Last Post From Benin

Thoughts on America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that enemy is black people.

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

Last of Benin

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

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

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

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

One of the Artisan Associations

The Gardening Groups

Beekeeping Association

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

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

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

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

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

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

Corn-sack race

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

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

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

football!

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

Me, with the female members of Sutiikua

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christophe: “That’s harsh.”

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

Christophe: “He’s just joking”

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

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

Me: “It doesn’t matter where we are…”

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

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

Me: “I’ve told him no.”

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

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

Christophe: “But sometimes….”

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

Christophe: “But here…”

Me: “NO MEANS NO!”

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

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

Christophe: “But here…”

Me: “UUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The party table, from one end...

...and the other end

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

Gift from Ben Club, presented by Edouard and Mora

Awkwardly holding the dress

This is how the dress looks on me

This is the present from Sutiikua

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

Gifts from the Soudeurs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunrise from my Front Door

Reflections

Right now I am stuck in Natitingou. I am on my way back from COS medical, in which the doctors basically check up on me to make sure I have any and all issues dealt with before they release me into the states. I was worried about money, since If I don’t get it now, I have to come back once again to Natitingou. So I was delighted Friday night to receive a text saying that the money was deposited into my account. But, I arrive at the bank, and the doors are shut. I ask the guard, and he tells me it is Korite, or the end of Ramadan. “But that’s not until Monday,” I point out.

“Yes, Monday is a holiday. But the bank isn’t open today either.”

I inform the guard that I feel this is ridiculous (though he obviously had no part in the decision-making and can do even less about it), and walk away. I then decide just to go back to Kerou in these fancy new taxi they have, which is a daily ride, and much more comfortable than other taxis and especially zems. So I call up the taxi, to make a reservation. “Oh, I’m not traveling tomorrow,” he says. “It’s a holiday on Monday, so I just want to rest tomorrow (Sunday)” Sigh. I know, yes people should have breaks. But the bank already has the weekends off every week, unlike most people in Benin, and perhaps the taxi company should also have more than one driver doing a daily route? Just a thought.

Anyway, I wanted to take the time to reflect a little on my Peace Corps Service. Now that it is officially ending in about a month, I wanted to look back on my successes, failures, lessons learned, etc.

To start with successes: hands down, my biggest success was the creation of a Village Savings and Loans Association, and the creation of an extensive accounting system for them. I spent hours upon hours working on, modifying, improving, etc the spreadsheets. Originally hand-drawing line after line into a paper notebook, I realized this was a not sustainable practices; the artisans would never take the time to do this all themselves! So I created a printed version, where the groups can keep blank sheets to copy every year for their accounting book. I have updated this version multiple times as we’ve run into newer problems, and I’ve changed the sheets to make them clearer and more user-friendly. Most recently I created a spreadsheet where they can verify all the totals on a regular basis, and ultimately calculate the amount to be shared.

Credit is such an important part of the modern economy. No one can really grow and evolve without it. But on the other hand, it can have high interest rates and fees, which can be crippling to small-time farmers and entrepreneurs. This is why I love the VSLAs so much. Yes, the loans require fees, but at the end of the year, ideally each person gets this money back, provided they’ve also saved money at the same rate as other group members.

I’ve had quite a number of failures. The most disappointing one for me was the chicken-raising operation never getting off the ground. Even if they mayor’s office hadn’t come in and steam-rollered those plans (then pretended like they were back on board for a few days, and then never brought it up again), I’m just not sure it would have worked. It required a huge investment from local farmers, who don’t necessarily have that money. Even if they did hand over the cash as soon as they sold some of their cash crops, that might mean that their family goes hungry for a bit somewhere later down the line. I think, maybe if I had more time and more structural support, it would have been a huge, wonderful, project which allowed twenty individuals to increase their incomes dramatically as well as increase the protein available in the whole community.

I sometimes wonder if it might have been better never to have done the irrigation project. I had this magnificent plan where I quickly put out this irrigation project, turned in the completion report, and immediately submitted the chicken-raising grant. But the irrigation project was delayed. By me being stuck in Cotonou, by the government shutdown, by Hubert’s lack of cooperation, my own inadequacies, and so forth. And in the end, this project…well I’d say it’s not been an entire failure, but it got pretty darn close.

So what if I had just skipped all that, and already gotten the grant for the chicken-raising before the mayor’s office came in to stomp on my plans? What if, inspired by the appearance of actual funds, the group members manage to scrounge up their own contributions, and the project takes off? Who knows, maybe this project would have been amazing. Maybe it would have hit more snags than anything else, and failed more miserably than any other thing I tried (and an expensive failure at that!)

Perhaps it’s stupid to think about the “what-ifs”. I still am glad that I did the irrigation project on some levels. I think I made a huge mistake by designing it around the idea that it would hook up to a water tower. In retrospect, of course that was a terrible idea! No farmer even in the states would hook up to the town water supply. Everyone has their own wells. I just wasn’t thinking logically. In my mind, I guess it made sense because there was no other water supply available. There is no stream or lake nearby this new location, and the water line ran right through it! When I think of wells that could work with irrigation, I think of American-style wells, and the only ones here are the traditional hole-in-the-ground, pull-up-a-bucket kinds. I also had no one here tell me it was a bad idea, even my community partners who are supposed to be experts on agriculture. Everyone just did what occurred to me. I think it’s part of the culture, to never disagree with someone—especially someone giving you money—so Hubert made promises that he would totally make sure the mayor’s office had a deal with the women, etc. While at the same time, (looking back, I realize this) working with the mayor’s office to get a well in the exact same spot. I’m betting he even planned on hooking up the well to my irrigation system the whole time, using a gas-powered pump. But why couldn’t he had just said that from the beginning?

