold beer) while I made my way there. The first night was a whirlwind of confusion, emotion, and beer, the latter of which proved to be a trend lasting through the entirety of their trip. We had 3 or so hours of sleep before getting on a 9 hour bus to a town outside the safari park. The bus was the lap of luxury in my opinion: upholstered chairs, air conditioning, free entertainment (at ungodly volumes, granted), and a one-person-one-seat policy. This compared to my usual form of transportation in which at least 7 people are fitted into a 5 person sedan—my most recent trip reached an astounding TWELVE individuals—along with various livestock in the trunk and so much baggage on top that the car is taller than it is wide. (I also have an innate tendency to pick the most audacious of taxi drivers. I have now had four attempt to outrun police pulling them over. Two were successful.) However, Dad and Jan came from First Class seats and pre-flight champagne service. They were less thrilled with the ride. Beautiful views redeemed it somewhat. We literally crossed the entire country of Benin from south to north and they can confirm what I suspected- I really do live in the most beautiful place here.

We spent one night in the town outside of the safari park and met up with two PCVs who were in town for beers and a local specialty called tchook, a homemade beer-type drink served in mud huts and drank out of calabash bowls. The next morning was an early wake up for the several hour drive on to the safari park, named ParcPendjari. Our guide was a jovial Beninese man named Haziz who we loved because of his knowledge of the park and wildlife but moreso, his understanding of the best way to outrun charging elephants. A general day safariing is going out in the SUV just before daybreak for a few hours, then a lunch/nap break during the hottest part of the day, when most animals are lazing in the shade anyway, then a few more hours out until sundown. No giraffes or zebras, those are more East Africa. We saw crocodiles, hippos, elephants, baboons, several species of antelopes and birds, wild boars, and three lions. There is only one hotel with just a handful of rooms there; small but I guess the real excitement is the safari.

On our way out of the park, we visited waterfalls that happened to be located in another PCV’s village and ran into him there. Then another 10 hours in a taxi back down south though this time we paid a Beninese fortune to rent out a taxi instead of taking the bus. I had thought Zè would be low key and relaxing, like my life in general here, but since Dad and Jan were only here for 2 days we had a string of lunch and dinner dates and introductions. Meals can be difficult- Beninese are notoriously hospitable toward guests but very easily offended if you don’t let them let you eat them out of house and home. Normally I ensure that I space my meals with Beninese at least a week apart to ensure that my stomach has time to recover and shrink back to normal size. You have to finish pretty much everything on your plate, lest you insult the cook which in most cases is a woman who has been slaving away to create that meal all day long and who herself will not get to eat it. We had several chickens killed in our honor and even a duck (both of which are expensive and rare here) as well as some Beninese specialties including pate rouge, fried plantains, and yam pilee. Thankfully Dad and Jan liked the food so I didn’t have to make many excuses for rude behavior such as not licking your plate clean and sucking the marrow out of the bones. The first family to host us is one I’ve blogged about before- my landlord/carpenter/handyman and his family compound with easily over a hundred people and around thirty-five separate buildings. Both Dad and Jan and the family had many questions so one of the brothers who speaks French well translated French to Fon and visa versa and I translated English to French and visa versa.It was a pretty beautiful thing, the three languages. I wish I could paint a better picture of the setting: all adult male members of the family plus Dad, Jan, and I sitting in an outside gazebo made of wood posts and thatched roof, surrounded by what seemed like (and probably actually was) a hundred kids. They had carried their entire living room set up- sofa, chairs, tables-outside. It was the kind of dark that only occurs in places where there is no electricity, just a single light on the table. The next morning that family took us on a three hourmoto ride to a national forest and back. It was stunning; pictures don’t do it justice. There is some cutting that occurs and the state sells wood for a profit but because it is not a slow-growth forest trees are replenished in just a few years. We had lunch with my friend Eleonore and her husband. Eleonore killed the duck for us and though we ate it all and praised her for it I’m still hearing hell for none of us finishing the third course she served us. I think we may have gone into food comas immediately after that point in time and woke up just in time to do introductions at the mayor’s office before the business day ended. Dinner was with the mayor, a formality I hope I can avoid with future guests visiting from America. No use detailing that. The next day was their last day here. We took the two or three-hour drive into Cotonou which, Dad and Jan can attest, goes quickly from the paradise of Zè to the vileness of Cotonou. I exaggerate but in comparison it does seem a bit like that. Had one last great meal with wine then it’s back to rice, beans, and pate for me. Saying goodbye this time was WAY better than saying bye when I left America, which was probably the saddest day of my life so far.

Dad and Jan can tell you their impressions of Benin and its people but in a word it would probably be friendly. Nowhere in America do strangers elicit wide smiles and waves (then again, in our mixed culture you can’t tell who’s American and who isn’t and here it’s blatantly obvious). I can only hope that every visit is just as amazing as this one. I’m aiming for zero stomach issues next time though.

As happens any time after I spend a lot of time in the company of other Americans, it takes a little adjusting back to village life. Your nights seem a little lonelier than before, work options seem scarcer, communicating just that much harder. Luckily we had a string of meetings a week after Dad and Jan left so I’m in the comfort of other Americans again, weaning myself off until my mom and her friend Cheryl visit in March…