Final Days in Cotonou, and my Return to Kérou

I am now back in Kérou, so some of the earlier entries are kind of irrelevant, but oh well, I'll just include how I was feeling at the time.

Friday, 2 November 2012

I need to get out of here, p.r.o.n.t.o. I hope no fellow volunteers read this, but I really, really hate being around them all the time. It’s nothing personal. I just want to be able to cook in my own kitchen without 50 people asking me what I’m making. I am really, really self-conscious about my cooking and eating habits. Firstly, I’m probably not making something with a name. I probably grabbed all the stuff I have in the fridge, and threw it in a pot, and stirred it up and VOILA! Actually, right now I have been on a mission to cook specific things—always with my own twist—but I really, really, really hate it when everyone asks me what I’m making. If I’m making something like samosas, I don’t want to tell anyone until I’m all done, it’s actually turned out well, and I can perhaps share it with people. But before the moment of completion, I’m worried that it would actually turn out horrible, and I don’t want everyone to be all impressed by my lofty goals, then the massive failure I would hypothetically try to hide from them. Or if I’m successful, I hate the praise like, “omg! You’re such a cook!” No I’m not. I’m just bored. I just have this knack from my dad that allows me to throw a bunch of food together, sprinkle on a ton of spices, and have something decent come out. STOP GIVING ME ALL THIS PRAISE.

I just want my time alone. Granted, I really do have a lot of time alone. I have walked all around Cotonou, by myself. I’ve sat by the ocean, eating my plates of plantains and fish. I’ve also had people join me on these various journeys, and it’s been fun, really. But there’s nowhere that I can go just to sit by myself. There is a lounge-room up in the sick ward, and although it’s mostly abandoned, people still walk in occasionally. I share my room with someone. I’ve had a few nights to myself (conveniently, the night after I watched a horror movie with other volunteers), but mostly I’ve always had a roommate during my stay, one that changes every few days. I just want to go somewhere that I can be absolutely sure I won’t be interrupted. I really, really, want to be able to cook without anyone observing. Is that weird??? I HATE people observing my cooking (unless, it’s something we’ve planned together). I’ll be hungry, think about making something, then realize someone else is in the kitchen, so nope I wasn’t that hungry!

I want out. I didn’t come to West Africa to spend my days surfing the internet in a concrete building. Watching stupid movies I would never take the time to watch, even at home in America. I don’t really enjoy watching movies all that much. Ok, that’s not exactly true. I enjoy them if you plop me down in front of the TV, and we watch a movie. Otherwise, I’d rather be doing something else. And the most frustrating thing is that even when volunteers do show up the weekends, so far no one has been interested in the thing that I want to do most, which is going out dancing. Please, someone for the love of all that is good, take me out dancing. I need at least one person to go with. But no, we spend our nights drinking at dinner, then maybe watching a movie. Then I just stay up until 4 in the morning reading a book on agricultural development. Reading. NOT doing. I want to scream.

On the other hand, the books do get me excited for the work I will be doing back at post (hopefully). I am currently in the middle of a book called “Rural Development: Putting the Last First.” Firstly, it makes me feel smug for what I am doing here. The first chapters talk all about “urban bias”, how academics and aid workers alike all want to live in urban areas, where they can have the convenient life, easily meet tons of people interested in development, and so. And let me acknowledge that I am guilty, guilty, guilty of this bias. I think if you go back just a few blog entries, you will find evidence of that. But the author writes about how development workers and theorists need to be more concerned with the truly rural, truly poor. Those who live far, far off the main road. The ones who are in the remote, tiny villages, and who have very few amenities. Now, relatively, Kérou is certainly not the poorest of the poor. There are many villages nearby, even within 50km, that are much tinier and much poorer. So HA, I was actually forced into living the life that this author extorts as necessary for truly and fully understanding poverty.

It actually makes me think of a conversation I had with my aunt (who is from West Virginia) a few years ago. I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. I was thinking maybe something along the lines of Americorps or Teach for America. Where I’d work with inner-city youth trying to make a difference. And she sighed, and exasperatedly said something like, “Huh! There’s so much focus on the inner cities! Always the poor urban people! You know, there are people who are so much poorer in Appalachia! You can find rampant poverty all over West Virginia! I hate how aid programs are targeted at the inner-city, but no one cares about the poverty hidden away in the mountains!”

I think at the time, I probably did something like roll my eyes at her, for being so biased and un-knowing. I knew that in American cities there was poverty. I remember the first time I really felt moved to help someone, that was after a Orioles baseball game, I was walking back to the car with my dad, and I saw people begging on the streets, sitting there with their signs, saying they were homeless and asking for money. I was moved by this, but I didn’t exactly know what to do. I remember soon after that, printing out a page from the internet called “25 Things You Can Do to Help the Homeless.”

But if you think about it, there’s no baseball stadium in the hills of West Virginia that forces people to parade by the poverty that exists there.

But see this is the problem with poverty. Poverty is largely hidden. We can live in the nice parts of town, or in the suburbs. We can see our neighbors, who are of the relatively same socio-economic class as ourselves, and pretend that the majority of America is a snug “middle-class” and that there isn’t rampant poverty, that there isn’t a huge, growing divide between the rich and the poor. We can pretend that problems exist on the outside, and really don’t affect us.

Urban poverty is at times—but only at times—harder to ignore. People there are in bigger groups, they could—potentially—organize. And they often happen to live very close to bigger, more important people. It is a disgusting fact, that you can drive away from the steps of Congress or the White House—where some of the most powerful men in the world reside—and see other people sleeping on concrete slabs. Even here in Cotonou, there are locals driving around in their fancy American- or Japanese-made SUVs, or expats living off their fancy salaries, yet also people who have to drag themselves on their hands—because their legs don’t work—to beg for money.

The point is, however, that you see it. Granted, you can try as hard as you like to live in a bubble. You can live in the nice neighborhoods, send your kids to the nice schools, and so on. But one day, you’ll be stopped at a stoplight, and someone there will beg you for money. Go ahead, make your excuses, place your blame, but it’s still there.

However, you can choose to never, ever drive through the mountains of West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia. You can joke about the banjoes playing, but never have to go there, and see if it’s a real thing, if it meets your every nightmare. Here in Benin, and across Africa, it’s easy to drive through the cities and down the paved roads and never see the true poverty. Even in more remote areas, the towns along a paved road are better off. They have more traffic, and therefore more of an economy. Then women can run up to your car windows and try to sell you oranges for 20 cents. But venture off to small villages, where there are some people who have nowhere to go to the bathroom but one creek—then must also drink from that same creek. Or perhaps you would see the woman in Nicholas Kristof’s “Half the Sky” who got a fistula during pregnancy, was left to die, and had to fend off hyenas, then drag herself, with non-working legs, kilometers to a missionary’s house, before being brought another many kilometers to a hospital.

But the even greater tragedy is that even if someone wants to help the poor, they still want to do it in luxury. And YES I KNOW I’M GUILTY OF THIS. I think I complained quite heavily about being sent to what people here call “la brousse”. And I still, with all my heart, would much, much rather live in a city. I have to reconcile that with the work that needs to be done. But this is the bias for almost everyone. Doctors from Africa move to the West to get better jobs. Or worse jobs, but still in the West. The doctors left behind jump for urban assignments, and resent if they are forced to serve in the remote areas. I mean, really! Who wants to live in a far-away town with limited entertainment and amenities? I’m doing it because I’ve been forced to—but I’m coming to mind it less and less (even idealize it as I am stuck in Cotonou for longer and longer).

I wonder if after Peace Corps, I will give up some of my selfishness and continue working in more remote environments, or if I will consider my debt to society paid, and move on with my urban lifestyle. Find a nice, cushy job or something.

But for now, I can feel smug in this book’s admonishment of Aid Workers’ “urban bias”. (“Ha! I’m working in ‘la brousse’ ”). I also feel really smug that this book encourages people to not come at development from a strictly academia perspective, nor a strictly pragmatic aid organization perspective (“Ha! I’m doing both with my fancy-schmancy Peace-Corps-Masters-International-Program”).

Beyond that, however, I really need to look at what this means for my work here. I’m sitting in Cotonou (the urban center) trying to develop a survey of sorts about Food Security in Kérou, which is exactly the uninvolved perspective this book preaches against.

I guess my point is, please let me go to Kérou, and get on with my life. Let me start working out the activities I want to undertake, the projects I want to do, the observations I want to make. Let me figure out what is going to work for Kérou, what I am going to help facilitate there, and maybe in two years figure out what that means for my next step.

(What a rambling blog. I apologize. I hope you can takes something away from it, though.)

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

So after my rant about not wanting to be here and deal with other people, I actually had quite a lovely night with other volunteers. A lot of people were here to do banking, see each other, etc. And a few people were here to watch the Michigan/Nebraska game, since there were a few Michigan and one Nebraska Alum. I wasn’t involved in the game-watching, but I did indulge in the Chili & Cornbread & Guacamole making that accompanied it. It was really delicious! Then as some people went upstairs to watch the game, some of us—including the wife of a Michigan fan, and some other girls that were there—just sat downstairs, eating, drinking, and chatting. We talked about a lot of stuff, Peace Corps related and not. It was really fun.

Some people have been observing my cooking and joked that I should have started up a little business, since I’ve been stuck here for so long. I could cook for volunteers, charge them a little money, but they can eat good, but not have to spend so, so, so much money in Cotonou. If only I had know from the beginning how long I would be here…

Sunday night I took off my bandage (I’ve been letting it “air out” the night before the doctor changes the dressing), and I saw that it is actually almost healed! In fact, the only area that’s left that’s now new “skin” is about 1 by 2 inches. And this whole remaining area was—for the first time—completely healed over with a scar! I got really excited, and ran around telling everyone who was left. But I don’t think they were quite as elated as me. In fact, some of them looked a little repulsed, but that may have been because I said something like, “It’s no longer oozing!!!” which conjures up plenty of un-pleasant images. But the one girl that I’ve been sharing the sickroom with the past few nights is actually a Health volunteer, so this was more interesting than repulsive. So she was properly excited for me! Although, unfortunately, as I walked around, I think it pulled at the scar, and it started opening up again. When I saw the doctor on Monday, he said I would definitely be here another week. Sigh. But at least at this point, I really feel like the end is in sight! I’m so close!

