What is Development?

So, seeing as I will be spending the two years working in development work and so on, I think I should take some time to discuss the implications of the work that I do, the work other organizations do, the role of development workers and NGOs in general, and the role of AID money.

This is a very complicated subject. And I’m not sure if my discussion will help anything or anyone. It might even make me doubt the work I’m doing here, but that’s okay. I just think it’s important to discuss.

The mission of the Peace Corps has three parts. One of them I happen to be currently excelling at, and that is the third one. It is to help promote the understanding of other cultures on the part of Americans. I imagine this blog is helping you understand Beninese culture more than you ever believed possible.

Another part of the Peace Corps mission is to help Beninese understand American culture. I hope I am carrying out that just as successfully.

The first part is to help people of interested countries meet their needs for trained men and women (for development). And although this is first, it is only 1/3 of the mission. Some volunteers here discuss the realities of Peace Corps service. Are we really here for development? Can we really accomplish anything in development? Or are we just really here to exchange cultural ideas, create a more open world that will hopefully lead to development, one day?

I mean, how much can one volunteer do? In only two years? I have seen the difference volunteers have made in individual lives, but how much does that really aid development? For development, the whole country has to move forward.

For development to happen, INFRASTRUCTURE is paramount. Things like schools and roads. And internet. (Oh, my kingdom for good internet!) For example, one of the problems facing the mechanics in Kérou is that if they need a material (iron, etc), they have to order it, and thanks to the conditions of the roads, and thus the non-inclination of people to travel them, getting these materials takes forever and is expensive.

So for the country to move forward, they need better infrastructure. And that has to come from the government; individual citizens can’t build roads. I know you conservatives/neoliberals/libertarians out there are saying, “Oh, just let free enterprise build these roads!” With what? There is no capital for businesses to build these roads, no matter how much they would ultimately benefit from them being built. (And besides, it’s the American and State governments that build our roads)

Of course people here distrust their government. This is understandable, considering the rampant corruption that exists. There are signs all over Porto-Novo that say, “Those who pay their taxes build their city.” But some many of these businesses in Benin are informal. Hardly anyone actually pays taxes. Oh, and also you don’t have to pay property taxes if your house is still “under construction.” So people leave a part of their house unfinished so it is “under construction” in perpetuity.

So we go around the government—the neo-liberal’s dream—through NGOs and what not. But do NGOs actually benefit society? Or are they just taking over what SHOULD be the responsibility of the government? Are they weakening the government to the point that the government will be destroyed and irrelevant? And not in a good way?

While to some this might seem like a good idea, but on the other hand, to whom are NGOs accountable? Maybe their donors, maybe the public. Here is a story of accountability actually working:

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was an organization which claimed to be a proponent of women’s health (Komen). One day it decide to cut funding to an organization which provides reproductive care to (mostly) low-income women, just because that organization happens to provide a service that some people find objectionable. The Internet (or at least the part of the Internet that I frequent) exploded with outrage. Just a few days later, Komen reversed its decision, but the damage was done. Many began to doubt that this charity truly supported women’s health. Even beyond this particular instance, people began to delve into the realities of Komen—once a lauded organization, above all suspicion, immune to questioning. But now people were asking questions, and what they found was that this organization—among many other flaws—owned stock in companies, such as ones that produce machines for breast exams. Therefore, they financially benefit each time a woman is convinced to get a regular check up—not necessarily a bad thing—but furthermore, would actually suffer financially if a cure for breast cancer was found, which is their stated goal. Also people started questioning their habit of putting the “pink ribbon” design on things that were unhealthy, even known to increase your risk of cancer. As this information came to light, this organization was shamed, and has since lost a lot of its reputation and revenue.

And so the public held Komen accountable. But what if they hadn’t made that monumental mistake—of forgetting that women cared not only for the health of their breasts, but for the health and rights of their vaginas as well? Perhaps Komen would have continued profiting off the illnesses of women’s breasts, with very few people being the wiser.

And here, in Benin, the internet isn’t prominent. Misinformation is everywhere. There are very few regulations as to what you can claim, what you can do. Some people even create NGOs because they are unemployed and need a job. So if they can convince outside organizations to give them money for whatever development dream they have concocted, then they have an income. They don’t really have much expectations in the way of accountability. At least government officials are forced to be accountable on somewhat regular intervals. At least there are international organizations which can hold governments accountable and offer incentives, though this is a very arduous process.

Even the NGOs with the best intentions, however, can be harmful. Let’s say you see that people in Benin are malnourished (this is a prominent problem). So you say, “Ah, let’s send them food” and suddenly tons of food arrives in Benin. So some people get their food for free, and they get to eat for a day. But then what happens is that the price plummets, so that all the people who were producing food before can no longer make a living. Now they have food they can’t sell, they can’t make money, so they stop producing food and they go hungry. This turns into a vicious cycle where, with our intention of saving the world, we actually make nations dependent on our Aid, in a crisis from which they cannot escape.

So what do you do??? When there are people starving, isn’t it your responsibility to feed them? But this does not ultimately benefit them, in fact they are worse off. So do you let people starve to death as you try to instruct the rest of the nation to develop? What do you do about the corruption of the government? What about the exploitation by Multi-National Corporations?

As a little peon of a volunteer, there really isn’t much I can do about those huge problems. And that, I think, is one of the beauties of the Peace Corps. We are individual volunteers with individual projects, working for the betterment of the nation and the world. We are not given a lot of capital. And even if we do get grants for our community, the community actually has to contribute a significant portion to the project as well. Therefore, we know we have the dedication of our town. We are there to help build something, not to just hand something to our community already complete.

And if all else fails, at least we can work to develop relationships with people across the globe. I will learn more about other cultures, other ways of life, and I can share with them American culture as well. We all learn and grow, and hopefully if there is enough learning and growing, then these nations will progress, and the developed world will good partners to this end.

Okay, that last part is way to idealistic. Lets admit that relationships magically growing into development, is not a realistic outcome. Making a difference in the lives of individuals and my own personal growth, that’s a realistic goal. And that is the least I can hope for in the next two years. If I do more, then that will be excellent.

[I think this is the secret to surviving the Peace Corps. To have the lowest possible expectations for everything—yet hope for the best. For example if I had been mentally preparing to live in a hut, no electricity, no running water, in a village of 1,000 people or less, then I would have been as happy as a clam to find out I was living in Kérou, and saved myself from a lot of fretting, and saved you from having to listen to me.]

I received an interesting piece of advice from another Trainee here, who in turn received this advice from a doctor. Their point was on a (metaphorical) battlefield, who do you try to save? The people who only have a scratch don’t need your help. They will be fine until you have more free time to help them. And there are some people that are wounded beyond hope. The people that have limbs blown off and are moments away from bleeding out; those are the people that you would be wasting your time on. And as much as it hurts, as much as you want to save them and make them a miracle, you actually need to walk away and help the people that have a more realistic chance to survive. The ones who are severely wounded, but for whom there remains hope. And that’s what you need to do for development. You don’t need to help the people that are mostly well off. You can’t help the “poorest of the poor”, or would be wasting your time doing so. You need to help the people who are still very poor, but have a chance to make it. (And for the “poorest of the poor”, I would recommend that there be some sort of social safety net, but that is getting back to government and infrastructure).

Anyway, it will be interesting to see how my views on this change over the next two years. Stay tuned!

Another complex consideration is what role religious organizations can and should have in development. Today we had Catholic Relief Services (CRS) come and speak to us. The Peace Corps, not surprisingly, is filled with liberal-leaning folks, so we all tend to be wary of religious organizations.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think it’s good to deny the value entirely of religious organizations in development. I think each one deserves to be evaluated on their own merit. In the same way, I think there can be decent, loving, missionaries out there. But when I stayed in Parakou on my way to Kérou, other volunteers and I stayed at a missionary’s house (the family wasn’t there at the time). While I can expect that they aren’t trying to assimilate much to the local culture (in fact, assimilation is kind of the opposite of what a missionary wants to do), it is bewildering to understand what someone who living in a fancy, gated house with a trampoline in their yard is trying to accomplish. More than that, however, their dogs were really, really mean. And I don’t trust people who have mean dogs. I took that as a sign that they are more concerned about not getting robbed than creating a loving environment for people to come and receive the Word they are trying to spread.

On the other hand, someone who is genuinely trying to live in emulation of the life of Jesus, the caring for others, spreading the love of a higher being, I think that is commendable. And that is actually the exact difference from what I see wrong in a lot of churches today. Every church hangs a cross in their building. Why? Why do we spend SO MUCH time focusing on the death of Jesus? Some people assert that this is the whole point of Christianity, but personally I believe this is MISSING THE WHOLE POINT of Jesus’ teachings, his life. People who spend so much time shouting about avoiding hell and thinking they are secure just because they go to church every Sunday, meanwhile they treat their fellow humans like scum, those are the people I can’t stand.

Even Gandhi said something like, “I like your Christ; it’s these Christians I don’t like.”

Jesus preached to love your neighbor. To live in harmony with others. To NOT JUDGE other people. To try to live a good, moral life. To give up all your possessions, give the money to the poor, and follow him.

(I remember seeing a comic where Jesus is talking saying, “Love them as I have loved you, feed them, clothe them, shelter them, and let me deal with judging them.”

Then someone asks, “But what if they are gay or worship other gods?”

His response: “DID I STUTTER???”)

It’s frustrating to find many Christians who seem to think the only important thing is saying they believe in Jesus. I think it is more important to live the example that he showed. If you truly want to be Christian, you would strive every day to live as Jesus lived. So I respect organization and people that try to work towards this goal. And I especially respect people that do this without proselytizing outright.

St. Francis said, “At all time preach the gospel. IF NECESSARY, use words.”

