(The traffic circle in the center or Kérou)
Monday, 6 August 2012
Okay. I am going to start this
entry with a promise: never again will I complain about public transport in the
US. Ever. Even the economy class of airplanes is luxury compared to what I have
endured for the past two days. Today was the worst; I spent 7 hours going down
a terrible bumpy dirt road, crammed into a 15-passenger van with about 20
adults, plus some kids. One of which was apparently hypo-glyceamic, and nearly
died mid-transit.
At least I didn’t feel as sick as
I did yesterday. I had woken up feel a little sick to my stomach, and then
embarked on a voyage across half of Benin. I was in the 2nd row of a
van, which didn’t have a high back for me to sleep on, so I felt miserable. At
our first stop, I asked the person sitting in the passenger seat if I could
switch. For good measure, I walked over to the side of the road, and vomited
profusely so he could see I wasn’t faking being sick just to get a good seat. I
spent the rest of the trip all curled up, trying to sleep as much as possible,
and cursing my mother for passing on this motion-sickness-gene. Although to be
fair, in retrospect my feeling ill may have had more to do with my initial
stomach-bug or whatever, since today I went along feeling much better, and the
bracelets I have against motion-sickness tend to work well, even on these
African roads. So sorry Mom, for unwarrantedly cursing you. :)
On the other hand, I need to
point out that I (righteously so) hate men and their ability to pee anywhere.
Technically, it’s acceptable here, for the most part, for women to pee-squat,
as long as they don’t expose their butt. It’s possible in the common
wrap-skirt, but definitely a learned art. And it’s far less common than men who
just whip it out whenever they feel like it. (Oh, excuse me for exposing my
knees and a little thigh when I’m trying to pedal around on my bike and save
the world, because knees are so scandalous,
but it’s no problem if you just whip out your penis on the side of the road.
Grrrrrrrrrrrr… Ahh, don’t even get me started on that…) On one of our taxi
rides, the driver just stops, gets out, and pees. (Oh don’t mind us, the paying
customers that you’ve crammed in your crummy van. We’re just fine crammed back
here while you go and relieve yourself. It’s not like we would benefit from
getting out as well. Or benefit from you not stopping, so we could arrive at
our destinations quicker and relieve ourselves.)
Bastards.
Anyway, I am currently staying at
my “homologue’s” house. That is what the Peace Corps calls the person who
requested a volunteer, and who is basically my liaison to the community, my
supervisor (kind of), etc. It’s weird to be living at my boss’s house, I hope I
don’t make any cultural mistakes, because I don’t want that to be an issue when
I am working with him later on. His name is Hubert, and he seems really
awesome. He’s very well-educated, and has spent time living in Togo, as well as
other parts of Benin. Now he has returned to his birth-place of Kérou
(technically, he’s living about a km outside of the town). He lives next door
to a lot of his family, his mom, as well as many sisters, bothers, nieces and
nephews, and so on. He has his own family, a wife and 6 kids (two girls and
four boys), ranging from young teens (I’m guessing) to a baby. He is really
great with his kids, and his youngest son, the baby (toddler? Not quite
walking, but standing with support? What age is that?) hates being separated
from him. Additionally, he has a cat named Ouani (pronounced Won-ie), that is
exceedingly loyal to him, for a cat. And according to a current volunteer, who
lives in a town 10 km away, he knows and is known by pretty much everyone in
town.
His house doesn’t have electricity
or running water. Which makes showering interesting. I got what was maybe a
3-gallon bucket, and had to wash my entire body and my hair with that. You
should try it some time. Anyway, I was initially confused as to why someone who
is clearly well-off (he does work for the government, which especially in
Africa is a big deal, money-wise) and a very sociable person. Why would he
choose to live out here, without the convenience of electricity, and away from
the center of town? But then he showed me to his fields, where he grows many
things, like soy, gumbo (like okra?), moringa, cabbage, tomatoes, a lot of
corn, plus other plants that I don’t know in French, so I’m not sure what they
are. Oh yeah, and that’s all by hand.
He is so passionate about his gardens and about strengthening gardening in the
community. I feel like I will learn a lot from him over the next two years.
(Hubert's fields)
I’m still not thrilled about
being such a long trip from everything, and I am certainly worried about the
lack of amenities at Hubert’s house (although I will have electricity at mine).
But as I sat down to dinner with Hubert, I realized that this is where I want
to be. I think I am more afraid of the unknown, i.e. the rural life, and the
rural life of Africa at that. Yes, I grew up in a rural area. But that was as a
kid, and that’s different. I really haven’t figured out to have fun there. And
I have sworn up and down that I would never live in my hometown for good. But I
remember thinking before we got our assignments that if I only lived in the
South of Benin, I would never venture to the North. I quickly dismissed this
thought, convinced I needed a metropolis in the populated South. I will admit,
though, that the scenery I did see through my nausea and cramped condition was
absolutely gorgeous. So perhaps it is good that I have been forced to travel
all this way to the middle of the countryside of Benin, forced to see this
open, sprawling land, filled with very nice people.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
My first full day in Kérou. I
started off being led around to meet Hubert’s family that lives by him. It was
kind of awkward, because I wasn’t sure what to do. Also, everyone was speaking
Bariba, which is the local language here.
The greetings basically went like
this: “Anna _______?” (“anna” means how, so they are asking how was your sleep,
or your waking up, etc, etc).
Then the responses is “A laafia!”
Then another question, “Anna
_______?”
“A laafia”,
Then yet another question, “Anna
_______?”
“A laafia!”, then
“Ooo”
“Ooo”
“Ooo”
“Ooo”
“Mmm”
“Mmm”
Those last sounds are all
different tones, but I just don’t get it. “Ooo” apparently means “yes” but I
don’t understand why repeating it is necessary.
Anyway, so that was the morning.
Then we went into town and had breakfast at this little stand. I got an egg
sandwich and coffee, which is par for the course of my breakfasts in Benin.
Thank you for giving me tons of cholesterol. After that, we went to the mayors
office, where I met a lot of the staff there. The mayor is currently out of
town, so I didn’t get to meet her. We did meet the Secretary-General, who
invited us for drinks later that night. Next, we went to the gendarmerie (police station). Hubert
introduced me to the people that work there, and I got the business card of one
of the security officers, so I can call if there is a problem. Now they also
know to look out for me over the next two years. Finally we went to Hubert’s
office. Technically he works for the Mayor, but his office is right in the
center of town (the mayor’s office is a half mile north of the center). At his
office, there is also a room where seeds, etc are sold for the women’s
gardening groups in the commune (county).
