Last Post From Benin

Thoughts on America

When the news from Ferguson first broke, I remember reading multiple pieces that at some point mentioned something along the lines, "the police version doesn't make SENSE. What black kid would ever, in any frame of mind, attempt to grab an officer's gun?" And now that there's a story saying there may be witnesses saying that's what happened, others are saying, "yeah the first witness's stories didn't make SENSE. Why would an officer ever just shoot someone for no reason?"

And THIS, more than anything is the issue. The divide which means that people in the US inhabit very different daily realities. Our experiences and knowledge shape us to have entirely different perceptions of reality.

Here in Benin, a local friend asked me if after living here I had come to the conclusion that Beninese and Americans were the same or different. I said we are ultimately the same. We all are born, we live, we die. In the mean time we eat, we sleep, we drink, we fuck, we laugh, we cry, we love, we get our hearts broken. We want to do our best and sometimes we fail. Sometimes we exceed our own expectations and the expectations of others. We want to do what’s right for our kids. We want to be happy. We do bad things and we do good things. We are all human.

So that is my conclusion, after living all over the world. People are fundamentally the same. But the difference is the vastly divergent realities we live. People are rich or poor, face oppression or are the oppressors. They live in a war zone or a peaceful neighborhood. They face daily discrimination or benefit from privilege.

And that is what is important to remember. In America, white people tend to move away from dangerous areas; areas were poor blacks are forced to remain. Most white people don’t have black friends (http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/wonkblog/wp/2014/08/25/three-quarters-of-whites-dont-have-any-non-white-friends/). This means they don’t experience what black people do, which leads many whites to disregard black experience. This is the same way that women face constant harassment, but men as very rare victims of harassment, dismiss as an overreaction, or an inept read of human behavior.

But ultimately black people are not fundamentally different from white people; but their environment often is. So white people especially, being in a position of privilege, really need to work to understand the harsh realities that are often faced by minorities and poor people in America. We need to be able to empathize and try to understand and work towards a better tomorrow.

Police are increasingly militarized. We give them equipment that is left over from the military. They are literally ready to fight a war. But seeing as we don’t have actual terrorists wandering around our streets a lot of the time, the police need an enemy.

And that enemy is black people.

Blacks and other minorities are constantly harassed by police and discriminated against. They use and sell drugs as the same rate as whites, but face my higher incarcerations rates. Moving forward as a nation, we need to get rid of a culture that sees blacks as inferior, that is surprised when blacks are angry. We need to move towards understanding and action. Towards a more fair justice system and a less racialized view of crime in America. We all have dreams. Let’s make sure every person has the chance to reach for the stars without being gunned down in the street.

Last of Benin

So this entry is about my last month in Benin. I can’t believe the end is already here! As I am writing this, I am sitting in the Cotonou workstation. I’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork, and now I am no longer a PC Volunteer, but, a “RETURNED Peace Corps Volunteer”. Though the actual returning won’t happen until Monday—thanks to a much cheaper flight.

In other news, I have already bought a ticket back to Africa, and I haven’t even left the continent yet. In January, I will be visiting the infamous Ryan Brown, featured previously on this blog, and author of “A Native of Nowhere: The Life of Nat Nakasa”

So, anyway…I returned to village in time for August 1st, which in addition to being my Mother’s birthday, is also Benin’s Independence Day. Last year the main celebrations were in a village quite far away from Kerou center, so Maria and I did not actually make it to them. We only went to the mayor’s house afterwards, where we were served food and booze, and then forced to dance with some people we knew from various gardening groups. Okay—yes I said forced as though we just didn’t awkwardly throw ourselves into the dancing fray.

This year, however, the main event was hosted in Kerou-center. So I showed up in time to watch a parade. Basically, it was just a bunch of different organizations marched down the street with a sign, and ended by presenting themselves to the mayor. Basically exactly like a parade in America. I knew all of the artisan associations, obviously, then there was the gardening groups, a Fulani group, and a group of traditional dancers.

