True Life: I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer

So I rarely write about the actual volunteer side of my life here. Many of the projects I’ve attempted or ideas I’ve had have crashed and burned in a big way: starting a tree nursery, planting a garden at the orphanage, giving lessons the environment at schools all have not worked out. My host structure here is the mayor’s office, which means that they pay my rent ($11 a month) and are invited to Peace Corps training sessions with me. My official work partner is the mayor’s wife and she is in charge of environmental concerns in Zè. It’s no secret that she holds that position solely because she bore the mayor three sons (the other two wives gave him worthless daughters and got nothing as far as I can see). So I have a work partner that cares very little about the environment and knows even less. Thankfully in the same office (when I say office I mean 10 foot by 5 foot room crammed with three desks and multiple wooden filing cabinets, a fire waiting to happen) is someone else who actually knows things about the environment, Kadja Codjo. Not my official work partner but the person I work with most. I was just recently given a desk there which you would think would make me happy but instead has forced me to spend countless hours tied to that desk staring into space or, if I’m feeling shameless, doing sudoku. I go there every day, just for a few hours if I can. The projects I have with the mayor’s office are: - Monthly public lectures given in a different village on a different environmental/health topic each month. We meet in the village center and spend a couple hours cleaning up the public space before sitting down and discussing the topic. - A project for planting and upkeep of trees and public spaces in three of the lesser funded villages in the area. This project is part of a competition for environmental projects that an American group, Millennium Challenge Account, is having. People work in each of the three villages the last Saturday of the month and at the end of the year if we are chosen as one of the winning projects we get rakes, wheelbarrows, gloves, etc. - Eventually I’m supposed to help design a rudimentary waste management system but insofar as no one seems to care about helping me it’s slow going. Trash cans should probably be the first step but they jumped the gun and have a tractor, wagon, and tractor driver (who refuses to actually touch the trash) already. So now it’s the collecting of trash and loading/unloading it into/from the tractor wagon that is the problem. - Tree Day is June 1 so I hope to do something that day, however I have been told in no uncertain terms that the choice of where, when, and what to plant is solely up to the mayor, and I am foolish in thinking he has better things to do than plan this. Yet when June 1 rolls around and no one has anything planned I expect everyone to be lamenting the worthless yovo they have. My activities outside of the mayor’s office: - I have an English club every Wednesday night with the high school seniors to help them prepare for the English part of their high school exit exam. I often bring magazine articles and maps for us to discuss and have had guests (family or other volunteers) several times. - The girls camp that I have blogged about several times that will be in June. I think I’ll be bringing one girl from Zè. I’m sure I’ll post a blog about it again later. - Handwashing “stations” and education sessions on proper hygiene at elementary schools with my local health agent. I’ve only done this at three schools so far but I love it. Kids get so excited, about anything really. Every student wants to do a better demonstration of handwashing than the last, which generally means by the end of the day the last student is washing his/her hands for 2 full minutes and diligently picking the dirt that has been accumulating under his/her fingernails since birth.

- Take Our Daughters to Work Day, which is an old program that has just been restarted this year. They have this sort of thing in the US too but here it’s pretty different. An essay contest was opened up to female 8th graders in which they had to write on a woman they admire and why. They winners were chosen (two from Zè!) and get to spend a long weekend in the home of a working woman in Cotonou, follow her to work one day, observe how she balances the demands of a Beninese wife and mother and being a working woman. Some of the girls might never have been to Cotonou; they’ll probably be staying in the biggest houses they’ve ever been in, with the most educated women they’ve ever met. I went to the two girls houses this week to explain the event and get permission from their parents. One girl’s father is a teacher and so he spoke French and was generally supportive of it all. He did ask, in all seriousness, if I would then stay around to help her finish high school then ensure she find a university in the US to give her a scholarship. I’m a pro at letting people down gently now. Peace Corps should market that as a quality volunteers need to have. The other girl’s situation was much different. I met her at the school at noon to accompany her to her house. Turns out she lives so far away from the school that she doesn’t go home for the 3 hour midday break. We had to hire a moto to take us the several kilometers to her house that she has to walk every morning probably before 7am and every evening after 7pm, alone, by the way, because she is the only child in her family still going to school. The others, as she has explained it, chose to find work or an apprenticeship. Neither of her parents spoke French or were literate. She had to sign her own permission slip and under contact we put down some other villager’s phone number since no one in the family has a phone. I had to just take for granted that they had given their verbal permission in Fon. Peace Corps would be horrified. I tried to explain to both girls that this program doesn’t just end when the weekend is over, that Peace Corps and I hope this will encourage them to continue their studies and reach for the stars (which, it turns out, is an expression that does not translate). This all happens May 6-9 and the evening of the 8th the 8 girls who were chosen for the weekend in Cotonou will give a presentation at a charity dinner for gender equality. I’m a little worried about them speaking in front of such a large crowd, mostly because it will be 90% white people and I’ve caused panic attacks among people with just two yovos in tow.
All this and I still manage to read a Harry Potter book a day or watch a whole season of The Office in one week.