In the morning, we first met with
some women leaders from the neighboring villages. We organized times from me to
visit these various groups. One of the things I am worried about in my
assignment is that during the two days when everyone’s homologues were in Porto
Novo and the Peace Corps had some training sessions, Hubert stood up and
objected to the Peace Corp’s ban on volunteers driving motos, or any
motor-vehicle. He stood up and said, “But my volunteer needs to work with 27
women’s gardening groups in the country! How can she get to all of them if she
can’t drive!” The Peace Corp’s response was that I have a bike. Hubert doesn’t
think this is sufficient, so I am worried that I will have to bike myself to
death. And it’s not exactly flat (although mostly it is. Only a few hills). Oh
yeah, and this is the Sahel, where in March/April, it can get up to 120 degrees.
What have I gotten myself into??? Yikes!
Today was a market day (this
happens every 4 days), so Hubert took me to see it. I am happy because I can
get pretty much everything I need there. I was worried I might be lacking
certain items and have to go into a bigger town to get them, but it looks like,
for the most part, I am good. They have everything I would want for my house
(except a mattress), kitchen supplies, fabric for clothes, various foods, and
so on. They only thing that will be annoying will be actually having to go
shopping every 4 days, since my veggies won’t keep long without a fridge. Ahh,
I’m so used to going to the grocery store every two or three weeks! I even
remember subsisting on beans and rice for weeks at a time when I was too busy this
past year to go to the supermarket, which was only 2 blocks away. On the other
hand, from what I’ve heard about Peace Corps, and what I know about African
culture, I really doubt I will have inescapable deadlines and tons of work
(partnered with even more procrastination, lets be honest) that keep me from
buying my sustenance for the week.
We went back to Hubert’s for
lunch and a nap, then we cam back into town. Hubert showed me around to the
more permanent shops, so I could see what was available there as well. This is
where I will buy things like staple foods (rice) as well as packaged foods
(soft drinks), plus pharmaceutical products, and home improvement items. Which
speaking of, we also stopped by a place that might be my house. (There is some
sort of debate over whether this will belong to me or the other new volunteer,
M.) It shares a courtyard with other families, which the Peace Corps likes
because then there are other people to look out for you. It has electricity,
and one of the current tenants even has satellite TV. There is no running
water, and only a very, very dirty well in the courtyard, which means water is
a good distance away. There is a private shower area in the back of the house.
Then our the front door, and around to the side is a private latrine. Hubert
called it a “WC” and I resisted the urge to bitterly inform him that in order
for something to pass for a “Water Closet”, there has to be actual (running)
water involved. It shouldn’t be that bad, actually. People tend to use the shower-areas
for peeing, and the latrines only for that other thing. I just hope I don’t
have a sickness that requires frequent visits to the latrine, especially since
this would be observed by all the other families living in the compound.
Regardless, I am really excited to move ino my own place. Weirdly, spending 2
years in Kérou will be the longest I’ve lived somewhere consecutively since I
started college in 2006. Since then, I lived a lot in Charleston, obviously,
but this was broken up by semesters abroad. Then I spent a year at home with my
mom, then 9 months in Oklahoma doing my masters program, and now I’m here. It’s
almost like settling down. Almost.
Anyway, after all that, I met
with some local artisans. Some of them are part of the “Ben Club”, a Village
Savings and Loan Association started by a former volunteer (Ben). Others are
just part of professional organizations in Kérou. They are all very excited to
work with me, and I hope I just don’t disappoint. It is really good to have a
structure here, especially because it helps me identify people who are really
interested in making changes and progressing in their businesses, etc. They
will help show me around the next week as well.
After meeting with them, I went
to meet the queen. According to Hubert, she is Bariba and Muslim, and her main
duty is giving names to newborn babies. She may have other responsibilities,
but Hubert doesn’t really know. A current volunteer in Kérou, A., explained
that historically, only the Bariba, Yoruba, and Fon ethnic groups had kings and
queens, but no other Beninese ethnic group did. Then the government, in their
infinite wisdom, decided to support traditional leaders, and passed a law
giving money to kings and queens. Then suddenly, there were kings and queens
everywhere.
On the way back to Hubert’s
house, we actually went to the cotton fields of the mayor. Hubert explained
that cotton is a crop which requires a lot of work and a lot of production in
order to be profitable. Then he asked me if we had cotton in the U.S. I
responded, “Well, actually, that’s why we took a lot of slaves from Benin: to
work in the cotton fields.” Then there was just an awkward silence.
On a somewhat related note, there
is something very interesting that I wanted to mention. I noticed from one of
my first days that a lot of people had scars on their faces. Straight lines,
sometimes one or two on each cheek. I asked my French teacher about it, and he
said this was a practice that actually originated during the slave trade.
People with scars, especially on their faces, would actually fetch less money
for white slave traders. As a protective measure, therefore, many groups would
cut slits on a child’s face when he or she was born. This practice has
continued today as a kind of status-marker. As if to say, “Look at how
un-slave-worthy my child is; we are of such a high class.” Other times these
scars might actually be for a spiritual kind of protection, often if a child
has been preceded by siblings that have died at birth or a young age. So anyway,
that is just something that I found culturally interesting, and thought I
should mention. It may be a disappearing process, for example Hubert’s wife has
the scars, but none of the children do. That may also be due to the education
level of the parents, I’m not sure.
Back to my daily adventures: as
we were passing through the fields, two Peul on a motorcycle almost hit Hubert,
so he started complaining about the Peul. I had heard that a lot of the Bariba
(the dominant ethnic group here) aren’t huge fans of the Peul, but I can’t help
but like them. For me they are kind of a link to my first African home,
Senegal. The Peul (also called Fulbe) are originally from there. In fact, a
good portion of my bachelor’s thesis was about Fulbe kingdoms in pre-colonial Senegal.
The Peul are very good at war, and were able to conquer territory easily.
However, they are a group of cattle herders, which made their kingdoms
unsustainable. It is hard to rule a people that constantly move about and
across borders. They have since spread out across Mali, Burkina Faso, into
Benin, etc. Here, they are all so tall (one volunteer insists that this is
related to their propensity, as cattle-herders, for drinking real cow’s milk),
dark, and beautiful. They where this royal blue color, that is absolutely
stunning, often infused with something red, possibly in the embroidery, etc. I
have also seen some with what looks like henna tattoos, but in square shapes,
covering their faces. I never saw something like this in Senegal, so I wonder
if I just never ventured far enough away from Dakar, or if this was something
that was adopted as they spread across the continent.
Okay, this time, for real back to
my daily adventures (I get sidetracked so easily!), after the cotton fields, we
went back and had dinner at Hubert’s. Then A. and I and Hubert went to meet M.
at this buvette (what you would call
a bar) with the Secretary General. It was a weird meeting, with mixtures of
French, Bariba, and English conversations. And plenty of awkward silences, although
the Beninese didn’t seem quite as bothered by those as the Americans. On the
motorcycle ride back, I looked up into the night sky, which was absolutely
stunning. I could see more stars even then I could see in places like Montana.