I know I was in a rush to get this project done. Not only because of the second Food Security project I wanted to do, but also because of the small window of time in which the ground is actually okay to dig and lay these systems. If I had just taken a second to breathe, maybe the well-idea would have been suggested. I would have realized that was a way better option than having to pay for town water. I probably would have had to make sure the mayor’s office (or another NGO) would contribute the well, because there was not enough left in the budget for a well also. But it could have gone so much smoother.

In conclusion COMMUNICATION. Sure, I can blame it on the culture here, that telling people “no” isn’t a thing. But also, I’m sure it has a lot to do with NGOs that come in and have certain goals, and specific technologies/practices they want to impose, and thus are not always willing to listen to local suggestions. So maybe at some point locals just learned to shut up and do whatever the people handing out the money said was the best based on their INFALLIBLE LOGIC. Maybe I shouldn’t have brushed aside so easily my doubts about the feasibility of hooking up to the water tower. Asked Hubert, or other partners more questions, looked for other possible solutions, etc.

At least I have plenty of lessons learned. I have the irrigation project, which I tried to throw haphazardly together, alongside my slow and plodding (but ultimately very successful) progress with my Savings and Loans Association. Then, of course, there is the School Improvement program. I have been way less involved in its implementation, but I think it is one of the better things I’ve done. It was entirely community-driven, organized mostly by a very motivated individual. It helps very rural, very poor children, and is sustainable (hypothetically).

The most important lessons I have learned is consistency and dedication. I have tried to throw together some projects, but had them broken up by my absences or lack of interpreter or simply the rain. Getting people motivated the first time is hard. The second, third, whatever times are even harder. I have found this when I tried to start a literacy or financial class, but would have to take a two week break. Getting people to come back after the two weeks was always difficult. Furthermore, it’s harder for people to remember when there is too much time in between. One small endeavor I undertook with Anna was accounting for illiterates. It might have worked out much better if I had been able to go to the groups every single week and teach them, but I wasn’t. I had Peace Corps trainings to go to, or the interpreter was only allowed to visit groups once a month.  On days that I was able to show up (with the interpreter begrudgingly supplied by the mayor’s office), many of the women weren’t there. It had been too long since the previous lesson, so they had forgotten, or maybe they weren’t even at the previous lesson. I wish I had more time, less illness, and more support. But don’t we all?

In the end, I’m proud of what I’ve done. There are opportunities that were missed for a plethora of reasons. But I’m hoping that my next step in life will lead me to make use of these lessons that I’ve learned and apply this to my future work in aiding developing communities.

Updates

At least now I have an excuse as to why I have not updated my blog. No computer, no writing. Maria, the godsend that she is, has lent me her iPad. For the most part, I find it pretty unhelpful, because it mostly revolves around needing internet. I guess it does help when I’m at a workstation, that I can browse the internet on something besides my phone. And of course, I didn’t discover that it has Pages (the Apple version of WORD), for a while. Which would have been helpful. Since my discovery, I have been using it to continue my writing endeavors, so that’s nice. Although the ultimate would have been having Numbers (Excel), but alas, that was never meant to be. I don’t have a charger for an iPad charger, only for an iPod. Apparently this means a huge difference in charging-speeds. So it takes hours and hours for the iPad to charge. Oh, and I can’t use it while its charging, because its temperamental. Life is hard.

Nevertheless, I suppose I have managed to get a lot accomplished in the last month. I was supposed to be organizing the workbook for the girls camp that Maria, Raili, Ron (volunteer in Gnemasson, 1.5 hours south), Will (volunteer in Oussa-Pehanco, 2 hours south), and Ally (volunteer 2 hours south and .5 hours east), and I are putting together. The workbook, of course, gets a lot harder with my lack of computer. I have to depend on Raili and Maria and there generous donations of computer time.

Maria got a job offer at USAID (GO MARIA!!!), so she returned to Kérou after organizing the completion of tshirts and organizing the purchase of mosquito nets. I offer to swap her my help in packing for use of her computer, which of course she accepts. So we spend a few days packing all of her stuff. I have this habit of waking up absurdly early nowadays, so I’d work in the morning until she woke up, and then we’d start on packing. After a bit, Maria would convince me that what we really needed to be doing was watching The Mindy Project (a hilarious series, I’d highly recommend). We might get back to packing after ten or so episodes. And so our days went.

One day, before a meeting with my artisans, I happened to stop to get an omlet-sandwich. As I’m minding my own business, a guy walks up to me, and insists on greeting me. I thought it might be someone I vaguely know, so I said hi and went back to my meal. He sits down beside me, and not without me even looking at him, he says to me, “It’s Matthew”.

My whole body freezes. It’s him. The guy who has been harassing me. Not looking back at him, I think back to our interaction a few seconds ago. He’s so ugly. I mean, getting uglier by the second as I think about how much stress he has caused me over the past year. I ignore him, and don’t respond. I finish my sandwich and tea. As I’m trying to pay, he says, “Where are you going today?” He doesn’t even make sure to have my attention. He just says it in the direction of my body. As if I’m not a thing to be engaged before talking to. I say nothing. I get up and ride away on my bike. I go in the opposite direction, then loop around on a back-road to Maria’s house. When I arrive, he’s sent me a message saying that he was sorry he was so shy at breakfast, but if I’m ready to “start” with him, he’s totally ready too. I don’t get it. I really don’t. Like I don’t know how to be any clearer that I am in no way interested. Although, honestly, meeting him allowed me to see how sad and pathetic he is. He’s a guy lacking confidence, or any real ability to relate to women. He’s a bumbling excuse for a human being. My hate is in no way lessened, but my fear is. [He left Kerou officially a few days later, and since that day, he has called me a few times and once sent me a text after my failure to answer, asking what was wrong. Umm. What’s wrong is that you’re still calling me. Although, I don’t understand why you’re insinuating that anything is different, because this is exactly how I’ve treated you from Day 1.]