The Madness of March

March was a crazy hectic month in my usual slow-paced life. Life updates I know you’re all dying to hear:

Together with the other PCVs, the Peace Corps Community, and the American expat community here in Benin, we celebrated the life and service of PCV Kate Puzey, whose life was tragically taken one year ago. Here is a glimpse into the beautiful individual she was and the inspiration she continues to be: http://www.wsbtv.com/news/22798759/detail.html .

Mom and Cheryl (my mom’s good friend, for those who aren’t lucky enough to know her) were scheduled to arrive on Monday, but their first flight was snow delayed (imagine explaining “their flight was snow delayed” to people here for whom “snow” and “flight” are somewhat abstract concepts). Since the flight to Benin arrives only a couple times a week, they were forced to stay in Paris a few days where they accumulated cheeses and chocolates galore to share with me upon arrival. I can only speak for myself but that was definitely my favorite part of their visit. I had grand plans of going to Benin’s beach city, Grand Popo, and going hiking in a village a few hours north of here, but for one, their visit was cut three days short, and two, after their first taste of travel in Benin I decided staying put was preferable. So we spent 6 consecutive nights in Zè, no small feat for someone just arrived from Paris. It’s almost cruel that Air France is the only way into Benin- they give you several glasses of wine, personal DVD players, Toblerone, etc. That’s a vacation in and of itself for us.

When Dad and Jan were here we rented out taxis in order to avoid the 10 person minimum most taxis have but with Mom and Cheryl we did the vrai Beninese experience-standing on the side of the road screaming our destination and arguing with the driver over the price before loading ourselves into a vehicle that was probably deemed unusable in some European country in the late 70s. The week was a blur of meeting everyone in town, dinners with various families I’m close with, and trying to survive the heat. Cheryl’s feet were perpetually swollen from the heat or dehydration, I was in somewhat constant fear one of them might pass out from the heat or get heat stroke, that fear even replaced spiders and snakes as the main theme of my malaria med-induced dreams for the week. Only one day did we leave Zè- we went to the cultural capital of Benin, Abomey. Though I’ve heard much about the city and its historical importance before coming here, I really only found one museum that was an old fortress/palace of sorts filled with “relics,” many of which are still used in everyday Beninese life. It’s likely a more interesting museum for someone who doesn’t currently live in Benin and see mortars and pestles used to make her lunch every day.

Mom and Cheryl’s visit to Zè was incredibly different from Dad and Jan’s in the following ways: one, they spent an entire week here while Dad and Jan were only in Zè for a day and a half; two, they stayed at my house which means pulling your own bath water, hot nights and perpetual electricity outages, and coming to terms with never really being clean; three, they asked a million questions while Dad and Jan rarely strayed from “where can I get a cold beer?”; and lastly, as women they saw an entirely different side of Benin. They tasted pretty much every Beninese dish, including bush rat, and at least pretended to like them. They had traditional Beninese outfits made, went to church on Sunday, and learned a few key phrases in Fon that never ceased to have the Beninese in stitches.

We spent several afternoons with my BFF in village, Eleonore. She adored Mom and Cheryl almost as much as the See’s suckers they brought her. We had a pate (the staple Beninese food) cooking session with a neighbor family, a tour of the vistas of Zè with the mayor, and a failed attempt at killing a chicken with an extremely dull knife that won’t be erased from my mind for a long time. The highlight of the week was probably the day we spent at my landlord’s family compound. I explained it a bit before since Dad and Jan visited also (probably the highlight of their trip as well) but it’s a cluster of 30 or 40 mud buildings with three or four times as many people all descended from the same man (and two women) who still live on the property. We had a day of dancing, drumming, and, of course it wouldn’t be Benin without, eating. The pictures and videos on my Picassa account give you a taste of what the day was like. The hectic beat of the drums, vibrant colors of African fabrics, and incredible girations of Beninese men and women alike combine in such a way that makes adequate description impossible. It’s a sensory overload of sorts that must be experienced. One night we were given a bunny, let me preface this by saying that I’m accustomed to getting gifts almost daily and though it is culturally inappropriate to turn them down, it’s usually of an edible nature that I can either consume myself, pawn off on neighborhood kids, or feed to the goats. The bunny was intended to be edible. In fact, the gracious bunny farm owner intended that I kill the bunny myself and prepare it for my guests, however, it was only at my house for one night during which we treated it as a pet and cuddled with it most of the night. Mom then named it Bun Bun and we came to the mutual decision that we could not in good conscious kill something we had both named and cuddled. (Side note: I gave the rabbit to my friend Eleonore hoping she’s take care of it—in some way I don’t care to know about—before I came back to Zè. Unfortunately she made sure to keep it for me. Looks like I can get out of killing it with my own hands but getting out of eating it seems to be out of the question.)