One of the Artisan Associations

The Gardening Groups

Beekeeping Association

At the end, however, is the zemidjan association. They load up on their motorcycles as though they are in some motorized version of the wild west horse shows. It was quite terrifying, but luckily no one go hurt, and they weren’t going that fast anyway.

The last part of the parade was apparently a joke that went like this:

First, the police turn on their sirens and accelerate until they are right in front of where the mayor is sitting. They hit the brakes and come to a screeching stop. Then they jump out, grab some guy from the audience, throw him on the ground, arrest him, and throw him in the back of the police truck. Then they zoom off in the direction (straight forward) to the police station, almost hitting the on-looking crowd in the process.

Next, the ambulance pulls up with the same sense of urgency, throws someone on the stretcher, shoves them in the ambulance, and then zooms off, and makes a left-hand turn to go to the hospital.

Finally, a car with “Hearse” written on it in French speeds to the same spot, throws a third member of the audience into the back, and then floors it (well, as much as a Beninese car can actually accelerate quickly), and makes a right turn, towards the cemetery. At this point everyone breaks into laughter, and the mechanic-friend next to me tries to explain the joke. I’m just like, “No I got it.” And I laugh, not so much at the joke, but just at what Beninese think is funny.

Afterwards I hung around with friends. Constant organized a potato-sack (well, here technically a corn-sack) race for children. It was madness, so I went and had drinks with Dennis, and saw some other artisans. Afterwards, I went and watched Constant and a bunch of other men play football (like real football, not that American nonsense where the ball rarely actually touches your foot). It was a very fun day.

Corn-sack race

Some cute girl who offered me this flower, but I just took a picture of her

Me with Waliou, the son recently born to the woman on the left.
She is a seamstress and member of Sutiikua
Waliou is apparently my "husband"

Me and Dennis
I dressed up in Green, Red, and Yellow, as the Beninese flag colors

football!

One of the artisans—a seamstress in the Savings and Loans group that I started—had a baby while I was gone. Sunday was the baptism, so that afternoon, all of the people from the Association got together and then we went to her house. We said hi, were served food, and then gave her the money from a collection of everyone. It was frustrating, however, as we were getting served the food, because as usual all of the men (and myself) got served first, and they all dug in right away. Meanwhile, I waited until even all the women had food as well, simply explaining, “Well, where I’m from, we wait until everyone is served.” Then men just shrugged and kept eating. Sigh. I guess its even progress that there are women involved in this group (the other group has none). But then one woman who showed up the most often was forced by her husband to stop coming. Because he saw her with all these men (you know, at the unreasonable hour of 8 in the morning) and wanted to know what she was doing, blah blah blah, and just got super jealous. Meanwhile, he’s going around banging plenty of girls (projection much?), but god forbid should she try to do something like SAVE MONEY around men that are not him. And then the men in the group complain about how the women are often late, as though it’s the female members’ fault that they live in a culture where they are required to tend the house—no exceptions—before even thinking of doing something else. So sometimes they can’t make it on time, sorry. Of course, being the feminist that I am, I have tried to point this out multiple times, but mostly the men just laugh and shake their heads.

Me, with the female members of Sutiikua

So, then Monday, I am wondering around town in the evening looking for dinner. When I get home, I see that I have received a text from Stalker-man. Apparently he saw me at one of the cafeterias, said something to me, but I didn’t even hear him. He says that when I “authorize” him, he will be happy. Then, without waiting for aforementioned authorization, he texts me again, saying he’s not sure if he’s in my heart and if I will actually call the police on him, like I’ve threatened to do. Which really begs the question: IF YOU’RE NOT EVEN SURE IF A GIRL LIKES YOU, AND SHE HAS THREATENED TO HAVE YOU ARRESTED, WHY DO YOU KEEP PURSUING HER????????

Anyway, I go over to my neighbor’s house (a guy that I trust), and tell him this guy is harassing me, and that I want to call the police. Our conversation goes something like this (obviously paraphrased, and I added color, but the gist is there):

Neighbor (Christophe): “WOAH, slow down, girl, it’s probably just a joke.”

