All the way to Timbuktu (almost)

It’s an exciting time in Benin! Presidential elections begin March 6. Many people have their radios tuned to hear candidate’s speeches and election news. One of the top candidates even arrived here this weekend to campaign, though he was 4 hours late and I had already gone home. There is a primary round of votes (March 6) in which all candidates are narrowed down to two, followed by a second election a couple weeks later in which a winner is chosen. There are over 200 political parties in Benin (which I believe is more than the number of politicians), so you can imagine how many individuals are in the first round of elections.

As Peace Corps volunteers there is a whole slew of things we are not supposed to do during this time, including have political conversations with friends, work partners, or, and I quote, “people you meet in bush taxis.” We cannot support in any way any candidate. And, as an added measure of security, for the week preceding each election day we are on “standfast,” which means we can’t leave our village for any reason. Most people in my village think the incumbent, Yayi Boni, will be reelected (information they volunteered; I in no way asked ☺).
The first two weeks of February I took the last vacation of my service. Every year Mali, a center of culture and music in West Africa, holds two of the region’s largest music festivals. One we can’t attend because it is in Timbuktu (did any of you actually know where Timbuktu was before reading this?), an area off limits to PC volunteers because of recent violence and, if I understand correctly, fears that Al Qaeda has strongholds in that area. The other is called “Festival Sur le Niger” held in Segou, Mali, which I was lucky enough to attend! Sadly a full half of the vacation was spent on buses, in bush taxis, and otherwise on the road. I first took an 8 hour bus to the north of Benin, which broke down several times and had to be push started (I kid you not) at one point. I’m thinking of making Africa-inspired motivational posters like those you see all over in America: “Success.” “Determination.” This one would read “Teamwork.” Anyway, after the bus then two taxis to get to the city in which we could find taxis going to Ouagadougou. Thankfully volunteers live in each town along the way so we could break up our trip and visit the posts of volunteers I don’t often get to see.

The taxi to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso (no, I’m not making these places up) left Benin at 3am. We crossed the Benin border around 5am but oddly didn’t enter Burkina Faso until maybe 45 minutes later. All the borders we crossed were like that: you’d leave one country then wouldn’t enter another for many kilometers. Bizarre. In Ouagadougou we stayed at a PC transit house and got to spend the evening with Burkina volunteers who were fairly new and bursting with enthusiasm about their posts. In Burkina, very few volunteers end their service early, 30% of volunteers extend their service for a third year, and there are even a handful of fourth year volunteers. It was refreshing to see, especially since Benin loses at least one volunteer a month and disillusions many to development work. We continued on with day-long bus rides to Bobo, Burkina Faso, then to Segou, Mali, where we found that our tent reservation for the music festival had not been kept. Thankfully they offered us lodging on a boat that sounded pretty shady but ended up being amazing. The main festival stage was on the water, and the boat sat just behind it. They gave our group of 8 one dorm room to ourselves. We didn’t even have to leave the boat to enjoy the music, but since we were behind the stage we missed the colorful costumes and unique dances when we did that.

The food in Mali blew me away. They had French fries, salads, and kebabs available on the street! You would never see that in Benin. Sometimes we have meat on sticks but it always has bone chips in it and half is guaranteed to be intestines. But beer and alcohol was twice as expensive as it is in Benin, I guess on account of its being a hugely Muslin country. I’ll take my intestines-on-a-stick and $1 beer any day.

There were many Mali volunteers in Segou for the festival, so again we got to hang out with a lot of Americans and compare experiences. I got a chance to talk to the Peace Corps director of Mali who was a volunteer in my site about 20 years ago. Small world! I guess there aren’t too many crazies who join Peace Corps. The 5-day festival had events all day long (with a siesta from noon to 3pm, obviously), ranging from puppets to dances to drumming and singing from all over West Africa. We spent most mornings shopping the artisan stalls, where painted calabash bowls, camel-skin and leather jewelry, hand-dyed fabrics, and a wide variety of jewelry, natural remedies, fabrics, and souvenirs were sold. The men in our group all bought turbans and by the end of the week had perfected the art of wrapping them. I like to think how many ignorant Americans would be horrified at the idea that US tax dollars went to teaching a PC volunteer to wrap a turban. Evenings were spent at the concerts, where some of the biggest names in West African music performed (not that I knew of any of them). I saw more of a variety of instruments than I’ve ever seen, like the kora (below) and the balophone, a xylohphone-like instrument that has hollowed out gourds under the keys.