Anyway, back at Maria’s house, I finished up trimming the workbook, and Raili finally made it back to town. We had to come up with songs to incorporate. “Allouette” was an obvious choice. And there’s a Beninese song that talks about working hard in school to the tune of “Frere Jacques”. Furthermore, I translated a song from Mar-Lu-Ridge (I’m Alive, Awake, Alert, Enthusiastic, to the tune of “If you’re happy and you know it”) into French. My favorite part was, however, translating a song from girl scout camp. It was a song that my sisters and I loved, a call and response that basically is about a girl seeing a cute boy sipping cider through a straw, wanting to learn this talent, ultimately sipping cider “lip to lip” and thus ending up with 49 kids. So Raili and I translated this into French, with a story about a cute boy eating sheep meat, a love story that involves skipping school and ultimately finding out the boy is cheating (in Beninese culture, we were unsure if having an absurd amount of kids would exactly be a thing looked down upon. Obviously 49 is an excessive number, but not AS excessive as it is in the States. And besides, people find cheating-plots hilarious here, so it fits). The moral of our story was to leave the boys and do school work. We were super-proud of this song.

So finally the book is ready to be printed. I leave Friday the 13^th to head to Parakou. Here is the Business Club competition that I’ve been preparing my students for. I have two students, presenting two different plans. I’m kind of worried about it, because I’m not sure that they’re entirely prepared. However, they manage to pull off decent presentations (and I use my grandmother’s old trick of pulling on my ear when they started speaking too fast). The kids had a really good time, meeting other students from around the country, and got really excited about their ideas and business in general. On the way back I even talked to them about continuing a business club next year without me.

Me with my two students

While in Parakou, I print out the workbook, and then give it to a photo-copy store to organize into all 38 copies. I explain to the woman very thoroughly how I’d like everything to turn out. She seems to be really competant, and when I come back a few hours later, she has everything copied and bound into the books. Everything seems to be falling into place.

I journey back with my kids Sunday, and then spend the rest of the week doing all the last-minute prep for our camp. Maria has already left, but another volunteer, Nora, has agreed to help out our camp.

Our camp starts in true Beninese fashion. There is a taxi that is supposed to be coming from Pehanco (two hours south of us) to pick up all of the girls and volunteers in Kerou. This was organized through Beninese friend in Pehanco, but upon the chauffer realizing that he was talking to white girls (via the phone) he decides he’s up for some tricks. Raili calls him right as he’s supposed to be in route to Kerou, actually almost there. He says, “Actually the price isn’t good. So I’m not coming. Unless, of course, you double the fee.”

Raili calls me, and we debate it. We are enraged by this maneuver, especially that he didn’t even have the decency to call us to make sure we would be arriving on time. But, the price we had agreed to was actually less than we had budgeted. Our budget was the price of each individual to travel in a normal taxi, and renting out a whole taxi as one group is obviously less expensive. So ultimately we pay what we would have paid as a per-person deal, even though it irks us the way we were tricked out of the money. Oh well.

We arrive, and things are chaos due to miscommunication between the director of the school where we’re hosting the camp, and the teachers/students. After a while we finally figure things out, and the camp gets started.

It’s thirty girls (5 girls from 6 different schools). We also have various “Model women”, meaning women from the community who are good role models. Our original intention was to have women from various sectors. However, both of my artisan/business owner women fell through, as did the two women’s health physicians. So it ended up being all teachers. They were really invaluable. A lot of times with basic things, such as translating our “Americanized” French into “Beninese” French, or just clarifying ideas. They offered valuable insight as we talked about things from budgets to sexual health.

I was launched back into Mar-Lu-Ridge mode. We even did a few skits that were from MLR. I’m not sure if they exactly translated culturally. The girls laughed late. Or in places I wouldn’t think one should laugh. Or we’d get the punchline, and it would be funny, but the girls wouldn’t seem to realize that it was the punchline, as in they’d be, HAHA, that line was funny, instead of HAHAHA, that skit was hilarious. Oh well, they still laughed, at least a little bit.

We had lessons in various subject areas, such as study skills, critical thinking, environment, hygiene, business plans and budgeting (by yours truly), and sexual health, as well as other activities to break up the classroom monotony. I introduced more camp games; they loved “Fox and Squirrel” or as we called it “Lion and Antelope”, which is a modified “tag”. We did some team-building activities. These took a while to explain, and so much longer for the girls to understand. I guess there are just some things that I take for granted, especially having spent so many years at camp, and in church/school events with similar principles. Explaining them to someone who lives in a culture that has never been introduced to games for the sake of team-building, including high and low ropes courses, it was a hard bridge to cross. In the end it worked out, however, at least mostly. It might also help if I had the French vocabulary built around these activities, but I guess I should have prepared more?

The last night, we had planned a dance party for the girls. The location is a bar that happens to double as a brothel. (Yes, if we were in the States, our asses would have been sued/put in jail). But it was the most practical place. Because honestly, every single “Maison des Jeunes / Youth House” that is  staple of every village, and paid for by the mayor’s office, is so underutilized that they all get converted into bars anyway, and thus not so helpful for actual youth activities (which really don’t exist). There aren’t really any other locations where we could have held this party.

Additionally, we made arrangements with the bar owner in advance. He happens to love Ally and her friends (thanks to her birthday celebration). So weeks ago, the owner agreed that he would reserve the space for us from 8 until 10, and no one else (especially creeper men, who have no business looking at middle-school girls) would be allowed in. And we would purchase 36 soft drinks (one for each of the girls and Model Women, so he was supposed to have those ready for us.

