As I write my grandparents are throwing my cousin and her fiancé a surprise party. Really sad I’m not there. There will obviously be events and occurrences I miss out on in the next two years, but their wedding is the only one I’m really bummed on. (And the New Moon premiere, of course.) So instead I’m listening to Clair de Lune and having a glass of horrible wine out of a soy milk-/Trader Joe’s soup-like container, and, on top of that, awkwardly hiding it from my host family. I’m afraid they would shun me if they knew I was having a glass (more like a plastic water bottle cut jaggedly in half) of wine, seeing as A, they are not drinkers (refer to my previous posts on their uber-religiousness), and B, I haven’t observed much of a casual, one-can-do-it-alone drinking culture that I associate with wine. So I hide it in my room, like I’m in high school (not that I ever did that, Mom and Dad), even though I am a whole 22 years old and have been of legal drinking age for approximately (exactly) one year and three weeks, which, by the way, makes me the youngest person in my PC class, and a BAMF.
Back to relevant things. This week we had a break from the six-days-a-week class schedule to visit a current volunteer for a few days, see how they live, what projects they’re doing, what their houses are like, and whatnot. I went with 5 other volunteers to a city called Oudeme-Pedah. The ride in and of itself was interesting. There are three types of taxis here: motos, which carry anywhere from one to four adults, many more if there are children, and any amount of baggage that can be held; the 6-person taxi, which is a regular 5 seater car, like the U.S., except that they put 6 people in, not including the driver, and remove the seatbelts, and the gauges don’t work (gas, oil, etc.) which adds to the comfort level; then there is the 9 seater taxi (think bush taxi or tuk tuk) which does not seat any number comfortably and has a wide open back so that it may require an intense tournament of rock-paper-scissors to determine the two individuals who will sit on the seats closest to the road. I sat in between the driver and the tallest guy on the 3 ½ hour ride there, so basically on the emergency brake. And of course all taxis are stick shifts, which compounded the awkwardness.
I lucked out on my visit. Oudeme-Pedah is one of the most beautiful places in Benin and the volunteer we visited happened to have an amazing apartment occupying the second story of the mayor/chief’s house. It was the only second story building in the area (not so safe to do multiple stories with mud bricks), so we had an amazing view of the lake and row upon row of mud houses and tin roofs. This area reminds me a lot of Laos and southern China, some of my favorite places in the world. The weather was perfect and there was a cool breeze all week. Not to mention stunning sunsets and the reflection of the sky in the water’s varying shades of blue and grey and other sappy poetic aspects I’ll leave to my journal.
The lake is beautiful from a distance but horribly dirty up close. Pollution and erosion have seriously dwindled the supply of fish though there are still many fishermen out there in canoes with nets every morning bringing in what they can. The area is very into local religion (voodoo, though its not what you think voodoo is, with the dolls and whatnot). There was drumming and dancing around fires much of the time, including the entire night. They had some pretty efficient shift-changing going on, ensuring that I did not sleep more than one straight hour. One aspect of voodoo is this haystack creature (zambedo) that comes out at night. He’s somewhat of a watchman as I understand, keeper of the night kinda thing. If women see him when he’s out at night it is said that they die soon after, so I think it’s a way of keeping your women in the house. Even though I knows that’s ridiculous, it’s a safe bet to just stay inside and close the blinds to save yourself from the temptation of looking and the scorn of locals. Sometimes he comes out during the day for no other reason than that he’s bored or, most recently, some foreigner is in town and paid to see a “voodoo ceremony.” Some of the voodoo priests/priestesses are distinguishable by white robes. I even saw a few small children, as young as two, in white robes, destined to be priestesses. I’m not sure how they determine that a child will go into that practice but it is certainly determined without consulting them. Some had scarring around their faces and necks also to indicate some sort of local religion importance. The scarring is sometimes hard to look at for us who aren’t used to it. It’s hard for me to see a toddler with scars to indicate familial ties or religious affiliation since they must be cut at a very young age, but for them it is much more akin to circumcision. The child may have no decision, but it is a necessary procedure and better to be done very young. Scarring takes all shapes and patterns; it can be a plus sign on each cheek, twenty tiny vertical lines below the hairline, really anything you can imagine.
