Settling In

Monday, 17 September 2012

So tonight, after two long days of adjustment, I thought it would be a great idea to lie on my mat, outside on my back patio and just look at the stars and relax. And it was really beautiful. Then I saw a bat fly into my house. I didn’t know what to do, so I just pointed my flashlight inside to see where it went. I watched it fly into my bedroom, then across the hall to the other room. Then it flew back outside. Thank goodness. Crisis. Averted. And I learned an important lesson, which is DON’T LEAVE YOUR DOOR OPEN AT NIGHT! Although, hopefully I will soon have screen door to solve this problem.

So the past two days have just been figuring out what to do here. Sunday, Hubert had a whole army of people come to work on my house. By that, I mean an electrician to fix my light and light switch, a mason to finish my latrine (which apparently was supposed to be done a week ago, but of course was not), a carpenter to make a frame for my window screens, two boys to bring me containers of water then sweep my house, and a solder to weld the chain for my hammock to something that the mason then cemented into my walls on my back patio. Of course, for me the hammock is the most exciting part. But I have to wait TWO WHOLE DAYS before I can sit in it. I keep touching the cement and thinking, “Well this feels like it’s ready.” And I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a mason, so I should listen to someone who is, and that if I try to use it now, and it ruins the work that was done, I will have to shamefully call the mason back, pay him more money, and wait another two days after that.

Sunday afternoon a guy, my age, named Landry, (and yes, that’s pronounced like you’re washing your dirty clothes) that works for Hubert, plus his brother, Ezekiel, escorted Maria and I to the market. They took us around and bargained for everything that we needed. Then they took us around to different shops for various items. It was a long day with a lot of walking, and I’m sure they were exhausted at the end. But now I have pretty much everything I need to clean my house and cook my food, which are the important things. I still have no furniture, although these boys did find a table that they brought me so I could but my stove, etc on it. My stove is basically just three burners on a metal seat, which you attach to gas via a hose. Oh, and apparently there are supposed to be some sort of “belt” things which tighten where the gas is attached. The Peace Corps forgot to give those to us, but they were like, “Oh, it’s okay if you don’t use them… but we’ll send them up as soon as possible!”

It’s really weird to start absolutely from scratch in a house. I’m used to, at the very least, already having things like a stove, oven and countertops. Oh, and that ever important thing called WATER. And POTABLE WATER at that. Luckily, I brought a bunch of already prepared water in bottles with me, which lasted until I could get my stove set up to boil more. I also didn’t even have a place to sit. Since freshman year of college, I’ve always had my huge round chair that I take with me, so at least I have something to sit in (except, of course, when I studied abroad, but that was always living with a family, so I had furnishings). But here: nothing. Just floors, a wall, and half a ceiling.

the front of my house

my front room

my extra room
(I'm using it for storage)

my kitchen

my back porch
WITH MY HAMMOCK!

my bedroom

the view from the back of my house

These few days of unpacking, I’ve realized that I have a (cultural?) dependency on shelves, or at the very least raised surfaces. I, of course, don’t have shelves yet, but I’m trying to put things away. And even though I’ve put stuff, by category, it doesn’t feel right. For example, my extra room I am using for a closet/storage So I put up a rope attached to the already existing nails as my clothes rack (although I have only 6 hangers, so I’m using binder clips as “clothes pins-ish” to hang stuff up. Is that weird?). But on the floor, I have a row of shoes, then plastic box I brought from home with hair/makeup supplies, another plastic box with office-esque supplies, a suitcase for my “delicates”, another suitcase for clothes that don’t need hung up like t-shirts, etc. But I keep having this urge for shelves. To me even a table or desk cluttered with this stuff in the exact same pattern would be more organized. I don’t know why this is, except for the fact, that of course I’ve had access to desks, tables, closets with shelves, drawers, and countertops in the kitchen, etc. ALL OF WHICH I kept in disarray, but they still felt better than my ordered floor. I think this is the point you realize you have mental problems that are beyond fixing. (To be fair, though, I always START by strictly organizing my new residence, it just never stays that way for long.)

I want a Target. I want to be able to go there and by cheap, crummy shelving for 2 dollars, and put it up myself (sidenote, all of these walls are concrete. Clearly people have put nails in them before, but I don’t get it. Do I need special nails?). I want to not have to bargain for a better price. I want to know exactly where to find everything, where IT’S LABELED by category, not a haphazard market. I want craigslist so I can find someone selling a stupid couch or double mattress for cheap. I want Amazon so I can order things I need, without having to talk to anyone at all, and have them arrive in a few days, no extra charge. (Having Amazon Prime was the best thing EVER, and for me as a student it was free for a year. But one time I ordered a flash drive at 2 PM and it was at my house by 10 the next morning. Beautiful.) AHHHH I’m so addicted to this consumer lifestyle. And it’s kind of infiltrating the big cities of Africa. For example, in Porto Novo, there were people that would walk around selling various items. Want DVDs? Just sit in a bar until someone selling illegal copies walked by. Same went for shirts, fake “brand name” sunglasses (want some “Ray Pins”?), CDs, belts, even flyswatters, and perfume, the list goes on.

If nothing else, these next two years will teach me patience. I already have quite a bit of it. But I’m hoping to get away from the culture of “Now, now, now.” Since I have an internet key, it’s hard to stay away for A WHOLE DAY, even though in Porto Novo, I might have gone on for a week without it. (Although once I start working more, I will hopefully have less time to think about it). The culture of Africa is more about building relationships, and not about efficiency of accomplishing tasks. This will of course be frustrating, but I also hope to learn a lot from this experience.

Today I also went into town to try to start my work, etc. Hubert was super busy, as usual. He is always trying to do everything for everyone. I got breakfast on my own, then headed over to the office. Landry was there, so I talked to him for a bit. Then I went to Edward’s shop—he is the current president of the Artisans Savings & Loans Group or “Ben Club”. He was really happy to see me. I just went to say hi, that I am back, and that I’d be going to the meeting on Friday. I mentioned that I’d looked over the bylaws material that they wanted to do, so maybe we could discuss it at that meeting or the next. I didn’t remember where many other of the artisan’s shops were, though. I passed one on my walk home, and they called me over and were like, “When did you arrive, and why haven’t you come by to say hi???” So I explained that I just got here, I’ve been working on my house and was planning on coming to the meetings of the artisans on Friday and Saturday to greet everyone, and not to worry, I hadn’t forgotten about them. I hope this was sufficient. Other than my shyness, I think one of the hardest parts about all of this greeting thing, is that I was introduced to so many people on my visit (and that was a month ago). There is no way I can remember all of their names, where their shops are, etc, etc. I am only one person to remember for them, but I have to learn the whole town. Or at least part of it. I hope I don’t offend to many people by not going to see them or remembering their names.

So I’ve kind of had this idea that it would be really awesome to have my own desk in Hubert’s building. That way, I could come into town to work, such as if I’m typing up the by-laws or writing a grant, or doing any other sit-down work that I’ve been given. Plus people would know where to find me, or where to leave something for me. And actually, Hubert later mentioned, “I think we should get you a desk, and we’ll put it up here and put a “Corps de la Paix” sign over it.” Thank you, again, for being the perfect homologue, Hubert. You know exactly what I need.

