I am writing this from my very own computer!! You people have no idea how exciting this is. Africa has had its way with my electronics. I was sans computer, camera, ipod, and phone til yesterday. And I’m still without camera and ipod but I’ll take .500. I listened to an American song for the first time yesterday since arriving here 10 days ago. You definitely can’t take things for granted here. For instance, I used to be annoyed when my computer was off instead of in sleep mode when I wanted to go online immediately because it takes, like, 30 seconds more and I would need to, for example, see new pictures posted of me on Facebook as soon as possible. Now I walk 40 minutes or ride my bike a hellish route 15 minutes for internet. In a hot room because its extra for the AC computer room. And I don’t make much money so I have to go without lunch if I want internet. (Did anyone buy that? Totally joking.) Anyway, the good news for you people about me having my computer is that I will be posting on my blog all the time. Get excited. Blogging is so therapeutic. Its like communicating to someone who can actually understand me and whom I can understand, because even though its one way I feel as though I can hear your laughs and gasps of awe and see your nods of comprehension and frowns of puzzlement as I tell my stories.

Yesterday was my first market experience. A Beninese market is what you would probably think it would be- a million tiny vendors all selling a few things, tons of tomatoes and itty bitty green and red peppers (I’m talking size of your thumbnail, its adorable), lots of fish and meat, lots of flies on the fish and meat, a TON of people, and constant noise, again, shouts of “yovo!,” honking motos, bickering vendors, playing children. It’s the very definition of sensory overload. I was looking to buy pants because I didn’t bring much and since I’ll be biking to school six days a week skirts and jeans won’t cut it. The few Western clothes they sell are, I’m told, what places like Goodwill could not sell, rejects of the rejects. But here as with anywhere, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I decided to buy fabric instead and my family is going to take me to a seamstress to have stuff made, which will probably take a couple weeks to “nevermind I’ll live with my two pairs of pants.”

Random note: I have seen three albinos in Africa, which I think is astounding. Either something in their genes makes albinoism more common or albinos go unnoticed more in the West, because I think I’ve seen one my whole life. And it was that movie Powder.

Other random note: My family can’t pronounce my name, it comes out somewhere between khyme and came, so half the time they are talking to me I’m not paying attention and the half that I am I can’t understand anyway. It’s not like I can pronounce French any better. I have lot of trouble saying the oldest son’s name. Yesterday at dinner they said we were waiting on Brecin and they asked if I knew who/what that was and I pointed to the sauce on the table. Way off. Samson, Swanson…? Glad I can make people laugh even if it’s unintentional.

I blogged before about what is called the African Gamble and would just like to give an update on that. African Gamble: 2, Kim: 0.

Sunday I went to mass with my family at the crack of dawn. It was still dark when we had to get up and I literally think even the roosters were still sleeping. That will be a first and last for me.

I used sticky tac to spruce up my drab concrete walls and am pretty proud of myself. It’s a collage of all my fave people and a couple quotes. It’s done wonders in lifting my spirit when I need it. I will tell you now there are two posters of Rob Pattinson. Don’t judge.

I came back to training Monday, having not talked to or seen any Americans in over 60 hours, to find out that many of the volunteers live near each other, have families who are friends, or ran into each other at various events and locales. I was clearly jealous and bitter. My life has been school, home, sleep, school, home, sleep, and the occasional play date with Laila, the neighbor’s baby. So yersterday I was able to hang out with people at a bouvette that was central to some of our houses. A bouvette is an outside restaurant/watering hole. They are oftentimes dominated by men, so it’s important to find one where woman hang out too. It took us about two hours to get people and bikes together, and bike the uphill, chaotic street toward the bouvette. I got home a couple hours later than my maman had expected me and, as I should’ve known, she had already called Peace Corps to ask if they knew where I was. I tasted freedom and was quickly reminded that my life here is not like it is in the states. Being unaware, unfamiliar, and largely unable to communicate are substantial vulnerabilities and my maman is not about to have an incident on her watch.

Had pate noire for dinner yesterday. There are three types of pate: blanche (white), rouge (red), and noire (black), and they all taste different and, I think, are made of very different techniques, but all end up in the same texture. It’s mushy like oatmeal so clearly I discard my fork and eat with my hands alone, dipping in a sauce with some type of white meat and an unfamiliar vegetable. By hand I mean right one only, cultural reasons. I’ll eat anything green here, anything that resembles a vegetable, they are hard to come by.

My host family asked when I was going to cook them a meal and I thought it was a joke because I mean I’m certainly a guest in their home but Peace Corps pays them pretty well and its in the job description to cook for me. So I laugh and they laugh because I do, then they say they think Sunday would be good, which is my birthday and the one day of all days I am disinclined to cook. And its sure to be a day long affair, I have to get to the market, find what I want, ensure that it hasn’t been exposed to the elements/bugs/nearby raw meat/etc., argue over the price for everything, wash everything in water that has been filtered and boiled (if we will eat it raw), and then cook. Oy vey.