The New York Times published an editorial a few years ago, mentioning that if we liberals can get over our aversion to religious organizations, and realize that there really are religious people out there, doing good, and work with them, this effort toward development would go a lot smoother. And I think this is a good sentiment.

Then CRS mentions they are working on the fight against HIV/AIDS. And still insist that condoms are evil.

ARE!? YOU!? JOKING!?

To many volunteers—especially in Africa—this is an unforgiveable stance. I think the Catholic Church does so much damage with their anti-condoms / birth-control stance. We need REAL solutions for THIS world. They insist all that we need is Abstinence and Faithfulness. But here is a quote from a documentary I watched about AIDS in the slums of Kenya:

“All my life, I’ve watched rich Kenyans with their TVs, stereos, fancy cars, big houses. I live next to an open sewer. When it rains, I have to stand on a stool to get out of the river of sh*t that flows under my door. The only real pleasure I have is sex. And now you Mzungu [white people] come in here and tell me I can’t do that because of AIDS? F*ck you.”

http://current.com/shows/vanguard/76337282_the-kibera-slum.htm

I think that if you want to live and work in a diverse society, you can’t go around forcing your morals in exchange for “development” and “aid.” If you want to help someone, this help should be unconditional (like Jesus’s love for humanity). [Or at least based on a set of universal human values, not arbitrary religious morals.]

While religious organizations are good because they involve a very driven and motivated group of people, as well as donors, it is so frustrating, because there are so many rigid ideals that can’t be moved, even for the current realities of the world. Why can’t they just accept that Jesus wants you to love your neighbor, and not condemn them if they happen to be having extramarital sex? I’m not saying we need to open up a condom factory in the Vatican, but let’s not spread lies, like Pope Benedict saying that condoms actually help the spread of AIDS (2009).

Luckily, he later revised his statement, and in fact since then has said that—in the sole case of fighting AIDS—condoms may be acceptable. As a last resort.

Hey, it's a step in the right direction.

Accounting & Agriculture

Thursday, 23 August 2012

I hope you enjoyed my last blog even though it was impossibly long and got a little too uncomfortable in some parts, I believe.

For now, I’m back in Porto Novo, where I have started the technical part of my training. Any time I call my Mom, she just laughs, and laughs, and laughs at me. She laughs at sweet, sweet irony. This is because I always insisted that I wanted nothing to do with business. As I mentioned before, I grew up around my parent’s office, but it was mostly doing tedious tasks, such as affixing labels to envelopes, collating and stapling reports together, and so on. I hated that. I insisted that I would never, ever, ever, have a desire to work in an office, to be an accountant, to own my own business. My parents resigned themselves to the fact that of their 3 intelligent, courageous daughters, none of them would ever want to buy the business they started. And don’t get excited Mom, I still haven’t changed my mind on that part.

But here I am, in West Africa, defining and writing about the importance of accounting, learning about balance sheets and depreciation, being taught about bookkeeping, writing a business plan (or rather how to teach people to write a business plan, start bookkeeping and so on, for their own business). I’ve been given books about entrepreneurs, how to start your own business, marketing; the list goes on and on. My mom is probably beside herself with laughter while reading this. And my dad, somewhere, is having a good laugh too.

I’m not quite sure how I ended up on this path. Okay, yes, I took advanced Calculus in High School (and liked it), but I was OVERJOYED when I found out this meant I didn’t have to take a math class ever at college. I briefly considered majoring in English, but went with History instead. No Businesses classes for me. I tried to run in the opposite direction. But then somehow I got roped into this project the business school was doing. They needed someone who spoke French, which I did; and I wanted to go to Africa, so I was delighted that they were headed to Cameroon. And now I am here, back in Africa, doing the business thing again. I almost feel like my mom, who married a farmer, who somehow got dragged her into accounting, her least favorite part of business. I love you, Africa, why do you do this to me?

To be fair to myself, though, I would like to reiterate that as a child I only did those terribly boring tasks, and that’s what turned me off from the office world. I still would not want to be a secretary, or work a mundane desk job, but I do enjoy things that make me think analytically. Work at my parent’s office got more exciting when I was given tasks that required logical thinking, complicated ordering and organizing, strategic consideration, and so on. Things that I had to calculate, analyze. Perhaps if they had given me an interesting tax return to prepare at age 5, I would have become an accountant after all.

But if truth be told, and yes it hurts my pride a little to admit it, is that I am perfectly happy here, doing what I am doing. Ah, my mom and dad are sitting there with smug smiles on their faces, “Haha, we told you so!” I am reading this entrepreneurship book thinking, “That doesn’t sound so bad!” Oh, I will never, ever live this down. One day, if I ever do have my own successful enterprise, my mom will constantly remind me, “Remember when you said you hated business?” My only way out of this is to publish a wildly successful book and never have to do the business thing. Or something like that. Or run with the translator thing instead. Hmm…some sort of translation business…

Nope, no plans. I cannot make any plans. Life doesn’t work with plans. If I say I love business (I’m not quite at that level yet), I’ll probably find myself working as artist within the decade. If I say I want to do something science-y, LIFE will make me a priest (Not that those two couldn’t technically go together, but that’s a whole other topic…)

So for now I’m learning business (which I never thought I’d want) and living in Africa (which I’ve wanted for 5 years). I have no idea what these next two years hold in store for me, but I sure hope they will be excellent. I am excited though to be done with training. It is important to learn, but somewhat boring. And I really, really am done living with a host family. Not for any reason, except I want my independence. I want to be able to do things on my time. And so on. It’s only 3 more weeks, but they can’t come quick enough. I will miss Porto Novo a little, but I don’t feel like I really know this place. I spend 9 hours a day in class (with 2 hours worth of tiny breaks in there, but never enough time to really do something). Then I just want to come home and relax. I am looking for the less structured life of post as well. I will make my own schedule.

In other, annoying news, I had some money stolen from me. This is actually the third time I think it happened, but the other two times I thought it was my fault, that I had misplaced something. The first was a few weeks after my arrival in Porto Novo, I realized that they money I had changed over from American dollars was missing. Now, I had divided it up between all of my different suitcases, since I was paranoid of losing one on the trip from Cotonou to Porto Novo, or of someone stealing it. But I convinced myself that I had left one packet of money behind, or else someone in transit had taken it. But then, just Sunday night I put about $50 (or rather, the equivalent in Francs) in my purse, because I was planning on buying an internet key the next day. Then when I got to school on Monday, I realized that I only had $40. I had, however, switched around the money a few times in and out of my wallet (I obsess over carrying cash. Which is why I hate it and would use a debit/credit card for everything, if only I could), so I figured I had just miscalculated. Or that I was perhaps going a little crazy. Then Tuesday evening, when I got back from school, again I put a total of $60 in my wallet (I didn’t have the bills to put in just $50). Later I went to eat dinner in the main room. When I came back, I checked my wallet, and there was $20 missing. I flipped out. I called Sasha, who I thought would be in his room. But he was actually in Cotonou. I freaked out on the phone to him, then he called my mom, who came into my room to talk to me. I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel comfortable approaching my mom about it. I felt weird. I explained to her what happened, almost hysterical (I know, I KNOW, it’s just $20. But it’s the principle of the thing. And the fact that total $30 I had stolen from me in 3 days is how much I get paid in 10 days here). She told me how once some little twerp from next door had come into her room and stolen money (they don’t lock their front doors during the day, since people are always coming and going. It would be a hassle). Although, in my case I’m pretty sure it had to be someone in the house, since the only window of time I wasn’t sitting beside my wallet was for dinner. So whoever stole it had to be someone who knew that I was called to dinner. She asked me why the money wasn’t locked in my trunk. Usually, I do keep my money locked in the trunk that Peace Corps gave me. But I had taken this out, like I said, for a special intention. Anyway, talking to her calmed me down. I knew it was just a thing that happens, and something I couldn’t change. The situation was still frustrating, but I wasn’t irate anymore.

The most annoying thing about it was that I know whoever stole my money thought they were being real slick. Like they didn’t take all of the money, just one of the bills. They probably thought I wouldn’t notice. Even if I don’t get the money back, I want to look at whoever took the money and say, “I’M NOT STUPID. I watch my money. I have a beautiful memory that allows me to remember exactly how much money I put in a wallet (Though, apparently a naïveté that can convince me that I’m crazy, not a victim, when that money goes missing). I once memorized how much gas costs at every different gas stations I passed on my drive from Charleston to home. I can tell you the cost of every brand of tuna at every store in Stillwater. I can recount to you the prices of bottles of liquor in 3 stores in Porto Novo and one in Kérou. Don’t mess with me and my money.”

(Oh god, I am an accountant. Yikes!)

Although, of course, what happened is preferable to them taking all of my cash. And I am very, very grateful that the thief didn’t spring for the higher ticket items, such as my iPod or, god forbid, my laptop, which were both sitting out. At least, when push comes to shove, I can always go to the bank and withdraw more cash if I need to. I have that luxury. But I don’t trust Beninese mail enough to send a laptop or an iPod. So really, this is the least worrisome of all crimes that could have happened to me. Plus, I’m looking at this in a positive light. That I only had money taken from me, but this has put me on guard. So I lost some money, but perhaps this will protect me at a later date, if someone has the temptation to actually steal my computer or other electronics, or more cash. They will be safely locked inside of my trunk inside my locked room of my locked house. This is not too different from my usual precautions. Even in safe, safe Stillwater, I always locked my door, and depending on the level of paranoia I felt, I would hide my laptop under my seat cushion when I left. Or if I were gone overnight, I would lock it in my trunk. But I never dreamed it would be necessary to lock my bedroom door when I am 30 feet away, eating dinner. Oh well. Lesson learned.