Anyway, I was looking around Hubert’s office. It is set up so you walk in the front entrance and to the left there is a room. In this room, there are a lot of seed, fertilizers, etc, that are for the women gardening groups to buy when they need them. Landry works in this room, and mostly just sits around all day, just in case someone comes by. (Although he is also working right now on filling out survey sheets on every single gardener in the gardening groups of Kérou. This is quite a grand and tedious task!) Past this room, there is another opening into a large, open room. To the left is Hubert’s cluttered and overflowing desk. To the right is just a pile of random things, like watering cans, boots, water pumps, and stand-alone billboards that are apparently used when the mayor has announcements for the town. Then, past these things, towards the front of the building is another small room. This is filled with hospital beds and trash. Apparently the hospital beds, like many of the things in the aforementioned “pile” were bought by the mayor to distribute to the people of Kérou—in this case, specifically for the Health Center. But they are just sitting in this room, collecting dust and rat droppings, and the room has kind of turned into a trash pile, where people throw bottles or documents with which they can’t figure out something to do. So I think I’m going to work on getting all of these things cleaned up and distributed. It’s great that the mayor buys these things, but they are currently doing no one any good. Hubert mentioned that some of the beds need repaired, which may cost some money. That might be a little harder. Another problem with the supplies, like the boots, for instance is that there are some that the mayor bought, but maybe only 20 or so. Yet there are hundreds of women in the gardening groups of Kérou, so they don’t go far. I’ve been thinking that maybe, instead of giving them away for free, the mayor could just give a reduced price to the women who are in the official gardening groups. This would allow the money that the mayor’s office has to buy the supplies stretch further, since they would only be spending a little bit on each boot, rather than paying for the whole thing. Plus this could work to address another problem the women in Fétékou mentioned. It was that they had a hard time forcing all of the women to pay dues. But if there are specific perks to being a member, such as receiving reduced prices at the shop in Kérou, and these perks are taken away if you don’t pay your dues, this might be an incentive to pay up.

The point is I already have some ideas for small tasks. Cleaning up and organizing—and hopefully distributing—these piles of stuff isn’t a huge undertaking, but it’s a step towards more efficiency, the products getting to people who want to use them, and so on. It will help me feel like I’m actually doing something other than just wandering around. And it will give me space for by own little bureau!

So I was just poking around this area during the day, and discussed it with Hubert later when he returned. I also discussed with him needing to meet more of the gardening groups. I was supposed to meet them when I was here a month ago, but it got rained out. He is really busy this week, especially since he is preparing for a meeting of the commune (aka county)-wide association of the gardening groups this Thursday. I think this is for elections of officers, etc. I will go to this, but just to show my face and perhaps meet some people. Then starting next week, Hubert will organize for me to go to the various nearby villages.

Also, I mentioned that Hubert had technically requested an additional volunteer for Fétékou—which has a huge gardening group—but they just gave me both the Kérou and Fétékou assignment. As such, I thought it would be a good idea to perhaps attend their weekly meetings, which I found out are on Sundays. I talked to Hubert about the language barrier—he says no one in Fétékou knows how to speak French, so he will have to organize my trips with someone to translate. Hubert was very, very happy that I wanted to do this. He then said something like, “Yes, this would be good. We Africans are like—and excuse the metaphor—but we’re like a bike. If you stop peddling, we stop moving forward.” I think he hopes that having an American attending the meetings will generate a lot of excitement and increased attendance to the meeting. I can work with them for the two years, and hopefully after this time, they will be accustomed enough to attending, participating, etc, (I will have pedaled hard enough to give it some momentum) that it will continue after I leave.

We also talked about the “Maison des Maraichers”, which is Hubert’s idea of creating a shop in Kérou to sell veggies every day of the week. I told him I still thought it was a wonderful idea, but the Peace Corps doesn’t allow you to submit grant requests for the first three months (this is to keep communities from viewing volunteers as cash cows only). But I also said that I hoped over the next three months I could work on getting the information I needed to write the grant (luckily, I took a grant-writing class last year). Plus there are specific things the Peace Corps looks for, like the community contributing—at a minimum—25% of the cost. They also want to see involvement of a large part of the community (not just Hubert!), and so on. So I want to be able to, when I submit this grant, show that I have all of these things already in place and worked out. So I hope he is encouraged by this. When he has more free time, I also want to sit down and talk with him about specifics, etc.

So I have lots to do, even over the next three months! I am kind of worried, because Peace Corps volunteers/staff keep warning against jumping right into things. You need to sit back, observe, talk to people, find out the real needs of the community, etc. Partially this is because perhaps people will just say things that they want, but maybe it won’t really be good for the community. Also, if you undertake a huge project early on, but then in fails in a huge way, the community will always remember this, and it will be hard to do anything else because they won’t trust you to be successful.

This is why I am really content with the small tasks, like writing bylaws, or organizing the pile in Hubert’s office, because this gives me a chance to do something productive, interact with people (like the artisans and the women to whom I distribute the gardening supplies), but it’s not like I’m taking on huge responsibilities. But on the other hand, I have a huge confidence in Hubert, he knows people, he knows Kérou, and he’s so motivated and energetic. So I don’t think that jumping into this project of his—which I think is quite wonderful—is necessarily a bad idea. I also want to work with Anna, who has been in the Kérou area (technically 10 km south of the town, in another village) for the past year. Plus she is the regional coordinator for the Food Security Committee (or something like that). So it’s really perfect.

Saturday, 22 September 2012

This morning, I was awakened by a magnificent thunderstorm. My roof is made out of tin, so the rain really pounds away. It is quite a delightful way to be woken up, just listening to the sounds of nature.

Rain here, though, affects me so much more than at home. It means you don’t want to go out, because your only options are walking, biking, or taking a moto, none of which protect you from the elements. Plus the unpaved roads are terrible and hard to navigate. The rain should stop at the end of this month, though. I am looking forward to the dry season, just so as to not be inconvenienced, although I am not exactly looking forward to the “cold” period of the dry season (when it gets all the way down to 50 degrees!) nor the “hot” period when it reaches temperatures of 120 or more. But hey, at least the roads won’t be as bad.

This week has been kind of unproductive. I mean, I did get my stuff unpacked and organized (ish). And I finally got to sit in my hammock, which was wonderful. I also have been cooking for myself, which is absolutely fabulous. I mean, it’s not like I’m making gourmet meals, and I don’t think anyone else in the world would be tempted by my concoctions. (For example, last night my dinner was mashed (without milk or butter, mind you) African yams—which are HUGE, by the way—mixed with onions, tomatoes, and tuna, plus spices.) I thought it was delicious. And so much better than the plain rice and beans or rice and fish I always got in Porto Novo. But most of you are probably sitting there wondering why I think that’s appealing, and I’m not really sure. Maybe it was just the fact that I prepared it myself.

The view of the Sunset from the back of my house

The meeting for the gardening groups got cancelled because someone important was stuck in Parakou, then the artisan meetings weren’t that full because they have exams for their apprentices this weekend. I do have a meeting scheduled to go over the by-laws though, on Monday. I feel weird sitting around a lot. I need to go out and make friends, although it’s just SO HARD to know where to start. And it’s just so, so easy and tempting to be bored and just go hang out with the other volunteers here, which I’ve been doing a little too much. This is the crucial integration time, and we keep being warned that if we just sit in our houses, and/or spend time with Americans, the people here will lose interest and us, and figure that we won’t be much use. So I have started coming up with plans for various days so I can make a conscious effort to get myself out there. Oh, and all of these plans terrify me (you mean I have to actually go and talk to people!?) but I will do it.