I also went to have dinner at my teacher’s house on Sunday. It was really nice, I got to meet his wife and two kids!!! I wish I lived a little closer, and could see him more often. But we ate yam-pilé with peanut sauce, it was so good! It was weird, though, because I was actually a little shocked when I walked into his house. He lives in what is kind of town-house set up, where you share the walls with a bunch of people, and a courtyard as well. But his house was pretty small. Although he does have plenty of things like a fridge (and sells ice to his neighbors), a TV, and so on. During dinner, I could hear some shouting in the distance, and looked up. Then he laughed, and made a comment like, “Ha, your are in the REAL Cotonou now! This is the real Benin. You’ve been at the Peace Corps office too long!”

That is so true. The Peace Corps office is in a section of town where there are tons of Embassies, UN buildings, house of officials, which are all, of course, huge, multiple stories with tall fences around every one. Even though I’ve been walking around a lot, I’ve still been staying in the “nicer” downtown area.

Of course, every city has that divide: the nicer neighborhoods, and the not as nice. My teacher by no means lives in a bad part of town, but it’s still just worlds apart. And he is even a professor (and working on becoming a full-time lawyer!). It is really important to stay aware of this. Granted, even Kérou is nicer than a lot of places in Cotonou. My house there is probably twice the size of my professor’s! (Probably cheaper, though, because it’s not in a city). And there is a huge difference in the wealth and lifestyles of people that live in Kérou-center and the villages just a few kilometers away. So this is just really important for me to remember as I’m doing work there. I need to remember this gap exists and I need to think of all people when I am designing projects. And not forget this, even if I do end up moving to Cotonou one day.

Thursday, 15 November 2012

So I am writing this from my bed in Kérou. YAY! I finally made it out. Monday was a holiday—Vetern’s Day (Embassies and Peace Corp ADMIN get host-country AND American holidays, always, the double-dippers). So I finally saw the doctor again on Tuesday, and he gave me approval to go home. Then Wednesday I was able to begin my two-day journey (of misery) back to Kérou.

I say misery because that’s what it is to travel in this country. Firstly, I was paranoid that everything would go wrong, like I would try to buy my ticket, and they would tell me it was sold out, and I’d have to wait in Cotonou another day. Or something would happen where I would have to go back to the medical unit.

The actual trip had none of these problems, but plenty of others. First of all, the nice ATT bus broke down before we even left Cotonou, so we had to switch buses. When we got on the second bus, everyone just butted in front of me, then sat down wherever they pleased. I tried to get my proper seat, but people just yelled at me to keep going. So I was forced into the VERY LAST row, which has less leg room. Sigh.

They stopped so much at the beginning, waiting for people, then having to switch the buses. But they booked it the rest of the way. It still took 11 hours to get to Natitangou. I stayed overnight by myself at the Workstation, which was actually quite nice, because I could just do whatever I felt like. I had to re-pack all my bags. (Oh yes, I should mention that part of my strategy for coping with my boredom was just to buy a lot, a lot of stuff for my house/kitchen while in Cotonou. And go through the piles in both workstations where volunteers leave things they no longer want, but other might, such as clothes, etc. Which I now had to bring back. Anything in glass I tried to avoid, or transfer to plastic, so less risk of breakage. I did however, find jars of paint in the workstation, so I wrapped those up very carefully, and attempted to bring it back. One broke on the way to Nati, so I changed it to another jar, then tried to wrap them up even better)

The final stretch to Kérou was the worst. I honestly don’t know what I hate more the motorcycle or the bus taxi. Even minus my huge burn, I recall that the moto ride from Kérou involved a hurt wrist and thrown out back from bouncing around so much at high speeds. I think I hate both of them because they have irresponsible drivers that don’t think of the other people in the vehicle. I hate that traveling here is so uncomfortable and borderline unsafe. I don’t like that I can’t just drive myself—but then again, I couldn’t afford it. AND I haven’t spent my life figuring out how to navigate muddied roads! Sometimes, there are only enough of the passable road for one moto-wheel to fit. Sometimes cars have to drive along at angles. I would probably get myself into more trouble/accidents by driving! But then again, I would probably be very prudent, so maybe not. I just wish that I could find someone to drive me who is a responsible, thoughtful driver (if such a person exists). I guess that is my next assignment! If you could find someone willing to take their time to make sure you got somewhere in one piece and without too much pain, perhaps even comfortably, everything would be a lot more pleasant.

The taxi didn’t leave until 1PM, I think because they were waiting around hoping more people would show up. They only ended up taking 6 people or so. I thought this would be luxurious. No. I was in one of the back rows, because my thought was “Oh, I can stretch out!” What happened was, we went over a few bumps at such a pace (and with that shitty van which has no shocks left) that I was bounced up and banged my head on the ceiling. I yelled out an obscenity, and tears sprung to my eyes, just as everyone turned to look at this yelling, crying white girl. The second time this happened, I could feel the pain crushing through my neck and my back, and I just flung myself down on the seat, sobbing unwillingly (you know, a physical reaction to the pain). And wondering, “Why me?”

I actually considered giving up. Telling the taxi to stop, and in fact take me back all the way to Cotonou. Then I could go back to America and drive MYSELF on paved roads, in my beautiful, wonderful car. Oh!!!! I miss my car! My beautiful, young, smooth, stick-shift.

What did I do to deserve this, any of the shitty luck I’ve had? But then, as I thought more, lying on the seat of this bouncing van, clinging to the seat for dear life, what did anyone in that van do to deserve this? The government that won’t build them the paved roads, that won’t enforce things like speed limits to make the roads safer, the poverty that allows these crummy cars to be acceptable as taxis, the developed world that dumps these crummy cars on their country to make themselves feel better and to get rid of their junk, the poverty that makes motos the preferred transport, dangerous though they are? I can go back to America (and I will—one day!) But none of these people can.

I still couldn’t tell you what my original reason was for joining the Peace Corps. But I still know that I just want to help people, to make a difference. It seems impossible, when the roads are that crummy, so I know that getting products made in Kérou to the larger markets is hard. But I do have hope, as I saw in one of the grocery stores in Cotonou some Shea Butter that came from here! So it is possible!

I really hope I don’t have to travel much here. I know Anna and Thomas have a lot, since they were trainers for my group, and so on. I am really discouraged to do anything related to Peace Corps outside of Kérou and the absolutely mandatory events. I hate the fact that I have to go all the way to Nati every month just to go banking. At first I was excited, because that means Peace Corps pays for me to go to the “big city” (of the Northwest), but I just wish my journey wasn’t miserable. Oh well.

I also fully believed that everything I bought in Cotonou was broken and ruined. I heard things bouncing around on top, and thought it was over for my spices, my olive oil, my cheap rum, and my paint! But alas! I arrived home, and everything was in one piece. Or well, it’s own pieces. I have tons of bugs/critters that have invaded my home during my absence, but I killed off all the roaches again. And Thomas’ cat is going to have kittens soon, so I’m getting one to take care of the mice, which have left little droppings over the entirety of my kitchen. Thanks to my cool box, though, they can’t get to any of my actual food. Then I took a shower to wash off this dusty, sweaty day, and I got a semblance of a hot shower! The water had been left out in the sun, well for the past 6 weeks, technically, but it was still warm, so I got a delightful warm bucket shower, and I felt so refreshed.

So at least this day has ended more positively! I am excited to meet with my artisan groups tomorrow, to talk to Hubert, see my wonderful post-mates again, and then get back to cleaning/organizing my house, and finally order my furniture (I believe that’s all in chronological order). I leave behind the misery of traveling, the boredom of being stuck in the medical unit, and hopefully start on all the community interaction and projects I came here to do!

Tuesday, 20 November 2012

So a lot has been going on since my return, so I haven’t had time to write. Plus it was only late last night when I finally got electricity, so my computer usage has been limited.

Okay, so I guess I shall start with Friday, I met with the artisan group, as usual. Everyone was happy to see me. And I think perhaps now that they see that I’ve suffered through this huge moto burn, and still returned, they have accepted that I am here to stay. One artisan went around and told me everyone’s name, plus their profession, and said that we would do this every week until I got everyone down. (THANK YOU for understanding that I need review!) Also, three of them came by my house Saturday morning to “saluer” (greet) me. And they gave me some money. It is typical for the group to decide to give money to a member (even though I’m not really) who is ill, hurt, etc, because usually when someone is injured and can’t work, they don’t get paid. I can’t tell them that I still get money even when stuck in the Med Unit, and in fact get more to compensate for living in a more expensive city (thank you, US government). But it was so nice of them to think of me, almost as one of the group!

I met with Hubert, and we went over times that I will be working in the office, with groupements, etc. He is always so rushed, though, it’s hard to talk to him about everything that I want to, I have to do it in little chunks. Then I met up with Anna and Thomas, it was good to see them again!

After that I went home, and started the process of reclaiming my house from the dust, dirt, bugs and mice. I moved my kitchen to the main room, which Beninese people think is wholly bizarre, but I really, really like having the kitchen/living room combo. I HATE having to go all the way to the back to cook, firstly because then I can’t know if anyone is coming into my house, secondly if I do have guests, then it’s awkward to leave, thirdly, because my fridge is in my front room anyway, fourthly because I would like to have my music from my laptop playing, etc, and fifthly to get it away from the stupid mice. Anyway, once I get my apartment in the States, I will insist on it having an open kitchen/family room combo. I have been warned that I will regret my decision here during the hot season, when trying to cook will make my house even hotter, but we shall see. I’m pretty sure I will suffer through it with my stubbornness. Also, I’m planning on getting a little charcoal-grill thing, which I have to use outside, so maybe I will just resort more to that. I got a big pot that I can use as a dutch-oven-ish as well, so I am super excited about that! It’s sweet potato and watermelon season, so going to the market was a very pleasant experience! Plus I got peanuts, and am going to attempt to make my own peanut butter! I am very excited to try out all the things I have been researching while in Cotonou.

