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