(In other news, Kérou also gives Montana a run for its money in claiming to
have the biggest skies). It was just absolutely gorgeous. I wish I had a
constellation-tablet-thing (what are those called?) I technically have one at
home, but it is for the wrong latitude (the stars you can see change based on
where you are on earth). So if someone wants to send me the one for my
latitude, that would be great, thanks.
Thursday, 9 August 2012
Yesterday I didn’t do too much.
Hubert left in the morning, to ride his moto to Nattintangou to deliver a
report. (Kérou hasn’t caught up on this uber-new concept called e-mail.) But when he left he was wearing
a full ski-jacket. I asked him why he was wearing it, and he said “To guard
against the rain.” I said, “No, that is for snow!!!” But here, even the
slightest cold merits jackets and hats, so I guess a motorcycle ride in the
slightly cool rain would merit a huge, bulky, winter jacket.
So one of his kids (probably 12
years old or less) drove me into town (and yet the Peace Corps thinks its too
unsafe for me to drive myself…) I got breakfast, then went with M. to the
health center. She gave me a tour and then we interviewed one of the nurses, as
the Peace Corps has required. He made an interesting comment during this
interview, which was to the effect of, “You are sending robots to Mars, and yet
you can’t get a cure for AIDS to Africa.” He seemed to be under the impression
that the U.S. actually has a cure for AIDS, we’re just not sharing. We tried to
explain that it’s not exactly a cure; it’s just a medicine that keeps HIV from
becoming AIDS. And really, it’s only available to people with money or good
insurance. But seriously, why haven’t we cured AIDS yet? Actually, Benin has a
lower rate of AIDS then the US. It tends to be more central, eastern, and
southern African countries that have the bigger AIDS problems. I am glad for
the efforts being made to educate people about this disease, but we still have
a long way to go.
After leaving this conversation,
M. and I went to lunch, then back to her house for a “repose”. We finally met
up with A., the current volunteer here, and went to a buvette. There we discussed the difficulties of Kérou, and then
attempted to solve the world’s problems one beer at time. Finally I returned to
Hubert’s house, where I got to watch this amazingly beautiful lightening storm
roll in. I commented that I thought it was awesome, and one of his kids was
like, “Oh, do you not have these in the US?” I responded that we do have
lightening storms, I just still think they’re beautiful.
Then today, a friend of Hubert,
picked me up to take me to Fétékou, a village about 10km east of Kérou. There
is a woman’s gardening group there that had requested a volunteer. But they got
stuck with sharing me with the rest of this county. They told me about the work
they are doing there, which is pretty impressive. They have a huge garden, and
produce tons of veggies every year. Which they have to water entirely with
watering cans, so one of their “needs” is a watering/irrigation system. I
talked to them about their other needs and wants. Then they asked me about my
own experience, so I answered truthfully that I know nothing about gardening,
but a little about business. When I first got this assignment, I thought I
might have a problem working with the gardening groups, since I know nothing
about agriculture and gardening. But today I realized that—at least this group
in particular—has the gardening part under control. That’s just what they do.
What they want is someone to help them get better equipment as well as guide
them in saving their group money, make good investment purchases, etc.
When they were talking to me
about this, I found myself really missing my father. Wouldn’t he be the
absolutely perfect person for me to call up and say, “So, I’m working with this
women’s garden group that wants to get better at saving the money they make.
Any suggestions?” But although I would, in fact, have the ability to call
someone halfway around the world, there is still no phone that reaches a mere 6
feet under the ground.
I do kind of feel like a fraud
when people ask me, “so what is your actual business experience?” and my
response is, “Well my parents own(ed) an accounting business.” (What’s the
proper tense for my parents owned and my mom still owns?) While an interviewer
in the States would laugh you out of the room, I think here it makes sense.
Children grow up working with and for their parents. Moms carry their babies
all day on their backs, occasionally bringing them around front to breastfeed.
If a parent has their own business, the kids always help out—with no pay, mind
you. Thus the children learn the trade. And honestly, that has been somewhat my
experience. When I was young, I started putting labels on envelopes to mail,
and got paid about 50¢ per sheet, or something like that. I grew up doing a lot of
menial tasks around the office, and later progressed to things like data entry
for tax returns. But more importantly, I got to hear my parents talk about
their business and their clients’ businesses. My parents constantly debated—in
our house and on our car rides across the country—about their efficiency,
structure, employees, and so on. They might talk about the clients who were
doing well or doing great things, as well as the clients that refused to listen
to my dad’s advice, usually to their downfall. The years after my dad’s
passing, my mom has often looked to me to share in council. We debated
different things that she should do. We worked on rewording the vision of the
firm, hammering out a “Policy and Procedures” manual, and so on. While the last
thing may not help these women’s garden groups, my point is that I hope my
second-hand experience at running a business will help me in my work here. I do
wish I had paid a little more attention to my dad’s commentary on the business
and agricultural world when he was around. But I guess the knowledge he already
managed to pass on will have to suffice.
Anyway, after this meeting with
the women, they took me to eat at the president’s house. I swear, these
Beninese are trying to fatten me up. My host family in Porto Novo gives me
entirely too much food, no matter how much I leave on my plate at the end of
every meal. My boss’s family here gave me two meals when I came home in the
evening, because I hadn’t come home from lunch—even though I explained to them
that I had eaten in town. This group feeds me a “second breakfast”, then forces
me to accept gifts of eggs, meat, beignets (French doughnuts), and peanuts.
They also gave me cash, saying that they could’t find more eggs, so this was
for me to buy some eggs when I got back to Kérou. I felt terrible accepting it,
but I decided I’ll just insist on buying something next time I’m there, so at
least the money goes back into the community. Yeah, I’ll let you know if that
actually works out.
(Me with the women in Fétékou)
As I was leaving, I saw a little
monkey tied to a tree. I stopped and said, “O! Un singe!” The people then asked
me if I wanted it. I think my head exploded. I was thinking, “Are you joking?
OF COURSE I WANT A MONKEY!!!!!! Can I? Can you find me a baby??” I’ve always
dreamed of having a tiny monkey that can just sit on my shoulder all day as I
walk around. And be like Abu from Aladdin, or like Curious George (because they
are just like real monkeys…). I think if I could get a monkey, I would consider
my life complete.
I told Hubert about my desire to
have a monkey. He then informed me that he had actually had a monkey some years
ago, named Jacabo. (reminds of Count of Monte Cristo, DANIELLE.) This was a
monkey he got when it was an infant. He never tied it up, the monkey just knew
not to leave. And it was very smart. When we got back home, Hubert actually
pulled out a picture of him with his monkey. How awesome is that!!!
I really like Hubert. He is
clearly a good person. He has a family that adores him, even a cat that is
loyal to him. Everyone around town seems to know and love him as well. I think
he is trying to do too much (and sometimes forgets things) and perhaps has too
lofty of ideas. But I am so excited to work with him, because he seems like
such a passionate person who can help keep me inspired over the next two years.