Most everything else I have to say will probably continue to confirm your expectations of an African village. Tons of kids were roaming the dirt roads since school is not in session, giving us an audience everywhere we went. Its okay for kids to be naked til a much later age than is appropriate in the U.S., 8 or 10 years old it seems. Most kids were decently fed though all were thin by our standards and some had inflated stomachs like you’ve probably seen on commercials about sponsoring a malnourished child in Africa, characteristic of protein deficiency I think. We spent a lot of time around one such little girl, Dodo, who was three years old but looked and had the mental capacity of a child around 18 months. It was sad to think about how much energy and intelligence my friend Monica’s three-year-old Joseph has in comparison to Dodo. It’s going to be extremely hard once I move to my village and see and play with kids like her on a regular basis. I don’t know how it cannot be personal.
We did a lot of relaxing, napping, reading (I’m on Anna Karenina, love it), and cooking, mostly Beninese meals but we had mac and cheese one night (well as close to it as you can get without refrigerated cheese). I get props from other volunteers for being adventurous with eating the food here, which I legitimately love most of the time. That’s probably not all I’ll get for eating the food if you know what I mean. As far as observing the volunteer’s work, most of what we did was “public relations”: greeting people who are important, checking on people who are ill, visiting village chiefs. This is honestly one of the biggest time commitments of a PCV, especially since when you visit someone they first pass around a cup of water that everyone takes a sip out of, then pass around some sort of alcohol that everyone has to take a shot of (“pour la sante et defendre de la malaria”), then ask about each other’s health, family, friends, their health, and so on. Completely superficial 99% of the time but very necessary. This PCV is coordinating a trash clean up competition between villages, with the winners to be awarded tools, so when we visited many of the chiefs that was the topic of conversation. We didn’t actually discuss details with anyone, most of the “talking” is talking about talking, saying things need to be done and agreeing to do them later. So this was our full day of work: breakfast, a shot of gin with one chief at 11am, lunch, a shot of moonshine and roasted peanuts with another chief at 2pm, a shot of scotch at the last place (he was wealthy to have had scotch), a nap, and dinner. And it is disrespectful to turn anything down one is given. For instance, when we were leaving to go back to the capital one neighbor insisted we stop by for some coco. When we got there he has a dozen kids scaling 40 foot coconut trees, retrieving fruit for his guests, and cutting them open for us to drink out of, then taking the coconuts back and cutting out the meat for us to eat. We each had to eat and drink two entire coconuts, which were huge. Despite the fact that we were all full and I don’t like coconut, and on top of that we were late meeting our ride back, we had to finish each one. Chugging coconut milk is not a good time. I had to pee the entire 3 ½ hour ride thanks to the coconut pusher.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
My Post!!!
I’m new to blogging but am attempting to use titles and tags from now on, for your viewing pleasure.
I have huge news people! (Did the title give it away?) I now know my post!! In case you forgot or didn’t know, my first two months in Benin are spent with all the other volunteers in the capital, Porto Novo, training. I move to my post, my home for the next two years, on September 26. My very first house! Housewarming gifts can be sent to the address on the right side of this page.
Drumroll please… and my post is… Allassankomé! I know what you’re thinking: “Really?!? Wow, I’m so surprised! You must be… I mean who wouldn’t feel… just… wow.”
Totally joking, you all have no idea where that is. It’s like when I called you so excited and told you I was going to Benin, but even crazier because this place doesn’t have a Wikipedia page.