We arrive, and everything is terrible. There are men sitting around, watching the world cup. Because sports are more important than anything, we’re told that the bar obviously can’t kick these men out!!! It’s the WORLD CUP. Which the bar owner apparently forgot about in agreeing to our proposal. Then we are told that actually they had a rush earlier, so there are no cold soft drinks. Ally and I are talking with a woman, who I believe is the owner’s wife. I exasperatedly mention that maybe we should get drinks from another nearby bar and bring them here. This, of course, is outrageous to her, as we would be using the dance space and electricity, etc, but not paying for anything. “But you don’t have anything TO buy,” I point out. She suggests giving the girls warm sodas, because for goodness sakes, they’re children, and they’re lucky to be getting sodas anyway. I refuse this notion. We end up parting ways, without resolving much. I go inside to talk to Raili (the girls are currently dancing on the floor, but still with the male world-cup-watchers present and no soft drinks). She is sitting at a table, looking both angry and upset. There are two guys that have taken over the table next to us, which we were told was for us. I approach them, and they—in the douchiest, high-horse way—inform me that they have rented this table. Yes. They paid for it. With money. THEY HAVE MONEY. WHICH THEY USED TO PAY FOR THIS TABLE. MONEY. DID YOU HEAR THAT? They have money. I try to explain that we were promised this table, but THEY HAVE MONEY. I turn away, frustrated. The boss’s wife comes up to Ally and I again, trying to work things out, and I point out the men sitting at the table we were promised. She immediately goes up to them, and shoes them away, to another, smaller table in the back of the bar. Barely containing my glee, I run up to Raili and yell over the music, “VICTORY NUMBER ONE!”

After that, everything got better. I don’t know if the game ended, or the bar kicked the men out, but all the world-cup watchers left. The table-stealing men soon followed suite. The owner’s wife found cans (as opposed to glass bottles) that were cold. They were more expensive, but at this point we didn’t really care. All the girls were thrilled. The owner’s wife then took up the post at the entrance of the club, keeping out ALL other people, especially men/boys. We had a fabulous time. We taught the girls the “Wobble” line dance, but otherwise mostly danced to West African music. Ten PM came way too soon, although I was definitely sweating so much that my hair was soaked. We marched the girls back to the school, where we were sleeping, and had them go to bed.

Overall, this was a really amazing experience for me. Obviously, I worked at a summer camp for three summers during college. I always loved it. It also always terrified me. Having to get up in front of children and sing songs, or act out silly skits. Lead them in activities. Terrifying. But somehow, it always was such a positive time for me, and as far as I know, good for the kids as well. I was once accused of “not being there for the kids”, and hey maybe I wasn’t as dedicated as the other so-called perfect counselors, but I did put in my best effort. I constantly fought the effort to hide in the background (I sometimes succumbed), and for the most part I did put aside my fears and dance merrily, dress crazily, smile and encourage the kids.

This time, however, I wasn’t on the Mountain. I always felt an energy at MLR that would take me weeks to lose when returning home. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the way everyone from the camp director to the newest counselor worked to exude this energy. Maybe it was all the joys of former campers and counselors that lingered on the mountain. But I was always so inspired, so moved, so let out of my shell when I was there. I was really wary in planning this camp. As in, “oh god, I’ll have to act out these skits, this time without an audience of American children, who were guaranteed to ‘get’ it.” I didn’t have other counselors thoroughly trained alongside me, who knew the songs and skits perfectly as well. Plus, I’d always had a director, a tried-and-true schedule that we used every year, program directors, and so on. Here, it was all on me and Raili. We made it work, and despite my paranoia, it turned out great. The girls seemed to love it, despite our flaw of not scheduling them 5 shower-times a day, which they seemed to require. I even found myself imagining towards the end, that I might create a summer camp in West Africa. Maybe in some beautiful location, bus girls (and boys) in from all over the country, and have a fabulous experience for all of them. Camp was such a staple of my summers growing up, and made such a huge, wonderful impact on me. I’d love for that to be part of the culture here, as well. I’ve even come up with plans to make the camp almost entirely sustainable. Basically after “earthship” models. These are made using old tires and mud as walls (which keep the temperature at a really steady level, eliminating the need for A/C and Heat). Plus they collect rain water, which is used in different levels, i.e. obviously drinking water is the fresh water. Then say cleaning (dishes and shower water). The water used in those is then transferred to your toilet, until finally that water is used, and disposed of into the earth. Energy-wise, of course, we’d have solar power. We’d use Smart Boards (basically powerpoint-like projections that you can write on like they’re a chalkboard) for lessons. But wouldn’t that be cool? A sustainable camp (maybe still using food from local farmers, as a way to support local business, and then maybe some paper to print things out that we wanted to girls to keep) for children in West Africa. Okay, there’s one of my many endeavors I want to undertake. How to complete this all in one lifetime…

For a some more narrative on the camp, and pictures, here is Raili’s blog:

http://journeydujourbenin.blogspot.com/2014/06/camp-journal.html

Camp ends the completion of all of my official, specific projects. I have nothing detailed that needs to be completed before the end of Peace Corps (except for my school study).