Friday, 10 August 2012
Today I went to a meeting the
“Ben Club.” One challenge I’ve noticed is that since I don’t speak Bariba,
everything must be translated for me. I don’t regret my decision to stick with
French; even the French translations test my language limits. So I am glad to
at least be mostly confident in French rather than just semi-confident in
French and know a little of Bariba. Though hopefully I will come to know a
little of Bariba during my time here. My biggest challenge with that, however,
is my own reliance on writing. Even in French, a new word, or vaguely familiar
word makes more sense if I can picture it written out. If I don’t know how to
write it, I can’t even contemplate figuring out what it means. (What kind of
learner does this make me?) Most people don’t write Bariba—even though it’s
possible—because most of the people in Kérou who exclusively speak Bariba (and
even those who might know more languages) are illiterate. So I can’t ask
someone how to spell a new word so that I might remember it better—they might
not know how. This was perhaps the reason that learning Arabic was such a
challenge for me, because there was a whole new alphabet. Even learning new
vocabulary was difficult because I had to sound out each word like a kindergartener
learning to read. At least Bariba—when it’s written—uses the romantic alphabet,
for the most part. And it’s pretty phonetic (unlike French which has the
stupidest pronunciation rules ever,
and English which has no rules, only exceptions). So I guess I can just make up
my own spelling for new words as I hear them, since it’s not like I’ll actually
have to write in Bariba, nor will anyone be correcting my spelling. Although
this might bother my OCD-self, since it won’t technically be correct.
Anyway, in the meeting we talked
about their current set-up, as well as their needs and wants. Luckily, they
have worked with volunteers so they know what to expect. Although I do have a
lot to live up to. After the meeting, I went on a tour to visit the different
work places of the members. One seamster said to me, “It is Ben that got me
these new sewing machines. [he had new
machines for embroidery, buttons, etc] What are you going to get for me?”
After the tour of the various
workspaces, I went to lunch with the president of the “Ben Club.” During which
he had a beer. This is the second time in two days that I have been offered a
drink by lunch. Yesterday it was a shot of moonshine. The Peace Corps may or
may not (hint: it’s the former) strictly forbid drinking during the workday,
even on the 2.5-hour lunch break. And honestly, I’ve never really had the
inclination to drink during the day (unless it was at the beach or tailgating).
You cease to be productive, and just want to sleep. I just don’t see the point
of having a beer at lunch. Firstly, beer is gross. Secondly, it is just adding
calories and spending money. And lastly, the calories and wasted money are
pointless, since one beer accomplishes nothing. Except perhaps to make you
tired and/or have to pee.
But anyway, I did have an
interesting conversation with the president of the association, Edoward. He is
a solder, and seems really smart. He speaks at least 4 languages, and has a
successful enterprise, with multiple apprentices. We talked about things from
micro-finance to computer research. However, he mentioned that he can’t read or
write (though he does know numbers & math). That would make learning how to
use a computer even more difficult. This is something to think about . I know
computers and the Internet can be such a great research, but can people in the
village actually use them? In all of Kérou, there are only computers at the
mayor’s office, the health center, one small cyber-café (at the “Maison des
Jeunes” or “House of Young-People”—kind of like a YMCA, without swimming
classes), and perhaps a few personal computers (the majority probably belonging
to any ex-pats or volunteers living here). I know it’s not really my
assignment, but I really would love to snow everyone the wonderful world of the
internet, but how beneficial would that be? I mean Kérou did only get
electricity 5 years ago; it might need some more time before the internet is
embraced.
An interesting note about
technology: I’ve seen that across Africa, most people missed the whole “home phone”
concept. Unlike the States; where at one point everyone had a phone in their
house (my mom recalls it being a big deal when her house got a second phone
jack, so she and her siblings could have private conversations if they took the
phone back to into the bedroom). That never really existed in Africa, with the
exception of some elites. However, at the advent of cell phones, Africans have
jumped whole-heartedly into this. In Cameroon, some of the locals boasted that
phone service in rural areas was better than service in rural America (and my
house in the woods in the States proves this), because of this dependence on
cell phones and lack of landlines. In Senegal, thousands of young men sold
phone credit on the streets of Dakar. In both Cameroon and Benin, most people
have multiple cell phones (my host cousin has 4) because they need one for each
network. Some networks work better in different areas, plus in-network calling
is a lot cheaper. In the same vein, I foresee a similar evolution with the
Internet. In the States, everyone (when I say “everyone” or speak in
generalities—in both America and Africa—I mean the majority of people in the
middle and upper classes, and perhaps some of the high-lower classes. This
obviously does not apply to the poorest citizens) has wi-fi in their houses. Internet-USB-Keys
are a luxury, usually for business people who travel a lot for work (although they
may soon be replaced by mobile phone “hotspots”). But other than cyber-cafés
and the occasional offices/organizations, wi-fi is unheard of in Benin. In
Senegal wi-fi was more common, but then again, I never really strayed outside
of the capital, which is considered the “Paris of West Africa.” And the country
is more developed overall. Therefore, my prediction is that wi-fi will never
really take route in Africa, and one day everyone will just have Internet Keys.
And the US will remain more attached to their wi-fi, just like we are still
attached to our home phones, while Africans have abandoned that concept
entirely, having never embraced it. I also think this might happen with money
transfers. It impossible here to ever use a debit or credit card, except
perhaps at a very white-person hotel in the capital, and to withdraw money at
banks, but again, only in major towns. However, in Kenya, you can actually pay
people with your cell-phone, just as easy as sending a text, or something like
that. And it’s actually supposed to be quite secure. I wonder if that will
actually spread across the continent. I hope so. I hate carrying all this cash
around. Not that it will spread to Benin before I leave, but it will be
interesting to watch the evolution over the next generation or so.
Ah, after that last deviation,
all I have to mention for today is that I was supposed to go to a meeting of
carpenters in the afternoon. In fact one, a member of the “Ben Club” invited me
specifically for that evening. But I arrived there, and no one was there. So
Edoward went to ask someone about it. He returned with the guy who had
originally invited me, who explained, “Oh, there is a marriage celebration, so
this was canceled.” I just sat there and stared at him like, “WTF!? YOU told
me, not 5 hours ago, that this was happening!” But all I said was, “Okay, no
big deal.” CCA
Sunday, 12 August 2012
Yesterday I went to some meetings
of various professional organizations in Kérou, specifically solders, seamsters/resses,
and hair-dressers. There are more organizations, but those were the only ones
meeting at that time. It was interesting to look at their varying structures.