On a lighter note, I just read the book, “Eat, Pray, Love,” which I enjoyed immensely. It is about a woman traveling around the world, searching for herself. And while I don’t feel as though I’m searching for myself (I have a tattoo that reminds me every day that “Not all those who wander are lost”), I still found a lot to relate to in this book. The part I found most interesting was one section where she was talking about her desire to sometimes be more quiet, more introverted. As my readers will know, this is exactly opposite of my problems. But this is what she said:

“I have always been so fascinated by these wraith-like, delicate souls. Always wanted to be the quiet girl. Probably precisely because I’m not. It’s the same reason I think that thick, dark hair is so beautiful—precisely because I don’t have it, because I can’t have it. But at some point you have to make peace with what you were given and if God wanted me to be a shy girl with thick, dark hair, He would have made me that way, but He didn’t. …It doesn’t mean I can’t improve myself as a human being, honing my virtues and working daily to minimize my vices. For instance, I’m never going to be a wallflower, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a serious look at my talking habits and alter some aspects for the better—working within my personality”

I think this is exactly what I’m trying to accomplish, just in the opposite direction. To work within this personality with which I was bestowed, to constantly working towards becoming a better, stronger woman. To use the tools of my mind and my soul to best serve my community. It’s a daily struggle, sometimes. But I’ll keep working at it, finding the strength within myself.

(Additionally, it’s reassuring to know that someone wants to be like me, while I am striving to be the outgoing type. It also happily contradicts St. Paul, in 2 Timothy when he says, “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.” I have wanted to shout at him, “Maybe he gave YOU a bold spirit, but he did give some of us a timid one, you arrogant jerk!”) Ah, I just called a saint a jerk. Oops… But if I’ve managed to maintain readers through my political discussions, talks about voodoo, and through mentioning my bowel movements, I feel as though you can take this as well.

Sunday, 26 August 2012

Yesterday was a good day. In the morning, the other volunteers and I had a tour of Songhaï. This is a place I’ve mentioned before; we often have classes there. But this tour was the first time we learned about the inner-workings of this place. It really is an amazing concept, and I shall share it with you.

The name “Songhaï” comes from an ancient West-African empire (in modern-day Mali). The founder of the environmental compound in Benin chose this name, because the empire of Songhaï was said to be self-sustainable, and that fit his purposes quite well. He wished to create an agricultural place which could be organic, self-sustainable, and so on. Now, technically, it’s not exactly self-sustainable; it does sell syrups, seeds, eggs, chickens, rice, etc, etc that it produces to outsiders, but for the most part, it is a very independent place.

Palm trees & Animal Pens @ Songhaï 

Pond of Fish at Songhaï

The principle of Songhaï is that is it encompasses 3 different elements that feed back into each other: crop, animal, and fish production. Crops obviously help feed the animals. Waste from the animals is actually kept to produce maggots. (Gross, I know, but stick with me, and just think about the good things for the environment, rather than just sending all waste away, so we don’t have to think about it). Maggots are very high in protein, so they are fed to the fish and the fish grow really well. They need more protein than carbs. Waste water from the fish is used to fertilize the fields. These processes are not all 100%, there is a mix of everything.

The coolest part, in my opinion, is the use of water-hyacinths. A lot of times, these plants are regarded as impediments in rivers, since they inhibit the passage of boats and fishermen, etc. I actually mentioned this problem when I talked about the fishers of the edge of Porto Novo. However, I found out that these plants are actually there to clean out the water. They only grow well when the water is really, really dirty. And apparently if they successfully clean up the water, they will disappear, leaving seeds floating on the top, until the water gets dirty enough again for them to grow.

Anyway, Songhaï uses them to great effect. They have a little sewer system, where all of their waste water, such as from the kitchen, fields, etc, goes. This is brought into a water place that has a lot of water-hyacinths that clean it up before it is released into the fish pond. Also, the bathroom that is used by all the people that are currently working in Songhai, flushes into a open tank filled with hyacinths. So all of this waste is decomposed properly. And the best part is it doesn’t even smell, since there are flowers that are doing the decomposing! What a beautiful system.

Finally, the water-hyacinths when they have lived out their waste-ending lives, along with other waste, are used to produced bio-gas. This gas, along with solar panels located throughout the center, help power all of the buildings and functions of this place (although some electricity from the city is still used).

Songhaï builds its own machines as well (though they do rely on outside materials for things that would be too complicated to get themselves). For example, they have their own kiln that makes the bricks for buildings. The clay comes from villages in Benin, but the wood for the fire comes from Songhaï (and, of course, they have a replanting program for the trees they use). They have their own machines to palm oil (this is a really popular product all over Benin). When the parts of the palm are taken to make the oil, there is a huge bunch left behind, on which they grow fancy oyster mushrooms. They have a machine for processing rice. White rice is actually has very little health value (although unfortunately most people tend to value it over the more nutritious brown rice). However, there are many nutrients found in the husks of white rice, so Songhaï has this process by which they “par-boil” the rice in their husks, thereby transferring the nutrients to the rice, before removing the husks.

I think Songhaï is such an amazing place. Another cool thing is that a lot of their workforce is made up interns, who come there for 6 months or so to learn all about agricultural things. It is free for Beninese 18-30 years old, but everyone else would have to pay. However, the gradates then become part of a huge community of former Songhaï workers. They can go back to their communities and implement these agricultural strategies and so on. They always have support from Songhaï if they want to undertake new endeavors. All of this is so incredible.

Friday, there was actually a Songhaï graduate who came and talked to my class. He started his own NGO, which he hopes to make into a “mini-Songhaï” one day. This project helps combat youth unemployment, which is a huge problem in Benin. And, of course, it means the population will have more access to healthier, organic foods.

As a sidenote, I would like to mention that this graduate came to speak with us with his co-worker, a young woman who brought her child with her. Her child was mostly good, but then started getting a little fussy, like she wanted to eat. So the woman, still sitting at the table and facing us, just pulled out her boob right there and fed the kid. I think this is wonderful. Well, firstly, the concept of childcare doesn’t really exist here. Women carry their babies on their back, working in the fields, in the house, or even to their jobs and businesses. The kids are well-behaved, so they aren’t disruptive (and in fact, tend to sleep a lot as their heads bob around, hanging from their mom’s backs). And no one freaks out when a woman’s boob appears for the purpose of feeding her child. Why should this be a hidden process? It’s just a natural, life process. I really wish this would be possible in the US. But could you imagine if a woman, in the middle of a board of directors meeting whipped out her boob and started feeding her child? People would freak out! Some people now even think this is gross in any public area, like a restaurant or whatever. Why are people so offended by what is essentially a fleshy feeding utensil? I’m not saying that every woman should be forced to carry her child to work and expose herself. Maybe that’s not what she wants. But I wish the US would be more accepting if a woman wanted to feed her child, without having to excuse herself because she happened to be feeding it with exactly the apparatus god gave us to feed infants.

Courage. Unity. Work. (My first visit to Kérou)

(The traffic circle in the center or Kérou)

Monday, 6 August 2012

Okay. I am going to start this entry with a promise: never again will I complain about public transport in the US. Ever. Even the economy class of airplanes is luxury compared to what I have endured for the past two days. Today was the worst; I spent 7 hours going down a terrible bumpy dirt road, crammed into a 15-passenger van with about 20 adults, plus some kids. One of which was apparently hypo-glyceamic, and nearly died mid-transit.

At least I didn’t feel as sick as I did yesterday. I had woken up feel a little sick to my stomach, and then embarked on a voyage across half of Benin. I was in the 2^nd row of a van, which didn’t have a high back for me to sleep on, so I felt miserable. At our first stop, I asked the person sitting in the passenger seat if I could switch. For good measure, I walked over to the side of the road, and vomited profusely so he could see I wasn’t faking being sick just to get a good seat. I spent the rest of the trip all curled up, trying to sleep as much as possible, and cursing my mother for passing on this motion-sickness-gene. Although to be fair, in retrospect my feeling ill may have had more to do with my initial stomach-bug or whatever, since today I went along feeling much better, and the bracelets I have against motion-sickness tend to work well, even on these African roads. So sorry Mom, for unwarrantedly cursing you.  :)

On the other hand, I need to point out that I (righteously so) hate men and their ability to pee anywhere. Technically, it’s acceptable here, for the most part, for women to pee-squat, as long as they don’t expose their butt. It’s possible in the common wrap-skirt, but definitely a learned art. And it’s far less common than men who just whip it out whenever they feel like it. (Oh, excuse me for exposing my knees and a little thigh when I’m trying to pedal around on my bike and save the world, because knees are so scandalous, but it’s no problem if you just whip out your penis on the side of the road. Grrrrrrrrrrrr… Ahh, don’t even get me started on that…) On one of our taxi rides, the driver just stops, gets out, and pees. (Oh don’t mind us, the paying customers that you’ve crammed in your crummy van. We’re just fine crammed back here while you go and relieve yourself. It’s not like we would benefit from getting out as well. Or benefit from you not stopping, so we could arrive at our destinations quicker and relieve ourselves.) Bastards.

Anyway, I am currently staying at my “homologue’s” house. That is what the Peace Corps calls the person who requested a volunteer, and who is basically my liaison to the community, my supervisor (kind of), etc. It’s weird to be living at my boss’s house, I hope I don’t make any cultural mistakes, because I don’t want that to be an issue when I am working with him later on. His name is Hubert, and he seems really awesome. He’s very well-educated, and has spent time living in Togo, as well as other parts of Benin. Now he has returned to his birth-place of Kérou (technically, he’s living about a km outside of the town). He lives next door to a lot of his family, his mom, as well as many sisters, bothers, nieces and nephews, and so on. He has his own family, a wife and 6 kids (two girls and four boys), ranging from young teens (I’m guessing) to a baby. He is really great with his kids, and his youngest son, the baby (toddler? Not quite walking, but standing with support? What age is that?) hates being separated from him. Additionally, he has a cat named Ouani (pronounced Won-ie), that is exceedingly loyal to him, for a cat. And according to a current volunteer, who lives in a town 10 km away, he knows and is known by pretty much everyone in town.