However, the Tuesday after (June 24) marked the one-year anniversary of my Village Savings and Loans group that I started. We had a celebration the following Friday (despite my protests, because I didn’t want them to spend their money on a party, that’s not the point. But they ended up taking up a collection for the party amongst themselves, so whatever). The exciting part was distributing the money. Although they originally said they didn’t want to distribute individual savings, they did this year. This is due to a bunch of people not starting right away, or not keeping up with the savings program later, so there were a lot of gapes in the savings amounts. Now that the group is well-established, however, this will hopefully mean that the savings efforts will be stronger next year. So they are all starting at zero, but everyone is really excited to build the savings back up. I also showed them how to calculate the “profits” and distributed those according to their “savings” which also function as “shares” of the organization. I’m really proud of this group, and what we’ve been able to accomplish. I really hope they are able to keep going strong after I leave. As of now, some of the more dedicated members have started one other small “tontines” group, which is kind of like savings and loans, but it functions like a collection is taken every week, and distributed to one member on a rolling basis. I also met with a friend of Dennis. This is a guy that works with improved cookstoves in our region, and he and Dennis are talking of starting a Savings and Loans group exclusively for improved-cookstove producers, so that they have capital to buy supplies in larger quantities. I’m sending him all of the documents I’ve developed, plus improving my computer-version, so he can just do the accounting on his computer. Without my computer, this has proved a little difficult, but I made sure he knew that it might be delayed, and have been working at the workstation to fine-tune all of this. I really don’t know what the final outcome will be, but I really hope it does help some people.

The Savings and Loans Group at our celebration

 Meanwhile, working with Ben Club, the other Savings and Loans group, has been a regular pain. I struggled to get all of their accounts in order. Finally, right before I left for the business plan competition, I managed to have everything perfect. I come back three weeks later, and am going over the books with them. “So what you’re telling me,” I say, looking at the numbers, “is that you had 809,325 francs, and you gave away 820,000 francs in loans, and yet still had some left over??” Yes, that is exactly what they were saying. I repeated this a few times, until they understood that actually, this math was a problem.

Finally, the following week, we figured out that there was a reimbursement that hadn’t been recorded. And therein lies all of the problems of Ben Club. People just do things. They don’t write them down. Or if they do write them down, it’s on a scrap piece of paper that becomes part of a stack. This stack, however, doesn’t do math, nor does it automatically incorporate itself into the group finance statements. So I once again lectured them, trying to drill into their heads that they can do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING with money, unless it is written down in the group books. If they don’t know how to write it down there, then they can’t do it. Finally, with the mystery solved, I go through some more of the steps with the guy that they’ve put in charge of the accounting books. “Hey, do you think you could give me a lesson on all this accounting?” he asks.

At this point I almost explode. I want to shout, “WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST YEAR??? I’ve been teaching you this for OVER A YEAR!” But, instead of saying that, I smile and set up a time where we can work together on this, making sure, he really, deeply understands all this.

Other than that, I finally don’t have much work. Which means I’ve been cleaning my house (that simply means transferring the mess from room to room in  rotating manner). I finally got rid of all the kittens, and pray daily that Luna is either already preggars, or now doesn’t get pregnant at all. I can’t bring her on the flight if she’s pregnant, so that’s an issue.

I’m now down in Cotonou, where I will see off Ally (she is actually a third-year in Benin, and is finally leaving now), celebrate July 4, have my COS medical appointment (just to make sure there aren’t any issues that need to be addressed before leaving the country), work on computer-things, and hang out with other volunteers. Only two more months until I am home! Crazy!

Misogyny and Macs

It just so happens that recent events [the shooting rampage in Santa Barbara] make the first part of my blog, sadly, more relevant. Just one more story where #YesAllWomen have at some point experienced intense fear in rejecting a man, and have often been reduced to a sexual object, instead of considered a person with feelings and desires that aren’t required to align with the males around her. Whatever else you might say, the misogyny the permeates our society definitely played a part. It’s a reminder of the world of fear that women live in. A world where men commit acts of violence again women, small and big, and yet we have little protection. We walk to our cars with keys clutched in our hands. We heard once that the eye was the most vulnerable part on the body, and we’re ready to stab it. Or currently, I grip my moto helmet in a way that it is ready to swing. Where we check the back seats of cars or behind us when we turn down a street. Society tells men that they are entitled to our bodies, and women fear a man’s anger if we try to claim our own space. That is not to say every man is dangerous, but there are enough men to create this atmosphere of terror, because ALL WOMEN have experienced it at some point. Maybe not shooting, but those cat calls as you walk down the street detailing what men want to do to you, then calling you stuck-up when you don’t immediately respond or submit; the rape threats on the internet just for daring to disagree with a man’s point of view: men’s constant reminders that this is their world.

I’m just going to go ahead and link through a few articles I think are good reads mentioning the #YesAllWomen hashtag.

“I’m not an Angry Feminist. I’m a Furious One.” – Jezebel.com

http://jezebel.com/i-am-not-an-angry-feminist-im-a-furious-one-1582748709

“Your Princess Is in Another Castle: Misogyny, Entitlement, and Nerds” – The Daily Beast

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/05/27/your-princess-is-in-another-castle-misogyny-entitlement-and-nerds.html

Collection of the best tweets from Thought Catalog & TIME

http://thoughtcatalog.com/rob-fee/2014/05/14-yesallwomen-tweets-that-everyone-needs-to-see/

http://time.com/114043/yesallwomen-hashtag-santa-barbara-shooting/

#NotAllMen: How Not to Derail Discussions of Women’s Issues – Slate.com

http://www.slate.com/blogs/bad_astronomy/2014/05/27/not_all_men_how_discussing_women_s_issues_gets_derailed.html

Why is it so Hard For People to Get That Elliot Rodger Hated Women? – Gawker

http://gawker.com/why-is-it-so-hard-for-people-to-get-that-elliott-rodger-1582030975

“They follow you home; they yell in the bar; they grab you. And every once in a while, they kill you. “Not All Men,” sure, as the joke goes. But the people who live that the risk, learn to presume the worst. Living you life in preparation for the moment when a man possibly snaps and tries to kill you can bring on some serious resentment. Resentment, not just of men, though there is that, but of the way that even mentioning the risk makes you subject to claims that you are “oversimplifying” how men behave. That you somehow have a lesser read on human nature and violence than that more reasonable sort who, not having to deal with this behavior, claim you must have imagined it. Even when you literally have a YouTube video proving you aren’t making it up.”