Also, one of my challenges is that I am used to walking around with my eyes facing down and my head in the clouds. When I walk somewhere, I’m always daydreaming or thinking about something. I’m never looking around. This means that a lot of times, I could pass right by a friend without noticing. In Bariba-land (Bariba is the dominant ethnic group here, if you recall), this is completely unacceptable. Salutations are of utmost importance, and to pass someone you know on the street without saying hi is very offensive. If someone calls me out on it later, I just explain that in the States people don’t always say hi on the streets (I know, not entirely true), which will only get me so far. I really need to work on keeping my head up and paying attention to what’s going on around me during my walks.

I did accomplish one thing, which was getting the area in Hubert’s office cleaned up and organized. Well, not the very back room with the hospital beds, but the front area with the gardening supplies. Now it looks pretty, everything is more accessible. Now we just have to get them distributed. Hubert wasn’t working on it when I was there, it was just me and Landry. I kept asking what we could do with the trash, and he kept saying, “Oh we have to wait for Hubert to get back, and ask him.”

One of my parent’s constant complaints about employees (with certain exceptions, of course) was their general unwillingness to take initiative. My parents always struggled against the employee’s need to constantly go to my parents—the bosses—to seek approval for something. My parents tried to encourage an atmosphere of, “If it needs done, DO IT!” Once you’ve worked at a place for a bit—and provided you have the ability to think critically—you can figure out if something needs done. Of course, it’s unwise to run around doing whatever you want, bosses are there to give some direction, but you don’t need there permission just to take on a tiny project that would, for instance, make the office more efficient, and that that boss would probably approve of anyway.

So anyway, this predisposition that my parents have ingrained into my head, led to a constant back-and-forth with Landry. “Let’s throw this away!” “No, we need to ask Hubert first.” Then I would respond (and by the way, my Mom is going to explode with pride and a feeling of a job well done when she reads this), “Landry. How long ago were these papers thrown into this room? Years ago? If no one has used them for years, then NO ONE IS GOING TO USE THEM! They need to go.” Landry just laughed at me like I was crazy, but away the papers went into the trash. But he refused to actually burn them until we got the okay from Hubert. (Oh, because things like trash dumps and recycling plants don’t actually exist within this country, but that’s a whole other issue.) I don’t feel guilty at all about tossing these things though (other than the inability to recycle). Some of the papers were receipts of the mayors office from 1985. The most recent papers were from 2000. No one needs them any more.

So little by little things are coming along. I just need to put myself out there more, but I think this will come as I get to know some people better, and hopefully this will enable me to expand my circle of acquaintances and people with whom I can work.

There and Back Again

Firstly, two pictures from the "Swear-In" Cermony:

This is my original French class, with my co-student and Awesome professor.
(In Benin it's common for people to get the same fabric for ceremonies, so each "sector" coordinated the same fabric.)

And this will be the awesome group of Volunteers, all in Kérou.

From the Left: Me, Anna, Maria, Thomas

So back again to Kérou. For our official trip to our post, the Peace Corps orders taxi for just us and our stuff. So I imagined a trip of relative luxury, but apparently the Peace Corps is determined to crush all of my dreams of luxury. Maria and I were clearly together, since we are heading to the same place. And although we were told that we would therefore get a bigger car than volunteers traveling solo, this was a blatant LIE. We actually saw other volunteers along the road, traveling by themselves, in cars that were about the size of my old station wagon. Maria and I were in a shorter version. Still “technically” the same amount of seats, but definitely not as much room. It was more like a Mazda3 hatchback.

So all of our stuff was shoved into this tiny car. This included not only the suitcases that Maria and I brought from the States, but also all the things that have been foisted on us by Peace Corps since our arrival. Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful for these things, as they are crucial to our survival, such as a stove top, two huge gas tanks (like you use for grills) each, tons of sector-related books, and so on. But ultimately Maria and I were forced to sit in the front seat, together. And this was no car with the middle seat open. No, it had the stickshift and a console. We both have bruises on our butt from every time the driver changed gears, which on these roads, was a lot. There was no avoiding this. There was no where for our bodies to go, and our driver still had to shift down into fourth. Oh, it was miserable.

There are three groups of people I blame for this. Firstly, the French and their stupid small cars. I used to sing your praises, Frenchies, about how awesome it is that you always had tiny cars, obviously more efficient, and blah blah blah. NO MORE. I would have sold my soul for a gas-guzzling monstrosity then. Secondly, I also blame the Beninese, for creating a culture that thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to cram two people into one seat. Thirdly, and mostly, I blame the Peace Corps for being cheap jerks (I know, I know budget cuts) and for not being able to consider that MAYBE THEY SHOULD ORDER A LARGER CAR FOR TWO PEOPLE. I know, they thought it was the same station-wagony thing as the others, but maybe they could have checked the model as well. I’m just saying. But no, of course no one would think of that.

Then there was the driver. I think he hated Maria and I by the end. We asked him what route he was taking, and he said he wanted to go by Kandi, which is a city NORTH of us. You would have to go all the way over and up, then back down. It is way out of the way. I thought we were going through Djougou, which is the shortest route, at least in terms of kilometers (which, of course, in Africa, may not mean anything). Anyway, we had a conversation that went like this:

Me: “We’re going through Kandi!? But that’s so far out of the way! Why aren’t we going through Djougou?”

Driver: “The route to Kandi is paved, all the way past Kandi, then to Banikora. It’s only the last little bit to Kérou.”

Me: “Okay, but is it faster?”

Driver: “The route to Kandi is paved. The road from Djougou is really bad.”

Me: “Yes, I understand. But how long does it take to get to Kérou through Kandi?”

Driver: “Well, after Kandi, it’s xxx miles to Banikora, then xxx km to Kérou.”

Me: “So how many hours does that take? And how many hours does the road from Djougou take?”

Driver: “Well, the road from Djougou is xxx km.”

Me: “Okay, so does that take less time than going from Djougou?”

Driver: “The route from Djougou is all dirt, it’s really bad.”

Me: “I understand this, but EVERY road going to Kérou will be dirt at some time. But I am crammed into this seat with my friend, and we want to get to Kérou at the earliest possible time. We DON’T CARE which road. Which one is the quickest?”

Driver: “The route through Kandi is paved.”

Me: “YES BUT IS IT THE QUICKEST?”

Driver: “So you want to go through Djougou?”

Me: “IF IT’S THE QUICKEST WAY, YES.”

So we ended up going through Djougou. Oh, and also, all this talk that the Peace Corps did about how they spent months finding drivers who knew the routes and our village really well was also ALL LIES. Our driver had never been to Kérou. He only knew Kandi/Banikora, which is why he wanted to go through there.

As we were bumping along this dirt road, our driver is just getting more and more upset. He makes a comment that if we had gone through Kandi, we would be there already. (Which I verified later was NOT TRUE. We ended up in Kérou around 6PM. And I have a friend who will actually be living in Banikora, and she didn’t arrive there until 7PM, and it is at least another 2 hours to Kérou. So there.) But regardless, our inwardly irate driver took this out passive-aggressively on the car and our stuff, by FLYING along at 70 km/hr (idk how fast that is) on the dirt road, then SLAMMING the breaks on when we came to a rut (which was often). Sometimes he would slow down in time, sometimes not, and we would be jostled, and fear that all our stuff was going to fly off the top. So thank you Peace Corps, for caring SO MUCH about “Safety and Security”. It’s working out really well. (That was me being passive-aggressive, btw). There was also a point where they road was just a big mud slosh, with a very, very thin route which was safe to cross. Maria and I actually got out of the car, and watched the car very apprehensively make it across. It almost got stuck, but luckily not. Our driver was seething, I think telling himself that this would have never happened on HIS route. Which, again, isn’t true, because the road from Banikora to Kerou is still dirt. Whatever.