I’m likely blanking on a few other details of their trip but I’ll close it with an anecdote from their last few hours in Benin. The streets and sidewalks in Cotonou, Benin can only be described as what one would think of as the aftermath of a world war (or Westwood, for those of you fortunate enough to have walked those streets, likely in heels and a few drinks in). While on our way back from dinner just hours before they were to board the plane and whilst commenting on what a wonderful trip it was, specifically that there were no major health/digestive concerns, Mom stubbed her toe on uneven sidewalk and broke it nearly clean off her foot. Her pinky toe was hanging off her foot at, I kid you not, more than a 90 degree angle. We walked the short way to the Peace Corps office where I called the embassy doctor who informed me that as she was not a US government employee he could not treat her (Or even come look at it?!? Really, America.). Mom was a total champ, didn’t cry once, even when every single other volunteer who was in the office came in to see it and jumped back in horror/repulsion at the site of such an unnatural degree. She then had to endure about 40 hours of travel, flip flops, and ice packs before seeing a doctor in California and having it broken back into place. My biggest regret about the whole visit is not getting a picture of that toe.

Just eight hours after seeing Mom and Cheryl off at the airport I boarded a bus for Parakou, a city in the north of Benin to join most of the other PCVs for a weekend. We hold an annual fundraiser for a small project fund (up to $100) that PCVs can access for small-scale projects in their communities. Other larger funds are more difficult and take longer to access. It’s a little bizarre that volunteers themselves fund it, being that we make about $200 a month, but there is another fundraiser held for American expats that probably makes much more money. Being that the nature of the fundraiser is an auction, volunteers and expats have two separate events, lest we never win anything.

The first night is a date auction in which volunteers auction off anything from cleaning your house to a weekend at a beautiful post or several home cooked meals. Volunteers bid one month’s pay or more for the dates. A couple girls auctioned a sleepover with popcorn, movies, and a pillowfight-adorable right? Made me think of wine and crossword nights but I decided the magic of that may be exclusive to my BFs and a hugely oversized couch at 469 Landfair. I thought about auctioning off a performance of Britney Spears choreography (who didn’t love the Oops I Did It Again tour?) but decided that this may not be the crowd for that. Ideas for next year’s auction?? I’m open to suggestions!

While the first night is relatively casual and held in an open air bar, the second night is what we call Peace Corps Prom. How lucky am I that sorority formals in college filled the void that high school prom left and now Peace Corps Prom can do the same?! Seriously though, every girl needs an excuse to put on makeup and a dress. It’s an occasion when I put on anything other than sunscreen and chapstick these days. Luckily since Mom came right before this she brought me heels and a dress (on which I received many compliments- thanks Mom J). This more formal night also includes a silent auction and sit-down dinner, but the real entertainment of the night was the pool. We at least succeeded in finishing the auction and getting to dessert before discarding the nicest clothes we all have in this country for bathing suits or the Fruit of the Loom equivalent, in some cases. Thankfully Peace Corps provided shuttles to take us back to our respective sleeping arrangements (mine on the floor outside another PCV’s house; again, just like college) in the wee morning hours to avoid having to take moto taxis.

I have lots of pictures and videos from my mom’s visit and the fundraiser weekend! Take http://picasaweb.google.com/kimberly.r.sanders/ApplesAndBeninese?feat=directlink.

Agoh Ceremony

A few pictures and videos from a ceremony held in my village a few weeks ago. The costumed men dancing on stilts come out only, as far as I know, for a ceremony called Agoh. As I’ve written about in previous posts, funerals are a big occasion here and usually warrant several full days of food, drinks, drumming, and dancing. If a family is unable to afford a proper funeral at the time of death, they may wait awhile, till they “find” money as they say here, to celebrate their loved one’s life. With this particular ceremony I think the deceased had been gone for 10 years, the man who put it on had a decade worth of amends to make to someone!