They all tend to collect dues. Some impose fines for lateness (oh, what a novel
idea for Africa!). One group saves this money to give if a member is sick or
injured (kind of like a form of disability insurance). Another group uses the
dues to distribute the money between two members a week as a loan to invest in
their business. I talked with them about their needs and wants. One thing ever
group mentioned wanting was to partner with an external organization, such as a
professional counterpart in the western world. I think this is a very cool and
interesting concept, but I think actually making it happen might be difficult,
especially because of the language barrier. I have no contact to
French-speaking professional organizations, etc. I will have to look into that.
A more feasible (but vastly more expensive) need of every group was a place of
their own to meet. Currently, each group meets at this little gazebo, which is
technically on the land of the house of the government-utility-manager. And
it’s a crummy building, where you can only sit on half of it in the morning,
due to the heat from the rising sun. So helping to build a
community-professional center could be one of my projects. I am really glad
that so many of these profession groups already exist. It means that I have
somewhere to start, rather than waiting around to figure out things that need
to be done, like most PC volunteers spend their first year. I already have so
many groups that know what they want/need, I just need to figure out how to
best help them help themselves!
Hubert is also a great source of
ideas. One huge one he shared with me was his idea to build a permanent market
for vegetables and fruits. This would mean that people could find fruits and
veggies EVERY day, rather than every four days, on market day. Also, it would
set up a system so that gardeners wouldn’t have to take the whole day to come into
town, and sit and sell their products. They would just bring them in, and leave
them with someone else to sell. Then they could return to their fields, come
back a few days later to collect their money and bring more crops.
I think this would be such a
positive project. It fits very nicely with the Peace Corp’s new focus on food
security. And it would be so beneficial to the community for nutritional
improvement, as well as economic development. In contrast to the earlier
project I mentioned, this would be beneficial to everyone in Kérou, not just
the artisans. The women can produce more crops, there are new jobs of selling
the crops, more people buying them, ore people eating healthy, and so on. The
only problem is that any such fantastic project loses all benefit if the
community never actually uses it. At this point, it seems to be only the
brainchild of Hubert, with the formal proposal written by an outside
professional grant/proposal writer. In order to move forward, I think it will
be extremely important to get other people involved, such as the women from the
garden groups in Kérou and the surrounding villages. I don’t doubt Hubert’s
ability to get them all excited about it, and I hope I might persuade women to
be on board with this as well. I also wonder if we might be able to work out
some sort of transportation to get these vegetables, so the women don’t have to
walk far, etc. I guess I will just work out all of these things as I go. The
good news is that I have a month of training coming up where I can think about
and discuss these ideas to determine possibilities and feasibilities.
After the meetings with the
professional groups, I went to have lunch with one of the hairdressers. Then we
went back to her shop. The plan was to rest there for a little bit, then go
around and to visit the shops of seamstresses and hairdressers. However, it
started raining. And by that I mean a rain that gave “torrential downpour” a
whole new meaning. It rained with a vengeance for a solid hour, and then there
was a very heavy and steady rain for another two. There was a drizzle for the
rest of evening. So nothing was accomplished. I did, however, get to watch a
weave get put in a woman’s hair. This took a good three hours, while her actual
hair was braided into tight cornrows-ish, the weave sown into these braids,
then cut and styled. And all that the hairdresser charged was $14. I was
shocked. I pay that much just to get a very cheap trim that takes maybe a whole
15 minutes. I asked the hairdresser about the price. She said that it was $10
to buy the actual physical weave of hair. Then $4 for the “cut.” I was
flabbergasted. $4 for a solid 3 hours of work. And that included the work of 3
or 4 apprentices, including one that gave the woman a pedicure while she was getting
her weave styled. Wow.
On a less pleasant note, I
started feeling pretty sick at some point. The hairdresser blamed this on the
spicy lunch. I don’t buy this, however, since I east spicy foods all the time
in the states, and also spicy foods don’t give you a fever. I blame this
somewhat on my exposure to a plethora of new bugs here. But more so, I blame
this on the lack of nutrition that exists within this country. I think my host
family has been instructed by the Peace Corps to provide us regularly with
veggies. Everywhere else all that is available is grains and meat. I never
though I would crave more fruits and veggies, but I guess I’ve just gotten
really used to eating them. In fact, over the past year I was mostly
vegetarian, eating meat only when someone else prepared it for me. That is kind
of the policy I have continued here. I told my host family that I was
vegetarian, but I eat fish (I guess that makes me pescatarian). Forgetting, of
course, that fish here doesn’t come in boneless filets, but rather as whole
fish, with bones a plenty. So I’ve been picking my way through fish this whole
time, and swallowing far too many fish bones. Regardless, my host family still
gives me a huge pile of grains—rice, spaghetti, or pate—or sometimes fries,
with perhaps a can of peas dumped on it. If I get really lucky, they’ll give me
plantains. And at least in my omelets in the morning I get onions and peppers.
My point is, my nutrition here has been horrendous. Perhaps 5 years ago—maybe
even 2 years ago—I would have been content with this “meat and rice” diet, but
I hate it now.
This is another reason why this
garden market is so important in Kérou. But at the same time, people need to be
educated on the importance of fruits and vegetables, so they know its good to
include them in every meal. And so they stop giving their children nothing but
corn and corn-meal. On the other hand, this faces other challenges. Hubert
pointed out that if someone is going to work in the fields, they needs
something heavy to fill them up. If they just eat a bunch of veggies, they
might initially feel full, but then they’ll got to the fields and feel hungry
again after a few hours. That is why pate is so big here, it’s a nice, heavy,
simple meal. I think that the same problem exists for farmers in the states. I
know that my dad’s family would prepare huge meals (usually soaked in lard) for
the hard days working in the fields. How can you combine the need for good
nutrition with also the need to maintain a good stamina all day? Oh, so many
challenges. And it’s not like we’ve answered the nutrition question in the states
either.
But at least we know about
nutrition, even if we don’t follow it. Like food groups, that you should be
eating multiple servings of fruits and veggies, and so on. Here, no one is
really taught that. This morning, when I was still feeling sick from the
previous day, Hubert said, “you really need to eat to get the strength to fight
the sickness.” But what did he give me? Spaghetti and a hard-boiled egg. It’s
not like the spaghetti was even whole-grain. What I really wanted was some
chicken-noodle soup. But I don’t think soup is even a concept that exists here.
(Hubert said his wife would know how to make soup. I just looked at him like,
“You take some water, throw some bouillon in it, some veggies, maybe some rice
or noodles, whatever you want and let it simmer all day. The end.”) This is
another reason I am really looking forward to being on my own. I can make
whatever I want (provided I can find the ingredients). I can cook to my veggie
delight, and make chicken noodle soup (or some version of it) when I’m sick. I
think it will be a real struggle to stay nutritious here, but I’ll try. Which
speaking of, I’ve lost about 10-15 pounds since I got here. On the other hand, I
gained about 15 pounds the month or so before coming to Benin when my
philosophy was
“must-eat-everything-since-I-won’t-get-this-for-two-years-in-Africa”. And that
included meat, so now it’s just all balanced out. No healthy habits there, but
oh well. I’ll work on it.