Sunday, 18 May 2014

I am currently barricaded inside my house. I have not opened my door all day, except once to tell my water-girl that actually my water is full at the moment, and once to tell my neighbors to call the police if they saw a strange man around.

I am currently a victim of harassment and stalking. There is a man in Kérou (though he is from Cotonou), right now, who knows exactly where I live, despite the fact that I have never invited him to my house. But now he has invited himself over, because he feels, “true love” for me. Oh, and that is despite the fact that I have told him multiple times in no uncertain terms that I want nothing to do with him. I have told him (in French, so that my message would be perfectly clear), that I hate him, that he disgusts me, and that I would choose hell over ever loving/sleeping with him.

This is also in spite of the fact that a few days ago, he approached my friend, Raili, thinking that she was me. I will say that again. HE CAN’T EVEN TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND SOME OTHER WHITE GIRL. He and I talked for maybe a total of an hour almost a year ago. The only reason he ever acquired my number was because he mentioned to me about his job in exporting Beninese products, and I thought he would make a great contact for the work I want to do. Looking back, maybe I should have known that he was bad news when he and his friend forced their way into Maria’s and my card game, despite our obvious hesitance and lack of willingness to include them.

But women are taught this. They are taught to be accommodating. Even in Western culture, we are taught that we must always strive to be agreeable. Let’s say a man tries to talk to you at a bus stop and you say, “No thanks, I’m not interested.” Yet he continues to talk to you. If you, the girl, suddenly shout, “LEAVE ME ALONE I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU,” then you are labeled as crazy. You’re the one that overreacted.

But then a girl is raped, and you ask why she didn’t fight back or why she didn’t try harder to escape. Why DIDN’T she yell? Did she actually want it?

She didn’t fight back, because every day she is told not to. Until the moment a male's member tries to enter her ladyparts (or perhaps another orifice) she is told to be willing and “chill”, adaptable and amenable. Then suddenly, the only space on her body that is left to be her own, that’s the one that she’s supposed to fight for. But she’s already given up so much when that moment arrives, that she knows she will be blamed for this. Society tells us that men are allowed to violate our space, “accidentally” caress our bodies, pressure us beyond where we want to go, and that’s fine, or at least “boys will be boys”. But if we let that happen, and then that same man rapes us, that is our fault for not telling him “no” in the first place. Women deserve more space than some little hole in her body. We deserve our own spaces in public. We deserve the ability to walk down the street without everything about our appearance and existence being subject to judgment and assessment, stares and harassment.

I can sit here and write about Benin, about the fact that “flirting” often times involves a man grabbing a woman’s wrist and not letting go. I can tell you that this has happened to me, and I hit that man over his head with a plastic bottle when he wouldn’t let go, and yet he still believed that he was entitled to my body. I had a male volunteer share with me that his colleagues have recounted sex with women in stories that would appear to any westerner in amounting to nothing less than rape. Specifically, that women kept saying “no”, but the men justify it as a culture necessity; that women can’t appear to like sex, or they’ll be labeled a slut. They have to say “no,” but the man *knows* that she actually really does want it.

But this happens in the Western world. Guys buy you a drink, and they think they are entitled to have sex with you. Or you where a short skirt, and suddenly if you are raped you wanted anyway. That when a man thinks of himself as a “nice guy”, women are the problem when they don’t throw themselves at him. My sister had a guy follow her through the streets of Paris, wanting to know why he couldn’t find “friendship” there, and would she please, please help him? She refused, but he followed her for many more blocks, then came up to her and said that he had “refound” her, and thus it was fate, and she should pretty-please help him. I had a guy in Italy watch me for hours as I was waiting for the train and trying to sleep, move to different spots to slowly get closer, before finally coming and talking to me. Another, old man offered to pay me money to come to his house. There is a persistent rape culture and ongoing harassment in the US and Europe that permeates much of our society. And there are fringe men that do actively stalk and/or harass women. My current Beninese stalked is a fringe man as well. But their existence continues because society doesn’t always outright condemn them. In fact, I showed a string of texts to a colleague, who told me the guy was “just already treating you like a Beninese wife. Ha ha ha.” There are plenty of “nice guy” complaints, Men’s Rights Actitivits, Pick Up Artists, and so on that contribute to this culture of entitlement for men and fear and belittlement for women.

Yet, I am somewhat thankful that the phrase “NO MEANS NO” is drilled into all of our minds from a young age nowadays in the US. It hasn’t eliminated rape or sexual assault/harassment. We still have far to go. But at least I know for the majority of the time, if I say no, and then I say, “NO MEANS NO,” the guy, however begrudgingly, will leave me alone. He might say I’m crazy. Go home and post of facebook that I’m “stuck up”. He might only actually leave me alone if I claim to have a fictitious boyfriend [sidenote: #MalePrivilege means saying “I have a boyfriend” is the only way to get guys to leave you alone, because they respect the “claim” of another male more than they respect your lack of interest in them. Here, even claiming to be the property of another man isn’t much protection. Here, men seem simply unable to imagine a world where they don’t always get exactly the women they want, married or no] But he’ll most of the time leave. And if not, I can take out a restraining order against him. That’s the beauty of the US. That at least I have a hope that the justice system will at least attempt to work for me. And while there are plenty of women who have stories of the police that ignore them, judge them, or imply that whatever happened was their own fault—or even police that have raped women when called to handle a domestic dispute—I still would say it’s better than here.