Oh, and we also had multiple check points where police stopped us and demanded to know where we were going. At one, the officer demanded that we give him our phones. We were just like, “Heck, no!” And he just kept saying, “Well you have to give me something.” So Maria said that we were giving him health, which is a culturally appropriate response (You say you bring health and luck with you). Then he said, “No, it is God that gives health. You know, GOD IS WATCHING YOU. You have to give me something.” I’m am sitting there thinking, “No, God is watching YOU, standing there abusing your position of authority to try to extort people coming as volunteers to your country.” So we go back and forth for a few seconds, then he asks where we are going, and we respond Kérou. So he was, “Oh, I’m from there! A kpuna bwa do?” to which we responded, “A laafia!” Then he laughs, shakes our hands like now we’re friends, then lets us on our merry way. I don’t understand Africa sometimes. Our driver muttered something about how the police are the “premier bandits” in Benin.

So we made it to Kérou okay. I found out that my house actually will not have the latrine in back, as promised. Something about a hole behind my house and it being uber expensive. So they built me my own personal one around the side, but I still have to go out and around. Oh well.

During the last month a bunch of cockroaches decided to make this place their home. But luckily Hubert bought me some spray ASAP, and now they are all dead. I hope other cockroaches take this as a warning.

We arrived just in time. Tomorrow is Market Day, which means I can get everything I need for my house. So, yay!!!! And Hubert has even promised to find someone to accompany us. I am so, so grateful for Hubert. He is so helpful and watches out for us. He even is helping Maria, and she’s not even HIS volunteer. I told him he was TOO nice, and he just responded, “No, but YOU are here for us.” But I don’t know if he can ever understand how wonderful it is to have someone looking out for you after a long, miserable day of traveling in a foreign country to a place you know almost nothing about.

I’ve been feeling really negative lately. There have been a lot of frustrations with Peace Corps, with my host family, (although I still love my host cousin, who spent all day Friday in Cotonou getting my fridge), and just life in general. I think I’m really burnt out from this training. I need to find ways to deal with frustrations in a more productive way, instead of just getting upset. But I will be in Kérou. It will be a new start here, and I’ll be able to start feeling like I’m doing something useful. I’m so excited just to jump into life here. I hope this will be a positive change for me, and I can leave behind all the negative anger behind in Porto Novo. And people are so nicer here. Even when they yell, “White Person!” at you, it’s nicer. In the South, when people yell “Yovo”, it’s with the tone “OH MY GOD LOOK, IT’S A WHITE PERSON! WHITE PERSON, LOOK AT ME, WAVE AT ME!” whereas here, when kids yell “Batoori”, the Bariba word for white person, it’s more like, “Oh, look a White Person! WELCOME, WHITE PERSON!”

So yay for new beginnings.

The Last of Training

“Success isn't about how much money you make.  It is about the difference you make in people's lives”

I wanted to start off this blog with a quote from Michelle Obama’s speech at the DNC. It was probably more appropriate for my previous entry (since I talked about how I wasn’t worried about the little money I would be receiving as a volunteer), but let’s just say I can apply it retroactively. Anyway, I think this speech was awesome. I only read the transcript, and still cried a little, because it was so beautiful. It makes me want to search harder for Obama-fabric here. (Okay, if you don’t know what I mean, let me explain. So a lot of / practically all the clothes here are made from printed fabric that you just take to a seamstress. And sometimes organizations will have fabric printed with their church, or some political people will have their faces printed over fabric. This is interesting, yet awkward when the president’s face happens to land on your buttcheek [“No, I swear I was checking out Abdoulaye Wade, NOT your ass!”]. Anyway, I’ve seen both in Senegal and here fabric with Barack Obama on it, and I really, REALLY want some. I’ve looked hard for this fabric, but it never seems to be actually in the market. I saw a current volunteer wearing an outfit made with face-pictures of both Barack and Michelle. It was so awesome, and I would love to go get some of my own!). Anyway, read the speech—or since most of you probably have actual fast internet, you could even watch it—and be proud that we have such an elegant and wonderful woman as first lady!

Thursday, 6 September 2012

So the Peace Corps came and talked to my family. Then they came up to me and were like, “Yeah, we agree with you that it would be really hard to determine who the thief is.” DUH! So the solution is to change the lock on my bedroom door. I don’t understand why this is necessary, because I was the one that didn’t lock the door in the first place. (Again, I was still in the house, just at dinner). But I guess the Peace Corps has to feel like they’re doing something. That’s your tax dollars, had at work, people. I guess they’re doing it as a precaution, just in case someone was maliciously keeping the spare key and going in to my room on their own. This is why the Peace Corps insists that we actually switch out the locks to our houses once we move to site. There is no way to know who in the community has had access to the keys and could have made/kept a copy. I won’t be able to do that the first night, since I won’t arrive until the evening. But it will be one of the first things I do.

In other news, we are having a party this Saturday, to celebrate our “Swearing-In” as Peace Corps Volunteers. Technically, the actual “Swear-In” doesn’t happen for another week, but there was a scheduling thing where we have to get up bright and early the day after our Swear-In to go to post (Or at least I do, being hours and hours away from Porto Novo), and partying the whole night before probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

Anyway, I want to bring my friend—Manfred—to this. I want to spend time with him, I think it’s fun to introduce locals(ish) to the group. I asked some current volunteers, who are helping organize this whole thing, and each one of them reacted negatively to this idea. They had excuses from “Oh, it will be weird/awkward for him to spend time around a bunch of (very drunk) Americans,” to “Other volunteers will be upset, because they will feel like this is time for us Americans to celebrate your accomplishment [of making it through training]”

Both of these sentiments made me mad. I think they go against the whole point of the Peace Corps. As I discussed before, 2/3 of the goals are about cultural exchange. They point-blank refused to allow a trainee bring his/her host brother, since this party tends to involve heavy drinking, and the Peace Corps would rather our families not see that ugly side. I think that’s ridiculous. Cultural exchanges are about sharing who you really are…not who you want to be. Besides, some of the families here can be pretty heavy drinkers as well.

I do get that it could be weird for him to spend time around a bunch of Americans, jabbering away with our own inside jokes. At least he is from Ghana, and thus speaks French, so that helps a little. BUT AS PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEERS, shouldn’t we be striving to ingrain ourselves in non-American society? Shouldn’t we be making an effort to include everyone? I know, sometimes you need a break and just need to be American, be yourself, without any foreign cultural pressures. It’s a line we have to walk. To make sure that we don’t go crazy from not being able just to let loose, while at the same time, not spending a lot of time trying to “escape” life here.