Saturday Hubert invited me to a “party” which turned into an inescapable affair. It was to celebrate one year of a Village Saving and Loan group in his village, Gouginnou. Then women there got to see how much they saved over the year. One woman saved approximately $9, and just kept repeating, “I thank God, I thank God!” It’s such a good reminder of why I’m here, the intense poverty that these women live, which makes $9 saved in one year seem like a huge amount.

What’s really cool is this program is a shoot-off of the whole micro-finance movement, which started in India, giving out small loans to groups, and later mostly to women, so that people might start their own businesses and generate more income, and bring themselves out of poverty. A lot of times, however, this would simply lead to individuals becoming strapped with debt, and unable to break out of the cycle of poverty. This Village Savings & Loans program, however, requires that the women save for a year. Then they can take out their money they have put aside after the year, and use that to invest in a new business or something. Therefore, they won’t have to go into debt. Some programs allow for the group to become a place to get actual loans, but only after the full year, and once a good savings has been collected.

So it was really exciting to see these women successfully saved, excited about their prospects, and so on. But it was weird since Anna and I, who were both invited, had nothing at all to do with this group. And, wow, it took so long. First they had to add up, on paper (and with a small calculator) the totals of all them women to make sure the final total equaled the amount of money which was in the box. Then they divided up all the money into a pile for each woman, and then had each woman collect it and “sign” (being mostly illiterate, the women simply stamped their fingerprint) for it. This took hours. Then there was a presentation recorded for the radio. We had to sit around watching the women practice singing, until the radio show host was satisfied. Then he went around interviewing women, and separated them between those who were well-composed, and those who were not. Then he practices asking the women who he thought were good enough to answer questions live. Finally, we started the live recording. There was singing, interspersed with various interviews, of local leaders, of the presidents of this Village Savings & Loans group. Then at one point, he is talking, and Anna and I here the word “Batoori” come up a few times (because, oh did I mention ALL OF THIS was COMPLETELY in Bariba?), then the radio show host asked a question in Bariba, and shoved the microphone in Anna’s face. No warning, no practicing, nothing. She didn’t have anything to say, because how could you, when you have barely and idea of what is going on? I think they were disappointed that the white people didn’t say anything, but oh well. Finally, 8 hours after I arrived, I was able to escape, go home, and just lie on my floor, exhausted from sitting around all day in the hot African air.

Monday I had programs with some gardening groups. It is complicated, though, because Anna and I have one man who is supposed to be there to take us to the various groupements and be our translator, etc. But we have some different things we want to do, plus everything always takes more time then we plan for, and then we have to rush off to the next scheduled event. (We are planning on meeting soon to work out a better schedule) So at both groups I had to take a lot of time to sort of the “weekly-fees” that had been collected in my absence. The hard part was that since the women are illiterate, all of these tallies were just kept in their heads. So it takes a lot of time to sort out. I am hoping to come up with a system where the women can record all of the transactions themselves. They need to be able to do this after I leave. Anna is working on sharing an “Accounting for Illiterates” training, so I will try to use this. I am excited to get all of this rolling, hopefully more smoothly soon!

Then today, I am working at “Sahel”, which is the seed-distribution building. Hubert’s office is here, even though technically he works for the mayor’s office, and this is an NGO who built this, coordinates the seeds, etc. This is where Landry used to work. He doesn’t work here anymore, but is still in Kérou. I don’t exactly understand what happened, but there was definitely a falling-out between him and Hubert. I think I would feel more sympathy for him, were it not for this huge chunk of pink skin on my leg. And the fact that him stopping by house always leads to him asking for something. Like I showed him my backpack, which has ripped again. His response is, “Oh, you MUST give that to me!” Like, wtf? If I’m still using this crummy, torn backpack, clearly I have no other option, and I’m not going to give it to you! Grrr… Then again, the only interaction with him is asking for information, like where can I buy charcoal? Where do I go to pay for my water? I’m not much better, but I just don’t have any respect for him. I don’t understand why he keeps stopping by my house. I think he’s wanted to be friends, but I think we just annoy each other a little too much to make that a reality.

Anyway, back to the Sahel. Hubert asked me what days I had scheduled other things, and then was like, “Oh, you don’t have anything Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday? Great! You can work at Sahel then!” Which means I have NO days at all in a week where I have nothing to do. Which on one hand is frustrating. But on the other hand, it’s not like I work full days (except when I will be working in the Sahel). For example, Friday I have a meeting at 8 in the morning, then at 5 in the afternoon. So two whole hours of scheduled work. Plus I can do whatever I want, surf the internet, read, etc, when I’m working at the Sahel, until someone comes by to buy seeds. Plus this means I actually have to leave my house every day, so no full lazy days. It’s really not bad. We’ll see how it works out.

Okay, now I want to talk about my electricity. Yes, it’s been out since before I left. That makes it almost 2 months. One of my neighbors, in fact, moved to another apartment because of this. Apparently the electric company needs to determine EXACTLY how much “Le Chateau” bar stole from them, etc. So for two months, the good people of this neighborhood have gone without electricity. Meanwhile, Le Chateau has a generator anyway. This all makes me just want to take someone and shake them.

So the solution, instead of calling up the electric company, and being like, “THIS IS F-ING RIDICULOUS! Fix it now, so my citizens can have electricity” the mayor just decides that they’ll just build me a direct line from the Mayor’s office, so I can get my electricity from there. I’ll reimburse the mayors office my approximate monthly usage. But the thing is, it’s only for me. My neighbors still don’t get electricity. So here I am, like the privileged little white girl, getting electricity while my neighbors sit in darkness. I hope they don’t hate me. Then the electricity is supposed to be working, but all that happened was that the one light outside kind of flickered on and off, and none of the other lights worked. So the electricians came by and worked for a few hours before they finally got everything working. Oh! Electricity! Then I plugged in my fridge, it kicked on for a minute, then stopped. I burst into tears. “NO! This can’t be happening,” I was thinking. “I’ve spent so much money on the fridge, getting the electricity to work [I had to pay for the line from the mayor’s office], and all I want is to use my fridge to make my water and food cold.” I probably sobbed for a good 5 minutes, once again considered leaving, before I calmed down. “It’s probably just been sitting around for so long,” I thought, more level-headed. “It just needs time for the fridge and the regulator [which protects it from surges] to get used to actually having power again.” And sure enough, a few minutes later, I could here the very low humming of my fridge as it started it’s process of becoming a cooling area.

I feel guilty admitting that I’ve been brought to the brink of wanting to quit, and over the stupidest, stupidest things, like an uncomfortable ride, and a fridge that didn’t work immediately. But I think Peace Corps service is filled with extreme ups and downs. Like there are moments when I feel so loved, then 2 minutes later, I want to slap the next kid that shouts, “Batoori!” I think some of this is readjustment/culture shock, after spending my time in the luxury of the capital, with flushing toilets you can actually sit on, grand fruit markets, paved roads, reliable(ish) electricity, and only having to worry about ants getting into the sugar, not about cockroaches and mice. That was my life, and now I have to adjust, without going through the more obvious transition of moving to a new country. At least when you get on a plane and travel for hours, you know you’re in for a change. But I am still in the same country, technically, so I’m not mentally prepared for all this. I still eventually realize that there is nowhere else I’d rather be. I think, maybe if I had something to come back to, maybe these little instances would push me over the edge. But no, I’m still here.

I also wanted to give a SHOUT OUT to Pastor & Mrs. Turley, Mrs. Martha Shanahan, and my grandmother Rosella for the cards I received. Thank you!

Life at the "Hotel California"

Tuesday, 16 October 2012

I have started calling the Peace Corps Medical office “Hotel California” because… you can check out anytime you like, but you can NEVER leave.

Every day, the doctors give me a later and later date as to when they will reevaluate my situation. Monday, Dr. Rufin first said, “Yeah, this is looking so much better, and by the end of the week it should be looking great. BUT don’t think that means you can go home.”

Then, five minutes later he says, “Yeah, we’ll see how this is doing by next Monday…”

I am never getting out of here.

Not that I’m complaining. I mean, I’m blowing through my money, but a lot of it is to buy things like spices or certain foods I can’t get in Kérou. The spices are like an investment, that I will enjoy, and spread out their actual cost over the next two years. Still. I am enjoying this time in Cotonou, and I’m exploring, getting to know the city. But still trying not to actually spend much. That’s the hard part.

I am doing research, taking notes on things I want to do when I get back to post. But it’s all so overwhelming. Plus most of the things I’m reading about Food Security talk about big, overarching things, like Millennium Development Goals, and building roads, and millions of dollars invested, etc. Please, TELL ME WHAT TO DO AS A LOWLY PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEER!!!! As much as I would probably sell my soul just to be able to pave the roads from Kérou—partially for my own convenience, partially for Kérou’s economic development—it’s just not something that’s feasible. So I’m still trying to reconcile the reality that I’m only one person—and that while I’m in the Peace Corps, it’s not the same as other organizations that send teams to accomplish certain tasks. You’re just plopped somewhere and told, “Here, go do something helpful.” So this limits the scale of what I can accomplish, but I know there are so many possibilities. Also, I have to reconcile that if I want to do an actual study, or try to do market research, monitoring and evaluation, etc, this means that I would actually have to talk to people. Unknown people. Just approach them and say, “Hey, would you like to talk about how you feed your family???” Ahh, this is still a terrifying thought, no matter how excited I get about the potential projects, and so on.

So this is all I have accomplished here in my break. I am still terrified to approach people and talk to them. I have no better idea what I specifically want to research, or what I specifically want to write about.