His house doesn’t have electricity or running water. Which makes showering interesting. I got what was maybe a 3-gallon bucket, and had to wash my entire body and my hair with that. You should try it some time. Anyway, I was initially confused as to why someone who is clearly well-off (he does work for the government, which especially in Africa is a big deal, money-wise) and a very sociable person. Why would he choose to live out here, without the convenience of electricity, and away from the center of town? But then he showed me to his fields, where he grows many things, like soy, gumbo (like okra?), moringa, cabbage, tomatoes, a lot of corn, plus other plants that I don’t know in French, so I’m not sure what they are. Oh yeah, and that’s all by hand. He is so passionate about his gardens and about strengthening gardening in the community. I feel like I will learn a lot from him over the next two years.

(Hubert's fields)

I’m still not thrilled about being such a long trip from everything, and I am certainly worried about the lack of amenities at Hubert’s house (although I will have electricity at mine). But as I sat down to dinner with Hubert, I realized that this is where I want to be. I think I am more afraid of the unknown, i.e. the rural life, and the rural life of Africa at that. Yes, I grew up in a rural area. But that was as a kid, and that’s different. I really haven’t figured out to have fun there. And I have sworn up and down that I would never live in my hometown for good. But I remember thinking before we got our assignments that if I only lived in the South of Benin, I would never venture to the North. I quickly dismissed this thought, convinced I needed a metropolis in the populated South. I will admit, though, that the scenery I did see through my nausea and cramped condition was absolutely gorgeous. So perhaps it is good that I have been forced to travel all this way to the middle of the countryside of Benin, forced to see this open, sprawling land, filled with very nice people.

Tuesday, 7 August 2012

My first full day in Kérou. I started off being led around to meet Hubert’s family that lives by him. It was kind of awkward, because I wasn’t sure what to do. Also, everyone was speaking Bariba, which is the local language here.

The greetings basically went like this: “Anna _______?” (“anna” means how, so they are asking how was your sleep, or your waking up, etc, etc).

Then the responses is “A laafia!”

Then another question, “Anna _______?”

“A laafia”,

Then yet another question, “Anna _______?”

“A laafia!”, then

“Ooo”

“Ooo”

“Ooo”

“Ooo”

“Mmm”

“Mmm”

Those last sounds are all different tones, but I just don’t get it. “Ooo” apparently means “yes” but I don’t understand why repeating it is necessary.

Anyway, so that was the morning. Then we went into town and had breakfast at this little stand. I got an egg sandwich and coffee, which is par for the course of my breakfasts in Benin. Thank you for giving me tons of cholesterol. After that, we went to the mayors office, where I met a lot of the staff there. The mayor is currently out of town, so I didn’t get to meet her. We did meet the Secretary-General, who invited us for drinks later that night. Next, we went to the gendarmerie (police station). Hubert introduced me to the people that work there, and I got the business card of one of the security officers, so I can call if there is a problem. Now they also know to look out for me over the next two years. Finally we went to Hubert’s office. Technically he works for the Mayor, but his office is right in the center of town (the mayor’s office is a half mile north of the center). At his office, there is also a room where seeds, etc are sold for the women’s gardening groups in the commune (county).

In the morning, we first met with some women leaders from the neighboring villages. We organized times from me to visit these various groups. One of the things I am worried about in my assignment is that during the two days when everyone’s homologues were in Porto Novo and the Peace Corps had some training sessions, Hubert stood up and objected to the Peace Corp’s ban on volunteers driving motos, or any motor-vehicle. He stood up and said, “But my volunteer needs to work with 27 women’s gardening groups in the country! How can she get to all of them if she can’t drive!” The Peace Corp’s response was that I have a bike. Hubert doesn’t think this is sufficient, so I am worried that I will have to bike myself to death. And it’s not exactly flat (although mostly it is. Only a few hills). Oh yeah, and this is the Sahel, where in March/April, it can get up to 120 degrees. What have I gotten myself into??? Yikes!

Today was a market day (this happens every 4 days), so Hubert took me to see it. I am happy because I can get pretty much everything I need there. I was worried I might be lacking certain items and have to go into a bigger town to get them, but it looks like, for the most part, I am good. They have everything I would want for my house (except a mattress), kitchen supplies, fabric for clothes, various foods, and so on. They only thing that will be annoying will be actually having to go shopping every 4 days, since my veggies won’t keep long without a fridge. Ahh, I’m so used to going to the grocery store every two or three weeks! I even remember subsisting on beans and rice for weeks at a time when I was too busy this past year to go to the supermarket, which was only 2 blocks away. On the other hand, from what I’ve heard about Peace Corps, and what I know about African culture, I really doubt I will have inescapable deadlines and tons of work (partnered with even more procrastination, lets be honest) that keep me from buying my sustenance for the week.

We went back to Hubert’s for lunch and a nap, then we cam back into town. Hubert showed me around to the more permanent shops, so I could see what was available there as well. This is where I will buy things like staple foods (rice) as well as packaged foods (soft drinks), plus pharmaceutical products, and home improvement items. Which speaking of, we also stopped by a place that might be my house. (There is some sort of debate over whether this will belong to me or the other new volunteer, M.) It shares a courtyard with other families, which the Peace Corps likes because then there are other people to look out for you. It has electricity, and one of the current tenants even has satellite TV. There is no running water, and only a very, very dirty well in the courtyard, which means water is a good distance away. There is a private shower area in the back of the house. Then our the front door, and around to the side is a private latrine. Hubert called it a “WC” and I resisted the urge to bitterly inform him that in order for something to pass for a “Water Closet”, there has to be actual (running) water involved. It shouldn’t be that bad, actually. People tend to use the shower-areas for peeing, and the latrines only for that other thing. I just hope I don’t have a sickness that requires frequent visits to the latrine, especially since this would be observed by all the other families living in the compound. Regardless, I am really excited to move ino my own place. Weirdly, spending 2 years in Kérou will be the longest I’ve lived somewhere consecutively since I started college in 2006. Since then, I lived a lot in Charleston, obviously, but this was broken up by semesters abroad. Then I spent a year at home with my mom, then 9 months in Oklahoma doing my masters program, and now I’m here. It’s almost like settling down. Almost.

Anyway, after all that, I met with some local artisans. Some of them are part of the “Ben Club”, a Village Savings and Loan Association started by a former volunteer (Ben). Others are just part of professional organizations in Kérou. They are all very excited to work with me, and I hope I just don’t disappoint. It is really good to have a structure here, especially because it helps me identify people who are really interested in making changes and progressing in their businesses, etc. They will help show me around the next week as well.

After meeting with them, I went to meet the queen. According to Hubert, she is Bariba and Muslim, and her main duty is giving names to newborn babies. She may have other responsibilities, but Hubert doesn’t really know. A current volunteer in Kérou, A., explained that historically, only the Bariba, Yoruba, and Fon ethnic groups had kings and queens, but no other Beninese ethnic group did. Then the government, in their infinite wisdom, decided to support traditional leaders, and passed a law giving money to kings and queens. Then suddenly, there were kings and queens everywhere.

On the way back to Hubert’s house, we actually went to the cotton fields of the mayor. Hubert explained that cotton is a crop which requires a lot of work and a lot of production in order to be profitable. Then he asked me if we had cotton in the U.S. I responded, “Well, actually, that’s why we took a lot of slaves from Benin: to work in the cotton fields.” Then there was just an awkward silence.

On a somewhat related note, there is something very interesting that I wanted to mention. I noticed from one of my first days that a lot of people had scars on their faces. Straight lines, sometimes one or two on each cheek. I asked my French teacher about it, and he said this was a practice that actually originated during the slave trade. People with scars, especially on their faces, would actually fetch less money for white slave traders. As a protective measure, therefore, many groups would cut slits on a child’s face when he or she was born. This practice has continued today as a kind of status-marker. As if to say, “Look at how un-slave-worthy my child is; we are of such a high class.” Other times these scars might actually be for a spiritual kind of protection, often if a child has been preceded by siblings that have died at birth or a young age. So anyway, that is just something that I found culturally interesting, and thought I should mention. It may be a disappearing process, for example Hubert’s wife has the scars, but none of the children do. That may also be due to the education level of the parents, I’m not sure.

Back to my daily adventures: as we were passing through the fields, two Peul on a motorcycle almost hit Hubert, so he started complaining about the Peul. I had heard that a lot of the Bariba (the dominant ethnic group here) aren’t huge fans of the Peul, but I can’t help but like them. For me they are kind of a link to my first African home, Senegal. The Peul (also called Fulbe) are originally from there. In fact, a good portion of my bachelor’s thesis was about Fulbe kingdoms in pre-colonial Senegal. The Peul are very good at war, and were able to conquer territory easily. However, they are a group of cattle herders, which made their kingdoms unsustainable. It is hard to rule a people that constantly move about and across borders. They have since spread out across Mali, Burkina Faso, into Benin, etc. Here, they are all so tall (one volunteer insists that this is related to their propensity, as cattle-herders, for drinking real cow’s milk), dark, and beautiful. They where this royal blue color, that is absolutely stunning, often infused with something red, possibly in the embroidery, etc. I have also seen some with what looks like henna tattoos, but in square shapes, covering their faces. I never saw something like this in Senegal, so I wonder if I just never ventured far enough away from Dakar, or if this was something that was adopted as they spread across the continent.