Me: “It is NOT a joke. It’s not funny, I’ve asked him to stop and he won’t.”

Christophe: “But he’s just joking. This is what, like message three?”

Me: “NO! Look at all these messages he’s sent me!” (I scroll through the entire collection that I’ve kept)

Christophe: “Oh wow, that is a lot. But he’s probably just trying to see if one day you’ll like him.”

Me: “I have literally told him I would choose to burn in hell than ever be with him.”

Christophe: “That’s harsh.”

Me: “It’s how I feel. I hate him, and he won’t stop bothering me.”

Christophe: “He’s just joking”

Me: “IT’S NOT A JOKE! I should be allowed to talk to whom I want, when I want, and if I tell someone that I don’t want to talk to them or see them, they should leave me alone.”

Christophe, *bewildered*: “Things don’t work like that here.”

Me: “It doesn’t matter where we are…”

At this point I stop, realizing this conversation is going nowhere, I will not get any protection that I want, so I storm out of the house. Christophe follows me, and tries to explain away this guy’s behavior, while the rest of my neighbors look on and laugh at my crazy sentiments.

Christophe: “He just wants to see if you can like him.”

Me: “I’ve told him no.”

Christophe: “But here, women aren’t supposed to say ‘yes’ right away. You have to keep pursuing them.”

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

Christophe: “But sometimes….”

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

Christophe: “But here…”

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

Christophe: “You can’t ever find a woman if you just accept and leave it when a woman says ‘no’ to you”

Me: “But that’s just society telling her that if she says ‘yes’ right away, it's inappropriate. Isn’t that just ridiculous and dumb? Like you have to play all these games. Wouldn’t it just be easier on everyone involved if you had a conference and decided that women can say yes before their will was entirely beaten down by men. You could walk up to a girl, ask if she wants sex, and she can say yes, and you can have sex, and not waste hardly any time. And if she says no, then you know she really means it, and then you just move on to the next girl. It’s so easy! And it’s better for you! And BONUS POINTS women never again have to be harassed by men they don’t want to ever deal with.”

Christophe: “But here…”

Me: “UUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

Christophe: “Fine. FINE. If you feel so strongly about it, I will call this man and warn him that you’re crazy self is actually ready to call the police, so it would probably be best to not come around.”

So he takes the guy’s number and supposedly calls him. I’m sure they had a good laugh about crazy white girls, and Christophe was probably super sympathetic to this poor guys plight (he’s just a man in lurve…) Meanwhile, I locked myself in my house, and started crying just out of a mixture of fear, but mostly frustration. There’s just so little I can do in this situation, but everyone around me keeps telling me that I’m overreacting. But that doesn’t make the fear or the insecurity that I feel any less, and I personally know I’m not crazy. I don’t think this guy is violent, but he’s definitely messing with my mind, and ruining many of my days.

He was too scared to actually come by my house after my neighbor’s call, he still texts and calls. One of his messages asked, “What if you were the one in love with me, but I refused, what would you do then?” Umm, I would thank you for your forwardness in rejecting me (instead of dragging me along), and move on with my life?

The moral of the story is that I am really looking forward to getting on the plane, and sending one last message to this guy, basically saying that I’m leaving and thank goodness never have to hear from him, and that I hope he burns in hell, right before turning off my cell phone, so he can never contact me again.

Wednesday, Raili and Corneille, her boyfriend come up to my house. Raili is moving out of Kerou (since the mayor’s office clearly no longer wants to work with us). I am giving her some of my stuff, but also holding on to a few of the things I will use until I’m done. We hung out and packed, and I made lentil burgers for them both. Corneille called them “interesting”, though he insists that’s actually a good thing.