I think my biggest achievements have been looking up recipes online. Inspired by other volunteers here in the workstations, I’ve been figuring out what I can make with ingredients here. Granted, in Cotonou, I have a little more options, as you know. But I’ve been looking up things I can make once I get back to Kérou. For example, I’ve never really cooked with eggplant before, but there are so many eggplants in Kérou. So I’ve been looking up recipes for those. I bought dried chickpeas and tahini sauce, and fully intend on making hummus. Oh, and I can make Baba Ghanoush with the eggplant. Both of those require a blender…so I might have to invest in that. But also, possible mango smoothies during mango season??? Yum! I’ve also been trying to look up things to make with okra, which is a big thing here. But I never had okra until moving to Charleston, and then it was always Southern Fried Okra. But I’ve found lots of other ideas too. Plus, yams, yams galore! I have to figure out how to cook yams like they’re going out of style. Which they never will. Not here in the North. Plus, Anna just informed me that sweet potatoes are coming into season now. I’m so excited! I love sweet potatoes! Give me a sweet potato and some honey, and I am content. And, of course, I am trying to look up more things to do with them.

I also have to figure out how to do things without an oven. I don’t have one here. There is a possibility to make and impromptu oven, something involving our very large saucepan, water, and another pan. But I’m really just trying to skip that if possible.

Also…I had my mind blown when I successfully got dried beans cooked to the softness I wanted. I have NEVER been able to do this before (they were always still a little hard-ish), and it took me maybe 30 minutes. The secret? Baking Soda!!!!! Perhaps some people are reading this, saying duh! but I had never heard of this method before. I read conflicting things on whether this decreases the nutrients, or if it lessens the gassiness of beans, blah, blah, blah. HONESTLY I DON’T CARE I’M JUST ECSTATIC TO HAVE BEANS ACTUALLY BE READY, AND QUICKLY.

I also have been thinking about milk. Here, you can get boxes of milk, which keep forever (by forever I mean a year or so), until you open them, and you have to keep them refrigerated and finish it within 5 days. This is the same milk I drank in France. But the other day I realized that I paid approximately $7-$9 PER GALLON (they come in liters, but I did the whole conversion), and I couldn’t afford that on a regular salary. I think these milk boxes might become rare, rare things.

I’ve always stuck my nose up at powdered milk (and even more so at this gross-looking, gooey, concentrated milk they have here). Being the daughter of a former dairy farmer, that is sort of obligatory. But due to economic restraints, I started looking up if powdered milk was an okay replacement for baking (things like sweet potato pie—or casserole, so I don’t have to make the dough—need milk). I found this really awesome webpage, called something like, “The Hillbilly Housewife”, which I thought was amusing. But this lady gave this long, incredible list of ways to make powdered milk acceptable. For example, by making it really cold, and possibly adding flavoring like vanilla extract. Also, she had a section where she described how to make curds & whey (I actually know what curds & whey are now, I never actually knew before) with powdered milk, then mentioned you can use them as a ricotta cheese substitute in baking (I think my head just exploded again) which means I can make lasagna sometime when I am in Natitangou (we have a stove there, and access to mozzarella cheese). I’m so excited for all of this.

[And if I really crave “real” milk, I can always find some Peul (that is the ethnic group that is also found in Senegal; they are herders) and get fresh milk. Although, I’m not sure that I know what to do with that either…I always just got gallons of milk from the store, already pasteurized, whatever that means. Oh, the things I never learned from my Dad.]

So yes, I’m glad to have this free time to hone my culinary skills. I’d rather be honing my economic development skills. But hey, you can’t have everything in life.

Saturday, 20 October 2012

I am still here in the medical unit. I finally had to put a ban on my spice-shopping. I’ve spent over $35 just on that. I did get plenty though, and I am excited to return to post and start cooking. I also determined that I might just have to wait another few months on getting furniture… But luckily for me, I enjoy cooking more than a well-decorated house. I was thinking to myself as I was shopping for spices, “I will make a fabulous wife someday!” but perhaps that’s only half-true, since there will be fabulous meals, but the house will be in disorder. But hey, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach… But, of course, there is no man now, just me, so I will be falling in love with myself, I suppose, and my growing cooking skills.

I went to this store called “Erevan” which is this amazing structure. It seems such a weird thing to have in Benin, but it’s basically like a Target/Home Depot Combo. With OUTRAGEOUS prices. Actually, the spices that I bought there were basically equal to the prices I’ve seen elsewhere. But other things here were more expensive than in the United States, which doesn’t make sense, because I think everything is probably still imported from China. But they had very white-people things, like camping chairs (for $30 each), and self-feeding petfood containers (the small one for $35!!). I think in the States, I got my camping chair for $5—granted, it was on sale—but normally those cost $10-$20 for the simple ones? Frozen broccoli cost SIX DOLLARS for one kilo (about 2 pounds). I remember in Stillwater, refusing to buy broccoli unless it was on sale for $0.69 per pound. I did find frozen broccoli at this other, slightly smaller, but more reasonably priced grocery store. It was still $4 a pound, though. But I miss broccoli, so I got it. That was my “splurge” item.

Even if I had the money to spend, I think these prices would offend me. I am a very cheap person, and I couldn’t convince myself to buy anything there, except the spices I wanted, a strainer, because it was three (different sizes) for the same price I found for one somewhere else, and reusable paper towels and a FLY SWATTER, which were both also very cheap, and things I’d been wanting. I guess every ex-pat here has something they yearn for, can’t get anywhere else, and will thus pay the high prices. Erevan is there to supplies those needs. And convince you that while you’re there, of course you should spring for the nice patio set, the beautiful lamps, the orange peppers you could never find in this country, and so on.

Being stuck away from post has been so frustrating, especially for my French skills. I was doing so well, then I got stuck with over two weeks now of not speaking French. So they have plummeted. Plus, of course, even at site, I spend so much time around the other Americans. This needs to stop. I really am grateful for my postmates, they really are wonderful people and I enjoy their company. But I also resent them for being such an easy excuse out of integrating and speaking French. I can’t blame them entirely, though. I spend plenty of time in my house or at my “office” just sitting reading (for research and pleasure) in English, plus surfing the web. I really, really need to make a greater effort to spend more time in the community. Spending time with the other volunteers else isn’t as big of a deal, when it is complimented by plenty of French-time and integration. But I can’t do anything about that now, because I’m freaking stuck in Cotonou. I mean, I walk around, and talk to zems or market ladies in French, but that’s about it. No deep conversations.

I did manage to meet up with my French teacher, however. We had a quick dinner Friday night, and he said he would invite me to his house and cook for me on Sunday! I am so excited. Hopefully, I will get to meet his wife (who might be carrying a little “Shannon” right now—provided, of course, that it’s a girl), and I’m sure I will get fabulous food. Plus this will be some time that I really can speak French. Even the time I was at dinner with him before, he said he really did notice the decline in my French skills. Plus, I am just really happy to see him, he is fun, as always!

Monday, 29 October 2012

So I haven’t really written recently, because, well there’s really not much to write. I’m still in the Med Unit of the Peace Corps, still researching masters/food security things, still looking up more recipes, and still mostly bored.

I guess one funny story is that I decided to make Samosas, which are an item popular both in Kenya and India (guess the Indian Ocean connec). Although in India, it’s obviously usually vegetarian, or at least not beef, where as Kenyan samosas load up on the beef. Anyways, it involves deep frying, which I did, inside the Peace Corps office. And the kitchen/attached library, sitting room got really, really smoky. Oooooppppsssss. Guess I’ll stick to deep-frying things outside.

I’ve gotten to see tons of other volunteers come and go here, I feel like I’m becoming closer to Americans than I ever did during Stage. Even my fellow French-class-student was here briefly, and we were put together sharing a “sick-room”. I joked that we just can’t escape each other!

Another interesting thing, I met a woman who is and “RPCV”, which means she is someone who already served her 2 years of service, but returned for a brief assignment. For her original assignment, she was in Morocco, but is now excited to have served in Sub-Saharan Africa, which is, of course, lightyears different, even though it’s on the same continent. The interesting part, though, is that she is older, grey hair and everything. And she only did her first service in 2009. Actually, she got laid off in the economic crash, then was inspired by then-President-Elect Obama saying that we should all consider volunteering to be good citizens or something like that, so she did! She also said that for the interim between her original service and this short assignment, she actually lived with her mother. So see, MOM, there’s hope yet, maybe in 40 years I’ll still be trying to galavant the globe, and have to come home a live with you, and we can sit around drinking Moscato for a bit.

Okay, so I don’t really have anything substantial to tell you about. So I’ll just leave you with two pictures. The first is a really cool picture I came across, that really demonstrates the vastness of the continent of Africa. It is huge! And there are so many cultures and languages that fit in even the tiny country of Benin, just imagine all the differences across this wide space!

Okay, and the second one is of my burn. I figured you’d want to see what’s been keeping me here so long. And this is THREE WEEKS after the burn happened, it still looks bad. But this is the first time I felt comfortable showing you it, since it really did look bad, bad, bad before. And the doctors were joking that there have been instances in the past when volunteers have posted pics of various injuries—which the doctors may or may not have had under control at the moment—then Peace Corps Washington D.C. receives a call from that volunteer’s parent. I can just here the conversation that might have happened on my behalf, “Yes, hello, Mr. President, my granddaughter is currently serving in Peace Corps, and she’s gonna have to get her leg chopped off if you don’t send in the navy to evacuate her or something.”

My burns, which basically go the entire length of my back calf

So I totally understand why I’m still here. I think this burn was much, much deeper than I—or anyone else—realized at first. And apparently that’s the problem with burns, they really often don’t show just how bad they are…

But I’m here, it’s getting better and I’m looking forward to going back to post as soon as that last part has healed over, and looks like the bottom two sections!

A Day of Successes

Today was a beautiful day!

Firstly, I went to see the doctor, who is very, very pleased with my success. He kept repeating, “Look at how much better this is! It’s been less than 48 hours. See what we’ve accomplished in not even 48 hours?!” My leg feels a lot better as well, although I am partially attributing that to the Ibuprofen.