Okay, this time, for real back to my daily adventures (I get sidetracked so easily!), after the cotton fields, we went back and had dinner at Hubert’s. Then A. and I and Hubert went to meet M. at this buvette (what you would call a bar) with the Secretary General. It was a weird meeting, with mixtures of French, Bariba, and English conversations. And plenty of awkward silences, although the Beninese didn’t seem quite as bothered by those as the Americans. On the motorcycle ride back, I looked up into the night sky, which was absolutely stunning. I could see more stars even then I could see in places like Montana. (In other news, Kérou also gives Montana a run for its money in claiming to have the biggest skies). It was just absolutely gorgeous. I wish I had a constellation-tablet-thing (what are those called?) I technically have one at home, but it is for the wrong latitude (the stars you can see change based on where you are on earth). So if someone wants to send me the one for my latitude, that would be great, thanks.

Thursday, 9 August 2012

Yesterday I didn’t do too much. Hubert left in the morning, to ride his moto to Nattintangou to deliver a report. (Kérou hasn’t caught up on this uber-new concept called e-mail.) But when he left he was wearing a full ski-jacket. I asked him why he was wearing it, and he said “To guard against the rain.” I said, “No, that is for snow!!!” But here, even the slightest cold merits jackets and hats, so I guess a motorcycle ride in the slightly cool rain would merit a huge, bulky, winter jacket.

So one of his kids (probably 12 years old or less) drove me into town (and yet the Peace Corps thinks its too unsafe for me to drive myself…) I got breakfast, then went with M. to the health center. She gave me a tour and then we interviewed one of the nurses, as the Peace Corps has required. He made an interesting comment during this interview, which was to the effect of, “You are sending robots to Mars, and yet you can’t get a cure for AIDS to Africa.” He seemed to be under the impression that the U.S. actually has a cure for AIDS, we’re just not sharing. We tried to explain that it’s not exactly a cure; it’s just a medicine that keeps HIV from becoming AIDS. And really, it’s only available to people with money or good insurance. But seriously, why haven’t we cured AIDS yet? Actually, Benin has a lower rate of AIDS then the US. It tends to be more central, eastern, and southern African countries that have the bigger AIDS problems. I am glad for the efforts being made to educate people about this disease, but we still have a long way to go.

After leaving this conversation, M. and I went to lunch, then back to her house for a “repose”. We finally met up with A., the current volunteer here, and went to a buvette. There we discussed the difficulties of Kérou, and then attempted to solve the world’s problems one beer at time. Finally I returned to Hubert’s house, where I got to watch this amazingly beautiful lightening storm roll in. I commented that I thought it was awesome, and one of his kids was like, “Oh, do you not have these in the US?” I responded that we do have lightening storms, I just still think they’re beautiful.

Then today, a friend of Hubert, picked me up to take me to Fétékou, a village about 10km east of Kérou. There is a woman’s gardening group there that had requested a volunteer. But they got stuck with sharing me with the rest of this county. They told me about the work they are doing there, which is pretty impressive. They have a huge garden, and produce tons of veggies every year. Which they have to water entirely with watering cans, so one of their “needs” is a watering/irrigation system. I talked to them about their other needs and wants. Then they asked me about my own experience, so I answered truthfully that I know nothing about gardening, but a little about business. When I first got this assignment, I thought I might have a problem working with the gardening groups, since I know nothing about agriculture and gardening. But today I realized that—at least this group in particular—has the gardening part under control. That’s just what they do. What they want is someone to help them get better equipment as well as guide them in saving their group money, make good investment purchases, etc.

When they were talking to me about this, I found myself really missing my father. Wouldn’t he be the absolutely perfect person for me to call up and say, “So, I’m working with this women’s garden group that wants to get better at saving the money they make. Any suggestions?” But although I would, in fact, have the ability to call someone halfway around the world, there is still no phone that reaches a mere 6 feet under the ground.

I do kind of feel like a fraud when people ask me, “so what is your actual business experience?” and my response is, “Well my parents own(ed) an accounting business.” (What’s the proper tense for my parents owned and my mom still owns?) While an interviewer in the States would laugh you out of the room, I think here it makes sense. Children grow up working with and for their parents. Moms carry their babies all day on their backs, occasionally bringing them around front to breastfeed. If a parent has their own business, the kids always help out—with no pay, mind you. Thus the children learn the trade. And honestly, that has been somewhat my experience. When I was young, I started putting labels on envelopes to mail, and got paid about 50¢ per sheet, or something like that. I grew up doing a lot of menial tasks around the office, and later progressed to things like data entry for tax returns. But more importantly, I got to hear my parents talk about their business and their clients’ businesses. My parents constantly debated—in our house and on our car rides across the country—about their efficiency, structure, employees, and so on. They might talk about the clients who were doing well or doing great things, as well as the clients that refused to listen to my dad’s advice, usually to their downfall. The years after my dad’s passing, my mom has often looked to me to share in council. We debated different things that she should do. We worked on rewording the vision of the firm, hammering out a “Policy and Procedures” manual, and so on. While the last thing may not help these women’s garden groups, my point is that I hope my second-hand experience at running a business will help me in my work here. I do wish I had paid a little more attention to my dad’s commentary on the business and agricultural world when he was around. But I guess the knowledge he already managed to pass on will have to suffice.

Anyway, after this meeting with the women, they took me to eat at the president’s house. I swear, these Beninese are trying to fatten me up. My host family in Porto Novo gives me entirely too much food, no matter how much I leave on my plate at the end of every meal. My boss’s family here gave me two meals when I came home in the evening, because I hadn’t come home from lunch—even though I explained to them that I had eaten in town. This group feeds me a “second breakfast”, then forces me to accept gifts of eggs, meat, beignets (French doughnuts), and peanuts. They also gave me cash, saying that they could’t find more eggs, so this was for me to buy some eggs when I got back to Kérou. I felt terrible accepting it, but I decided I’ll just insist on buying something next time I’m there, so at least the money goes back into the community. Yeah, I’ll let you know if that actually works out.

(Me with the women in Fétékou)

As I was leaving, I saw a little monkey tied to a tree. I stopped and said, “O! Un singe!” The people then asked me if I wanted it. I think my head exploded. I was thinking, “Are you joking? OF COURSE I WANT A MONKEY!!!!!! Can I? Can you find me a baby??” I’ve always dreamed of having a tiny monkey that can just sit on my shoulder all day as I walk around. And be like Abu from Aladdin, or like Curious George (because they are just like real monkeys…). I think if I could get a monkey, I would consider my life complete.

I told Hubert about my desire to have a monkey. He then informed me that he had actually had a monkey some years ago, named Jacabo. (reminds of Count of Monte Cristo, DANIELLE.) This was a monkey he got when it was an infant. He never tied it up, the monkey just knew not to leave. And it was very smart. When we got back home, Hubert actually pulled out a picture of him with his monkey. How awesome is that!!!

I really like Hubert. He is clearly a good person. He has a family that adores him, even a cat that is loyal to him. Everyone around town seems to know and love him as well. I think he is trying to do too much (and sometimes forgets things) and perhaps has too lofty of ideas. But I am so excited to work with him, because he seems like such a passionate person who can help keep me inspired over the next two years.

Friday, 10 August 2012

Today I went to a meeting the “Ben Club.” One challenge I’ve noticed is that since I don’t speak Bariba, everything must be translated for me. I don’t regret my decision to stick with French; even the French translations test my language limits. So I am glad to at least be mostly confident in French rather than just semi-confident in French and know a little of Bariba. Though hopefully I will come to know a little of Bariba during my time here. My biggest challenge with that, however, is my own reliance on writing. Even in French, a new word, or vaguely familiar word makes more sense if I can picture it written out. If I don’t know how to write it, I can’t even contemplate figuring out what it means. (What kind of learner does this make me?) Most people don’t write Bariba—even though it’s possible—because most of the people in Kérou who exclusively speak Bariba (and even those who might know more languages) are illiterate. So I can’t ask someone how to spell a new word so that I might remember it better—they might not know how. This was perhaps the reason that learning Arabic was such a challenge for me, because there was a whole new alphabet. Even learning new vocabulary was difficult because I had to sound out each word like a kindergartener learning to read. At least Bariba—when it’s written—uses the romantic alphabet, for the most part. And it’s pretty phonetic (unlike French which has the stupidest pronunciation rules ever, and English which has no rules, only exceptions). So I guess I can just make up my own spelling for new words as I hear them, since it’s not like I’ll actually have to write in Bariba, nor will anyone be correcting my spelling. Although this might bother my OCD-self, since it won’t technically be correct.

Anyway, in the meeting we talked about their current set-up, as well as their needs and wants. Luckily, they have worked with volunteers so they know what to expect. Although I do have a lot to live up to. After the meeting, I went on a tour to visit the different work places of the members. One seamster said to me, “It is Ben that got me these new sewing machines. [he had new machines for embroidery, buttons, etc] What are you going to get for me?”

After the tour of the various workspaces, I went to lunch with the president of the “Ben Club.” During which he had a beer. This is the second time in two days that I have been offered a drink by lunch. Yesterday it was a shot of moonshine. The Peace Corps may or may not (hint: it’s the former) strictly forbid drinking during the workday, even on the 2.5-hour lunch break. And honestly, I’ve never really had the inclination to drink during the day (unless it was at the beach or tailgating). You cease to be productive, and just want to sleep. I just don’t see the point of having a beer at lunch. Firstly, beer is gross. Secondly, it is just adding calories and spending money. And lastly, the calories and wasted money are pointless, since one beer accomplishes nothing. Except perhaps to make you tired and/or have to pee.

But anyway, I did have an interesting conversation with the president of the association, Edoward. He is a solder, and seems really smart. He speaks at least 4 languages, and has a successful enterprise, with multiple apprentices. We talked about things from micro-finance to computer research. However, he mentioned that he can’t read or write (though he does know numbers & math). That would make learning how to use a computer even more difficult. This is something to think about . I know computers and the Internet can be such a great research, but can people in the village actually use them? In all of Kérou, there are only computers at the mayor’s office, the health center, one small cyber-café (at the “Maison des Jeunes” or “House of Young-People”—kind of like a YMCA, without swimming classes), and perhaps a few personal computers (the majority probably belonging to any ex-pats or volunteers living here). I know it’s not really my assignment, but I really would love to snow everyone the wonderful world of the internet, but how beneficial would that be? I mean Kérou did only get electricity 5 years ago; it might need some more time before the internet is embraced.