Thanks for barring with me through my chaotic posts, if anyone made it this far. I have three birthday cards from three very thoughtful people waiting for me to open on Sunday. I look at them every day, you don’t know how much they mean. So thank you in advance J

This is gonna be a long one. Sorry bout it.

They say in Peace Corps you will have some of the highest highs and lowest lows of your life, and sometimes they will seem to happen in the same day. I have definitely found that to be true. Unfortunately right now is one of the times I'm frustrated to tears so I hope my blog post doesn't reflect that much. This is also my first time using a French keyboard so excuse the mistakes. I'm too tired to write a witty, cohesive post, so this is more or less excerpts from my journal. You should be so lucky.

I moved to Porto Novo last Wednesday and into the house of my family d'accueil (host family) where I'll live for two months. It took me days to figure out which of the many people in the house were family, Beninese culture is very collectivist. My maman and papa have 9 kids, 3 of which live with us. Their orphan niece also lives there and we have a domestique who is 15 I think. These are orphans or children of poor families who work in homes in return for a bed and some pay. I'm still figuring out the dynamic with that, it makes me feel weird. She helped me with my laundry and I tried to pay her which apparently was not appropriate. I'm used to people giving me strange looks and laughing at me constantly. Its frustrating but necessary to accept to be able to do this kind of thing. My host maman is a gracious woman, very quiet. She carries herself like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders and would take on more if her family or friends needed it. She is really quiet, maybe tranquil is a better word, and has a low, deep, soothing voice. She and her daughters spend what seems like all day buying and preparing food. I've eaten well at my house, better than the first few days in training. It was near poverty rations and stale bread was the only sure bet for some meals. I heard at our health check up Tuesday a lot of people had lost weight haha. (In all seriousness we did eat enough. And I was not one of the ones to lose weight.) I have to fix my own water- get it from the faucet, filter it overnight, boil it, let it cool, then drink it. Takes some getting used to. I was pretty dehydrated for a few days before getting in the swing of things.

We have class Monday through Saturday from 8 to 4 and I literally feel like an elementary school-er again. I have a huge backpack with loads of books and my maman gives me lunch money every day. The first morning I woke up early-6 am- to run and my maman didn't want me going alone so she woke up all my sisters and made my 9 year old sister run with me in a square less than half the siwze of a track while my other sisters were posted at each corner. Awkward, I felt real bad. But they insisted and now they let me run alone. Which is like my mom letting me run to the end of the street and back at home. I'll post pictures of my room in the next few weeks because I don't have time to explain it.

My school is abuot a 25 minute bike ride from my house. Through sand. Amidst constant screams of yovo! (foreigner), honking motos (yes, we ride on the same small path) spewing exhaust in my face, trash piles with the occassional wild boar, midget goats (they don't have the full-sized ones that we do), with a huge backpack and a tres chic bike helmet, in the heat of the day. The sand is the worst part though. Better than going with my little sister who usually drives me and has road rage.

It is Benin's Independence Day but I dont know if my family is doing anything special. I spent most of the day at the neighbor's who have a baby they love me to hold and take a million pictures of. Her name is Leila and she's stunning. My neighbors loooove to teach me French words and I think petit a petit I will speak it well. They also love to laugh at or with me every second. Earlier we wrapped the baby around my back like the African women do and had me bounce up and down like that to lull her to sleep. They almost peed laughing. Then we spent days looking for a mirror so they could show me how funny I looked avec bebe.

Way too many things to share but most will have to wait for another day and an American keyboard. Love and miss you guys

July 27, 2009

Today I had to confirm the first casuality of my trip, which oddly enough occurred in Philadelphia: my iPod. It’s a good thing its too hot/polluted to run. In general though we’ve been blessed with great weather. We’re in the middle of two rainy seasons so it’s been on the cool side and even breezy at times. Yesterday we could barely hear our training sessions because holy day drum circles were going on outside and today we ate our first goat and had lessons on how to bargain with moto (zemi) drivers. Awesome.

July 25, 2009

It’s now closing in on my first full 24 hours in Benin, the first of 820 days in Benin. Yesterday, upon arriving at Cotonou Aeroport after an ungodly amount of travel time, we were greeted by not only stifling humidity but by about 20 Peace Corps volunteers (PCVs) who had traveled from their various posts around the country to welcome us. I definitely wasn’t alone in tearing up at the sight of a few dozen strange/only familiar faces cheering us as we individually lugged our give or take 100lb. baggage to the awaiting WWII style mega jeep. A group of volunteers departs for Benin only once a year, so it’s a pretty big deal. Current volunteers alternate taking leave from their post for a few weeks to come to Cotonou and train incoming volunteers. My group numbers 56 currently and we have yet to lose one.