I have the southern most of all 55 posts. This means:
- I’m practically on the coast, near Benin’s one and only resort city of Grand Popo
- I’m right outside Cotonou, where I can access internet and where the airport is located
- I’ll have loads of fruit and veggies year round (the North isn’t so fortunate)
- I’ll be living and working with the aggressive, colorful people characteristic of Southern Benin (whereas the North is more religious and conservative)
- My mailing address won’t change and I should get packages quickly (shameless plug)
As yet I know nothing about my housing and whether I have electricity or not, or, most importantly, whether there are two strategically placed trees/posts from which to hang a hammock. I’ll update my wish list as necessary when such information becomes available. Allassankomé is a village outside the bigger town of Hevie (one you can actually Google). The details of my job are still hazy but I will be working with Benin’s largest NGO, Bethesda, which has joint projects with the American NGO Mercy Ship. Projects range from promotion of sustainable income for women including commercialization of gardening and environmental products, training of uneducated youth in masonry or weaving (both of which I am a master in, as you are well aware), and encouraging women’s increased participation in development and community. The focus on women and youth was totally unexpected- I couldn’t be happier with my job assignment. There are a few drawbacks to being in the extreme South: the North is supposed to be absolutely gorgeous, less densely populated, and have all the national parks and cool animals and gems like that. Also, I’m a day’s journey from my friends in the North of the country. Sore subject.
Things I forgot to mention that are totally unrelated but that I find amusing:
- There are no trashcans here!! No method of trash disposal. There are impromptu landfills where wild pigs socialize in the middle of things, but nothing organized. I have a trashcan in my house but I have no idea where my family tosses it. My guess is in the neighbor’s yard.
- Malaria really is everywhere. My sister has it. And I have upwards of 40 bites even though I sleep under a net every night, check meticulously for holes, and spray myself religiously. I take my medicine every week but they say 10% of volunteers get malaria every year. A thousand francs ($2) says I will be one of those rogue malaria cases.
- I have officially stopped biting my nails. Nothing kicks a habit like fear of an intenstine-eating disease every time you put your finger in your mouth.
- The Beninese LOVE Celine Dion and Elton John. Then again, who doesn’t?
I'll end with a funny story. Today my domestique pulled me aside, not wanting anyone to see, and pulled out a picture of my friends and me at graduation. She said one of the girls in the house said I gave it to her, and she was upset because she really wanted one. I was totally confused because I never gave anyone a picture and started fretting about people breaking into my room and taking things while I'm gone, but why skip over the Mac and take a grainy picture? Thats when I realized I had thrown that too-grainy-for-my-liking picture away a week ago. A little weird. We were warned about people going through our trash-they say our neighbors will do it at post not because they need things but because they think our trash could be interesting. So in addition to the ring pops, I am giving them each a picture of yours truly (and my roommates because they are all graduation photos) when I move out. Thought you might get a laugh out of it.
I have huge news people! (Did the title give it away?) I now know my post!! In case you forgot or didn’t know, my first two months in Benin are spent with all the other volunteers in the capital, Porto Novo, training. I move to my post, my home for the next two years, on September 26. My very first house! Housewarming gifts can be sent to the address on the right side of this page.
Drumroll please… and my post is… Allassankomé! I know what you’re thinking: “Really?!? Wow, I’m so surprised! You must be… I mean who wouldn’t feel… just… wow.”
Totally joking, you all have no idea where that is. It’s like when I called you so excited and told you I was going to Benin, but even crazier because this place doesn’t have a Wikipedia page.