During the course of the festival we made friends with a group of Toaureg men who, in addition to wanting to sell us their handmade silver jewelry, seemed interested to just spend a few hours talking to Americans. They have an interesting culture and seemed to me to be a dichotomous people. They were at once sophisticated and yet very traditional. The have arranged marriages but say it is to ensure future generations of full-blooded Touaregs to carry on their culture; they can divorce after having children and marry outside of the Touareg population if they so choose. They have an elaborate style of dress and silver jewelry of a quality and style unparalleled in this part of the world. The two mornings that we spend with them, we sat down on mats in the shade and carried on conversations while one of the younger men prepared tea. Their manner of serving tea is very distinct. Not only do they have just one or two cups, and so those people must finish their tea before the others can partake, but they serve three cups in succession, each tasting different than the other. The first, they say, is bitter like death; the second, tough like life; and the third, sweet like love. The entire time only one man prepares the tea in a tiny teapot over a tiny stove, continuously fanning the flames with a tiny fan, and pours the tea from at least a foot above the cup. He continuously pours the tea into the cup then back into the teapot in order to stir it up. It’s truly an art.

The Touareg are a nomadic people, though this particular group kept a base home outside of Timbuktu and only traveled in camel caravans a few months a year to the salt reserves. They then load up their camels with salt to sell in the city and return to their families with other food staples not available at home. We learned about their dowry system, in which a male’s family pays the bride’s worth in camels. A twelve-camel woman, for instance, is not only beautiful but comes from a good family. While we were there a Touareg took a fancy to one of the volunteers and offered her a meager one camel dowry. She refused.

From Segou we traveled to Mopti, where we met the guide who would take us for three days of hiking into the region known as Dogon Country. The guide was hilarious. He is a favorite guide of Peace Corps volunteers and started/ended every other sentence with “shit, man,” obviously a product of his many exchanges with young Americans. Dogon Country is an incredibly arid region known for its rocky escarpments and stunning views. Atop an escarpment, you can literally see the land transitioning and the Sahara Desert beginning right before your eyes. The hike wasn’t strenuous, a couple hours in the morning and a couple in the evening. It was humbling to see women with huge loads on their heads pass us sprinting up or bouncing down the mountainsides. Each afternoon and evening we stopped at a different village, all of which have guesthouses for travelers. The tourism there is probably a large source of revenue for each village, and it seemed like half the village was implicated in preparing the meals and facilities for us. They wouldn’t know we were coming until we were there, so they’d be scrambling to make lunch or dinner for us as soon as they saw our group approaching. The days were tolerable (it’s the “coldest” time of year there), and the nights were freezing (for people acclimated to unbearable heat 24 hours a day). We slept on rooftops, under the stars, and awoke early to the laughs of children and the screeches of donkeys. Sadly my camera broke as a result of sand getting in the lens, so I have no pictures to share with you!

The trip back was eventful. The road from Mopti to Ouagadougou was closed to PC volunteers due to security threats. We instead had to backtrack and make a 4-day trip out of getting back to Benin. The unfortunate part was that since we couldn’t take the direct road, which had buses, we had to settle for taxis from one town to another til we finally got past the Burkina border. We ended up in one town at night and, hoping to continue and not sleep in the taxi station, rented a taxi to take us to the border. Instead he took us about halfway, then, at 3am, stopped. He planned to start again at daybreak but we were uneasy and unhappy and being misled, and insisted on him continuing. He finally did, and we made it til about 25 km from the border, where we waited from 5am til noon to find a taxi that would take us. When one would, after much persisting because he thought foreigners would take too long in visa control and delay him, we sat with goats tied up at our feet. There was nowhere to put your foot that wasn’t on a goat’s body part. Getting back after that was a series of early morning or all night buses. We didn’t get a full night’s sleep for I don’t even know how many days. Long trip, but worth it ☺
The more I see of West Africa, the more I understand it to be at once so diverse and yet, have common threads throughout. I suppose that’s like the US—there are huge differences between the West Coast, South, Midwest, and East Coast, but somehow we all identify with many traits of being American. I could see the change in mud house structure and design as we continued north, but they were still mud houses. Mali and Burkina Faso were overflowing with donkeys and had less goats than Benin, but there was still livestock running through the streets. Burkinabes and Maliennes spoke less French than the Beninese (owing to widespread local languages in the former, whereas the local languages in Benin change every few villages), but they were as welcoming and amiable as we knew West Africans to be.