But the second point was the one I thought was the stupidest. And honestly, if someone feels that way—that they don’t want to “share” a celebration with non-Americans—well then I don’t want to be your friend anyway. So I don’t care what you think. If you want to spend time only with Americans, then why are you here? Why did you leave America? I don’t get it. Maybe I’m the weird one, but if that’s so, then I just spent the last year with a bunch of weirdoes. We were this group of friends, linked mainly by our love of everything international—although often a love of varying regions. Anyone was welcome, as long as you followed our mantra of “No Judgement”. In this little town in Oklahoma, I found friends that originated from around the globe. I don’t get why anyone living in a foreign country would want to constantly be surrounded by other expats. I do understand in some cultures, our way of life will incur judgment, and you might engage in cultural faux pas if you try to invite all the locals to your party. But I don’t think this should lead you to have little gatherings of only Americans/westerners. You can always find local friends who want to share in your culture. Who won’t judge you. My host brother in Senegal, for example, was a very devout Muslim, and never drank. Yet he still took me out to clubs, and hung out with my friends while we all drank. And he still loved me as his sister and as his friend.

Anyway, this was the sentiment that I got from the current volunteers. But one also mentioned that perhaps his training group—or “stage”—was a little more cliquey, less inclusive than mine. And I asked my postmate, M., if she thought I should bring Manfred and she said ABSOLUTELY AND DOES HE HAVE ANY FRIENDS THAT CAN COME TOO??? (We’re going to get along great!) Plus, I did introduced Manfred briefly at a party two weeks ago. And people were really nice, plus some of the guys wanted to talk to him because they recognized him from the soccer games at Ecole Normale. So maybe my group of trainees is just a lot cooler than the previous one :)

I also had a class of the Bariba, the local language I am learning. I realized that I might have some problems, since the language is a “tonal” language. This means that the meaning of a word changes based on your tone: whether it rises or falls, etc for the syllable. A lot of Asian languages are like this, I believe. I’ve never dealt with it. So today I had a lesson that went like this:

Instructor: “ ‘Yawà,’ it means ‘that’s good!’ ”

Me: “Yawa!”

Instructor: “Okay, now ‘yáwà,’ which means ‘that’s bad’. It’s just a different tone.”

Me: (thinking, “Oh no! This could lead to very awkward situations!”) “Yāwā” (trying to make my voice go down)

Instructor: “No it’s ‘yáwà’ and ‘yawà’ ”

Me: “I don’t hear the difference.”

Instructor: “Oh, you don’t understand?”

Me: “No, I understand perfectly. Hypothetically those two words have different tones. I just don’t hear it.”

Instructor: “Okay, listen close. It’s ‘yáwà’ and ‘yawà’. Say it.”

Me: “Ya (deep) wa↓ … Ya WA!”

Instuctor: “No, Yááá - wààà”

Me: “Yaaaaaaa WAAAAAAAAA”

Instructor: “No, it’s ‘yáwà’ and ‘yawà’.”

Me: “I don’t here the difference.”

Instructor: “Okay, there are different tones, here it’s going up…”

Me: “I KNOW THERE ARE DIFFERENT TONES, I just can’t hear them!”

Instructor: “Oh, that will come.”

…and so on…

I am slightly worried about this. The truth I can KIND OF hear the difference in the tones. I just don’t know how to make my mouth make them. This is kind of frustrating for me, since I can be pretty good at imitating sounds I hear in new languages. I speak with a pretty good accent in French, I even had someone tell me I had a Parisian accent. I wouldn’t bet that it’s actually true, but I was still flattered. When I was taking Wolof in Senegal, there was a sound where my teacher was like, “You probably won’t actually be able to say this…” (it was a plosive sound made in the back of your throat), but then I immediately made it after he demonstrated a few times, and he was impressed.

What I really need is someone to explain this linguistically to me. Someone who can say more than, “You just go like this!” and then make the tone. I need someone here who can say, “Oh you actually do xyz with your mouth/vocal chords.” But since most people tend to just be able to make the sounds and tones in their language, they don’t really think about how it’s done. Go on, try to explain to someone who doesn’t have a certain sound in their language. Explain to them how to make a “v” and “f” sound, and the difference between the two. (I know you’re now just sitting there, making “f” and “v” sounds. What you should say is that both of them are considered a “fizzle” sound, so you close your mouth to the point where the air “fizzles” between your teeth and lips. There you go, “f”. Now for “v”, your mouth keeps the same shape as “f”, but it is a “voiced” sound, which means your vocal chords vibrate. Okay, yes, I only know this from reading the linguistic explanation of sounds in my attempts once upon a time to learn to speak elfish. (*nerd alert*) And it was quite a number of years ago, so my technical vocabulary might be off. So if you’re an actual linguist, and I said things wrong, sorry. But you get what I’m trying to say.) Anyway, my point is, is that over the past years, my interest in languages has allowed me to understand sounds, making them and so on. But I’ve never strayed into tonal languages at all. And now I’m trying to learn them, not from a university professor or online linguist expert, but just a normal person, who happens to speak the language. I have a teacher now, but once I get to post, it will just be some random community member. They might not know formal writing or even grammar rules (I never really understood English grammar until I started taking OTHER languages, for example I only figured out the difference between “who” and “whom” once I took Latin), or be able to describe how to make a sound. I crave a really systematic approach, but I just don’t think there is one for this random Beninese language. It’s not like anyone even formally learns their language in school; they use French there. Like most people with grammar, we’ll explain that you need a certain word or word order because it sounds right. I think I’ll have to learn to let go of my need for order, and just let the language happen.

Tuesday, 11 September 2012

Wow, training is almost done. Three more days until I become a “real” Peace Corps volunteer.

Peace Corps administration is still being annoying. Such as Monday, they scheduled a time for our local language, then switched it to an earlier time—without informing our instructors. So no local language was learned that day (except for what I had studied on my own with flashcards earlier. Not that this helps much since I don’t actually know how to say anything…) Then at some point they were like, “Oh, by the way you have your final French examination tomorrow…” Not that it makes much difference. I think at this point you either know French or you don’t. It’s not like I have any issues, but for some people it made them really nervous.

Today was language all day. Which means we sat around and studied (or not) at our leisure. I also had an interview with my program director. He asked if I had any concerns about going to my post (no), but mostly we talked about training. I made a ton of suggestions, and he seemed to think they were really great, and now wants to invite me to the Training and Development Workshop, where they design next year’s training schedule. So watch out, Benin PC volunteers next year. Your “stage” is going to be intense.

My old French teacher stopped by, which was awesome. He was as fun and wonderful as ever. He also told me that his wife is now pregnant, and if she has a girl, they will name it “Shannon”. I was flattered! He told the other student that was in my group, that he couldn’t name a boy after him, because he and my teacher actually have the same name, so it wouldn’t work. Oh, I miss my professor so much! I wish he had still been here during all of our training.

Of course, I also had class with my new Bariba professor. I was the only student in my class that actually went to it. Everyone else was too busy studying French, or just vegging out after their exam. It just so happens that this professor is a recent Masters graduate, and studied History-Geography. So there wasn’t as much Bariba studied as there was African history discussed. Ooops…

We also got on the topic of this professor wanting to come to America. This is something that blows my mind. Here is a man, with a Master’s degree, who has a good job teaching History and Geography in middle/high school (not sure which), and yet wants to come to America, and talks about his friends who have jobs are restaurant cooks. Why would you want that? Why would you give up a respectable, well-paying (for Africa) job to come to America, be treated like scum, and paid a terrible wage? Yeah, $7/hour SOUNDS like a lot to people living here in Benin, but this doesn’t take into account the high cost of living in the States. You can hardly live on minimum wage in most areas. Why do people still buy into the American hype? I’m not trying to be unpatriotic. I enjoy my American citizenship, but that’s because it was free. I didn’t have to work towards it. It comes with A LOT of advantages. I just don’t see why people would want to struggle so hard just to come live here, while NOT already having the advantages of an American citizenship. Maybe if our country actually helped students who go there to study later work towards citizenship. Maybe if our country didn’t make it SO HARD to get in, in the first place, and our companies didn’t treat you so badly once you do. My prof told me the problem was that there aren’t really jobs here in Benin. (Well, there aren’t really many jobs in America either.)