I have the southern most of all 55 posts. This means:
- I’m practically on the coast, near Benin’s one and only resort city of Grand Popo
- I’m right outside Cotonou, where I can access internet and where the airport is located
- I’ll have loads of fruit and veggies year round (the North isn’t so fortunate)
- I’ll be living and working with the aggressive, colorful people characteristic of Southern Benin (whereas the North is more religious and conservative)
- My mailing address won’t change and I should get packages quickly (shameless plug)
As yet I know nothing about my housing and whether I have electricity or not, or, most importantly, whether there are two strategically placed trees/posts from which to hang a hammock. I’ll update my wish list as necessary when such information becomes available. Allassankomé is a village outside the bigger town of Hevie (one you can actually Google). The details of my job are still hazy but I will be working with Benin’s largest NGO, Bethesda, which has joint projects with the American NGO Mercy Ship. Projects range from promotion of sustainable income for women including commercialization of gardening and environmental products, training of uneducated youth in masonry or weaving (both of which I am a master in, as you are well aware), and encouraging women’s increased participation in development and community. The focus on women and youth was totally unexpected- I couldn’t be happier with my job assignment. There are a few drawbacks to being in the extreme South: the North is supposed to be absolutely gorgeous, less densely populated, and have all the national parks and cool animals and gems like that. Also, I’m a day’s journey from my friends in the North of the country. Sore subject.
Things I forgot to mention that are totally unrelated but that I find amusing:
- There are no trashcans here!! No method of trash disposal. There are impromptu landfills where wild pigs socialize in the middle of things, but nothing organized. I have a trashcan in my house but I have no idea where my family tosses it. My guess is in the neighbor’s yard.
- Malaria really is everywhere. My sister has it. And I have upwards of 40 bites even though I sleep under a net every night, check meticulously for holes, and spray myself religiously. I take my medicine every week but they say 10% of volunteers get malaria every year. A thousand francs ($2) says I will be one of those rogue malaria cases.
- I have officially stopped biting my nails. Nothing kicks a habit like fear of an intenstine-eating disease every time you put your finger in your mouth.
- The Beninese LOVE Celine Dion and Elton John. Then again, who doesn’t?
I'll end with a funny story. Today my domestique pulled me aside, not wanting anyone to see, and pulled out a picture of my friends and me at graduation. She said one of the girls in the house said I gave it to her, and she was upset because she really wanted one. I was totally confused because I never gave anyone a picture and started fretting about people breaking into my room and taking things while I'm gone, but why skip over the Mac and take a grainy picture? Thats when I realized I had thrown that too-grainy-for-my-liking picture away a week ago. A little weird. We were warned about people going through our trash-they say our neighbors will do it at post not because they need things but because they think our trash could be interesting. So in addition to the ring pops, I am giving them each a picture of yours truly (and my roommates because they are all graduation photos) when I move out. Thought you might get a laugh out of it.
I feel the need to recognize a few awesome people who have unknowingly contributed greatly to my life in Benin. I owe my sanity to the following individuals:
-Lynn and L.L. Bean- for giving me and manufacturing an awesome flashlight than has magically evaded Africa’s destructive powers on my possessions.
-Felice- for insisting that I take the copy of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius at your apartment that has provided a much-needed respite from French/Benin/life on numerous occasions.
- Dad- for sending me a battery and charger for the camera that stopped working a mere week into my trip.
On the subject of sending me things, I’ve had several people ask if/how they can send me things. And I’m sure those who have yet to ask were planning on doing so soon. Here’s the sitch: My mailing address is on the right side of my blog. Yes, it’s in Cotonou. Yes, I live in Porto Novo. Yes, send it to Cotonou. Packages take under three weeks to get here (not five months to never, which I previously believed) and letters less. SUPER QUICK!!! I would love anything from anyone. Like a letter would be pee-my-pants-exciting. If you feel inclined to send a package, I would love just about anything that you put one minute of thought into. Here are some suggestions:
- Periodicals- Newsweek, The Economist, The New Yorker, Time
- a French press (can’t believe I didn’t bring one!)
- coffee
- new music
- gum, but in foil type packets where each one is individually wrapped because if not they melt together
- chocolate!!! In small wrappers is best, like fun size
- pictures
- a crossword puzzle book
- bars (Fiber One, Cliff, anything edible)
- anything I can just add water or eggs to and cook
There’s really nothing I need, so don’t feel guilted by this or for not making it on my honorable mention. Every single facebook message or comment, blog comment, email, etc. is greatly appreciated. Honestly, you people make my days. As I said to one friend, its hard to see the bigger picture or feel good about what you’re doing when your biking uphill through sand, after 8 hours of class, mouth full of exhaust, being yelled at and taunted by people of all ages.