Monday, 13 August 2012
Today I felt so much better after
resting most of the day yesterday and drinking plenty of water. Plus Hubert’s
family brought me a bunch of bananas, which partially addressed my
fruit-problems.
This morning we went to visit
some other villages south of Kérou. In these, there are already gardening
groups. The one in Ouinra (pronounced win-er-a), was started by a former
volunteer. Their record-keeping seems to have tapered off since her departures.
But I’m not sure if this means the group has as well. There are a few less
members, but still people who are involved. I am curious as to what factors
into the sustainability of groups established by volunteers. Some groups seem
to have better success, and I wonder if this is more influenced by the presence
of a strong personality/leader in the community, or by the socio-economic
conditions of the community, or both.
M. also went with me, as our
homologues think it is a good idea to include health things, such as
nutritional education, information about malaria, and so on, along with my work
in economic development. I aggress, this is very important. M. and I were
discouraged by the long distance to the village. It is 22 km—that is 13
miles—to the village. And we have to bike that. O! Curse you, non-safety of
motorcycles! Curse you Peace Corps policy! Curse me for saying I enjoy biking!
Well, at least I can say that I will be nice and fit when I come back to the
states, with very defined thighs, and so on.
After that my program coordinator
from the Peace Corps stopped by. Each one has a region to go around and observe
the volunteers progress for the week, etc. He seemed pleased with everything
that M. and I have accomplished so far. Then we went to visit the houses. Turns
out the house I had seen earlier will officially be for M. We went there first,
then to see mine. I actually had a choice in houses. The first was a
disappointment. It was in an area one might call the “wrong side of the
tracks,” although in Kérou, it might be more accurate to say, “the wrong side
of the creek.” It was across from the Imam’s house and next to a mosque, which
is fine, except for the judgment and 5AM calls to prayer (I would have the same
complaint about living beside a church with its judgment and church bells). The
inside was cramped and dirty, still filled with the previous tenant’s stuff.
There was also a dead rat in the kitchen area, plus I shared a latrine with
other families. So everyone was a little wary of this place, and I was worried about
what I was getting myself into.
The next place was the one. Yes
it was a drastic improvement to the other one, but even without that contrast,
it was almost everything I could want in a house. The only drawback is that
it’s further out of town then the other, but not too far. So no big deal. It is
also close to the mayor’s office and to the gendarmerie. Usually living near
the police station wouldn’t be a plus, but at least here, I think it will help
my grandmother sleep a little better at night back in the States. It has a
large family room and two bedrooms, which is entirely too large for me,
especially considering I spent this past year in Oklahoma not even using my ONE
bedroom. My excuse was that I had only brought what could fit in my little car.
Now I have only what I could fit in a few suitcases, and even more space. M.
says that I should make the second room into a walk-in closet, but again it’s
not like I brought enough clothes for that. Maybe I can make this room for my
monkey. :) Upon
further consideration, I actually have been thinking of kitchen/food related
things I could do with that room. Like can I build something to make it cooler,
like a cellar? Can I learn to can veggies and store them here? I guess this
shows what I enjoy, in the same way that my sister’s favorite section in Target
is the makeup section, since she is so glamorous. I however, always enjoy
browsing the kitchen section, maybe getting new glasses/plates or a new pan, a
new knife or some cooking utensil, etc.
My favorite part is the back,
though. I have my own private little courtyard, and the set-up is such that
there is a perfect place to hang my hammock. To the right I have a small
kitchen, with a door that closes and locks. On the other side is the shower,
which—at the insistence of our safety and security director—is being turned
into a latrine, and a new shower constructed beside it. I am very content with
this, because it means I won’t have to leave my house to use the latrine. And
my neighbors won’t have to be aware of my bowel movements. (Oh! Privacy!) I
don’t have running water. In fact, I think the only place in Kérou that does is
the hotel, which has its own water tower. (A small one made of plastic. You can
see these throughout the country.) Luckily, there is a pump not too far behind
my house. I have to pay one whole dollar a month to use it, but that’s
perfectly fine. I assume I will come to pay a lot of attention to the water I
use, and when I come back to the states, lecture people on their waste of
water. (Here’s looking at you, little sis of the long showers.)
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
One month until I become an
official Peace Corps Volunteer. Right now I am only a ‘trainee.’ This morning
another torrential downpour kept me from my schedule. Instead, I was restricted
to my room. I tried to be productive, mostly working on papers that the Peace
Corps requires, and also thinking about what I want to do with my house and
various potential projects here. When the rain cleared off, Hubert took me to
see the site that has been designated for his “Maison des Maraîchers” (House of
Market-Gardeners) project. It is right in the center of town, actually kind of
close to the site for the every-four-days market. It is a great location. It is
relieving to know that he already has support of the mayor, who designated this
land for the project. That is one less hurdle. I am really excited to start on
this project and getting other people involved.
After that, we went back to my
house and marked out where Hubert will have the mason affix brackets for my
hammock. I am really excited about this, and I hope it is ready for my hammock
when I return in a month.
This evening I looked over the
materials that Edoward (President of “Ben Club”) had dropped off for me. When I
was at their meeting, they had mentioned that they were working on writing the
internal rules and regulations (by-laws) of their organization. Having working
on this very think in one of my masters classes last year, and hoping to build
up my French vocab, I offered to look over what they had already done and help
them when I return. However, it turns out that “working on” means “haven’t even
started” so all I got was some old manual that was intended for development
works who were going around starting micro-finance groups. In it, however, is a
model by-laws for such organizations. So at least I will have somewhere to
start. I will go over this while I’m in Porto Novo, and discuss it with them
when I get back, such as the parts they want to keep or change, and so on. It
will be a good exercise for me. It seems kind of mundane, but I think they need
it to get official financial support, so that is why they’re finally getting
around to this, four years after the group’s inception. Again, I’m glad for
this though, since I will now have two major written projects to work on while
I’m getting used to Kérou and meeting people. Plus one of these projects (the
by-laws) I will have to write entirely in French, and the other (a grant
proposal for the Maison des Maraîchers) I have to translate a lot into English
from French. So yay for building French skills.
Which speaking of, I think my
French skills are finally showing real improvement. I’ve started using new
words without studying them, without realizing I actually know them until they
pop out. That has always been a sign for me that my French is going up. Now on
to Bariba…yikes!
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
Today was my last full day in
Kérou. I woke up in the morning expecting activities with Hubert. But then he
says, “Oh, there is someone who wants me to go plant trees for them.” (I think
he has some sort of landscaping business on the side). So off he goes, and I
had to sit around for an hour before we went and had breakfast.