Life in Zè is exactly the same as I left it. My latrines are nearing completion though we have a few that are at a standstill. The diggers dug only 8 meters on several latrines then led my work partners to believe they had dug all 10, and collected the pay. So now we have no more money to pay more diggers but families who, understandably, want the 10 meter hole that their neighbors got. On top of that, many people don’t see the point of putting a fence or building of some kind around their latrine. It’s not a health problem, because the latrine pits have concrete covers to keep insects out and odors contained. It’s more just a problem of privacy, but that doesn’t seem to be compelling enough for them to thatch together some palm fronds and put them up. This is a time when I’m glad I’m not fluent in my local language, and someone else has to have the “Why do you want to poop in other people’s view?” conversation with these families.

My next big project is a career panel for International Women’s Day. It’s going swimmingly except for the fact that one of the women I invited, a primary school director, I later found out is accused by her community of killing her two former husbands with voodoo spells (gri gri). If I uninvited her, I might be the focus of such gri gri, so I’ll have to keep her on and hope the girls actually ask her questions and applaud her, as I’ve been led to believe they might not. I have 5professional women coming in total and the 50-60 high school girls with the highest grades will be invited. International Women’s Day in March 8. I’ll post a blog about it after the event.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hi family and friends! Hope you all enjoyed the holiday season and got your fill of everything that is Christmas and New Years in America. I came back from 3 weeks away from Zè to constant questions of “What did you bring me?” and “What are you going to give me for the holidays?” When I throw that question back at them they usually get all upset and say they’re coming to my house to take a gift that they believe is rightfully theirs. I actually had two girls about my age push their way into my house and start grabbing things on my shelf. As if they could possibly appreciate grated Parmesan cheese and Ghirardelli chocolates like moi. Psh.

Before I jump into a recap of my holiday adventures I want to update people who care on the status of my latrine project. It is unbelievably on track time-wise, even after losing some diggers to injuries, one incurred during work for this very project and one as a result of an excess of moonshine and the operation of a moto on New Years. All of the holes have been dug with the exception of four that are still in process. The masons are in the process of putting the cement platforms over the holes now; about 10 of the 21 holes that are completed have platforms already installed. At that point, families can start building the mud “houses” around their latrines. Only one family has already completed this, but they are a brown noser crew that the other families don’t much care for. We have been telling the families that they must finish the mud structures before mid-March, which will mark the end of the project. On January 25 a Peace Corps film crew is coming to film this project as part of a 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps commemoration. If I can get ahold of any of this footage or if it magically ends up on YouTube, I’ll let you all know.

Christmas! I stayed at this adorable “bungalow” right on the beach in a town called Grand Popo (and no, no one knows what or who Popo is) for five days with my boyfriend and about 30 other volunteers.

It was mostly lazy days on the beach and dinners all together followed by lots of dancing and belting out of Christmas carols. I had grilled barracuda and local moonshine with fresh pineapple juice almost every night. One day a local organization that collects sea turtle shells and sends them out to sea when they are hatched had us help with the sending out. They were so adorable!