I then went to a supermarket called B.S.S., and it was amazing. There was so much stuff there. It was almost like being back in the First World. There were frozen vegetables, sliced cheese, Oreos, Cocoa Puffs, SKIM milk, Baileys and Malibu, Teflon skillets, and so on. The prices seemed high, but for most things, were more or less what you would pay in the States. There were, of course, items that were outrageously overpriced as well. It was all I could do not to buy everything in that store. I did buy a few things to make me happy. I’m going to be here for a few more days, and I’m trying just to cook my meals at home, so I wanted to make them as exciting and tantalizing as possible.

Then I went to the fresh foods market right by there, and bought avocados and papayas, cucumbers, and oh my gosh fresh spinach! It was just so delightful. So many different fruits and veggies, all looking better than the next. Its weird to think how much my tastes have changed. A year or two ago, I wouldn’t have cared at all for most of these latter items. But now I am just ecstatic to have them back in my life, however brief. The only thing missing was broccoli. I KNOW, broccoli. But I love it.

I also discovered that there is one place—I think in all of Benin—where I can use my MasterCard. Luckily, it was right down the block from these former places, so I walked there, and lo and behold! I could withdraw money! Then, when it gave me all large bills, I went inside and asked for change since that is one of the hardest things to find, especially in the smaller towns (such as Kérou).

After that, I walked down the street, and bought a plate of fried plantains and fish, then took that a little further down the street where I sat at a bar on the beach, and ate it. I had this outrageously huge smile on my face. I think I was literally bursting with happiness. I mean, seriously, what more could you ask for in life, than to be sitting on the beach eating plantains, and fresh fish, and surround by your recent purchases of fresh, CHEAP vegetables??? I personally can think of nothing else that I want.

This is the beach I was looking at
as I ate my plantains

I think I want to stay here. I mean, I know, I only arrived in Benin a few months ago, and I have a whole two years to complete in Kérou, but after that I want to come live in Cotonou for a year, extending my Peace Corps service. I know my family is now getting sad to imagine me away for so long, but then after that I want to apply for a Fulbright to the Dominican Republic. Or something so that, so I can live there. I want the Caribbean also, the Latino flair, the Spanish language, Merengue. The point is, I don’t plan on living in the States for a very long time. But think about all the cool places you will be forced to visit!!! This is all I want from life, to live in the tropics, by the beach, and eat plantains. The U.S.—not even D.C.—can offer me that.

But that is years in the future. I still have two years of service in Kérou, and still plenty of things there I am stoked about. I am really excited, because I’ve been using this time at the workstations, and waiting around to get healed, to do some research for Food Security. I am trying to figure out how exactly I will go about this, what exactly it is that I want to write about. I guess that will come. But I’ve also been reading for the specific projects I will be working on, such as a paper that talked about the steps in assessing and building/improving the market place, which is the project Hubert wants me to work on. So I hope I will come back to Kérou just bursting with these ideas, and ready to jump right back in.

I talked with a 3^rd-year volunteer, who is the Food Security Coordinator, and I kind of imagine that with the research and projects I’m doing, I might be able to take that position in two years. Again, I know that is in the future, but it just seems like this could be so good, such a perfect fit for the work I’m already doing.

It is really interesting, too, how my nutrition class is fitting in to some of the things I am working on here. There are a lot of problems facing the Beninese with regards to nutrition. One of them is the surplus of starch and grains in their diet. People sometimes think that Pate (the food that is the stage between bread and pudding, made from cornflour), rice, or spaghetti with sauce constitutes a full meal. For EVERY meal. They also cook the sauce for so, so long, that it actually breaks down the nutrients, so even if you put veggies, etc, in there, the sauce isn’t actually healthy.

So some of the projects for volunteers are to go around and teach about nutrition. Rather than our food pyramid, many countries and organizations in Africa use a different metaphor for a balanced diet. We are to teach only 3 food groups: Energy Foods, Constructer Foods, and Protector Foods. And we use the metaphor of a house. So Energy Foods are the foundation, and obviously are energy. They are the starchy foods, the yams, rice, pate, etc. The Constructor Foods are the "walls" of the house. They are the proteins, the things that help you grow, like meats and beans. Then the Protector Foods are the "roof" of the house, the things with vitamins, so all the fruits and veggies.

We emphasize that each of these should be present at every meal. It’s too hard to talk about portion size and so on—even in the U.S. most people don’t understand that or follow that even if they do. But all of this is important for Food Security, because Food Security is about, not only there being food available, but having it accessible to the community and families, AS WELL AS having it utilized properly, so that people can live healthy lives.

I’m sure I will teach you tons more about Nutrition and Food Security over the next few years, so get excited.

I still have this outrageously big grin on my face. Today was such a good day.

A Week of Simultaneous Luxury, Pain, and Boredom

Saturday, 6 October 2012

So the past few days have been much, much better. I finally got the ointment for my burn. And it was great, because instead of having to sit at the bus station and wait for the bus to arrive, I just sent a Zemi to sit there and wait for me, then he brought my medicine back. He waited over 2 hours, and when he came back, he only asked for $1.20 for his services. I thought that was outrageously low. I would have been perfectly happy to pay him $5 or $10, but that probably would have been too much. So I paid him $2 and thanked him profusely. And he was just really worried about my leg, and I think very grateful for the extra money, so really everyone was happy, happy, happy.

I also went to the market, where there were all kind of delicious things available. Oh, it felt like paradise. There were coconuts and pineapples (though the latter cost 60 cents instead of the 20 cents it cost down south). I got avocados, and fresh green beans, the usual tomatoes and onions, and CRABS. I think I could have died happy.

It is a conflict, here though. While I’m tempted by all these healthy veggie varieties, I’m also very tempted by some French-style pastries in a nearby supermarket. But I figure it’s only for a few days, I can go with the fattening pastries. And I’m really excited, as I plan on bringing back some extra veggies.

So I feel so, so much better overall. I’ve had some delicious food, and a lot of relaxing time. My burn is looking terrible, though. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to look like it does (i.e. this is a step in the burn-healing process), or if there’s a problem. So I’m staying in Natti some extra days. I will see the doctor again. Also, I am glad not to have to travel in a crowded taxi with this still-painful burn and so on. Although it might win me some sympathy, maybe get me a better seat?

I’m disappointed not to be going back to Kérou. I mean, Natti has luxurious food options, but that’s not why I’m here, in Benin. But I figured it was better to be safe now, rather than get back to Kérou, have problems, then have to leave for a longer amount of time.

Also, I discovered that my bank card doesn’t work here, as it is a Mastercard, not a Visa. So I can’t take any extra money out. I will have to get my mom to send me money via Western Union. But, sigh! Why can’t something just work right for me in this country?

Thursday, 11 October 2012

So I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. There isn’t much to report, because I’ve been insanely bored. I’ve facebook-ed and emailed and just surfed the web to my heart’s content. I have nothing left to look at. I’ve been watching the Daily Show and Colbert Report, which I still have to allow them to buffer for a while before they’ll play. Maria was watching Arrested Development, since she was sick and planning on going to Cotonou, but couldn’t leave until Tuesday. I’ve watched a few movies, although most of them here are older and not something I’m interested in. I’ve also been doing research for my work in Kérou/master’s thesis, but you can only read scholarly journals and UN reports for so long.

But Tuesday, when I finally got an appointment with the doctor (I think Monday was some Beninese holiday) he just looked at my burn and was like, “Oh!” then took me to the neighboring hospital, where a nurse washed it with hydrogen peroxide. OWWW! Then he called the Peace Corps doctor, who insisted I come to Cotonou immeadiately. But the buses only leave early in the morning, so I had to leave Wednesday. So basically I spent three days just sitting at the Natti workstation only to have to come to Cotonou anyway. What a waste of time. Oh well.

My burn started looking worse, and I started imagining the worst. I blame this entirely on my Grandmother, who has managed to pass along her worry-gene to me. I started thinking about the visits to Antietam and Gettysburg, where they tell you about the soldiers that get infections, and have to get their legs chopped off. I considered this entirely possible. And when I finally saw the doctor, his look of concern seemed to confirm the situation was dire.

It turns out, though, that it wasn’t so much the burn, but he said, “This is NOT what the doctor in Nattitangou described to me!” I think he was more worried that he had not insisted I come to Cotonou the very first day—and was probably about to call the doctor in Natti and rip him a new one. But I explained that day my burn didn’t look so bad, there was just dark skin covering everything. “Oh yes,” he responded, looking relieved, “that is one of the problems with burns, they don’t show everything at once! Sometimes they can look small or not bad, but 72 hours later, it’s bigger and nastier-looking!”

So he treated my bigger, nastier, slightly infected burn with antibiotics (stronger than the ones I was taking before) and ibuprofen. He cleaned and dressed it, plus put some more ointment on. He took some blood to see my progression, and apparently my active and plentiful white blood cells made him happy. Today he re-cleaned and dressed it, and says it should be looking much, much better very soon.

I don’t like taking pain meds, although this burn definitely warrants them. So I haven’t been taking them the past few days, which is fine since I’ve been mostly just sitting around. But since I’m here, the doctor is insisting that I take them, so I am. The antibiotics are making me tired, and I can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without being out of breath and exhausted. Which, speaking of, let me just say that the Cotonou workstation is the absolute worst design ever for someone with a hurt leg. There are stairs EVERYWHERE. The Med office is on the 2^nd floor; the sick beds (where I sleep) on the 3^rd. The kitchen is on the 1^st, and the Volunteer-Lounge, where there are things like TV and internet is on the 2^nd floor, but has it’s own staircase, so even if you are on the 2^nd floor, you have to go down to the 1^st and back up. It’s maddening. At least I am feeling better today than yesterday, so it’s not as bad. But seriously! Design Flaws!