An interesting note about technology: I’ve seen that across Africa, most people missed the whole “home phone” concept. Unlike the States; where at one point everyone had a phone in their house (my mom recalls it being a big deal when her house got a second phone jack, so she and her siblings could have private conversations if they took the phone back to into the bedroom). That never really existed in Africa, with the exception of some elites. However, at the advent of cell phones, Africans have jumped whole-heartedly into this. In Cameroon, some of the locals boasted that phone service in rural areas was better than service in rural America (and my house in the woods in the States proves this), because of this dependence on cell phones and lack of landlines. In Senegal, thousands of young men sold phone credit on the streets of Dakar. In both Cameroon and Benin, most people have multiple cell phones (my host cousin has 4) because they need one for each network. Some networks work better in different areas, plus in-network calling is a lot cheaper. In the same vein, I foresee a similar evolution with the Internet. In the States, everyone (when I say “everyone” or speak in generalities—in both America and Africa—I mean the majority of people in the middle and upper classes, and perhaps some of the high-lower classes. This obviously does not apply to the poorest citizens) has wi-fi in their houses. Internet-USB-Keys are a luxury, usually for business people who travel a lot for work (although they may soon be replaced by mobile phone “hotspots”). But other than cyber-cafés and the occasional offices/organizations, wi-fi is unheard of in Benin. In Senegal wi-fi was more common, but then again, I never really strayed outside of the capital, which is considered the “Paris of West Africa.” And the country is more developed overall. Therefore, my prediction is that wi-fi will never really take route in Africa, and one day everyone will just have Internet Keys. And the US will remain more attached to their wi-fi, just like we are still attached to our home phones, while Africans have abandoned that concept entirely, having never embraced it. I also think this might happen with money transfers. It impossible here to ever use a debit or credit card, except perhaps at a very white-person hotel in the capital, and to withdraw money at banks, but again, only in major towns. However, in Kenya, you can actually pay people with your cell-phone, just as easy as sending a text, or something like that. And it’s actually supposed to be quite secure. I wonder if that will actually spread across the continent. I hope so. I hate carrying all this cash around. Not that it will spread to Benin before I leave, but it will be interesting to watch the evolution over the next generation or so.

Ah, after that last deviation, all I have to mention for today is that I was supposed to go to a meeting of carpenters in the afternoon. In fact one, a member of the “Ben Club” invited me specifically for that evening. But I arrived there, and no one was there. So Edoward went to ask someone about it. He returned with the guy who had originally invited me, who explained, “Oh, there is a marriage celebration, so this was canceled.” I just sat there and stared at him like, “WTF!? YOU told me, not 5 hours ago, that this was happening!” But all I said was, “Okay, no big deal.” CCA

Sunday, 12 August 2012

Yesterday I went to some meetings of various professional organizations in Kérou, specifically solders, seamsters/resses, and hair-dressers. There are more organizations, but those were the only ones meeting at that time. It was interesting to look at their varying structures. They all tend to collect dues. Some impose fines for lateness (oh, what a novel idea for Africa!). One group saves this money to give if a member is sick or injured (kind of like a form of disability insurance). Another group uses the dues to distribute the money between two members a week as a loan to invest in their business. I talked with them about their needs and wants. One thing ever group mentioned wanting was to partner with an external organization, such as a professional counterpart in the western world. I think this is a very cool and interesting concept, but I think actually making it happen might be difficult, especially because of the language barrier. I have no contact to French-speaking professional organizations, etc. I will have to look into that. A more feasible (but vastly more expensive) need of every group was a place of their own to meet. Currently, each group meets at this little gazebo, which is technically on the land of the house of the government-utility-manager. And it’s a crummy building, where you can only sit on half of it in the morning, due to the heat from the rising sun. So helping to build a community-professional center could be one of my projects. I am really glad that so many of these profession groups already exist. It means that I have somewhere to start, rather than waiting around to figure out things that need to be done, like most PC volunteers spend their first year. I already have so many groups that know what they want/need, I just need to figure out how to best help them help themselves!

Hubert is also a great source of ideas. One huge one he shared with me was his idea to build a permanent market for vegetables and fruits. This would mean that people could find fruits and veggies EVERY day, rather than every four days, on market day. Also, it would set up a system so that gardeners wouldn’t have to take the whole day to come into town, and sit and sell their products. They would just bring them in, and leave them with someone else to sell. Then they could return to their fields, come back a few days later to collect their money and bring more crops.

I think this would be such a positive project. It fits very nicely with the Peace Corp’s new focus on food security. And it would be so beneficial to the community for nutritional improvement, as well as economic development. In contrast to the earlier project I mentioned, this would be beneficial to everyone in Kérou, not just the artisans. The women can produce more crops, there are new jobs of selling the crops, more people buying them, ore people eating healthy, and so on. The only problem is that any such fantastic project loses all benefit if the community never actually uses it. At this point, it seems to be only the brainchild of Hubert, with the formal proposal written by an outside professional grant/proposal writer. In order to move forward, I think it will be extremely important to get other people involved, such as the women from the garden groups in Kérou and the surrounding villages. I don’t doubt Hubert’s ability to get them all excited about it, and I hope I might persuade women to be on board with this as well. I also wonder if we might be able to work out some sort of transportation to get these vegetables, so the women don’t have to walk far, etc. I guess I will just work out all of these things as I go. The good news is that I have a month of training coming up where I can think about and discuss these ideas to determine possibilities and feasibilities.

After the meetings with the professional groups, I went to have lunch with one of the hairdressers. Then we went back to her shop. The plan was to rest there for a little bit, then go around and to visit the shops of seamstresses and hairdressers. However, it started raining. And by that I mean a rain that gave “torrential downpour” a whole new meaning. It rained with a vengeance for a solid hour, and then there was a very heavy and steady rain for another two. There was a drizzle for the rest of evening. So nothing was accomplished. I did, however, get to watch a weave get put in a woman’s hair. This took a good three hours, while her actual hair was braided into tight cornrows-ish, the weave sown into these braids, then cut and styled. And all that the hairdresser charged was $14. I was shocked. I pay that much just to get a very cheap trim that takes maybe a whole 15 minutes. I asked the hairdresser about the price. She said that it was $10 to buy the actual physical weave of hair. Then $4 for the “cut.” I was flabbergasted. $4 for a solid 3 hours of work. And that included the work of 3 or 4 apprentices, including one that gave the woman a pedicure while she was getting her weave styled. Wow.

On a less pleasant note, I started feeling pretty sick at some point. The hairdresser blamed this on the spicy lunch. I don’t buy this, however, since I east spicy foods all the time in the states, and also spicy foods don’t give you a fever. I blame this somewhat on my exposure to a plethora of new bugs here. But more so, I blame this on the lack of nutrition that exists within this country. I think my host family has been instructed by the Peace Corps to provide us regularly with veggies. Everywhere else all that is available is grains and meat. I never though I would crave more fruits and veggies, but I guess I’ve just gotten really used to eating them. In fact, over the past year I was mostly vegetarian, eating meat only when someone else prepared it for me. That is kind of the policy I have continued here. I told my host family that I was vegetarian, but I eat fish (I guess that makes me pescatarian). Forgetting, of course, that fish here doesn’t come in boneless filets, but rather as whole fish, with bones a plenty. So I’ve been picking my way through fish this whole time, and swallowing far too many fish bones. Regardless, my host family still gives me a huge pile of grains—rice, spaghetti, or pate—or sometimes fries, with perhaps a can of peas dumped on it. If I get really lucky, they’ll give me plantains. And at least in my omelets in the morning I get onions and peppers. My point is, my nutrition here has been horrendous. Perhaps 5 years ago—maybe even 2 years ago—I would have been content with this “meat and rice” diet, but I hate it now.

This is another reason why this garden market is so important in Kérou. But at the same time, people need to be educated on the importance of fruits and vegetables, so they know its good to include them in every meal. And so they stop giving their children nothing but corn and corn-meal. On the other hand, this faces other challenges. Hubert pointed out that if someone is going to work in the fields, they needs something heavy to fill them up. If they just eat a bunch of veggies, they might initially feel full, but then they’ll got to the fields and feel hungry again after a few hours. That is why pate is so big here, it’s a nice, heavy, simple meal. I think that the same problem exists for farmers in the states. I know that my dad’s family would prepare huge meals (usually soaked in lard) for the hard days working in the fields. How can you combine the need for good nutrition with also the need to maintain a good stamina all day? Oh, so many challenges. And it’s not like we’ve answered the nutrition question in the states either.

But at least we know about nutrition, even if we don’t follow it. Like food groups, that you should be eating multiple servings of fruits and veggies, and so on. Here, no one is really taught that. This morning, when I was still feeling sick from the previous day, Hubert said, “you really need to eat to get the strength to fight the sickness.” But what did he give me? Spaghetti and a hard-boiled egg. It’s not like the spaghetti was even whole-grain. What I really wanted was some chicken-noodle soup. But I don’t think soup is even a concept that exists here. (Hubert said his wife would know how to make soup. I just looked at him like, “You take some water, throw some bouillon in it, some veggies, maybe some rice or noodles, whatever you want and let it simmer all day. The end.”) This is another reason I am really looking forward to being on my own. I can make whatever I want (provided I can find the ingredients). I can cook to my veggie delight, and make chicken noodle soup (or some version of it) when I’m sick. I think it will be a real struggle to stay nutritious here, but I’ll try. Which speaking of, I’ve lost about 10-15 pounds since I got here. On the other hand, I gained about 15 pounds the month or so before coming to Benin when my philosophy was “must-eat-everything-since-I-won’t-get-this-for-two-years-in-Africa”. And that included meat, so now it’s just all balanced out. No healthy habits there, but oh well. I’ll work on it.