When I got back, I was finally able to talk to Dennis about starting the surveys I’ve been wanting to do. They are for my masters program. I got approval months ago, and had planned on starting it, but then got distracted by my other projects, and my prolonged stay in Cotonou. Before I left to take Luna to the vet, however, I talked to Dennis about it. He worked with the President of the Artisan Collective to collect a list of all of the names of the artisans in the different groups. So by the time I got back, that was (mostly) ready. Thursday we began, and essentially drove around all over Kerou, trying to find various people in their workshops and/or homes. We ended up getting about 30 surveys done in about a 10-hour period, which was terrible, considering I am planning on 250 surveys total. The next day, Friday, Dennis was at an event a few hours away, so I did some of the surveys on my own, including starting at Ben Club, and then wandering around on foot to the shops of the few artisans that I knew and who spoke French. I also ended up later sitting at the buvette, calling some of them and making them come to me. The President of the Collective called the President of the Mechanics. They are scheduled to have meetings Sunday mornings, except on market days. And, of course, the upcoming Sunday was Market Day. So I asked him to tell everyone that there was a meeting anyway, which he did.

So Saturday I managed to interview a bunch of Solders in a row, then Sunday many of the mechanics. Things went a lot faster than when I was chasing people around town. So Dennis and I coordinated with all the presidents, and set up various times for these meetings. In the end, I got about 200 surveys completed. It wasn’t perfect, and certainly in no way something that I could publish as an official study. The fact that a larger percentage of the more motivated groups were interviewed, and those  were mostly male groups. It’s the rainy season, so I couldn’t interview people who take this time to move out to their field in a surrounding village and live there a few months while they grow corn.

This survey was a really great thing for me. On one hand, I do wish I had done it earlier. I got to meet with so many artisans, even the ones that didn’t regularly go to (or have) meetings. I got to learn more about their lives and their businesses. Had I done this earlier, I would have been able to include questions like: “What would you want from a volunteer? A training on accounting? Literacy?” etc. I might have even been able to follow through on those. (Part of my guilt during this survey was, “So, do we get anything from this?” and my response was, “Well it will add to the general knowledge of the realities of artisans,” knowing full well this is never getting published. I guess it will add to my knowledge, and maybe change the way I address development issues I face.) I also learned a lot of Bariba, even if it was phrases like, “How old are you? Do you have a wife? How many goats do you own?”

Of course, it wouldn’t be practical to have done this earlier. I didn’t really have anyone I could rely on. Maybe Pierre, but he doesn’t really know the artisans as well. If I had done this just as I arrived, I would have gotten basically no help, or perhaps only from someone who would have helped me one day, and then had to get back to his real job. (I ended up paying Dennis a little bit for the gas, and some other money, because of course he was taking time away from actual work). But I didn’t really know who I could trust at this point. Now I know who is “serious” about helping me when they say they will, and what their various limitations are.

I guess it just goes to show that Peace Corps is indeed too short. I’m glad to be done and to be able to leave village. To leave behind the terrible situation at the mayor’s office, the rampant chauvinism, the constant harassment (from kids yelling ‘batoori’ to the grown men and women hissing at you to buy their things or talk to them), the pit latrine, and so on. But I think about having another year here, to keep up with the work, start new projects, etc. I could have done a more thorough survey, and even applied a little bit of what I know.

Although, at this point, I think I’m leaving at the best possible high note. I had a small party with volunteers in the area. I made tacos for everyone, we got fabulously smashed, and then went to this random bar. I don’t even like the bar that much, but it was open, and I tried to make the DJ play songs for me. We were the ONLY ones dancing and one of only three parties even there, but NO, he has to play his music. Whatever. Regardless, we all just danced with ourselves, and I even invited the barmaids, and twirled them around, because twirling is my favorite activity when I’m drunk. We went back to my place, passed out. I woke up the next morning, did some very hungover surveys, then took a very hungover taxi to Oussa, where we had a small going-away party for the volunteer there, Will. Then I said goodbye to Raili, as she was headed to Togo to visit her sister (who lives in Ghana now), and we might not see each other again. Raili said she teared up as the taxi drove away, which was something her boyfriend was not at all prepared to deal with (adults don’t really cry here, or at least never openly).

