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I'll be putting pictures up as often as I can, so check periodically!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Sunday, December 27, 2009
benin by the numbers
a few fun facts:
103- number of Peace Corps volunteers currently serving in Benin
8 million- approx. population of people in Benin
10- most # of bowel movements I've had in one unfortunate 24 hour period
2- hour bike ride (one way) it is to find internet
1.5- hour bike ride (one way) it is to the nearest Peace Corps volunteer
4- average number of lizards I find stuck in my house (they fall from the roof) when I leave for a few days
16- books I've read so far
120- estimated number of crossword puzzles I've done in Benin
10- number of family and friends visiting me during my service here (at LEAST)
3- number of birthdays I'll celebrate in Benin
6- dollars of pay I receive a day
27- most number of children of Beninese men I know
4- most number of wives of Beninese men I know
20- cents for a lunch
1- dollar for a beer
6- months I've already spent here
19- months to go!
Christmas in Benin
Happy holidays! The big party in Benin is yet to come-New Years- but a week of Christmas festivities is now over. I've had a little tree and ornaments, a stocking and some wrapped presents, not to mention hot cocoa and peppermint candies, around to keep me feeling the holiday cheer.
Tuesday was Noel at the preschool. Santa came, photos to come. Beninese Santa is somewhere between Big Bird and the American idea of Santa. Plastic bird mask. Skinny skinny man. But they got the red outfit and Santa hat right. (Sidenote: Santa hats are seen year round here. People often wear them in the early morning when they think it's too cold, ya know, like 75 degrees.) Amazingly, no child cried when they met Santa, despite his likeness to a Stephen King character. I passed out some American candy and mostly watched on as the kids danced (videos below. how AWESOME is the kid in yellow in the first video???).
Wednesday I helped the orphanage bring their 30 kids to meet Santa. It was hot, a couple kilometer walk each way, and most of the kids don't have shoes, but I don't think it detracted much from the atmosphere. Each child got a notebook, a couple pencils, and, I believe more importantly, an afternoon out of the orphanage with music and dancing. Of the 30, all but one are under the age of 8. No one can explain to me why it is like that, but I'm guessing that when children reach the age at which they can do most housework, they become domestiques (young, live-in maids) in wealthier households. I've spent several afternoons at the orphanage now, befriended the three women who work there and built a mud stove (stove made out of, you guessed it, mud that is more heat efficient=uses less wood=less time women spend looking for wood) with them. Each woman has children who live at the orphanage with them. That's an interesting concept in Benin- "orphan" doesn't mean a child without both parents. If a man dies his wife may not be able to take care of the kids on her own (usually the late husband's family takes the child in, if they are able); if a woman dies her husband also cannot take care of kids on his own; if a couple divorces the children usually stay with the mother, and if she remarries the new husband is not obligated to provide for those who are not his own.
Bit of a tangent. Moving on. Christmas Eve I had a 5 hour trek via a series of taxis and motos to Toweta, a small village of about 200 people (all descended from the same great-great-grandfather), where Hannah, another PCV, lives. Just a scatter of mud huts and a small, concrete health center run by two nuns. Cell phone reception just at the top of the hill. No French, just Fon. No food, all ingredients had to be bought two hours away. We spent our days catching up and trading stories, cooking, listening to Christmas carols on iPods, and playing with the dogs (who, coincidentally, all came from the same great-grandfather as well, no joke). We spent our evenings drinking with the nuns (how often do you get to say that line?), dancing (the nuns had choreographed moves to Rihanna songs), and partaking of both Beninese and American cuisine (the nuns killed a goat and we brought green bean casserole and garlic mashed potatoes).
It was a humbling and memorable experience. Toweta is one of the most rural posts, all subsistence agriculture. I'm guessing that few of them have any paper money. To be reminded that holidays are special without trees and lights and presents is... nice :)
Tuesday was Noel at the preschool. Santa came, photos to come. Beninese Santa is somewhere between Big Bird and the American idea of Santa. Plastic bird mask. Skinny skinny man. But they got the red outfit and Santa hat right. (Sidenote: Santa hats are seen year round here. People often wear them in the early morning when they think it's too cold, ya know, like 75 degrees.) Amazingly, no child cried when they met Santa, despite his likeness to a Stephen King character. I passed out some American candy and mostly watched on as the kids danced (videos below. how AWESOME is the kid in yellow in the first video???).
Wednesday I helped the orphanage bring their 30 kids to meet Santa. It was hot, a couple kilometer walk each way, and most of the kids don't have shoes, but I don't think it detracted much from the atmosphere. Each child got a notebook, a couple pencils, and, I believe more importantly, an afternoon out of the orphanage with music and dancing. Of the 30, all but one are under the age of 8. No one can explain to me why it is like that, but I'm guessing that when children reach the age at which they can do most housework, they become domestiques (young, live-in maids) in wealthier households. I've spent several afternoons at the orphanage now, befriended the three women who work there and built a mud stove (stove made out of, you guessed it, mud that is more heat efficient=uses less wood=less time women spend looking for wood) with them. Each woman has children who live at the orphanage with them. That's an interesting concept in Benin- "orphan" doesn't mean a child without both parents. If a man dies his wife may not be able to take care of the kids on her own (usually the late husband's family takes the child in, if they are able); if a woman dies her husband also cannot take care of kids on his own; if a couple divorces the children usually stay with the mother, and if she remarries the new husband is not obligated to provide for those who are not his own.
Bit of a tangent. Moving on. Christmas Eve I had a 5 hour trek via a series of taxis and motos to Toweta, a small village of about 200 people (all descended from the same great-great-grandfather), where Hannah, another PCV, lives. Just a scatter of mud huts and a small, concrete health center run by two nuns. Cell phone reception just at the top of the hill. No French, just Fon. No food, all ingredients had to be bought two hours away. We spent our days catching up and trading stories, cooking, listening to Christmas carols on iPods, and playing with the dogs (who, coincidentally, all came from the same great-grandfather as well, no joke). We spent our evenings drinking with the nuns (how often do you get to say that line?), dancing (the nuns had choreographed moves to Rihanna songs), and partaking of both Beninese and American cuisine (the nuns killed a goat and we brought green bean casserole and garlic mashed potatoes).
It was a humbling and memorable experience. Toweta is one of the most rural posts, all subsistence agriculture. I'm guessing that few of them have any paper money. To be reminded that holidays are special without trees and lights and presents is... nice :)
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
If Robin Hood met CalTrans
I was headed out of town for Thanksgiving (recap: emaciated turkey, American company, awesome hiking) when my moto driver and I came across a disconcerting sight: a barricade of sorts, a huge log suspended off the road, restricting our passage. My first thought was bandits, land pirates (there have been several instances in which PCV travel was restricted due to bandits and in one case a volunteer had to move to a different village after hers was raided by bandits, one of many instances in which the story is much cooler than actually living through the experience). Instead, the men manning the barricade asked for money to repair the roads that had been heavily eroded. They were local men who probably use the dirt road of out town to transport whatever crops they grow for selling in towns along the paved road and realized that, as the state has insufficient funds for road repair, they would have to take matters into their own hands. This way people who use the road regularly and see immediate benefits to its improvement can be responsible for its upkeep.
(The road block has been removed but no work on the road has been been done as of yet.)
(The road block has been removed but no work on the road has been been done as of yet.)
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