After Christmas Doug and I went to Ghana to take the GRE and meet my dad! In the two weeks that I was there I ate pizza, salads, sushi, Chinese, prawns, more French fries than I’m proud of, wheat bread almost every morning, and only twice was subject to Ghanaian food. Pretty sure I gained at least 5 pounds. Accra, the capital city of Ghana, is worlds away from Benin’s largest city, Cotonou. It is much more developed, has more variety of food, has a mall and a movie theater, and has actual taxis, not the moto taxis that we take in Benin. I didn’t have to lug my helmet around with me the whole time. The mall was actually sensory overload and I could go on about the food for days, but on the whole there aren’t many tourist attractions. Accra looks a lot like Cotonou. As my dad said, “same dump, different name.” Here are the highlights:

-There’s a town just outside Accra known for its amazing hand made coffins. Yep, these photos below are of coffins! They say you can put in an order for almost anything and they’ll try to make it happen, but that you should not go for something better than what you achieved in your life. The example they gave was that a taxi driver should never order an airplane coffin. Just not kosher.The video camera coffin, we were told, was ordered by a BBC reporter!

-Every store, no matter how small or large, has a name, usually something religious. Even rent-for-the-day wheelbarrels. “Covered in the Blood of Jesus Hair Salon” and the one below were some of my faves.

-We picked up dad from the airport at 2pm on New Years Eve and immediately commenced tasting the local, ahem, delicacies. I passed out at about 9pm, like last year, though last year I was alone in my village. So this year still won. My dad made it til 11:45pm (him out lasting me was the case throughout the trip) but sadly none among us were up for the ball drop (not that there is any ball dropping in Accra).

-Dad and I traveled to some towns along the Western coast of Ghana known for its castles/slave forts, where slaves captured inland were held in below ground dungeons until they were loaded onto ships for South America and the Caribbean. The coast also had colorful fleets of shipping and beautiful colonial-style homes painted vibrant colors.

-We did a "canopy walk" in a rainforest not far off the coat. It was a series of narrow wooden planks suspended 30 meters off the rainforest floor, level with the tops of the forest's highest trees. It was the scariest thing I've done in a long time! We didn't see any cool animals as both of us were focusing on the space in front of us and praying to get off the ride as soon as possible.

-After the coast, Dad and I went to a town called Kumasi where we visited the largest market in West Africa. The guidebook described it as an alien mothership from an aerial view. Dad and I walked along the perimeter awhile before diving in. There aren’t really entrances per say, and its somehow several feet below the level of the street. Honestly. It was the kind of market where you really can’t control where you go; you just get sucked into the inertia of the crowd. We did succeed in making three purchases and I think I got a local price. Success!

In general Dad wanted to do lots of walking and experiencing Ghana, and I wanted to do lots of sitting, namely in the air-conditioned hotel rooms with satellite TV. We usually settled on having a beer and people watching. The conspicuous lack of photos of my dad and I together is because I was always scared someone I asked to take our picture would run away with my camera à la Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s. It’s easy to forget how much of people you miss when you don’t see them. I forgot how much I missed my dad’s (slightly inappropriate at times) sense of humor. And hugs.

Another First

I’ve seen a myriad of funny/weird/crazy/sad images here. I’ve seen a kid with two thumbs, men and children dressed as haystacks speaking through horns and scaring crowds, rain so violent that it displaces whole villages, old men with Maxim Hot 100 bodies, and women carrying loads on their heads that would warrant a U-Haul in the US. But for the first time ever last week, I was present for a voodoo ceremony.

As part of my latrine construction project, I pass by each house to check on the progress of the work there. Last week, one family was celebrating the fête season and a profitable month in their household by killing a goat and giving part of the raw meat, along with 40 cents and a bag of kola nuts (horribly bitter nuts that people chew here for energy, I think that’s where Coca-Cola got its name) to the other families in the village. I showed up just as the heat was turning the meat from fresh to putrid, and if the fly population was any indication, the party was well underway. I was also given the meat, 40 cents, and kola nuts. I ate some of the meat but gave the rest, along with the nuts, to my neighbors. They came to me later asking who had given it to me, because they’re sure it had “gri-gri” in it (which means they think someone had put a spell on it). Unfortunately, by that time I had already eaten the meat. They said that side effects could include either sleepwalking back to that man’s house at night, or the desire to eat my own children. Jury’s still out on that.