The problem with this lack of opportunity in Benin is that it leads to something called a “Brain Drain.” Here we have a man with a master’s degree wanting to leave Benin and go work in the kitchens of America. Since Benin—and other African countries—don’t have much to offer their brightest and most motivated citizens, these people leave. Then the people that are left might be the less-educated. Sure, there are still many smart people here. And there are some who are well-educated and well-traveled and take upon themselves a moral obligation to return to the land of their birth and aid the development of their country.

So what to do? I think our country (America) is stupid for not offering citizenship to students who come and study there. For example, at OSU, there were a lot of athletes from overseas. The university paid for them to come here, paid for them to play, paid for them to get an education. Yet at the end of their studies, these students are shipped back to their home countries. We (Americans) loose all this money invested by our universities, and we send smart (and athletic!) people away, then make it really hard and expensive for them to get back.

On the other hand, I look at countries like Benin, where so many of the rich and/or smart people go to school abroad and work the system so they never have to return. They figure out a way to stay, and so their country loses good minds.

It’s like a jealous hoarding of brains. I don’t think America really appreciates the full potential that allowing in the all of the best and the brightest of the world could accomplish. On the other hand, America is still so appealing that these “best and bright” people are willing to work so hard just to set foot on our shores.

And can I really blame them? I think I understand loving a region for no plausible reason. I wanted to come work in West Africa. I probably would have taken a job with the devil if there were no other way. Here I am, living on a meager wage in the name of World Peace, or something. So I get it, I guess. Oh, just add this to the list of complicated life questions I encounter, but of course am unable to answer or actually do anything about.

Things that are more mundane, but that I still can’t to much about, are all the personal possessions I brought that are slowly disintegrating before my eyes. My 10-year-old back-pack got a huge rip in it. The bottom pad-ish of 2-year-old computer has completely fallen off. It just melted whatever was keeping this pad stuck, and now it’s just the straight metal of my computer case. Also of my new shoes are scuffed, and two of the pairs have already started falling apart. There are some other examples, I just can’t think of them now. Come on, my “things”. I just want you to last the two years! And you can’t even last three months…

(In other news, I am running out of “gorilla glue” in trying to fix all these things myself. Does someone want to send me more? Thanks…)

I have also started packing, although this has been my most haphazard packing job ever. Mostly because I know that I’ll have a whole car to myself, so I feel like there’s no need to economize space. I may come to regret this.

Thursday, 13 September 2012

My last day as a trainee. It wasn’t too stressful. Actually, all that happened was in the morning I filled out a few surveys to let Peace Corps know how I thought the training/trainers were (I was sure to leave a fabulous review for my French teacher). I found out that I got “Advanced-Mid” on my language, which is fabulous. The only two remaining levels to conquers are “Advanced-High” then “Superior” which means that you can say whatever you want, however you want. Although it’s only two levels, they are pretty hard to jump up. But I have two years.

I also found out that Peace Corps thinks I would be more integrated in my host family if I took on chores like cleaning my room. (I feel like my mom just spat out something in laughter right there). I haven’t cleaned my room on a regular basis for the past 24 years of my life, Peace Corps. Good luck changing that. I was only here for 2.5 months. I think the fact that I actually did clean my room once within that time period is quite remarkable.

We got our moo-lah from the bank. I have decided to buy a fridge. And for a Peace Corps Volunteer, that’s pretty extravagant. But I can. And I want it, for my health and nutrition. And cold water when it’s 120 degrees out. So I’m using the money my family gave to contribute to this. My host family has been really helpful in coordinating getting my fridge; I think my host cousin is actually going to bring it back from Cotonou tomorrow all by himself.

After the morning of last-minute official business, we were all free. A bunch of us went to a buvette to celebrate the end of training. One volunteer got a little tipsy, went out and bought one of the standing fans, then realized that he had biked to school today. So he had it quite interesting trying to figure out how to get that home…

Anyway, at buvette, at the suggestion of my postmate, M., who as you may recall is from Puerto Rico, we took one of the whiskey-sachets (these are plastic bags about 2-shots worth of cheap whiskey) and poured it into the coconut, so it mixed with the coconut milk. Oh my gosh, it was so delicious! And I think it would be even better if it was made with actual good liquor. That is what I will miss when I come back to the states. Although M. says she does this all the time in Puerto Rico, so maybe I will just have to move there.

It’s interesting, that people here seem to miss a lot of American food. I don’t, really. If anything, I miss Tex-Mex food. I would probably cut off my right arm for a black-bean burrito, if I could find one in this country. Yesterday, one of the admins here, a former volunteer in Burkina Faso, went through a powerpoint, then at the very end put a picture of a cupcake. There was a collective sigh with mutterings about how mean that was. Then she said that she made us all chocolate cupcakes, and there were screams of joy. The cupcake was delicious, and I definitely appreciate the gesture, but it’s just not something I miss. And I’m a weird American/Westerner for this, but I actually really love rice. Like a lot. Most Americans would prefer pasta, but unless it’s tortellini (oh, I would kill for that!), I just don’t care that much. What I will probably miss is Beninese food when I go back to the states, like the fresh pineapples and coconuts that cost 20 cents. (Oh and mango season is coming soon, so I will be enjoying plenty of fresh mangoes!)

This same admin shared some advice with us at the end of her session. She said that when things start to get tough, just remember why you decided to join Peace Corps in the first place. But when I think about it, I really don’t know. Why did I join Peace Corps? It just seemed like the right thing to do. I was at home, applying for jobs, but of course fresh out of school with no experience. I hadn’t really even heard of Peace Corps until recently. I remember watching an TV show in 2008 or and someone mentioned the Peace Corps and another person responded with something like, “They still do that?” And, actually, that was pretty much my feeling at the time. But at some point, it kept surfacing as an idea, and I even mentioned it to my professor as an option, and he thought it was good.

But why? If I am completely honest, I think the real reason is that I just wanted to come back to West Africa. I just wanted to come here and speak French. And have something good to put on my resume. All very selfish reasons. I mean, I do like helping people, but I just know that I didn’t decide to join Peace Corps for that reason. But do I really need a reason? I’ve talked in previous entries about how I’ve come to realize that life just knows better than I do. I don’t think I ever had long-time goal or a solid reason to apply to Peace Corps, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. It fit with everything I want in life, right now, which is to go to West Africa and work with an organization that helps people here. Like the quote I included in the beginning, I do want to make a difference in people’s lives. But that is kind of vague.

My point is that I sometimes feel ashamed when I can’t actually think of a reason that I joined Peace Corps. Are we supposed to have a noble goal? (i.e. I want to end world hunger…) or is it okay to just be an idealist who loves to travel, and thought Peace Corps would be a good way to do it? Or do I actually, have a goal, but LIFE just hasn’t let me in on it yet? I feel like this last one is a very distinct possibility.