On another note, I’ve gotten a lot of questions about what I actually do in class for 44 hours a week. Our time is split into three parts: language, technical, and the other stuff. Language is French for most people like me who came in with not much French, and local language for those who came in near fluent and will need to speak a local language at their site. We are in groups of two to four for language and it’s the class we have the most. We just had language progress interviews so I’m waiting to hear the results of that. I made the mistake of saying in my interview that I watched a movie on my birthday and my interviewer made me attempt to explain the plot of Twilight to her in French. FML.
Our technical sessions are sector specific. So I learn everything an environmental volunteer should know:
- Benin’s environmental problems and government and NGO projects that address them
- Gardening: making seed beds, tree nurseries, what to plant where (this includes watering our garden every day before and after class)
- Making mud stoves (its exactly what it sounds like)
- Starting environmental clubs
- Teaching students about the environment and getting teachers to incorporate it into education
- Composting
- Names, identification, and harvest times of various plants and trees
- Everything about soil and natural fertilizers, including the mineral content of various animal feces including bat guano (Ace Ventura anyone? Coincidentally, bats living in roofs is a common problem, so we have a steady source of natural fertilizer close at hand. The glass is half full yet.)
The “other” portion of our class time covers everything else we need to live and function in Benin:
- culture: norms, gender roles, deciphering gestures, behavior, food, cooking, etc.
- safety: how to avoid/deal with unwanted attention, avoiding and reporting incidents, transportation safety, how to look for a good taxi, using your common sense in general
- bike training: maintenance, oiling, cleaning
- administration: paperwork, getting paid, paperwork, opening bank accounts, more paperwork
- medical: A to Z of diarrhea, filtering water, washing and bleaching fruits and vegetables, malaria, AIDS, bird flu, giarrdea, all illnesses and diseases that we can/might/probably will get.
I’ll stop at the details of the at home stool sample procedure. Bon soir mes amis.
-Lynn and L.L. Bean- for giving me and manufacturing an awesome flashlight than has magically evaded Africa’s destructive powers on my possessions.
-Felice- for insisting that I take the copy of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius at your apartment that has provided a much-needed respite from French/Benin/life on numerous occasions.
- Dad- for sending me a battery and charger for the camera that stopped working a mere week into my trip.
On the subject of sending me things, I’ve had several people ask if/how they can send me things. And I’m sure those who have yet to ask were planning on doing so soon. Here’s the sitch: My mailing address is on the right side of my blog. Yes, it’s in Cotonou. Yes, I live in Porto Novo. Yes, send it to Cotonou. Packages take under three weeks to get here (not five months to never, which I previously believed) and letters less. SUPER QUICK!!! I would love anything from anyone. Like a letter would be pee-my-pants-exciting. If you feel inclined to send a package, I would love just about anything that you put one minute of thought into. Here are some suggestions:
- Periodicals- Newsweek, The Economist, The New Yorker, Time
- a French press (can’t believe I didn’t bring one!)
- coffee
- new music
- gum, but in foil type packets where each one is individually wrapped because if not they melt together
- chocolate!!! In small wrappers is best, like fun size
- pictures
- a crossword puzzle book
- bars (Fiber One, Cliff, anything edible)
- anything I can just add water or eggs to and cook
There’s really nothing I need, so don’t feel guilted by this or for not making it on my honorable mention. Every single facebook message or comment, blog comment, email, etc. is greatly appreciated. Honestly, you people make my days. As I said to one friend, its hard to see the bigger picture or feel good about what you’re doing when your biking uphill through sand, after 8 hours of class, mouth full of exhaust, being yelled at and taunted by people of all ages.