Monday, 13 August 2012

Today I felt so much better after resting most of the day yesterday and drinking plenty of water. Plus Hubert’s family brought me a bunch of bananas, which partially addressed my fruit-problems.

This morning we went to visit some other villages south of Kérou. In these, there are already gardening groups. The one in Ouinra (pronounced win-er-a), was started by a former volunteer. Their record-keeping seems to have tapered off since her departures. But I’m not sure if this means the group has as well. There are a few less members, but still people who are involved. I am curious as to what factors into the sustainability of groups established by volunteers. Some groups seem to have better success, and I wonder if this is more influenced by the presence of a strong personality/leader in the community, or by the socio-economic conditions of the community, or both.

M. also went with me, as our homologues think it is a good idea to include health things, such as nutritional education, information about malaria, and so on, along with my work in economic development. I aggress, this is very important. M. and I were discouraged by the long distance to the village. It is 22 km—that is 13 miles—to the village. And we have to bike that. O! Curse you, non-safety of motorcycles! Curse you Peace Corps policy! Curse me for saying I enjoy biking! Well, at least I can say that I will be nice and fit when I come back to the states, with very defined thighs, and so on.

After that my program coordinator from the Peace Corps stopped by. Each one has a region to go around and observe the volunteers progress for the week, etc. He seemed pleased with everything that M. and I have accomplished so far. Then we went to visit the houses. Turns out the house I had seen earlier will officially be for M. We went there first, then to see mine. I actually had a choice in houses. The first was a disappointment. It was in an area one might call the “wrong side of the tracks,” although in Kérou, it might be more accurate to say, “the wrong side of the creek.” It was across from the Imam’s house and next to a mosque, which is fine, except for the judgment and 5AM calls to prayer (I would have the same complaint about living beside a church with its judgment and church bells). The inside was cramped and dirty, still filled with the previous tenant’s stuff. There was also a dead rat in the kitchen area, plus I shared a latrine with other families. So everyone was a little wary of this place, and I was worried about what I was getting myself into.

The next place was the one. Yes it was a drastic improvement to the other one, but even without that contrast, it was almost everything I could want in a house. The only drawback is that it’s further out of town then the other, but not too far. So no big deal. It is also close to the mayor’s office and to the gendarmerie. Usually living near the police station wouldn’t be a plus, but at least here, I think it will help my grandmother sleep a little better at night back in the States. It has a large family room and two bedrooms, which is entirely too large for me, especially considering I spent this past year in Oklahoma not even using my ONE bedroom. My excuse was that I had only brought what could fit in my little car. Now I have only what I could fit in a few suitcases, and even more space. M. says that I should make the second room into a walk-in closet, but again it’s not like I brought enough clothes for that. Maybe I can make this room for my monkey. :) Upon further consideration, I actually have been thinking of kitchen/food related things I could do with that room. Like can I build something to make it cooler, like a cellar? Can I learn to can veggies and store them here? I guess this shows what I enjoy, in the same way that my sister’s favorite section in Target is the makeup section, since she is so glamorous. I however, always enjoy browsing the kitchen section, maybe getting new glasses/plates or a new pan, a new knife or some cooking utensil, etc.

My favorite part is the back, though. I have my own private little courtyard, and the set-up is such that there is a perfect place to hang my hammock. To the right I have a small kitchen, with a door that closes and locks. On the other side is the shower, which—at the insistence of our safety and security director—is being turned into a latrine, and a new shower constructed beside it. I am very content with this, because it means I won’t have to leave my house to use the latrine. And my neighbors won’t have to be aware of my bowel movements. (Oh! Privacy!) I don’t have running water. In fact, I think the only place in Kérou that does is the hotel, which has its own water tower. (A small one made of plastic. You can see these throughout the country.) Luckily, there is a pump not too far behind my house. I have to pay one whole dollar a month to use it, but that’s perfectly fine. I assume I will come to pay a lot of attention to the water I use, and when I come back to the states, lecture people on their waste of water. (Here’s looking at you, little sis of the long showers.)

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

One month until I become an official Peace Corps Volunteer. Right now I am only a ‘trainee.’ This morning another torrential downpour kept me from my schedule. Instead, I was restricted to my room. I tried to be productive, mostly working on papers that the Peace Corps requires, and also thinking about what I want to do with my house and various potential projects here. When the rain cleared off, Hubert took me to see the site that has been designated for his “Maison des Maraîchers” (House of Market-Gardeners) project. It is right in the center of town, actually kind of close to the site for the every-four-days market. It is a great location. It is relieving to know that he already has support of the mayor, who designated this land for the project. That is one less hurdle. I am really excited to start on this project and getting other people involved.

After that, we went back to my house and marked out where Hubert will have the mason affix brackets for my hammock. I am really excited about this, and I hope it is ready for my hammock when I return in a month.

This evening I looked over the materials that Edoward (President of “Ben Club”) had dropped off for me. When I was at their meeting, they had mentioned that they were working on writing the internal rules and regulations (by-laws) of their organization. Having working on this very think in one of my masters classes last year, and hoping to build up my French vocab, I offered to look over what they had already done and help them when I return. However, it turns out that “working on” means “haven’t even started” so all I got was some old manual that was intended for development works who were going around starting micro-finance groups. In it, however, is a model by-laws for such organizations. So at least I will have somewhere to start. I will go over this while I’m in Porto Novo, and discuss it with them when I get back, such as the parts they want to keep or change, and so on. It will be a good exercise for me. It seems kind of mundane, but I think they need it to get official financial support, so that is why they’re finally getting around to this, four years after the group’s inception. Again, I’m glad for this though, since I will now have two major written projects to work on while I’m getting used to Kérou and meeting people. Plus one of these projects (the by-laws) I will have to write entirely in French, and the other (a grant proposal for the Maison des Maraîchers) I have to translate a lot into English from French. So yay for building French skills.

Which speaking of, I think my French skills are finally showing real improvement. I’ve started using new words without studying them, without realizing I actually know them until they pop out. That has always been a sign for me that my French is going up. Now on to Bariba…yikes!

Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Today was my last full day in Kérou. I woke up in the morning expecting activities with Hubert. But then he says, “Oh, there is someone who wants me to go plant trees for them.” (I think he has some sort of landscaping business on the side). So off he goes, and I had to sit around for an hour before we went and had breakfast.

But finally we did. Then we went to see if they had chains that I could use to hang up my hammock. There were none, so I think I have to try to find those in Porto Novo. But at least I know, so I can get them. Also, on a whim, I asked Hubert if there was “café granulé” available. He said something about how there used to be Frenchies living in Kérou, and they had it, but since their departure, no. How depressing.

We got to meet the mayor for the first time today. She has been away on business. She lives in a very large and nice house. She even has a flat-screen TV and surround-sound. But for me the best part was that I was petting her cat, then all of the sudden, a kid brings out a two-week-old kitten!!! Oh my, it was so cute. And just looking around, mewing, like “Who took me away from my warm bed?” I am definitely planning on getting a cat when I am here. I don’t think I could get a dog, too much hassle when traveling (things like kennels don’t exist). Conveniently, a volunteer here has a cat that has kittens every four months or so, so I can just get one from the next litter.

For lunch, we were invited to eat with an employee at the mayor’s office. Everyone ordered a beer, except for me, because I really, really hate beer. I give in sometimes, but mostly I prefer not to drink at all when beer is the only option. The person who invited us called me out for not drinking. He told me that I just wasn’t used to Beninese drinks, but I told him I just didn’t like beer. He told me I’d get used to it. No, I insisted. I hate beer. It’s gross and stupid. Especially this stupid Beninese stuff that is closer to water than anything. I like liquor. And lo and behold, maybe 10 minutes later a bottle of whiskey showed up. I think he had called or sent someone to go get it. Now that’s hospitality!

After that, I just returned to Hubert’s house and packed. Then he showed me a documentary that had been made by the government about the commune of Kérou. It was a lot of the mayor talking, and mostly boring, but it was still cool to see scenes of Kérou on film.

Saturday, 18 August 2012

I’ve accepted that every time I travel in this country, it will be an adventure. Two days ago I took another taxi from Kérou, this time to Nattitangou (the fourth largest city in Benin). It was slightly less crowded then the one I took from Parakou to Kérou. Actually, M. and I thought we were going to ride in luxury, having only two people in each row. But as we went along, we kept adding more people, and more stuff. The driver seems to view this trip as his own personal shopping jaunt. “Oh, is that charcoal on the side of the road? Let me stop and buy two huge bags of it and throw it on top of the van.”

Also, there were some chickens that were along for the ride. They were simply bound and thrown on top of the van. Now, my classmate in Porto Novo constantly talks about how chickens are disproportionately stupid for their size. And they really are. They are decent-sized animals, and. yet. so. dumb. Like as dumb as a fly. They just wander around, trying to eat everything, irrationally afraid if you walk in their general direction, and unable to do any sort of logical thinking. My classmate calls them, “god’s only mistake.” I would have to add, though, they are also god’s worst punishment. I think Hindus believe that if you really mess up in this life, you come back as something miserable, such as beetle or whatever. But if you come back as a chicken? You really f-ed up in your previous life. Like you were probably Hitler. Now you are stuck with a terribly dumb brain, and on top of that treated miserably. If you are born in the States, then you grow up crammed into these tight cages unable to move a muscle your entire sorry life, as other chickens poop on you and die around you (and even “free-range” chickens are kept in miserable conditions, mind you), popping out eggs (if you’re a female), until someone decides to slaughter you. If you are born here, then maybe you get to run around as a youngster. But then your feet are tied together, and you are slung on top of a van, forced to endured bouncing around in the hot African sun, shuffled every time a new package is added, and no one seems to mind if you fall off and are just dangling upside down on the side of the van, until finally at the end, someone puts you out of your misery. And yet, because you were Hitler once upon a time, you’ll probably come back as a chicken again.