Yesterday I was stressed out a little. I went to the roof of my host family’s house, which I only discovered recently. They think this is the weirdest thing. But it’s so beautiful up there. I look around, and there are the dirt streets of the city, with people walking around. There are the houses, of all varying conditions and sizes. And, oh! so many beautiful palm trees in the yards. The sky is so blue and open, with a few clouds, and there is a nice breeze. I hear the hustle and bustle of the traffic and the people. I am reassured that there is no where in the world I would rather be. I am excited about the job I will be doing. I feel my future opening up for me. My only worry is that since I don’t have a higher goal, a solid reason for being here, maybe it will be easy to lose sight of what I’m doing. Or maybe I just have to let it unfold.

Friday, 14 September 2012

As a final thought, someone who spoke at my Swear-In ceremony said this, “If you think you are too small to make a difference, just spend the night in a room with a mosquito.”

Come-ons and Conundrums

Monday, 3 September 2012

So after my last post of discussing what I think my role is here, what I hope to accomplish, and why I even joined the Peace Corps at all, I had a conversation that reinforced all the reasons that I am NOT here. It was with some guy who was at my host family’s house for dinner (my host mom has recently opened up her own little in-house restaurant). This guy is actually friends with the host dad of the other volunteer in my first month’s French class.

Anyway, the conversation basically went like this:

(We were talking about me being in Kérou, and how that is really far away. Then he asked me if I am getting a car. I told him I won’t be making enough money to get a car.)

Man: “Well, how much money will you be getting?”

Me: “About 100,000 FCFA per month” (That’s about $200. In villages, this is an exorbitant amount, actually. Most volunteers find that this is virtually impossible to spend, and use the extra money they have to splurge when they make trips to the “big cities,” i.e. Natti or Cotonou. Another volunteer told his family in-village that he makes 60,000, and they still thought this was high.)

Man: “What!!!??? That’s such a small amount! It must be terrible to work for the US government! How can they only pay you that much!!!???”

Me: “Well, actually, I’m a volunteer, not an employee. They only pay me what I need to live. If I were something like an ambassador, I’d be making A LOT more money.”

Man: “But they you’re a ‘grande personne’ (this is the French he used. It literally means ‘big/important person’ but I’m still not sure why he said that). How can they only pay you that much?”

Me: “Well, I am supposed to live like the people I’m working with. Since I’m a VOLUNTEER, I don’t need to make that much money.”

Man: “But how will you afford television?”

Me: “Actually, I don’t watch television.”

Man: “WHAT!? You don’t watch television?”

Me: “No, not really.”

Man: “Why don’t you watch television?”

Me: “Because, the TV isn’t good for your brain. It’s better to read a book or do something else productive.”

Man: “But how do you get the news?”

Me: “I read the newspaper.”

Man: “But when you return to the States, you’ll have your television!”

Me: “Actually, I didn’t have a TV in the States.”

Man: “What!? You didn’t have a TV??? You don’t watch television? Ever?”

Me: “Only if I’m at someone else’s house.”

Man: “So you don’t watch television!?”

Me: “NO!”

Man: “Ok. Well, are you married?”

Me: “No.”

Man: “Well do you have boyfriend? How old are you?”

Me: “No. And I’m 24.”

Man: “What!? And you’re not married yet?”

Me: “No, I’m not.”

Man: “Why?”

Me: “Because I want to be free. I want to travel. I want to meet lots of people. And I haven’t met someone yet who makes me want to settle down. Or better yet, I haven’t found someone yet that wants to travel the world with me.”

Man: “So you’re going to spend two years in Kérou? Do you have a boyfriend in Benin, or are you going to get one?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Man: “Because, you know, you’re not a child. You are a woman. You’re 24. You’re not a baby. You are a woman. You have needs. You can’t go two years without someone to fulfill those needs.”

Me: “……”

Man: “You can’t go two years without a man. You’re a grown woman.”

Me: “Well, I mean, if I want to go out on a date with someone [I used the term, “go out” to clearly avoid the subject he was inferring] then I will. If I want a man in my life, then maybe I will meet someone there. If not, it’s no big deal.”

Man: “Give me your number. I will visit you in Kérou.”

Me: “Ohh…… (*awkward pause*) umm… I’m not allowed to give out this number. The Peace Corps gave me my phone, and I’m only allowed to use it for work ONLY.”

Man: “No, it’s fine just give me your number.”

Me: “No, it’s really not allowed.”

Man: “Okay. I will buy you a phone. And give it to you, then I can call you.”

Me: (Thinking: “Shoot, that didn’t work!”) “No, I can’t accept that…”

So then after this, I made my excuses, and got out of there, ASAP. But in my head I was furious. Who is this man, coming and insisting that I live a certain way? And secondly, why did my host family insist on me talking to this creeper in the first place??? I was just staring him like, “Oh excuse me for having different goals in life then watching the TV all day and getting boned by an old, ugly, creepy man like you!” WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS? Also, he was really insistent about getting my number. But that’s kind of a cultural thing in Benin. Girls can’t give out their number or agree to dates instantly. If they do, they will be thought of as loose (because, obviously, a girl can’t just decide if she does or does not want to go on a date with a guy by meeting/talking to him. If she says yes to a guy the first time, then that means her miniscule little brain just says yes to every guy that comes up to her on the street. But if she says no the first time, then it’s just necessary to keep asking her out, until her miniscule little brain realizes how awesome you are.) Okay, what is in parentheses isn’t what people actually say in Benin, but it’s kind of implied since it’s still is true that a girl has to refuse a guy a few times before agreeing to go out with him. Ultimately this means that guys don’t realize that NO MEANS NO when they are asking me out (or offering their services for fulfilling my needs).

So I’m really nervous if he comes back. I hope he will just forget about this and not return. If he does, though, my plan is just to go crazy on him, and hopefully scare him off. Not sure if that works, though.

IN OTHER NEWS, I think I had an epiphany today. The Peace Corps has recently (within the last year) adopted “Food Security” as a primary goal. As you know, I will be working with women’s gardening groups, which play a key role in Food Security in rural Africa. Anyways, I think I just found the topic for my thesis (since I am doing this Peace Corps thing in conjunction with my masters). I never really had an interest in the concept of food security. In fact, I don’t think I knew this concept even existed until a few months ago, when it was introduced in my class “International Nutrition and World Hunger.” But suddenly I am fascinated by this subject and really excited to do something about it.

On that note, this is the advice I would give to myself if I could go back in time:

Dear younger self:

Don’t ever ignore an opportunity to learn something, just because you think you will never need it. Since your dad is a (former) farmer, please learn everything you can about agriculture from him, especially the financial end of it. Since your dad is an accountant, please talk to him and learn everything you can about business from him, even if you swear that you will never want to have anything to do with business. Because he will be gone before you realize you want all this information. Please take at least one business class in undergrad, besides just the “Technology for Africa” project that you got roped into because you wanted to speak French and go to Africa. Please take at least one of the many agriculture classes offered by your graduate school, even if you swear you will want nothing to do with agriculture, ever. Please pay a lot more attention in your Nutrition class. Thanks, that is all. For now.

Love,

Shannon

My Dad once gave me the advice that if I ever felt that I might want to own my own business, to make sure I took business classes. He told me this because he started his own business without actually getting an education in business, and had to wing it. He perhaps made some mistakes. Having a solid background would have definitely helped him manage better, especially at first. Yet here I am, in Benin, working in a business/agriculture, with hardly any background in either (how did that happen??). I guess I’ll have to wing it too.