I also left on a really good note with my community (minus the mayor’s office). As I mentioned before, my Savings and Loans group finished out their first year. They’ve continued into their second and even begun with new members! Ben Club finally—FINALLY—got their books in order. The very last week, I was verifying everything, and we were about $40 off. I was worried, but then they were like, “No…that’s right…we, err…spent it. On something.” I sighed, knowing it was a present/party for me. I tried to teach people over these fast two years not to spend money on frivolous things. And I especially feel bad knowing that these people who have such little money in the first place are spending it on me, when I am doing just fine. But it does make me like my work has been appreciated, and in the end, I’m just glad the accounting is correct!

Before leaving, I went to a meeting that had been called among the artisans. This meeting was silly, but it did give a chance to realize how well I’ve gotten to know these people over the past two years. The meeting was all in Bariba, and per usual, no one wanted to take time out to translate for me. I got a few snippets, but the rest I put together by simply knowing the personalities of the artisans involved. Basically, there was an argument over the printing of diplomas for apprentices who have finished their service and passed the test. The secretary is supposed to print them. However, I know that he is lazy and very rarely actually follows through on things he is supposed to do. Presumably, finally fed up, and feeling all high-and-mighty, the President decides just to do things his own way, and prints them all. Then the secretary, feeling all butt-hurt that someone stepped in, then prints his copies. Now there is a huge debate, and everyone is yelling at each other and debating who was in the wrong, blah, blah, blah. I was frustrated that sometimes when I ask artisans to help me, often times they might a bit, but then suddenly have to get back to their very important artisan-work to make money. But then they spend THREE HOURS arguing over this nonsense. Quite honestly, however, I know that organizations in the US get caught up in even more ridiculous things. It just goes to show that in the end, we all get caught up in the same bs.

So anyway, I spend most of my remaining time in Kerou rushing around to get all of these surveys done. Finally, the day before I leave, I make it to #201, and call it quits. This is, of course, just in time for the party that the artisans are throwing for me. It was a low key party, where soft drinks and yam-fries are served.

The party table, from one end...

...and the other end

We talk a bit, some artisans make speeches thanking me for my work. Then they pulled me to the center of the floor, and give me gifts.

Gift from Ben Club, presented by Edouard and Mora

Awkwardly holding the dress

This is how the dress looks on me

This is the present from Sutiikua

Up-Close of the wrap skirt. This is actually the EXACT SAME thing I got my mom (to use as a blanket). Typical Benin, but it actually worked out great, because I was thinking as I was buying my mom one that I'd like on for myself as well.

Gifts from the Soudeurs

It's really beautiful leather, made in Kerou. And the bag is amazing!

I was really touched by all of this. The gifts they got me were really beautiful, and very unique to this area of the country. Although the clothing I obviously can’t wear in the United States, I already have plans to use them as blankets for my room. So that’s really nice. After I got the presents, I gave a speech where I got a little choked up, and everyone was happy.

The next day, I finished packing up my stuff. I had already sent most of it with the direct market-day taxi to the workstation in Nati, so I only had a suitcase for me, some stuff to drop off for Raili, and finally my cat.

Pierre is hanging out with me (also picking up various items I promised him that I am leaving behind). Finally, he agrees to help me transport everything to where the taxi will pick me up. As I sit down on the moto, Hubert roles up.

Now I have pretty much avoided speaking to Hubert for the past few months. I briefly ran into him a few days ago, and informed him that I was leaving. He was super offended that I didn’t tell him way in advance, but I simply told him that since he had made it clear he didn’t want to work with me, I didn’t think he cared. I think that offended him even more, but I didn’t care.