On another note, I’ve gotten a lot of questions about what I actually do in class for 44 hours a week. Our time is split into three parts: language, technical, and the other stuff. Language is French for most people like me who came in with not much French, and local language for those who came in near fluent and will need to speak a local language at their site. We are in groups of two to four for language and it’s the class we have the most. We just had language progress interviews so I’m waiting to hear the results of that. I made the mistake of saying in my interview that I watched a movie on my birthday and my interviewer made me attempt to explain the plot of Twilight to her in French. FML.
Our technical sessions are sector specific. So I learn everything an environmental volunteer should know:
- Benin’s environmental problems and government and NGO projects that address them
- Gardening: making seed beds, tree nurseries, what to plant where (this includes watering our garden every day before and after class)
- Making mud stoves (its exactly what it sounds like)
- Starting environmental clubs
- Teaching students about the environment and getting teachers to incorporate it into education
- Composting
- Names, identification, and harvest times of various plants and trees
- Everything about soil and natural fertilizers, including the mineral content of various animal feces including bat guano (Ace Ventura anyone? Coincidentally, bats living in roofs is a common problem, so we have a steady source of natural fertilizer close at hand. The glass is half full yet.)
The “other” portion of our class time covers everything else we need to live and function in Benin:
- culture: norms, gender roles, deciphering gestures, behavior, food, cooking, etc.
- safety: how to avoid/deal with unwanted attention, avoiding and reporting incidents, transportation safety, how to look for a good taxi, using your common sense in general
- bike training: maintenance, oiling, cleaning
- administration: paperwork, getting paid, paperwork, opening bank accounts, more paperwork
- medical: A to Z of diarrhea, filtering water, washing and bleaching fruits and vegetables, malaria, AIDS, bird flu, giarrdea, all illnesses and diseases that we can/might/probably will get.
I’ll stop at the details of the at home stool sample procedure. Bon soir mes amis.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Today is the first of three birthdays in Africa! Here’s how I’m spending it: My parents both called me today to wish me a happy birthday yesterday, which was exciting. There was much talk and hype about a dance party at our trainers’ (PCVs that got here at this time last year or two years ago, that are now training us) house last night but everywhere I go I have to leave early enough to make it home before sundown. No dance party for me. I had to be the first to leave while everyone else was sitting on the rooftop, enjoying the company, the drinks, and the view complete with a stunning West African sunset. But I’m not bitter or anything. So today I woke up at dawn, talked my way out of going to mass (a feat), read my birthday cards (thank you!!!), hand washed my clothes for hours, and had a special lunch with my family. Well with my maman, only she eats with me. The kids don’t eat at the table. They made pate rouge (delicious) and chicken (bought live this morning and killed on the premises), got a cake (no frosting, but also delicious), and hired a photographer (awkward, not gonna lie). They are really into cheesy pretend-like-you’re-blowing-out-the candle or cutting-the-cake for several minutes poses. Can’t wait to see them developed (in a month, if ever). I went to the marche with a friend who you’ll probably hear much more about, Ragan, and am now at the computer room desperately trying to reply to emails. I have to get home now, sunset is approaching. I might treat myself to a movie on my laptop later. I’m sure you can guess which one, at least my Landfair ladies.
Online chatting is kind of out of the question for me since wifi is next to nonexistent and the internet is slow. I have a phone that you can call me with on Skype for cheap. If you want the number, let me know! (I don’t want to put it online.) Weekends are best to call and anytime 5pm to 10pm (8am to 1pm your time). Also, I read all my emails but wasn’t able to respond to any today! Not enough time! So Mom, Dad, Grandma, Kris, Lynn, Kacy, and Rachel, I will write as soon as I can J And I love your comments on here and facebook, but I don’t have time (I mean, I have a ton of time but the internet is soooooo slow) to respond but please keep them coming. I love the updates on your lives and your words of encouragement (too many to name, but you know who you are).