Also I’m so NOT prepared for this extra week and a half of being away from post. I only brought clothes for 3 days. So I’ve had to wash them. Plus, of course I though to myself, I should just wear pants, since I always wear skirts. So I am stuck with having to drag my capris over my burn, instead of just being over to slip on a skirt without touching my leg at all. Next time I travel, I will make sure to prepare for any sort of medical emergencies. Sigh.

On the other hand, there are still many luxurious things, such as fast internet, and in Cotonou, food of every variety you could want (Indian, Chinese, Mexican. They also have fried chicken!). Plus so many fruits (Watermelons! Good Pineapples! And so on). Plus I went to take a shower today, and saw something like a water heater. I’m just thinking, “NO! I can’t be!” But it was, I got to take a hot shower! My first one in over 3 months. And hopefully my last for another year (when I have to have a mid-service doctor exam). Thank you, Peace Corps medical unit. Oh, and thank you everyone out there for paying your taxes. It has allowed me this brief luxury! Okay, technically if I leave my water in the sun, I can take a warm (bucket) shower. But it’s just not the same thing.

Also, everyone has been super-nice. When the taxi-man tried to drop me off a little bit away from the Peace Corps office (it is located near UN buildings, so access is blocked from one direction, and you have to make this whole circle to get there), the gendarme sitting outside the entrance insisted that the driver take me all the way to the front door! The night I arrived here, Anna and Maria happened to be here as well, for un-related reasons. But they waited outside the med unit—where Dr. Rufin actually stayed late to take care of me, since my bus arrived kind of late in the day. He informed me of this by saying, “Your two sisters are waiting for you!” This was really confusing, as I know my two sisters are in Europe, and it’s not like I’m being sent there! But after a few moments, I realized he must have been talking of my wonderful post-mates. They went and got the key for my room, so I didn’t have to walk all that way. Then they went and got me dinner as well! How nice of them!

So things are working out. I am getting good medical care and allowed some brief luxuries. I am really upset, though, since I am not in Kérou, doing the work I’m supposed to. Of course, everyone understands why I can’t be there, and will understand more when they see my huge scar! But it’s just annoying that I was only there for 3 weeks, and now I have to stay away for such a long time. I just want to do the work I came here to do! I feel like I shall be behind in “integrating” in the community, and so on. So wish me a quick recovery, so I can get back to work!

This is my Chinese food. It came in a real coconut!
Don't think that's very Chinese, but, hey, it was delish.
Sorry the pic isn't quite so appetizing,
but I had to bring it back to the workstation before getting a pic.

A String of Bad Luck

Wednesday, 3 October 2012

I decided that I would learn to carry water on my head like all the women do here. So in the back porch of my house, hidden from laughing eyes, I tried to lift up the water container. HA! It is 25 liters of water… dunno how many pounds that makes. Also, in my defense, it is a pretty awkward container. But if Coach Ambrose could see me now… he would be so disappointed! I was so into “strength training” class in high school…now I’m a weakling. I could barely lift the container past my waist; then tried to use my thigh to help lift it up further. I got it as far as my chest before my muscles gave out. So I don’t think that’s going to work. Oh well. I mean, some of my neighbors cheat and use there motorcycles to carry the water for them…though it’s not like they offer to help me. Oh well. I wouldn’t either.

In other news, I haven’t had electricity for a few days. Wanna know why? I’ll tell you. The bar that is by my house was somehow stealing electricity. So when the electric company figured this out, their solution was just to cut off electricity for the whole neighborhood. This doesn’t make any sense to me. “Oh we were losing money, because this person was stealing electricity, so let’s lose even MORE money by cutting off electricity for all of these houses, so they can’t use anything, and they will become really angry too.” Grrr. Unfortunately, most people don’t tend to actually consider customer satisfaction, etc. Oh well.

On a different subject, I am bestowed with outrageous amounts of gifts. Which makes me feel guilty on one hand, since I of course have more money then people here probably every will have—and I make far more money in one month then I do. For example, Landry makes 15,000 francs ($30) a month. I make 100,000 francs. Membership fees for these gardening groups are 100 francs (20 cents) a week. Yet they still give me yams, beignets, CHICKENS (which are expensive, btw). And I had one group that couldn’t find a chicken at the moment, so they tried to give me money so I could buy one myself. I can’t refuse the gifts—that would be rude and not understood. But I did at least refuse the money this time.

I also got a really awesome fan from a “Tanti” at the bar we frequent. The servers at the bars are usually called “Tanti” which translate into “Auntie”. And usually Tantis are also prostitutes, though not always. Not that I’m judging or anything. It’s just a fact, and I think the Peace Corps would rather us not be friend with Tantis, but a lot of them here in Kérou are super-nice. This woman always smiles at us whenever we come in, because we’re there pretty regularly. And the fan she gave us is awesome, and so useful! It folds up, so it’s portable. Plus it is made from an old cement sac, so yay, reusing.

Me with the fan I got as a present

Some Yams I've received.
They are huge!

On the other hand, I really hate being expected to give out money. I know, I know, I make tons more than anyone here. But regardless, I am so very cheap with my money. Now among friends in the US, it is different. I don’t mind spending money, to say buy food or drinks. Because I know eventually they’ll hit me back. And it will all work out in the end, so no one really needs to keep track.

The other thing is that for me, right now, the money sitch is very dire. I discovered upon arriving in Kérou that somehow someone (I think in my family) managed to steal more money from me. This means that I have only had enough money to pay for the things I absolutely needed at my house like plates and silverware (plus a box to keep those in so the lizards and rats can’t get to them), electricity, changing my locks, etc. I bought a mat, so I would at least have something to sit on. (Don’t worry, I am going banking soon, where I will get paid, plus I can get some more money to pay for things like furniture).

And while I remain fully aware that I probably still have more money available at the moment than most people here, I still hate this. I don’t think there’s ever been a point in my life when I’ve had to be tight with money. I’ve been cheap, but I’ve always known that I had money to spend if I really wanted/needed it. Perhaps I’m a little spoilt.

So if I had more money, though, I’d probably be a little freer with it. I was far more inclined to spend or give away my money the year I was working, living at home, and watching my savings rise, rather than after a year at grad school, when I had spent almost all of that money on tuition, housing, and drinks.

Nevertheless, I’m still looked at like I can pay for whatever. Especially when it comes to Landry. He always just assumes that I can pay for things, and in fact demands that I do. For example, tomorrow, he has offered to take me to Nattitangou, since he is going there for a training anyway. But since I am now going, I get to pay entirely for the gas. It’s frustrating, because I keep asking him, “Well, what would you do if I WEREN’T here, if I wasn’t going to Natti?” and he can’t give me a straight answer. On the other hand, I am grateful that he is offering me a ride, but in any normal relationship in the US, this would mean that you split gas 50/50.

This is a huge cultural thing, though. Here, many people find it hard to save money, because it is unacceptable to hoard money. Even, let’s say, a girl is working during her summer break to save up for school fees. But then in the middle of summer, her uncle comes over and says, “Can I borrow $10?” She HAS to give it to him, or she might become a cultural outcast. And it’s not like he actually pays her back. So therefore, at the end of the summer, she may not have enough money to pay for school. If people have cash money, relatives especially feel entitled to it if they have something they need, regardless of whether that money is intended for something specific for the person who earned it. This also means that people might be more apt to spend the money right away, so relatives don’t have time to ask for it.

It’s one of the reasons why a lot of the “groupements” that I am working with are so good: they force people to save. And the money is locked away in a box (or at a bank), so they can’t give it to preying relatives.

But for me, I’m used to saving. And there is no way I’m just going to stop that. My only problem is, that in the US people would NEVER ask me for money. Here, it’s perfectly acceptable. And I have a problem saying “No.” This is definitely going to be a challenge. I have to learn to deflect it, as well as not resent people for asking me. They don’t see it as wrong. But if I DO give them money—even if I don’t want to—that is my fault for not saying “No.” So I can’t blame them.

I still get angry though at people who think I should give THEM money/gifts, when it’s NOT a reciprocal relationship. I absolutely don’t mind paying for things when people have helped me, such as the day after I arrived and Landry took me to the market to help me buy things for my house, I treated him to drinks at the bar, which is a totally normal thing to do.

I think this is a huge challenge. There is an added challenge for me since I am perceived to have a lot more money than everyone else, and, in fact, I do. But on the other hand, that doesn’t entitle them to have me pay for their meals, drinks, or whatever else they need. I have encountered this so far mostly with Landry, and I told him straight up that I am not here to give people *monetary* gifts, but to give them knowledge, motivation, etc. I don’t have enough money to help everyone, even if I wanted to. So my goal here is to help people develop ways to generate their own new/better income, so they can afford what they want/need. This is what I want to do with the groupements. I wish I could tell them they don’t have to give ME gifts, but that would be rude. At least, in this case, it feels like a relationship. I get food for giving them development advice, or something like that.

Later that day

So it looks like, after I was extremely frustrated in the morning by Landry, he is actually being sent away. Nothing to do with me, of course, but it’s due to funding, etc. I think the building where he works is partially funded by some organization. His job is just to wait around until people come and buy seeds for their gardens.

Anyway, Hubert called us into the meeting, and announced this. Then he says something like, “But oh what luck, because I have a Peace Corps Volunteer who can just take over his job!” At first I was vehemently opposed to this idea. Firstly, it’s not sustainable. I still have to leave in two years, and then what will he do? It’s just postponing the problem. Secondly, though, Landry sits in that office ALL DAY, 8 in the morning until 6:30 at night. I can’t do that. I have way too many other things that I am planning on working on, such as attending meetings of the gardening groups, and of the artisan groups. I did not come all the way to Benin to sit on my butt in an office all day, on the off chance that someone might need to buy seeds.

Then, however, Hubert said that he realized we would probably have to make up specific hours for me to be there. This might actually work out really well. I had been planning on establishing some sort of “office hours” with my own desk that I had cleared out space for. Now I will just be simultaneously be waiting around for anyone to come by and buy some seeds. This will give me time to work on my masters research, or anything else I want to do computer-related or otherwise, without feeling terribly guilty that I’m just sitting there. Plus it will give me a chance to perhaps interact with the gardening women more. So yes, I think this will work out quite well. Plus I have two years to help Hubert figure out the former problem of making this position sustainable.