So, the ceremony. At this same house, the father felt compelled to thank me for the latrine by putting on a ceremony on my behalf. He laid a cloth on the ground and explained some significance for it that now escapes me, then pulled out several dolls made of carved wood and goat hair, shells, animal bones, and hollowed out gourds. The dolls were all in pairs, because here twins are highly regarded, almost supernatural. There was a lot of chanting in Fon (the local language) and a lot of pointing things at the sky, and talking to the dolls. The entire ceremony, as I gather many of their ceremonies are, was for communicating with their ancestors, who I believe were buried under the ground that we stood on (that is common here, to bury family members on the property, sometimes even in the house). Finally, the man laid two dolls next to each other on the cloth and covered them with a calabash bowl. While I tapped the bowl continuously with my hands, he asked his ancestors to bring me fortune when I return to the US, and to ensure that I someday return here to bless them again. He explained that if his ancestors agreed, they would communicate that by raising the dolls to a standing position. When I lifted the calabash up, sure enough the dolls were standing! That’s not enough to convert me, but pretty cool. I still have no idea how he did it.

I didn’t want to offend him by snapping pictures, so I just managed to get this one while he wasn’t looking.

Latrine Update

Thanks to donations from family, friends, and a few strangers, I am able to construct 25 latrines in my community. I promised updates on the progress of the project, so here it goes.

The families are overall enthusiastic to be a part of this project and grateful for the aid. Our first steps were to pass by each house and make sure they had gathered enough sand for the masons to use (which I would see them all doing in the morning, since the route I run just happens to pass through the village where the latrines are being constructed). First the masons make cement and mud bricks, then place them in a circle and cement them together. Next, groups of diggers dig 10-meter trenches. This is the most time-consuming part. It takes each group of 2 to 3 diggers at least 5 days to dig that deep. Then the mason constructs a circle of mud and cement with a hole and a nice little marked place to put one’s feet (photos below). This latrine “top” is done apart from the latrine and put on later. That’s one of the benefits of this type of latrine: in 10 years or so, when the latrine has been filled, the family can dig another hole and place the cement top over it (and hopefully cover the hole of the first latrine!).

Every other evening, my work partner Vlavonou, a local hygiene worker, and I do a tour of the houses to ensure that work is going smoothly. I had thought we would run into problems being that the project coincides with the fête season here. No one works or does much of anything except eat and sleep between Christmas and mid-January. It has actually worked in our favor, though. I think people are eager to make some money before the holidays, so work has been completed quicker than we had anticipated and we are, at the moment, ahead of schedule. Which will hopefully put us on schedule after the holiday season.

I had originally thought that the latrines would service about 200 people, 8 a household. That was grossly conservative. There are an average of 14 people in each compound (Beninese houses are not one building with several rooms, like in America, but rather a bunch of one- or two-roomed buildings clustered together), which means 350 people will now have a safe place to defecate, even more if they share the love with their neighbors.

Visiting the families has been a blast. People get irrationally excited when I speak to them in Fon (my local language), which feeds my needy and attention hungry side that comes from being the younger child. People gift me bananas, plantains, grapefruit, corn, pineapples, and children, though I politely decline the latter. I’ve had several offers of newborns to take with me to America. Through this project I’ve come to know two young girls who have debilitating diseases: sickle cell anemia and polio. I don’t know that there is anything that can be done about the first, but I’m looking into groups who give out hand-powered tricycles for the girl with polio. That would drastically change her life. As it is, her legs are shriveled up and completely useless, so she never leaves the family compound and there is practically nothing she can do on her own. Her hands are rough from pulling herself around on the dirt ground and she will likely not be able to marry. It’s hard to say whether or not her family will continue to treat her with compassion or grow resentful of the extra mouth they have to feed. Thankfully, government sponsored polio vaccinations are available one weekend every couple months.

Back to the latrines. My hope is to get a photo of each family next to their latrine and post it next month. Below are some pictures of the progress made so far.

Vlavonou and one of the beneficiaries standing next to where his latrine has been started.

Vlavonou counting the number of bricks lay before we pay the mason for his work.

My work partners and I at one of their houses.

My work partner Vlavonou at a meeting with village families.

A digger several meters deep in the latrine hole. He loads a bucket full of sand that is then hoisted up by his partner (below).

A freshly cemented latrine top with the inscriptions for Peace Corps and the local health center.