But finally we did. Then we went
to see if they had chains that I could use to hang up my hammock. There were
none, so I think I have to try to find those in Porto Novo. But at least I
know, so I can get them. Also, on a whim, I asked Hubert if there was “café
granulé” available. He said something about how there used to be Frenchies
living in Kérou, and they had it, but since their departure, no. How
depressing.
We got to meet the mayor for the
first time today. She has been away on business. She lives in a very large and
nice house. She even has a flat-screen TV and surround-sound. But for me the
best part was that I was petting her cat, then all of the sudden, a kid brings
out a two-week-old kitten!!! Oh my, it was so cute. And just looking around,
mewing, like “Who took me away from my warm bed?” I am definitely planning on
getting a cat when I am here. I don’t think I could get a dog, too much hassle
when traveling (things like kennels don’t exist). Conveniently, a volunteer
here has a cat that has kittens every four months or so, so I can just get one
from the next litter.
For lunch, we were invited to eat
with an employee at the mayor’s office. Everyone ordered a beer, except for me,
because I really, really hate beer. I give in sometimes, but mostly I prefer
not to drink at all when beer is the only option. The person who invited us
called me out for not drinking. He told me that I just wasn’t used to Beninese
drinks, but I told him I just didn’t like beer. He told me I’d get used to it.
No, I insisted. I hate beer. It’s gross and stupid. Especially this stupid
Beninese stuff that is closer to water than anything. I like liquor. And lo and
behold, maybe 10 minutes later a bottle of whiskey showed up. I think he had
called or sent someone to go get it. Now that’s hospitality!
After that, I just returned to
Hubert’s house and packed. Then he showed me a documentary that had been made
by the government about the commune of Kérou. It was a lot of the mayor
talking, and mostly boring, but it was still cool to see scenes of Kérou on
film.
Saturday, 18 August 2012
I’ve accepted that every time I
travel in this country, it will be an adventure. Two days ago I took another
taxi from Kérou, this time to Nattitangou (the fourth largest city in Benin).
It was slightly less crowded then the one I took from Parakou to Kérou.
Actually, M. and I thought we were going to ride in luxury, having only two
people in each row. But as we went along, we kept adding more people, and more
stuff. The driver seems to view this trip as his own personal shopping jaunt.
“Oh, is that charcoal on the side of the road? Let me stop and buy two huge
bags of it and throw it on top of the van.”
Also, there were some chickens
that were along for the ride. They were simply bound and thrown on top of the
van. Now, my classmate in Porto Novo constantly talks about how chickens are
disproportionately stupid for their size. And they really are. They are
decent-sized animals, and. yet. so. dumb. Like as dumb as a fly. They just
wander around, trying to eat everything, irrationally afraid if you walk in
their general direction, and unable to do any sort of logical thinking. My
classmate calls them, “god’s only mistake.” I would have to add, though, they
are also god’s worst punishment. I think Hindus believe that if you really mess
up in this life, you come back as something miserable, such as beetle or
whatever. But if you come back as a chicken? You really f-ed up in your previous life. Like you were probably
Hitler. Now you are stuck with a terribly dumb brain, and on top of that
treated miserably. If you are born in the States, then you grow up crammed into
these tight cages unable to move a muscle your entire sorry life, as other
chickens poop on you and die around you (and even “free-range” chickens are
kept in miserable conditions, mind you), popping out eggs (if you’re a female),
until someone decides to slaughter you. If you are born here, then maybe you
get to run around as a youngster. But then your feet are tied together, and you
are slung on top of a van, forced to endured bouncing around in the hot African
sun, shuffled every time a new package is added, and no one seems to mind if
you fall off and are just dangling upside down on the side of the van, until
finally at the end, someone puts you out of your misery. And yet, because you
were Hitler once upon a time, you’ll probably come back as a chicken again.
So that was my ride. We also at
some point, came upon a hill that was really steep and fully of slate-y rocks.
So they made every passenger get out and walk up the hill themselves. Then the
van came up and picked us all up again. Then at another point, there was a
sharp decline, right into a bridge. The incline was too steep, meaning that the
front bumper of the van kept hitting rocks. Then we got stuck. So we are
sitting there, the van angled towards the river, off the bridge, and the driver
has the vehicle in first gear, “Vroooooooom”. I am thinking, “If this catches,
we are all lurching into the creek.” But luckily the driver is apparently used
to this situation, and eased up on the gas as soon as it caught, and turned the
van to go straight across the bridge. Then at the other end, he drove on land
that was angled so we were tipped over at a good 45-degree angle. I freaked out
and grabbed for the high side, which of course accomplishes nothing. M. laughed
at me, and soon we were upright again. I am actually quite used to driving at
an angle. When we traveling in Senegal, we would drive for really long
stretches of the road at this tilted angle, like it was normal. Here I hadn’t
experienced that yet; it’s mostly been a wandering back and forth across the
road in search for the least pot-hole-y stretch, rather than just driving half
off the road the whole time. But there is just SO MUCH stuff that is piled on
top of the van; I don’t understand how it is physically possible that they
don’t tip over. Does physics work here? I don’t get it.
Okay, and I may use a few curse
words in this following paragraph, but I think they are well deserved, so
sorry. Also it’s not the most pleasant subject, but this is my life here, so
deal. Or don’t read it. Anyway, when we were stopped in one time, about 2/3 of
the way into our trip, I discovered that I really
had to go to the bathroom, and I don’t mean just to pee. So I asked the drivers
where I could go, figuring they make this jaunt often enough (every 4 days),
that they should know what is available in each town. Instead they asked a zemi
to take me to a toilet. So I got on, thinking that he was just taking to a
latrine, just at the other end of the small town. No. He takes me out to the
brush. Then he was like, “Okay, here.” I’m just thinking, “If I just had to go
in the woods, I would have done that myself!!” And I say to him in French, “No,
a toilet! A WC! A REAL toilet.” He drives a little further down the road, and
again points into the woods, though this time it was a little thicker area. I
don’t think he spoke French, and I really had to go, now, so I was just like
whatever. I trekked a little into the bush, prayed to Mother Nature and the
gods of public health for forgiveness, and squatted down. As I am in this
position, I hear the zemi start up its motor and drive away. I am just
squatting there, thinking “Are you shitting me????” to no one in particular.
Then I realized the irony, said, “touché” aloud, finished, then trekked the
quarter-mile back to the van. When I got back, M. says, “Where did you go?? I
literally just used a latrine that is right there,” and she pointed to a latrine
not 50 feet away. F.M.L.
So that was my return trip from
Kérou. I arrived in Nattitangou in the evening, and went to the workstation. It
was actually pretty nice. There are four workstations in Benin, where
volunteers can come to stay on their way to somewhere else. I will have to stay
here at least once a month, since there is no bank in my town, and I will have
to come to Nattitangou every month to get my monthly allowance. There are beds,
a kitchen, a huge library of shared second-hand books, and internet. I met up
with some of the other volunteers who were there. We went out Thursday night,
and got a bottle of Sodabe (the local moonshine) to split between us. It was
fun, and we talked about our two weeks at our post. Some people had really been
missing speaking English. I don’t have that problem, since I have other
volunteers in my town.