But what we need is a world—every single country—where YES MEANS YES. Where boys don’t just stop because they hear “No”, but wait to start until they hear “YES”. [And then of course, each step, each time, after that must be met with a confirmation that it’s okay to proceed. Because one “Yes” is not a carte blanche, thank you.] Where women aren’t thing to be won by pursuit, wooing, and harassment. Where women are fully functional and autonomous human beings who have sex because they want to, not because someone pestered them enough that they let him have an orgasm in or around her body so he’ll shut up. Where men don’t try to trick women into having sex by claiming to be “friends”, and then get mad that they were put in the “friendzone” instead of getting that sex they think they were entitled to for being “nice”. Where women don’t feel guilty for refusing a man just because he spent a dollar to bring her flowers. Where even putting a ring on someone’s finger doesn’t forever and always protect from being found guilty of rape.

On the other hand, in Benin, it’s also saddening knowing that I have more advantages than any other women here. I have a whole string of people I could call up to protect me. I know that despite the lack of protections that exist for Beninese women, I would be safer than the average woman here. I was recently in an accident involving a man on a moto hitting me while I was on my bike. Despite the dubious blame (he was traveling far faster than he should have, but I also made a bad judgment call when turning), even people who witnessed the accident thought I should have brought him to the police. The only reason he wasn’t arrested was because I hobbled away, with my pride and buttocks bruised more than any other real injury.

I could call up the police right now. I have the number of a policeman (who has also tried to sleep with me, but at least understood the concept of rejection, and that’s a story for a different day) who would come and help me. I have warned my neighbors to impede strange men coming to my house. If Hubert and I had any sort of working relationship, I could call him up and most likely within the hour, he would have this man under surveillance, arrested and/or thrown out of town. There is definitely a privilege that comes with being white and with being American. People here might fear Obama sending a drone to this little town if they let me acquire one more scratch on my body. The mayor’s office fears repercussions from the national government; especially in the shadow of Kate Puzey [Now there’s another #YesAllWomen story. It is suspected that this girl was killed as retribution for reporting a teacher raping his students]. While it personally makes me feel a little safer, it simultaneously disgusts me that not all women have this.

I also have the advantage that this particular person doesn’t actually seem to be a very adept rapist. In fact, he has no intention of raping me, at least as he understands it. He has got the crime of harassment down pat, but claims that he means me exactly zero harm in coming to talk to me. [Quote: “You don’t HAVE to kiss me.” (emphasis mine)] And he has given me the advantage of telling me the exact hour in which he expects to call on me. Many women aren’t afforded such a luxury by men who intend to violate their wishes, space, and bodies. Furthermore, I have Peace Corps, who can call up the guy with some more official-ness than myself and tell the guy to back off. I called the Safety and Security adviser today, and gave him this guy’s number. He will call the guy, soon hopefully.

Nevertheless, I don’t feel safe. When he met my friend Raili, she claims all he did was shake her hand multiple times. But there was one time that he called me on a different number, and seemed to take an unusually sexual pleasure in just hearing my voice, so much that I felt violated. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of my voice or my handshake. And I fear the escalation of his anger at my refusal. If he seems to not at all respect my boundaries, what are the boundaries that he would respect?

Thursday, 22 May 2014

So the good news, people, is that I’m still here, safe and sound. I did have the Safety and Security person in Peace Corps [Noel] call this guy, to tell him to bugger off, and threaten him, or whatever. Noel calls me back, saying that this guy is perhaps actually a little unhinged. Noel delivered his spiel about how I’m American, and this guy needs to leave me alone, or there could be legal problems, etc. And the guy LAUGHS. He actually laughs. Then he sends me a message immediately, asking me why I have “gotten thin” like this. Weirdo.

So anyway, he promised to come to my house at 7PM. I told my neighbors tell people I’m not at home and to call the police if anyone shows up. All of my doors are firmly dead-bolted.

Then, a little before this chosen hour, it starts to rain. And I don’t mean just sprinkle, I mean a TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. I look up to the skies, and say, “Well played, God”. Here there is this guy who claims to love me, and claims that God will open my heart [or at least my legs] to him, that God gave me a good choice, so ultimately I will choose him, the guy who loves my white skin. Who tells me that I am an ungodly creature if I don’t talk to him.

But now when he wants to see me, guess what, he can’t, thanks to nature and the fact that he has a moto. I had this huge inclination to actually call him up, and be like, “Yeah, whose side is GOD on now?”

But I didn’t. He called me twice more the next day, but I didn’t answer, obviously, and since then I haven’t heard anything. I’m sure he’ll call me in a few days, or send me another message, but that’s whatever. I do live in slight fear as I walk around my village that any guy could be him [oh, because I don’t actually remember what this guy looks like. I didn’t really take him in when I met him, because I found him to be an annoying person who would not play much of a role in my life. After thinking that we could be work partners and giving him my number, he immediately sent me a message saying that he loves me. While I was still sitting beside him, and less than an hour after meeting him. So I wrote him off. And now, I have no idea what he looks like. Yikes] The fear, however, is less. I know that he was only here for a few days, doing something related to his business. And Raili said that he mentioned going to Lagos, Nigeria soon. Since he hasn’t contacted me, I kind of think this means that he has left. And hopefully that is the very LAST time that he ever bothers me to this level again.

IN OTHER NEWS, I finally made one decision for my future. I am no longer staying in Benin. I guess I simply realized that it was time to move on. [I’m in no way blaming it on this guy. If it were about him, I might stay just to spite him, prove that he can't keep me in fear forever.] These past to years have been an amazing, life changing experience, in spite of, or maybe even because of all the drama and trauma. I know now what I want out of life. I’m still a little unsure of how to get there, but I’m working on it. But I think that at this point, Benin has done all that it can for me, and it’s time to take the next step. So, officially, I will be leaving the country on September 5, 2014. I’m moving back to my mom’s house, try to avoid gaining too much weight from all the wonderful food, and figuring life out from there.