Online chatting is kind of out of the question for me since wifi is next to nonexistent and the internet is slow. I have a phone that you can call me with on Skype for cheap. If you want the number, let me know! (I don’t want to put it online.) Weekends are best to call and anytime 5pm to 10pm (8am to 1pm your time). Also, I read all my emails but wasn’t able to respond to any today! Not enough time! So Mom, Dad, Grandma, Kris, Lynn, Kacy, and Rachel, I will write as soon as I can J And I love your comments on here and facebook, but I don’t have time (I mean, I have a ton of time but the internet is soooooo slow) to respond but please keep them coming. I love the updates on your lives and your words of encouragement (too many to name, but you know who you are).
Bonjour mes amis! I hope you are all happy and healthy. I’m just now coming to the end of my first full week of training. Six days a week, 8 to 4:30, not including commute time and extracurriculars like soccer matches and tutoring. I’m exhausted by the time I get home, which is later recently because we trainees have gotten into the habit of stopping at a bouvette for a sucrerie (soda, not so much) or beer (okay, so we never have sucreries) before going home. This serves several purposes: 1) allows for time for it to cool down so our bike ride back isn’t as sweaty, 2) allows us to spend more time bonding as a group, outside of the classroom, 3) we speak French all day which is exhausting and the last thing most of us want to do is go home and speak more French, and 4) we are supporting the local economy. So that last one was a stretch but having one beer before going home truly has magical powers on my frustration threshold. On the way to school, every child who yells yovo or screams the yovo song (yep, there’s a song in the same class as lamb chop’s song that never ends) I want to hurt, but on the way home I reply “Bon soir” in a jovial, sing-songy way to all the previously obnoxious yovo calls. Even biking through the sand doesn’t bug me much. When I return home I am always pleasantly greeted by all members of my host family, several of which always say, in French of course, “How are you? Did you do a little work today?” I never understand this last one. I know it’s a cultural thing, like us saying “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” Obviously one wants more than a bite. Anyway, so they ask if I did a little work and all I can think is “Its 6 pm, I’ve been gone since 7 am. That’s 11 hours. And my back has a sweat imprint from my backpack. So I did, like, a lot of work today, okay?” When my French gets to that level I’ll tell them what’s up.
So when I get home I don’t have much time at all, just have dinner, shower, read a little, and go to bed. Dinner is kind of an affair because my very Catholic family prays before and after dinner. Its inappropriate to leave the table before the second prayer, and though I have excused myself a couple times before, I try not to. The main problem is that the TV, which plays only fuzzy Spanish soap operas dubbed over in French or Necrologie (the TV form of an obituary), is in plain view of the dinner table, which inevitably delays the second prayer. I recently discovered that if I yawn repetitively and rub my eyes repeatedly, they get the hint that I want to go. One of the first in my soon to be burgeoning repertoire of culturally appropriate ways of avoiding confrontation of any kind.
This week was the first time the environment volunteers actually did some manual environmental work. Not my finest moment. I had to make a seed bed in an area that was half soil, half impromptu landfill. First, clearing the trash that was definitely not only on the surface but a couple feet deep, then building up a piece of land with a trench around it to allow for proper water flow. Mine was so bad that my teacher had to redo it for me, in his suit and tie, no joke. So gardening is likely to not be my strong point. I’m an environmentalist of the Nalgene-toting variety, the ones with a mélange of stickers of eco-friendly business and campaigns that say things like “Respect your Mother (Earth).” This stuff is new to me. More stories to follow, I’m sure.
I’ve gotten used to most things here and the culture shock is all but gone. I even went two days without needing to write in my journal, which I take as a good sign, that I’m less in need of coping mechanisms for adjusting to a new lifestyle. I have a routine, which is comforting. There are less shocks and surprises. However, one thing that gets no less shocking is power outages. My house has electricity, but not all the time and only in a couple rooms. When the power goes out, every other day or so, it makes a huge popping noise that I believe to be the apocalypse. There is the inevitable few minutes to get lamps going, during which time I am trying to remember what trial came first in the Left Behind series, then I see my family and am assured that this is not, in fact, the apocalypse. Just West Africa.