'Tis The Season

It’s October and that means start of the holiday season! Yes, my holiday season starts with the sacrilegious Halloween. American holidays are not just an excuse for volunteers to get together and buy out a bar’s cheap beer supply. They’re also an opportunity for us to recreate the traditions we keep at home here in Benin, blah blah, cultural exchange, blahblah. Sure, let’s go with that.

Last year was the first time in my entire life that I did not dress up for Halloween. I have the kind of mother who made sure that no matter how young, I was partaking in the excitement. And I was a damn cute fat baby in a coconut bra and hula skirt (I kid you not. Thanks mom.). So this year I’ll be joining other volunteers in Cotonou (the big city) with a TBA costume. I’ll post pictures.

I’m not sure about Thanksgiving plans yet. Last year we paid a Beninese fortune for a turkey that was mutilated by a machete and deep-fried—skin, innards, and all. The idea of “meat” here is a little more all encompassing. “Cuts” have not yet made it to Benin. I think this year we’ll opt for a vegetarian spread. We depend on things sent from home like gravy packets, canned cranberries, and stuffing mix. And thankfully we can make mashed potatoes and green bean casserole with ingredients here. (Though no Thanksgiving, or any holiday for that matter, is complete without my grandma’s party mix. There’s a whole in my heart where that salty goodness used to be.)

Hanukkah will probably not be celebrated since there are a mere 3 Jewish Peace Corps volunteers, and what is Hanukkah without dreidels anyway. Which brings me to Christmas. The Beninese are already preparing for Christmas. There’s a hit song out right now called “His name is Papa Noel” which goes a little something like this:

“He’s called Papa Christmas
He’s called Papa money
He’s called Papa foreigner
He’s called Papa of gifts”

Makes me really want to participate in my village’s Christmas celebration. Also makes me resent the fact that we made Santa a white guy. Last year I had an intimate Christmas with a couple volunteers and a few morally questionable nuns in a remote village. This year the volunteers will be going en masse to Grand Popo (no, I do not know what or whom Popo is), the beach town in Benin. We’re aptly dubbing the week Grand Hoho. While other countries in West Africa are blessed with a gorgeous coastline and sandy beaches, most of Benin’s coastline is rocky, marred by trash, or already occupied by shanties. We are planning on buying out one of the hotels there, which we think has 6 rooms so most of us will have to opt for tents on the beach. Can’t wait to share details and post pictures!

A huge thanks to everyone who donated to my latrine project and/or forwarded the email to family, friends, and coworkers. I’ll take some pictures and update you all on the status of the project soon.

I Need Your Help!

Dear Family and Friends,
On September 25 I celebrated one year of Peace Corps service in Zè, Benin. I have a year's worth of memories, photos, and friendships, comparatively little to speak of in the way of volunteer work. I have seen countless project ideas born and die in this time, because when need is everywhere, and helping hands are not, one must use what resources and know-how are available to address the most basic and pressing, among them. I come to you with a request for help with a project that addresses just that.
Like safe drinking water and paved roads, having a private place to relieve one’s self that does not endanger the health of others is something we take for granted in the developing world. I say this not to guilt you, but as reality, fact. I have seen firsthand people defecating in the fields that grow their neighbor’s livelihood, in the market where daily dinner is bought, near the waters in which they bathe, on the side of the road, where children play, in plain view of many; I have seen women forced to clear their courtyards and markets of fecal matter with just their hands and leaves; and I have seen the toll diarrheal and intestinal sicknesses can have on a child or adult.
Nearly a billion people worldwide lack some form of bathroom. I realize that these 25 latrines make barely a dent in that number, but those latrines will create a safe, private place for 200 people to use. That’s removing 200 people’s worth of fecal matter from public spaces, streams, and fields. The impact this has on the health of individuals within this community can indeed be great.These latrines are low-cost, durable, and lasting. A pit latrine at a depth of 10 meters can suffice for a household for more than a decade. Each household will provide an estimated 35% of the latrine cost in the form of hauling water, gathering sand, and constructing a mud brick house to enclose the latrine. Each household will also receive education on proper hygiene including hand washing, food preparation and storage, and waste management.
To donate to this project please visit https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=680-196
I’d like to say “many thanks” for any and all donations from the people of Zè, Benin. Oddly, in local language that translates to “awanu kaka” (say that one aloud for the full effect). If you feel so inclined, please forward this email to family, friends, and co-workers.
Love from Benin, Kim

Rabbit Rabbit

Not sure when I’ll be able to post this but as I’m writing it is September 1st, which means we are 2/3 of the way through 2010, and when it does come to a close, I will have spent every single day of 2010 on the African continent. Crazy!