In the meantime, I still have plenty going on here. I went to visit Constant’s school again the other day. Things are going along really, really well. All of the desks, blackboards, etc are finished. The kids can actually sit, and keep their books in the desk, and have no risk of falling off. The blackboard is obviously useful. Constant actually teaches two classes now, because the other teacher was not getting paid, so he had to stop. So Constant leaves an exercise on the board for one group of students, and then moves on to the other one.

The classroom, with all the children sitting at real desks!

Recess: playing football with a deflated ball

The garden is getting on very nicely as well. The okra has already grown up, and Constant has sent the kids home with a lot of it. At this point, the project hasn’t been able to pay for someone to feed the kids at the school. That comes next year, after the corn has been harvested. But the corn can’t be planted until the rainy season, which is June. Nevertheless, it is really good that these kids are getting more nutrients. Almost all of them are malnourished. Okra has some good vitamins in them. The cucumbers are also ready, as well as the fake-“spinach” [just some other green, leafy vegetable]. I’m really excited about how everything is coming along.

Constant, in the Garden

Okra growing.

There are only two more weeks or so of class, before all the students will be pulled out to work in their families’ fields. Constant has already enlisted the help of parents to till the earth, and then later he has ensured the parents will let the kids go to help plant in the school’s field.

The chickens are also installed. However, this is the season where livestock often get sick [the beginning of the rainy season, and then the beginning of the dry season as well]. So, while I was there, Constant pulled a few kids out of class, and we went to give them medicine. It’s just something that dissolves in water. The chickens didn’t seem much into drinking it, however, so the kids caught the chickens one by one and force-fed them the medicine. It was kind of funny to see them chase the chickens around. But it’s good the kids obviously are used to chickens. They know how to catch them, and they can tell them apart, so they know when they’ve given the medicine to each. I was impressed, because, obviously this is something that I really have no knowledge of. It does give me more hope for this project, though, knowing that all of the things this project relies on will be able to be taken care of by community members. There is not need for outside experts or whatever else.

Catching chickens to give them medicine

So in conclusion, the project is going really well. I’m pretty much finished with all of my contributions [or rather yours]. Now it just depends on the community taking it from here. I think Raili is going to do some stuff too. For example, Constant wants to plant Moringa at the school and in the community. This is a plant that has amazing quantities of vitamins, protein, etc. And it grows incredibly well. It might really be able to help with the malnutrition. She also wants to set up hand-washing stations, so that the kids learn about better hygiene. So I’m also really excited about all the possibilities, even after I leave.

June is shaping up to be a pretty busy month for me. I have the Business Club Competition mid-June. I am bringing two students to Parakou, where they will compete with students of other volunteers with the business plans they’ve created. So right now I’m helping them finish up writing it. It’s been kind of a hard process. I gave the students a list of questions that would be needed in the Business Plan, and told them to find the answers for the projects they wanted to do. One student is writing a plan to start a beekeeping operation, and the other to start making shea butter and soap. I have even given them some resources. But they seem to struggle with completing it. The form has things like, “Description of Project” and then under in Italics, something like, “What are the main goals of the project?” But they come to me and say, “What does this mean, description of project?” I point to the wording underneath. “Oh, that’s what it means.” Sigh. But we’ve been meeting regularly, and trying to work through the form. Now we just have to type it up and then I’m going to work on public speaking with them to prepare them.

Another thing is the girl’s camp that we’re putting on the weekend after. It is fully funded! Thanks for the support! Now we’re finalizing to lesson plans and getting the supplies, etc. It’s coming up quickly! Raili is putting a lot of work into it, I think because she is getting no where with her other projects. Hubert continues to be unhelpful. She is trying to accomplish things outside of the mayor’s office, but still needs at least a tiny bit of help. Hubert keeps making promises, but then backing out. I know it must be so frustrating for her. But I’m glad we are at least doing some things here that don’t involve Hubert.

I am also really excited; I am working on getting permission from my school to do a survey. It’s really low-key, but basically a survey for my artisans. I’ll be asking them about their businesses, management tools, and access to credit. I hope this can be enlightening for the opportunities and realities for small tradesmen and women here.

So, yeah, a bunch of things to do before I’m through. That’s good, though, at least I have positive things to look forward to up until I leave.

I also got to meet Maria’s parents. They are visiting Benin now, and came to Kérou. We met at Sous Les Neems, our favorite bar, to watch Maria’s team [Atheltico Madrid] in the Championship League finals. Unfortunately they lost, but I had a nice time getting to know her mom and dad. Then we also met up the next day; I made lunch, and for dinner we had Yam Pilé with Maria’s neighbors.

Pounding yams!

Final Note: Sad to say, but I'm actually posting this on a friend's computer. Mine finally kicked the bucket, with only a few months to go. I have been keeping backups, and a Peace Corps worker in Nati has removed my hardrive to make an external hardrive with all of my stuff on it, much like my host brother in Senegal did when my computer died there as well. However, memory can be kind of useless without a screen, motherboard, mouse, keyboard, etc, you know, all the things that make up a successful computer. So blogs may not come again, or if they do, they might be very brief. I will subject to my friend's mercy. But perhaps this will mean have to learn to function, at least for a bit, without constantly being on a computer. Just a few more months, and I'll finally be back in Americaland, flush with cash to purchase a new, healthy mac. Sigh.

In my life, I have owned three laptops. Two of them have died in my possession while I was in West Africa. The third I left with my Senegalese host brother, so I'm sure it has also met its end here. RIP, beautiful, brave laptops. May you blend in spectacularly with all the other beaten down and discarded items on this continent.

Okay, fine, here are some obligatory kitten pics:

Gino; the cat that Raili will take

"Hold on, you got something on your nose!"
"MA! Stop! Leave my nose alone, you're embarrassing me!"