ADDITIONALLY, I heard from Dennis this incredible and frustrating tale regarding Hubert. So Hubert has been working with this woman, Salimatou. She was actually briefly my counterpart, and I think I even have a picture on this blog with her. She is employed by a NGO (Belgian? Dutch?) that is based in Djougou (a town an hour south of Natitingou). Her job is to work with Improved Cookstoves. She has worked with the solders, such as Dennis and others in order to increase their production, get them trainings, etc. She also works with making clay versions, which are cheaper, and target poorer families, since they are less expensive. If you recall, I actually bought one of these when I first arrived in Kerou, but it broke when I left it out in the rain.

So, anyway, very recently she and Hubert went to Parakou where THEY GOT MARRIED! To be clear, he has a wife and like 5 or 6 kids already. But he decides he wants to take a second wife, and put her up in the nicer house that he’s building, instead of moving his first wife and kids there, where they’d have electricity and running water, unlike their current set-up.

After this, Salimatou stops working with the solders, devoting all of her time to Hubert’s projects. So Dennis is frustrated, and actually informs the NGO in Djougou about what is going on. Basically, they are paying this woman, and she’s not doing her job. This gets back to Kerou, and Dennis gets called in by the MAYOR, who tells him that he needs to get over, and not call the NGO again, to just leave it.

So I heard this story, and I was simultaneously mad and satisfied at the same time. It’s a really terrible thing, and honestly it’s just another example of how Kerou CANNOT develop while this mayor is in power. It’s really depressing. Of course, as Peace Corps volunteer, I am required to stay out of anything political. And it made me really frustrated when Hubert, the Mayor and the Premiere Adjoint treated Raili, myself, and Pierre terribly, and there was exactly zero things I could do about it. But now I see that Hubert is a terrible person, and keeps acting on these terrible, selfish impulses, and everyone is starting to see. People dislike this mayor and her right-hand-man, Hubert more and more every day. And maybe she’ll give the right people the right gifts before election day, and she’ll stay in power, but one day that will run out.

It’s frustrating that I have to leave behind a great and needy community with no replacing volunteer, just because the political situation is messed up. I just pray in the near future there is a new political party in power, and good work can be done again.

…So anyway, Hubert pulls up and we have a few minutes of awkward interaction, him pretending to be all pissy that I didn’t tell him what I was doing with the key when a) he never asked, and b) I worked it out with the landlord.

I leave, and leave the keys with my neighbor, and tell her to take whatever she wants. I go to Sous Les Neems, where I have a last Bissap Juice / Whisky Combo drink, wait for Pierre to come back with my second load of stuff, and then we sit for a bit until the taxi finally arrives.

As I was leaving Kerou, I simultaneously felt so incredibly happy and so freaking sad. I never knew that it was possible to feel those emotions so intensely at the same time, but that’s what it was. I’ve had an amazing two years, with all the ups and downs. I’ve been told by people here that I have had a positive impact on them, and I hope that remains true. I am also very excited as to what my vaguely planned-out future holds.

Since leaving Kerou, it’s been a series of volunteer goodbyes, as I was in Natitingou for a few days, then I went to Djougou to see Raili, her sister, and her sister’s husband. When they left to go back to Ghana, Raili and I just sat around and chatted for a few hours, until we had to party ways—this time for good, at least Benin-wise.

In Cotonou, it’s been a bunch of paperwork, a long zem ride to the vet (Luna was NOT happy) to get a microchip, rabies booster, and an official certificate of good health. Most volunteers (from my year) have already left. Maria, of course, is still here with her fancy USAID job, there are some more that are staying a third year, and some that have stuck around for various reasons. I’ve said goodbye to the Peace Corps staff that have supported me, and now I have a final weekend with friends before my cat and I finally board an (Turkey, then) America-bound plane.

This will probably be my last entry from Benin. But don’t worry, the fun doesn’t stop here. I’m sure I’ll have a few reintegration tales/fails to share. Plus I’ll have my adventure in South Africa in January. After that, I’m planning on heading to the Dominican Republic in February.

I hope you all have enjoyed my writing for the past 2+ years. I just wanted to thank you all for the constant support you’ve shown me. It’s helped me through, and I’m so happy to have shared this wonderful time with you all.

Sunrise from my Front Door