August was hands down the most fun-filled month I’ve had here. My aunt and uncle (returned Peace Corps volunteers who met while serving in the Philippines) and 3 cousins visited for two weeks, one of which was spent in Zè and the other traveling up north and visiting some off the map tourist gems. Travel with the Cary family is always interesting, like a new millennium National Lampoon’s. Here are the highlights:

-Hotels! Hot showers, swimming pools, the customer service that a foreign clientele commands (and tips for), someone else cleaning up after me, etc. However, though I believed them to be luxurious I think they were comparable to a Travel Lodge. (Funny story- when I went to check in for the hotel the first night, before their flight arrived, I had just gotten off an 8-hour bus ride and looked like, well, a Peace Corps volunteer. I tried to convince the hotel reception to let me into the room so I could shower, but that my family would be paying when they came in that night. They hesitantly let me in.When I came back down, after a hot shower, they realized I was a high-class lady under all that filth and apologized profusely for treating me like anything less.)

-Swimming in the rain with the entire Cary/Fisher clan.

-Showing them my office and work partners.

-The house we stayed at (my house is far too small for 6 people) had a ton of “cute” kids with whichmy family loved to play and take pictures. I was less amused and was constantly yelling at them to not feed the kids lest all the neighborhood kids come begging for things. They probably think I’ve lost a bit of heart.

-The drum and dance circle at my village chief’s house. Uncle Tim and Ron both got in the middle and danced like, well, like no one I’ve ever seen (someone send me those videos so I can post them here). Ron even got Papa, the chief’s dad who has got to be pushing 90, out there dancing.

-My family’s (particularly Uncle Tim’s) infatuation with the tiny goats here.



-Dinner with the mayor on Ron’s birthday- the mayor’s son peed on Uncle Tim while sleeping and the mayor gave Ron an elephant carved out of wood for his birthday.




-All the markets we visited. I think my Uncle Tim could write “bargaining” on his resume under “Skills.”

-Moto biking through the forest in Zè.

-Having traditional outfits made.

-Visiting the orphanage where I’ll be planting a garden this month.


-The 12 hour voyage to the north, starting with motos at 6am, then a 2 hour taxi, a 7 hour bus (made longer because of the torrential downpour on the way which nearly forced my cousin Eve to use a GoGirl on the bus-if you don’t know what that is Google it), followed by another moto ride.

-Meeting a local artist who makes all of his paintings out of once-used canvas and natural pigments: cobalt, red dirt, leaves, hibiscus and other flowers, etc. He doesn’t even buy paintbrushes, just uses his hands. We bought a Beninese fortune in paintings from him and he gave us handmade necklaces and bracelets as a gift.

-Taking the volunteers in the north out for dinner so that my family got to hear other volunteer’s perspectives and stories (and I got a break from talking and translating).

-Going to a village on the Togo border called Boukoumbè for my birthday. We rented a car and hired a guide for the day. It was a gorgeous (if not comfortable) hour and a half ride on red dirt roads with stunning vistas and deep green hills. This area is known for its “tata sambas”: houses made by the Samba people out of mud that are very intricate-several storied with multiple rooms each serving its own purpose. Like little mud fortress mansions. We just stopped along the road at one family’s house and paid them to take a tour. Sadly because the houses are built high and there are (super sketchy) ladders all over to navigate the stories, old people have to live on the ground floor with the livestock. (Next time Grandma complains about the nursing home someone tell her about this.)

-Visiting the weaving center in Djougou where women make traditional Beninese fabrics that each take weeks to complete.

-Taking them to the airport and finding out that a guy from my village had actually driven the whole way to the airport just to say goodbye to them (again). That’s the Beninese for you.