So that was my ride. We also at some point, came upon a hill that was really steep and fully of slate-y rocks. So they made every passenger get out and walk up the hill themselves. Then the van came up and picked us all up again. Then at another point, there was a sharp decline, right into a bridge. The incline was too steep, meaning that the front bumper of the van kept hitting rocks. Then we got stuck. So we are sitting there, the van angled towards the river, off the bridge, and the driver has the vehicle in first gear, “Vroooooooom”. I am thinking, “If this catches, we are all lurching into the creek.” But luckily the driver is apparently used to this situation, and eased up on the gas as soon as it caught, and turned the van to go straight across the bridge. Then at the other end, he drove on land that was angled so we were tipped over at a good 45-degree angle. I freaked out and grabbed for the high side, which of course accomplishes nothing. M. laughed at me, and soon we were upright again. I am actually quite used to driving at an angle. When we traveling in Senegal, we would drive for really long stretches of the road at this tilted angle, like it was normal. Here I hadn’t experienced that yet; it’s mostly been a wandering back and forth across the road in search for the least pot-hole-y stretch, rather than just driving half off the road the whole time. But there is just SO MUCH stuff that is piled on top of the van; I don’t understand how it is physically possible that they don’t tip over. Does physics work here? I don’t get it.

Okay, and I may use a few curse words in this following paragraph, but I think they are well deserved, so sorry. Also it’s not the most pleasant subject, but this is my life here, so deal. Or don’t read it. Anyway, when we were stopped in one time, about 2/3 of the way into our trip, I discovered that I really had to go to the bathroom, and I don’t mean just to pee. So I asked the drivers where I could go, figuring they make this jaunt often enough (every 4 days), that they should know what is available in each town. Instead they asked a zemi to take me to a toilet. So I got on, thinking that he was just taking to a latrine, just at the other end of the small town. No. He takes me out to the brush. Then he was like, “Okay, here.” I’m just thinking, “If I just had to go in the woods, I would have done that myself!!” And I say to him in French, “No, a toilet! A WC! A REAL toilet.” He drives a little further down the road, and again points into the woods, though this time it was a little thicker area. I don’t think he spoke French, and I really had to go, now, so I was just like whatever. I trekked a little into the bush, prayed to Mother Nature and the gods of public health for forgiveness, and squatted down. As I am in this position, I hear the zemi start up its motor and drive away. I am just squatting there, thinking “Are you shitting me????” to no one in particular. Then I realized the irony, said, “touché” aloud, finished, then trekked the quarter-mile back to the van. When I got back, M. says, “Where did you go?? I literally just used a latrine that is right there,” and she pointed to a latrine not 50 feet away. F.M.L.

So that was my return trip from Kérou. I arrived in Nattitangou in the evening, and went to the workstation. It was actually pretty nice. There are four workstations in Benin, where volunteers can come to stay on their way to somewhere else. I will have to stay here at least once a month, since there is no bank in my town, and I will have to come to Nattitangou every month to get my monthly allowance. There are beds, a kitchen, a huge library of shared second-hand books, and internet. I met up with some of the other volunteers who were there. We went out Thursday night, and got a bottle of Sodabe (the local moonshine) to split between us. It was fun, and we talked about our two weeks at our post. Some people had really been missing speaking English. I don’t have that problem, since I have other volunteers in my town.

Friday was a very chill day. We made pancakes in the morning, which was fun. We didn’t have enough supplies, so I walked down the a nearby supermarket to buy some. I also got some tomatoes and onions, plus eggs. I was so happy to be able to make my food, and put veggies in it. I know it’s just tomatoes and onions, but honestly those are going to be the only veggies the are available year-round here. So I put those in my scrambled eggs. Delicious!

I spent a lot of the day reading a new book I picked out from the library. At some point we went to buy our tickets for the bus the next day. Then we went to get lunch at a restaurant. I got some pizza, which was decent. And I was able to get Pineapple juice as my drink. Mmm, something quasi-healthy! The pizza, not so much, although I did get the one with the most veggies, but anyways, a purely healthy meal hardly exists within this country. With the exception of the dinner we had that night. It was made by someone the volunteer in Natti happened to stumble upon. He prepared this delicious meal of salad to start, a simmering stew over couscous, then a couscous-cake for desert. Ahh, so good and so many veggies! It was kind of expensive. I’m pretty sure that I spent more over these two days in Natti then I spent the entire time in Kérou. Granted, in Kérou, almost all the meals were provided for me, but still. Even if I did have to pay for them, they wouldn’t be that much. I just really have to watch when I go to Natti how much I spend. It’s so easy to splurge, convincing yourself that this is a once-in-a-month opportunity.

A little before sunset, we had gone up to this bar on the hill. It overlooks the city of Nattitangou. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the people who live in this city. It is so gorgeous, with plenty of hills. There is so much to do here. Plenty of buvettes, entertainment, and so on. There are markets where you can get everything, including tons of fresh veggies. There are banks and other luxuries. After being in Kérou for a week and a half, it feels like NYC! I am also jealous of the people who live within an hour or two of the city. It takes me a whole day to get here! I know, I know. After a bit I will be unable to imagine living anywhere but Kérou. And I really do love my homologue and the work that is waiting for me. I just have to remember that I felt this exact same way going to Stillwater, Oklahoma, (“Oh no, I’m stuck in this po-dunk town with nothing to do, no dance clubs, etc, no hot boys, just cowboys.”). And there I had the most amazing year of my life. Can I get lucky enough that it will happen again? Maybe I need this fear of an impending boring two years to drive me to seek out friends, etc, in the town. I don’t know. We’ll just have to see as it unfolds.

Finally, Saturday we got up early to go back to Porto Novo. The bus driver was in a hurry and—I think this is the technical term—hauled ass back down south. We arrived in Porto Novo in only 7 hours. That is precisely how long it took me to get from Kérou to Natti. (Look on Google maps for the contrast in distance). This bus ride was so, so much better. It’s an actual bus, it was air-conditioned (a little cold for this time of year, but no one would be complaining during the hot period). And I could actually read for some of the trip. So yay.

Thus ends my exploration throughout Benin. Now for a month of “technical” training in Porto Novo, before heading back North.

Monday, 29 August 2012

Since I haven’t gotten to an internet source yet, I’ll go ahead and share this along with everything else. Today the Peace Corps “trainees” all got together back in Porto Novo to begin our technical training. To start off, we went around and shared about our site, what it’s like, what we’ll be doing there, etc. Of all the sites, I think mine is the more remote and smallest town. There is one girl that lives a little north of me, but she is in a bigger town and closer to her workstation. Everyone else talks about their houses with running water, their sites that are only a few hours from Porto Novo and Cotonou (mine is 14, at best), or sites that are in other major cities, the availability of so many veggies, since their cities or towns are at a crossroads or a big market. One volunteer lives close to Porto Novo, and has his own third-floor terrace. He can smell the salt air from the ocean.

Now, granted, this is of all of the “Community Economic Development” (CED) volunteers. They tend to live in more urban areas, have nicer houses, etc. So for me, it’s like being the skinniest kid at fat camp. Compared to the rest of my peers I am in the brush. But compared to the general population of Peace Corps Volunteers, I have it pretty good. Some of the Rural Health volunteers, or Teachers, or Environment Workers are living in far more primitive conditions. But now I am discussing my situation with my business peers, and all I can get is pity; no real commiseration. It’s really frustrating. I am so happy with my job that I will have over the next two years. But I H.A.T.E. my location. I keep wondering why they sent me to the most remote location. Especially when I specifically put during my placement interview in Benin that the two most important things to me were: 1) being a larger town/city and 2) having a lot of things to do. I didn’t even mention job-type preferences (not that I really have any sort of specialty). Is that wrong? I’m pretty sure I chose my undergrad based on location. (Do I want to go to school in downtown historical Charleston, South Carolina, with beautiful palmetto trees, only 20 minutes away from the beach? Absolutely!) And it was a wonderful experience, plus I got a good education. That is where I came to love African studies in the first place. I remember one day discussing applying for PhD programs with one of my professors there. I mentioned that I didn’t really want to apply to schools in the north (aka Wisconsin, Michigan, Columbia, UPenn, which all have really strong African History programs), because I hate the cold. He looked at me like I was stupid and said something to the effect of, “Well, you could apply only to schools in warm areas, and get a mediocre education and degree. Or you could suck it up and apply to the better schools in colder regions.” And so I applied to those cold schools. I didn’t get in to any, mind you, so instead I found myself going to a masters program in middle-of-nowhere Oklahoma. Again, I thought this might be miserable, but I had the most wonderful year of my life. (Have I mentioned that before?) Then I insisted in every conversation I had with the Peace Corps that I absolutely wanted to be in French-speaking West Africa. They told me to be flexible, and I told them I was. I just really, really wanted to be in West Africa. And now, ha ha, joke’s on me, because I’m still not completely satisfied.

I have this feeling of determination that I WILL make these upcoming two years amazing. I WILL do great things. I WILL have fun. It’s stupid to be so hung up on this location thing. But as I listen to my fellow CED volunteers, I can’t help but feel discouraged. Why couldn’t I get the cushy site? Not that anyone’s assignment is truly cushy. Everyone has their own challenges and work cut out for them. Job-wise, I think mine has many, many advantages. But dammit, LIFE, stop sending me to these impossibly rural areas!!! I don’t actually like them.

P.S. congrats on making it through all this. And just so you know, the title of my blog this week is the Motto of Kérou. I thought it was a nice touch.