I would also like to point out an interesting aspect of Beninese employment. For a lot of jobs, such as those in the service of government offices, health centers, schools, and so on, many people live under the constant threat of being “affecté – (d)”. This means, that at any point your employer could just tell you that you have to move somewhere else. Those in public service don’t get to choose where they work. A lot of people that I’ve met in Kérou are distinctly unhappy with their placement—I mean Kérou is the “bush” according to many of them. People aren’t given a lot of warning either, usually. This is a bizarre system, because I think it leads to many unhappy employees—who nevertheless stay in their jobs, because the jobs are pretty good. But, on the other hand, this also helps prevent things like certain “good” schools being favored by the “good” teachers, whereas the worse schools are left struggling, such as happens in America. You just have to go where you are told, no matter the location.

Friday, 5 October 2012

The sunrise from my front door

I am writing this from the Peace Corps Workstation, in Nattitangou. It feels so wonderful to be sitting here with nice furniture, *flushing* toilets (that you can actually sit on!), *fast* internet. I CAN WATCH THE DAILY SHOW! I’m so, so, so happy. I’ve missed The Daily Show. I really have. I also am planning on going to the market today, and getting myself and assortment of veggies that I don’t usually have access to. What a wonderful thing.

On the other hand, I am also sitting here in pain from my journey here. I’ve decided that I’m just trying to get all of my bad luck out of the way at first, so my next two years (minus 20 days), will be a quasi-breeze. I had my money stolen, obviously bad luck, then yesterday the moto I was riding had a minor accident. (DON’T FREAK OUT GRANDMA, I AM FINE!!!!)

The whole ride was terrible. Sitting on the back of a motorcyle, going over dirt roads is miserable. And for some reason, the person who was driving me (Landry) felt a need to go extremely fast. How fast? I have no idea, because, of course, the speedometer is broken.

I don’t think the moto had any shocks left. I definitely threw my back out. My wrist is swollen from hanging on to the back. I almost got thrown off multiple times as we lifted off over bumps in the road. Although I am QUITE sure that I provided an amusing spectacle as we went through the towns, and people saw this petrified-looking white girl clinging onto the moto for dear life, bouncing a foot in the air.

As a sidenote, I remember always laughing at myself when, in my car in the States, I would pass between two large trucks and physically squeeze myself together to be smaller. This was of course dumb, because we squeezing together isn't going to help the outer borders of my car not get hit or whatever. But here, on a moto, it actually makes sense, because squeezing or leaning to the side might actually mean that you avoid hitting something.

I have also realized that people here are wholly unable to multi-task, especially in motor vehicles. Even when I was driving with a Peace Corps admin once, they got a phone call, went to answer it (because god forbid you ignore a phone call here), and just started driving slower and slower, until they stopped in the middle of the road. Or I’m on the moto with Hubert, and just think of a simple question to ask him, so when I start talking he slows down, and slows down more to answer. I know, I know in the States we take this to the other extreme, believing it’s possible to text and drive at 100mph—which is dumb. But on the other hand, I want to shake people and just say, “Get your sh*t together! Back home, I can drive a stickshift, eat McDonalds, and talk to my friends (HANDS-FREE DEVICES, OF COURSE) or sing along to the radio, all at the same time! It’s not hard!”

So anyway, I brought this up because when we were driving yesterday, after a particularly big bump, I said, “Umph!” really loud. Landry believed I was saying something to him, so he gets distracted and as he’s asking, “What were you saying?” He promptly drives into a ditch. We had to get off the moto and pull it back out.

The actual accident happened at one point, when we came up on a hill, and there was only a path wide enough for one moto, and there was another coming the other way, so Landry, who was going to fast to stop, goes into the soft mud, and the moto fell over. Luckily, like I said, it was on to soft mud, so it didn’t hurt. The only problem was my leg was on the burning hot exhaust pipe, and I couldn’t lift it up, partly due to the fact that we were still sliding, and partly due to the fact that your leg muscles stop working after hours on a moto. So the point is that my back calf has a burn pretty much up the entire back. OUCH!

Despite this accident, however, we got back up, and Landry decided we still needed to hurtle along at breakneck speed. I asked him a few times to slow down, but he was like, “No, we have to get to Natti quickly!” So after this near-death ride from hell, we finally get to Natti, where the road for the first time turns into pavement, and he slows down. I asked him why we were driving slow now, because the road was actually paved, and he responds, “Oh, we’re in town now.” I swear I almost lost it. I almost pulled him off the moto and beat the living daylights out of him. At the moment when I just wanted to get to the workstation—oh it was just so close—and the roads are actually fine to drive on, of course then he decides to be a prudent driver. Nevermind the multiple tiny villages we flew through, jumping over their impromptu speed bumps and avoiding the ruts formed by tons of people walking on them. Oh, I was so angry.

I got to the workstation, and the guy who was there asked me how my ride was, and I just burst into tears. He was just like, “Ummm…I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” which he did. That was very nice. I calmed down, called the Peace Corps doctors in Cotonou, who sent me to a doctor here in Natti. Of course, the doctor was an hour late, so I was sitting outside the hospital for a while. While I was there, some local saw my burns, and was like, “Oh I’ve had that problem before.” Then he gave me two remedies. One was to take the engine oil from motos and just rub that one my burns. He swore that after two days they would just disappear. Oh, or alternatively I could take snail shells, put them on a fire, then once they’re nice and hot, crush them to powder, then rub them on my burn with charcoal. I just looked at him like he was crazy. I mean, I’m not opposed to natural remedies…if someone had offered me Aloe, I would have used that in a heart-beat. But where did he get these ideas? Luckily, the doctor finally got there. He wrote me a prescription for an antibiotic (so it doesn’t get infected), and then for ointment. And OF COURSE the two pharmacies in Natti were out of the ointment. I asked the second one what I could do to get it, and she says, “Well, if you know a taxi-driver, you can ask them to pick it up for you in Parakou.” I’m just looking at her like, “LADY, ISN’T THIS YOUR JOB??? ISN’T YOUR JOB TO ORDER MEDICINE AND GET IT TO PEOPLE WHO NEED IT???” There are just some things in Benin that blow my mind.

But anyway, I called the PC doctor, who went and bought the ointment I need in Cotonou, and will be sending it up with the bus company today. So relief is on its way.

I went to the nearby store, bought a liter of moonshine and some French pastries, and thus administered my own medicine. I also skyped with my mom for a while, which was nice with my fast internet. Today I am just going to relax and try to recuperate from all this craziness.

There are definitely good things here, and plenty of reasons why I am happy to be serving in the Peace Corps in Benin. But for now, the crummy things are a little too overwhelming, but hopefully I will take this weekend to get a little refreshed.

A Plethora of Meetings

Sunday, 23 September 2012

Today I think was my most cliché “African” day yet. I am loathe to say that. As an African studies person, I know that I must fight against the notion that Africa is one homogenous country, when, in fact, it is a huge continent filled with many diverse individuals. I feel guilty with my blog name (you’ll see it’s changed slightly), but I found it necessary because this blog covers my experiences in both Senegal and Benin. Some things I have remained strict about, though. For instance, I never, ever, ever say “tribes” when referring to ethnic groups here. (I had an African Studies teacher that once threatened to fail anyone who used that hated term. For Americans, this conjures up images of Indians in the American West, riding around on horseback, and living in teepees—which is technically only true of a small portion of Native Americans. And it is all together wrong for the people of Africa. Plus, technically even what we refer to as “tribes” among American Indians, do not meet the anthropological definition. But I digress.)

My point is, that I try to avoid the pitfalls that are bemoaned by people who study Africa. But there are some points when I must admit that on no other continent would a day like to day be wholly possible. And since I have shared enough with you about the realities of life in Benin—the ups and downs, the wonderful and annoying things, the completely varying people and places I experience—I don’t feel bad sharing the few moments that do live up to every stereotype you have in your mind about Africa.

This morning, I went to a meeting for one of my artisan groups—the mechanics. I got there on time(ish). I was five minutes late. There was only one person there, and some people didn’t show up for another 45 minutes. A running joke of every American ever that visits West Africa, is that you are now on West African International Time (or W.A.I.T.). Although, quite honestly, I’ve found this to be an international standard pretty much anywhere in Not-America.

Then I came home, and washed my dishes and clothes by hand. While I was doing this, I remembered an article that I had read years and years ago about a study that showed that women without modern conveniences, such as washing machines, dishwashers, vacuum cleaners, and so on, actually spend less time on domestic tasks than women who have access to these supposedly time-saving devices. I just wanted to call this study out on its blatant lies. There is no way that’s possible. Unless they didn’t take into account that children often contribute to a lot of these tasks, as far as I’ve seen here. But as I have no little children to help me, I’m stuck cooking and cleaning for myself. While trying to economize water as much as possible.

Because, of course, I don’t have running water. So tonight Landry and I went to get water (it’s usually him and his brother that do this for me, but his brother wasn’t there, and I wanted to see how to get water if I want to do so for myself). Anyway, we walked over to this pump, where a bunch of women are sitting around, next to the a herd of cattle that is just roaming through. To get the water, you have to push up and down on a pump with your foot. So my neighbor is there, and when she finishes, Landry insists that we get to fill our water first. He literally said, “We’re next, because it’s for the white person.” Now, granted, I don’t think people in Benin set much stock by lines. I noticed this when we had lunch with our homologues in Porto Novo. All of us good Americans formed a line, while many of the Beninese people came in from the side and butted in front. I stood still for a good 5 minutes or so, while these people helped themselves in front of me. Nevertheless, jumping in front of all these women—especially just because I’m white—or as Landry tried to put it better, because I am a stranger, and therefore a guest, so they have to be nice to me—offends everything in me. But he insisted, and my containers of water were shoved under the pump. Then they encouraged me to try pumping the water myself. When I did this there was general laughter, and a lot of the word, “Batoori!” so I’m assuming the gist of the conversation was, “HAHAHAHA look at this white person pumping water! Have you ever seen such a thing?” I guess I’m at least trying to break out of the stereotypes people here have of Westerners.