My family says my French is improving but I’m constantly frustrated with my progress. Learning a language with the added weight of needing to conduct all your affairs in said language for two years, which will commence in 7 weeks, is intense. And all I want to do when I’m not in class is read and speak in English. Unless I’ve had a beer, in which case I am fully aware of and confident in my stellar ability to speak French, and do so at any chance I get, rapidly and with great pleasure. Purpose #6 of the after-school beer.
Last anecdote for the post, I promise. I have a quote from Martha Washington up on my wall about the greater part of misery or happiness depending on one’s disposition, not circumstances. So when I woke up last night to go to the bathroom and was greeted by a cockroach outside my door- on its back, arms flailing, being attacked by a couple dozen ants much much smaller than it and caving in to these relentless creatures- I was actually pleased to be reminded that many people working together, supporting one another, can conquer an obstacle much greater than themselves. I’ll let that one sink in.
So when I get home I don’t have much time at all, just have dinner, shower, read a little, and go to bed. Dinner is kind of an affair because my very Catholic family prays before and after dinner. Its inappropriate to leave the table before the second prayer, and though I have excused myself a couple times before, I try not to. The main problem is that the TV, which plays only fuzzy Spanish soap operas dubbed over in French or Necrologie (the TV form of an obituary), is in plain view of the dinner table, which inevitably delays the second prayer. I recently discovered that if I yawn repetitively and rub my eyes repeatedly, they get the hint that I want to go. One of the first in my soon to be burgeoning repertoire of culturally appropriate ways of avoiding confrontation of any kind.
This week was the first time the environment volunteers actually did some manual environmental work. Not my finest moment. I had to make a seed bed in an area that was half soil, half impromptu landfill. First, clearing the trash that was definitely not only on the surface but a couple feet deep, then building up a piece of land with a trench around it to allow for proper water flow. Mine was so bad that my teacher had to redo it for me, in his suit and tie, no joke. So gardening is likely to not be my strong point. I’m an environmentalist of the Nalgene-toting variety, the ones with a mélange of stickers of eco-friendly business and campaigns that say things like “Respect your Mother (Earth).” This stuff is new to me. More stories to follow, I’m sure.
I’ve gotten used to most things here and the culture shock is all but gone. I even went two days without needing to write in my journal, which I take as a good sign, that I’m less in need of coping mechanisms for adjusting to a new lifestyle. I have a routine, which is comforting. There are less shocks and surprises. However, one thing that gets no less shocking is power outages. My house has electricity, but not all the time and only in a couple rooms. When the power goes out, every other day or so, it makes a huge popping noise that I believe to be the apocalypse. There is the inevitable few minutes to get lamps going, during which time I am trying to remember what trial came first in the Left Behind series, then I see my family and am assured that this is not, in fact, the apocalypse. Just West Africa.
My family says my French is improving but I’m constantly frustrated with my progress. Learning a language with the added weight of needing to conduct all your affairs in said language for two years, which will commence in 7 weeks, is intense. And all I want to do when I’m not in class is read and speak in English. Unless I’ve had a beer, in which case I am fully aware of and confident in my stellar ability to speak French, and do so at any chance I get, rapidly and with great pleasure. Purpose #6 of the after-school beer.
Last anecdote for the post, I promise. I have a quote from Martha Washington up on my wall about the greater part of misery or happiness depending on one’s disposition, not circumstances. So when I woke up last night to go to the bathroom and was greeted by a cockroach outside my door- on its back, arms flailing, being attacked by a couple dozen ants much much smaller than it and caving in to these relentless creatures- I was actually pleased to be reminded that many people working together, supporting one another, can conquer an obstacle much greater than themselves. I’ll let that one sink in.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
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
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
Saturday, August 1, 2009
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