Friday was a very chill day. We
made pancakes in the morning, which was fun. We didn’t have enough supplies, so
I walked down the a nearby supermarket to buy some. I also got some tomatoes
and onions, plus eggs. I was so happy to be able to make my food, and put
veggies in it. I know it’s just tomatoes and onions, but honestly those are
going to be the only veggies the are available year-round here. So I put those
in my scrambled eggs. Delicious!
I spent a lot of the day reading
a new book I picked out from the library. At some point we went to buy our
tickets for the bus the next day. Then we went to get lunch at a restaurant. I
got some pizza, which was decent. And I was able to get Pineapple juice as my
drink. Mmm, something quasi-healthy! The pizza, not so much, although I did get
the one with the most veggies, but anyways, a purely healthy meal hardly exists
within this country. With the exception of the dinner we had that night. It was
made by someone the volunteer in Natti happened to stumble upon. He prepared
this delicious meal of salad to start, a simmering stew over couscous, then a
couscous-cake for desert. Ahh, so good and so many veggies! It was kind of
expensive. I’m pretty sure that I spent more over these two days in Natti then
I spent the entire time in Kérou. Granted, in Kérou, almost all the meals were provided
for me, but still. Even if I did have to pay for them, they wouldn’t be that
much. I just really have to watch when I go to Natti how much I spend. It’s so
easy to splurge, convincing yourself that this is a once-in-a-month
opportunity.
A little before sunset, we had
gone up to this bar on the hill. It overlooks the city of Nattitangou. I
couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the people who live in this city. It
is so gorgeous, with plenty of hills. There is so much to do here. Plenty of buvettes, entertainment, and so on.
There are markets where you can get everything, including tons of fresh
veggies. There are banks and other luxuries. After being in Kérou for a week
and a half, it feels like NYC! I am also jealous of the people who live within
an hour or two of the city. It takes me a whole day to get here! I know, I
know. After a bit I will be unable to imagine living anywhere but Kérou. And I
really do love my homologue and the work that is waiting for me. I just have to
remember that I felt this exact same way going to Stillwater, Oklahoma, (“Oh
no, I’m stuck in this po-dunk town with nothing to do, no dance clubs, etc, no
hot boys, just cowboys.”). And there I had the most amazing year of my life.
Can I get lucky enough that it will happen again? Maybe I need this fear of an
impending boring two years to drive me to seek out friends, etc, in the town. I
don’t know. We’ll just have to see as it unfolds.
Finally, Saturday we got up early
to go back to Porto Novo. The bus driver was in a hurry and—I think this is the
technical term—hauled ass back down
south. We arrived in Porto Novo in only 7 hours. That is precisely how long it
took me to get from Kérou to Natti. (Look on Google maps for the contrast in
distance). This bus ride was so, so much better. It’s an actual bus, it was
air-conditioned (a little cold for this time of year, but no one would be
complaining during the hot period). And I could actually read for some of the
trip. So yay.
Thus ends my exploration throughout
Benin. Now for a month of “technical” training in Porto Novo, before heading
back North.
Monday, 29 August 2012
Since I haven’t gotten to an
internet source yet, I’ll go ahead and share this along with everything else.
Today the Peace Corps “trainees” all got together back in Porto Novo to begin
our technical training. To start off, we went around and shared about our site,
what it’s like, what we’ll be doing there, etc. Of all the sites, I think mine
is the more remote and smallest town. There is one girl that lives a little
north of me, but she is in a bigger town and closer to her workstation.
Everyone else talks about their houses with running water, their sites that are
only a few hours from Porto Novo and Cotonou (mine is 14, at best), or sites
that are in other major cities, the availability of so many veggies, since
their cities or towns are at a crossroads or a big market. One volunteer lives
close to Porto Novo, and has his own third-floor terrace. He can smell the salt
air from the ocean.
Now, granted, this is of all of
the “Community Economic Development” (CED) volunteers. They tend to live in
more urban areas, have nicer houses, etc. So for me, it’s like being the
skinniest kid at fat camp. Compared to the rest of my peers I am in the brush.
But compared to the general population of Peace Corps Volunteers, I have it
pretty good. Some of the Rural Health volunteers, or Teachers, or Environment
Workers are living in far more primitive conditions. But now I am discussing my
situation with my business peers, and all I can get is pity; no real
commiseration. It’s really frustrating. I am so happy with my job that I will
have over the next two years. But I H.A.T.E. my location. I keep wondering why
they sent me to the most remote
location. Especially when I specifically put during my placement interview in
Benin that the two most important things to me were: 1) being a larger
town/city and 2) having a lot of things to do. I didn’t even mention job-type
preferences (not that I really have any sort of specialty). Is that wrong? I’m
pretty sure I chose my undergrad based on location. (Do I want to go to school
in downtown historical Charleston, South Carolina, with beautiful palmetto
trees, only 20 minutes away from the beach? Absolutely!)
And it was a wonderful experience, plus I got a good education. That is where I
came to love African studies in the first place. I remember one day discussing
applying for PhD programs with one of my professors there. I mentioned that I
didn’t really want to apply to schools in the north (aka Wisconsin, Michigan,
Columbia, UPenn, which all have really strong African History programs),
because I hate the cold. He looked at me like I was stupid and said something
to the effect of, “Well, you could apply only to schools in warm areas, and get
a mediocre education and degree. Or you could suck it up and apply to the
better schools in colder regions.” And so I applied to those cold schools. I
didn’t get in to any, mind you, so instead I found myself going to a masters program
in middle-of-nowhere Oklahoma. Again, I thought this might be miserable, but I
had the most wonderful year of my life. (Have I mentioned that before?) Then I
insisted in every conversation I had with the Peace Corps that I absolutely
wanted to be in French-speaking West Africa. They told me to be flexible, and I
told them I was. I just really, really wanted to be in West Africa. And now, ha
ha, joke’s on me, because I’m still not completely satisfied.
I have this feeling of
determination that I WILL make these upcoming two years amazing. I WILL do
great things. I WILL have fun. It’s stupid to be so hung up on this location
thing. But as I listen to my fellow CED volunteers, I can’t help but feel
discouraged. Why couldn’t I get the cushy site? Not that anyone’s assignment is
truly cushy. Everyone has their own challenges and work cut out for them.
Job-wise, I think mine has many, many advantages. But dammit, LIFE, stop sending me to these impossibly rural
areas!!! I don’t actually like them.
P.S. congrats on making it through all this. And just so you know, the title of my blog this week is the Motto of Kérou. I thought it was a nice touch.