Then we had to carry the water back. Each container is 25 liters, so imagine carrying 12 ½ 2-liter bottles at once. People here carry everything on their head. Whether it’s a tiny little pot that they could very easily just have in their hand, or a huge suitcase, it all just gets thrown up on their head. I, of course, am not used to this, and I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself by trying to put a container on my head and failing miserably. On the other hand, I also have this stubbornness that insists, “Dammit, I WILL carry this back on my own, I DON’T NEED ANYONE’S HELP!” So I struggled back with this container, dangling at my side, slipping from my hands’ grip. Thank goodness the pump is pretty close to my house. But my poor, poor, arms hate me now. Oh, too much pride have I.

Oh, of course the most ridiculously cliché thing to happen to me today, was that at some point when I was washing my stuff, I left my front door open. It lets a nice breeze in, and I can still see the door from the back, to monitor it. I went over to my kitchen really quickly, and then came back out to the front room. And there were two chickens that had walked in, and were admiring themselves in my mirror, then a sheep that was standing at the door trying to decide if it wanted to come in. I shooed them all out. Oh, my life in Benin.

Anyway, my life isn’t all waiting and livestock run amuck and water I have to (eventually) carry on my head. But sometimes it is.

Monday, 24 September 2012

So the ridiculousness continued into today. I received a LIVE chicken as a present from one of the “groupements.” The woman who gave this to me said that she didn’t have time to prepare me something so here was a chicken—as if I ate meat and would furthermore actually know what the heck to do with the thing—PLUS four huge yams—as if I weren’t bursting with yams already. Landry solved the yam problem by saying that I wasn’t “habituated” to African yams, and he would just distribute them to people. This isn’t true; I love the yams. But also, they are each at least a foot long and 4 or 5 inches in diameter, so it’s hard for one person to eat them all.

But the chicken is the issue. I ended up taking it home, and now it is just chilling in my back courtyard. Chickens are dumb, as I explained before. I tried to take off the things binding it’s legs and it just kept running away. And pooping everywhere. Gross. I really don’t know what to do with it. Even if I did want to cook it, I don’t think I could ever actually kill an animal outright. Plus I wouldn’t know how. Or how to skin it. All I can think about is that Canadian song, “Alouette” you know, “Alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête, ahh ahh ahh ahh…” (skylark, gentle skylark. skylark, I will pluck you. I will pluck your head, I will pluck your head) And then the song goes on through all the body parts. Not much help.

Then I left for a meeting to go over the by-laws with one of my artisan groups. When I returned, the chicken was gone! It had just gone over my 6-foot wall! There was a small stack of bricks that was near-ish to the wall, I think it used that to get over, since some things that were on it were knocked over. And there were some feathers lying around, but no more chicken.

Landry was worried about this, and I think disappointed, because I believe he wanted to eat it. He knew I wasn’t going to. And when he came by my house—night was starting to fall—he went to look for the chicken, but, alas! It was long gone.

I joked that perhaps the chicken was trying to return home (much in the way of one of my favorite childhood movies, “Homeward Bound”), but Landry just thought I was crazy.

The chicken I received

Thursday, 27 September 2012

So it has come to my attention—through my grandmother—that some of you may be shocked by my present living conditions. Firstly, don’t worry, I will get shelves and other furniture soon. But I actually need to get it all hand-made (which is pretty cool, I can design everything), so that takes a bit of time. Secondly, this was surprising to me, because I actually thought I was living pretty luxurious. I mean, I have TWO WHOLE bedrooms, my own closed-in back porch, my hammock, THREE WHOLE BURNERS on the stove (in Senegal, my host mom just had one gas tank on top of which there was one place for a pot or skillet), A FRIDGE (mini, though it might be), and electricity that cuts off only occasionally. And even when I had my apartment in the states, I had my bed on the floor. It’s just easier. Sure the walls are concrete, but at least this means that critters can’t hide inside (they can only hide in my roof :) . I’ve contemplated painting them, but this might be too expensive. A cheaper option is to get a bunch of different fabric and just hang it up everywhere. So don’t fret, my house will get more home-y over the next few months.

On the other hand, I would also like to remind you that this just exemplifies the huge gap that exists between our two countries. One person mentioned that my camping experiences with my family would at least have prepared me for my current living conditions—which is true. But the idea of camping is wholly absurd to a Beninese person. Imagine their reaction: “So you willingly go out into the brush to sleep under a piece of fabric, on the ground, voluntarily leaving behind your electricity, etc???” But for us, camping offers a chance to feel in touch with nature, or whatever. But at the end of the day, we have our comforts to return to. And even though I’m here for two years, I still get to leave, to come back to America, and live the easy life again.

But for people here, these conditions are a reality every. single. day. There is no escape to clean, running water. We take a lot of hygiene for granted, for instance, but let me tell you that you wouldn’t shower or wash your hands as much if you had to carry water on your head back to your house every day or week. Some people don’t have latrines, and might use a river to do their business. Then, because that river is closer to someone’s house than, say a pump, the second person gets their drinking water from that river. Some people might sleep on foam pieces—not even a full mattress—every day. Some people have never had shelves, ever. Some people in more remote villages than me have never had electricity. They can’t have a fridge to keep leftovers, so they have to cook something new every single meal, which takes time. Some women in these garden groups I work with have to draw up water from a well, walk a good distance to their field, then water their crops.

Of course, the living conditions vary a lot. There are very poor people, especially in the rural areas, then many rich people as well. Plenty of Beninese people who are just as horrified by my living conditions as you Americans. But this gap exists in America as well. In fact, I am sure that you could find plenty of people in DC that aren’t living as well as I am right now.

My point is, that although my life seems kind of harsh right now with these concrete walls and floors, just remember that I’m still here by choice. There are plenty of people who have no ability to choose to live any other way. And at the end of my two years, I can pack up and move back to the land of electricity and running water. I have that luxury.

Monday, 1 October 2012

So anyway, it was a typical weekend for me. I went to the artisans meetings, which are every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Of course they are scheduled at inconvenient times for me, such as 8 in the morning, then 5 at night. This makes sense for the artisans, since they have actual work during the day, but I, of course, do not. I swear, I’m going to read every book ever written over the next two years. Firstly, people don’t actually seem to know what times that even their own clubs meet. Like I was told 8AM and 5PM for some of them, but it was really 8:30 and 5:30. Then, of course, people are late on top of that. And I’m feeling like I’m not doing much good at the moment, since I just sit around listening to everyone talk in Bariba. Then they’re like, “So do you have a program for us?” My response is, “No, I’m just here to listen to your needs for now.” That is what I’m supposed to do, but I think on some levels, people expect me to come with magical ideas and solutions. That’s what development work has been a lot in the past. A Westerner comes in, perhaps with some sort of gift, and says, “Okay, this is the program we’re going to start,” then they do it. But the new development focuses on making the project community-oriented/led. I’m just supposed to be a “facilitator.” I do feel kind of ridiculous at some points though. As though everyone is wondering why I am actually here. But I’m helping out with a few small things, so hopefully those will just grow with time.

Sunday morning, there was a mechanics meeting. I think I helped there somewhat. Everyone was late, and the President didn’t bother showing up, apparently for the fourth week in a row. People were hot and bothered, and one of the younger mechanics pull out a piece of paper and was like, “WE’RE ELECTING A NEW PRESIDENT RIGHT NOW!” And I thought I was about to witness a mutiny. Everyone calmed down a bit, and discussed a lot in Bariba. They asked me what I thought, and I tried to explain that, in my opinion, the president is there to be an example, and if he’s not doing his job he should be replaced. One man made an analogy to me, that it’s like children, who behave well when their parents are around, but misbehave when their parents are gone. Then I tried to point out that, all of these people were grown men, who clearly wanted to be there. It’s not like there’s a law saying that the artisans must have these groups and must attend, they choose to be there. Also, it’s THEIR group, they can do whatever they decide on together, whether it’s getting rid of their president, or making new rules to say that an repeatedly absent president is automatically out.

Of course, this sounds all articulate now, but trying to explain this in French, while it was then being translated into Bariba for me—by someone who’s third or fourth language is French—oh it’s quite the challenge. Plus, then other people go around, making their own speeches in Bariba. So when they ask my opinion, I have no idea what anyone else has said. Maybe I’m repeating an idea, maybe I’m contradicting it. Who knows? Curse you, Tower of Babel.

In the end (and by that I mean AFTER THREE AND A HALF HOURS), they decided that the would elect a new bureau next week. I guess I had something to do with that? I think they were frustrated that there president hadn’t shown up for so long, but also I think they were embarrassed to be seen as so disorganized to an outsider. Anyway, I’ll allow myself to think of it as a success, me helping them help themselves, although in all likelihood, they would have taken this course whether I was there or not. But we’ll ignore that.

I also have started working with two more women’s groups. They are both close to Kérou, the furthest one is a 20 minute bike ride from my house. I think that one is just starting, because they don’t have a president, secretary, etc yet. But they are in the same area where Hubert lives, so he wanted to help them. The language thing is always a problem. Hubert was there for my official meeting, but then today I showed up, and there was supposed to be someone to meet me there, but of course this person I don’t think was actually ever contacted until I called Hubert again, 20 minutes after the meeting was supposed to start. The women ended up recruiting a young man there who happened to speak French, so it worked out. Eventually. But I spent the first half an hour, just sitting around awkwardly. Oh, also, there was a fire there, where they were cooking over. And occasionally the smoke would blow on me, so the women kept being like, “You have to move!” But the spot they were pointing to would ALSO get smoke at times, so I tried to explain that this was pointless, but of course they were speaking Bariba and I was speaking French. Ay yae yae.