We are staying at a hostel in the “suburbs” of Cotonou with electricity and running water. So far we are dealing with administrative tasks: filling out papers, risk reduction, safety, dress code, rules for travel, health issues, vaccinations, issuing bikes and helmets, rules, rules, and more rules. We will be discussing diarrhea in depth on a regular basis and we are prepped for the real possibility of needing to describe it in detail to a near stranger or to send a stool sample via local delivery. Every meal, every training session, every conversation, offers something valuable, greater insight into Benin, its people, and our place within it. So far the food has seemed like an attempt to cater to American mouths, gently easing us into the unknown. I’d take some goat over spaghetti and baguettes any day though, so I’m excited to get to the homestay and have some real food! Real coffee, it seems, is a delicacy. And milk, too. I confused condensed milk for honey this morning and put it on my baguette. Tasted good, I’d have never noticed if someone older didn’t say something.

I’m not nervous, maybe I’m too excited to be, maybe its because I see similarities in Benin and other developing countries I’ve been to and feel a sense of comfort, maybe its because I’ve been working toward this since September and thinking about it for years. Maybe its because right now I’m too exhausted to feel anything and my bed feels like an incubator with the mosquito net surrounding me. Bonne nuit.

Bonjour tout le monde! So I sit now in a Starbucks in historic Philadelphia, literally sucking up the last bit of American-ness I can before my 27 month jaunt to West Africa. (It tastes burnt and overprocessed if you were wondering.) Philadelphia itself almost seems worlds away from California: history on every block, modest homes that could fit 20 at a time in the McMansions of southern California, and, most importantly, the most friendly airport shuttle drivers. My driver knew the history of Philadelphia so well that I briefly considered that he might be a vampire from the era of William Penn, because as we all know vampires don't age (yes, I watch Twilight too much...). So one of the first sights I saw in Philadelphia was the London Coffee House, the history of which struck me as particularly ironic. While, Benin was once the center of the largest slave trade in West Africa, Philadelphia was once a slave port taking in thousands each year for almost a hundred years. The London Coffee House was not only a space for political and social meetings, but in keeping with the times, a place to inspect and auction off slaves arriving from Benin and elsewhere. So you can see the irony- today a group of Americans is making the opposite trip in an attempt to right the wrongs of that time and this, from the "scramble for Africa" and decades of colonialism to the multilateral trade agreements and structural adjustment programs of today (despite their good intentions). To be sure, corruption on behalf of African governments has kept Africa down itself, just as some Africans contributed to the slave trade by capturing and selling members of other ethnic groups in the 1700s. Obama recognized this on his recent trip to Ghana, making statements of responsibility ("The essential truth of democracy is that each nation determines its own destiny.") and hope (citing examples of Kenya, South Africa, and Zimbabwe, "Make no mistake: history is on the side of these brave Africans.") Interesting what to start off the trip! For the full text of the speech go here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/07/11/obama-ghana-speech-full-t_n_230009.html

Random thoughts: 

1) In the future, I promise not to make political blog posts because, let's be real, I get most of my news from Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert.

2) This is my first voyage into the world of blogging- have patience. The wit and detailed feel-like-you're-there nature of my usual travel stories seems to flow easier when I know that its a select few who will be reading them. This is the big time, my very own website. The pressure is on. And though I read New York Times and Huffington Post blogs of various natures regularly, I naturally think to look to Ms. Carrie Bradshaw for inspiration. So if I start ending my blog entries with "I couldn't help but wonder [insert profound thought]," call me out. 

3) You have the option of "following" my blog, but as far as I know it doesn't alert you as to new posts but is just a public declaration of your affinity for me and my blog. Recap: being a "follower" is not necessary but ups my stock.

4) Everyone has their various forms of preferred communication: AIM, facebook chat, G chat, email, Skype, etc. I love you all and want to keep in touch but it would be easier for me if you all got Skype accounts. Then we have the options of chatting, video chatting, and calling. My Skype account is thechangeyouwishtosee.

5) Almost all of my life I've been looking forward to the next big thing. I couldn't wait to be in high school when I was in 8th grade, couldn't wait to be 16 when I was 15, couldn't wait to leave for Peace Corps when I was in college, you get the point. Its comforting to have an established next step, but when you have something always looking forward to its almost as if you're willing time to pass quickly. My hope is that for this period of my life I don't concentrate on what happens when its over but rather on the here and now. So if I have no life plans when I get back in September 2011, I'm gonna need to couch surf with you people. kthxbye.