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.