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

I’m going to take some time out to complain about the Peace Corps.

But firstly I will mention that the wonderful thing about Peace Corps is that I can complain about it. Openly. On the Internet. For anyone to read. In any other normal job, that could get you fired.

That is the amazing thing about Peace Corps. I can do pretty much anything at all that I want here, and as long as I put on a helmet every time I ride a motorcycle, I don’t go to Nigeria, and I don’t get an untreatable medical condition, then they won’t fire me. I get to stay here for the full 2 years. This is the most flexible job in the world. I could sit around like a bum for two years (there is actually a current volunteer that is doing that, just sitting around, not working at all. And Peace Corps is just waiting for him to make a mistake like riding helmet-less so they can get rid of him). I can do any [development] work I want to in my village that I find interesting. I can travel to another town, as long as I just inform Peace Corps that I am going. And if it’s for a long period of time, then I just have to come up with a “work-related” reason. Which could be anything, because the whole concept of “work” is so flexible. No other time in my life will I have a job that is so relaxed.

But on the flip side of that, there is no structure. I won’t receive much actual help/support from the administration here. I’m left to figure out things on my own. I have to be a go-getter. The business training we have been receiving has been a joke. Sure, there have been some helpful moments. But the majority of the time is spent idling away over “group projects” that are allotted too much time, and discussing stupid, irrelevant things. Then when we get to actual interesting discussions, these are stopped because they aren’t on the schedule, and we need to move on. It’s really frustrating. I feel like I’m wasting my time. But on the other hand, it’s not like I have anywhere else to be.

Peace Corps is very much a job that you get out of it what you put in, and nothing more. And unfortunately, I think it is filled with very motivated volunteers but perhaps jaded admins that are better at paper-pushing rather than actually being of use. (This, of course, has some exceptions that I’ve seen already.) But then again, isn’t this true in many bureaucracies?

This has created an interesting conundrum for me. In some respects, I look at the paperwork I am supposed to do, decide that it’s stupid and I don’t care—and Peace Corps isn’t going to fire me for not doing it anyway—so I don’t really do it. On the other hand, I spend the time that I think is being wasted on stupid projects in class by studying language flashcards. I come home and do my own research on business and possibilities for my work. So I do things that I think will actually be useful, and not the stupid paperwork. And this is probably the only job, ever, that will allow me to get away with that.

(One volunteer mentioned that he would be worried if Peace Corps really did work like a well-oiled machine. What would such a hippie-esque organization be doing, running smoothly and efficiently, like a business or the military? That would, in fact, be alarming.)

So I get freedom, but no help. It’s a trade off, but I think that is life. The most frustrating part about Peace Corps, though, is the absolute lack of communication and understanding between volunteers and admin. One example of this was that Saturday, some volunteers put on a “talent show” after class, which was a fun, enjoyable time that we got to relax. But at the end, some admins insisted that we stay and watch someone put together the gas stoves that we will receive. And yelled at us when we weren’t really paying attention. This infuriated the volunteers, because this was OUR TIME. It was after class, and we were simply enjoying the time together. We didn’t want it ruined by having a forced Peace Corps activity. But there reasoning was, “Well you are all here, and this is something you need to see before you go to post.” (SO PLAN BETTER AND SHOW US DURING ACTUAL CLASS, NOT DURING AN ACTIVITY WE ORGANIZED AFTER-HOURS)

Another example of terrible communication has to do with our language classes. So one teacher announces, “local languages start Monday.” So us volunteers assumed this meant that we had some sort of allotted time for local languages. No. They meant that if we wanted to stay after 9 hours of class, there were teachers available for us. Are. They. Joking? Our brains aren’t working by then, especially to learn a whole new, different language. Anyway, we also didn’t know initially what this meant, so no one stayed for the class. Then a few days later, we got yelled at for not embracing this opportunity to learn languages, and that they would just be telling the teachers they weren’t needed. This made us really upset, because we all know that we need to keep on learning the languages. And we WANT to. Just not at 5 in the afternoon, after a full day of class.

So I lobbied that we take some time during the day—since we have a lot of time that we are sitting around, twiddling our thumbs anyway—to study the local language. Apparently this was accepted, so Monday it was announced that we had time for local language right after lunch. But of course, our teacher was not told to come look for us CED (us volunteers in Community Economic Development) students (our class has TEFL, aka English Teachers as well), so I and another business student also taking the same language, were sitting around, semi-trying to find our teacher (we actually had no idea who this actually was), until finally we had someone call him to come get us. Then Tuesday, we went to this class after lunch. But apparently, we weren’t supposed to, and got yelled out for skipping out on a CED lesson. The other girl was just inwardly mad, but I luckily have the French skills, and the guts, that I stood up for myself—perhaps responded a little too angrily and heatedly—but letting him know that I in know way was responsible for this, and maybe Peace Corps should get it’s act together and better inform us about what’s going on. NO ONE is going to tell me that I was irresponsible. I study hard. I have not missed ONE. DAY. of class, even though I have also been so lucky as to recently have a string of various maladies afflicting me. But I still get up at some god-awful hour of the morning, drag my self to a class that I’m never actually sure if it’s going to be useful, and sit there, studying French and Bariba while simultaneously half-listening to the actual lesson, and sniffling or having to frequently use the bathroom. You have NO RIGHT to call me out for accidentally missing a class, especially when I was off studying a language, not just skipping to go to a bar or something.

So grrr…Peace Corps. But this is one of the many reasons that I am really, really looking forward to moving to post. I don’t have to deal with their BS every day. I will be doing my own projects, expecting absolutely NO help from my “bosses” in Cotonou. I will just have to work hard to accomplish what I think is good. I will be living on my own, no more host family, thank goodness. 10 more days.

Oh, and I thought of one reason why I will be actually glad to get out of the city. I will be able to escape from the disgusting exhaust that afflicts me every day as I bike to school. It would probably be healthier to adopt a pack-a-day smoking habit rather than breathe all this in all the time. Especially when huge, old trucks rumble past me, spewing their diesel fuel everywhere. Ugh. At least Kérou has much, much cleaner air. See, I’m being positive about this move!

Later that day…

Oh, and as an update, I talked to one of the Admin people about the theft that occurred in my house. Giselle (that’s her name) is quite wonderful. She is very soft-spoken, but expresses real concern for the needs/wants of the volunteers. Plus she is on top of her game, and responds quickly. She was really alarmed that this had happened. I really hate confrontation, and I also hate asking people for help. I think in one of my very first blogs I mentioned that this was one of my concerns: that I find myself unable to ask for help. When I was in France, it wasn’t until I called my mom, in tears from pain in my throat, and she was like “SHANNON GO TO THE FREAKING DOCTOR!!!” that I actually went and found out I had step/mono. So in this case I was just said to Giselle, “Oh, I need an incident report form,” hoping I could just fill it out, slip it under someone’s door, and just be added to the list of statistics of crime towards Peace Corps Volunteers, and not have to think about it again. But then she asked me what I wanted to report, explaining the new policy was to actually force volunteers to call and report (I think to avoid the scenario I envisioned above being played out and the PC having a continual bad rep for not taking good care of their volunteers when it comes to crime.) So I explained to her what happened, and she was like, “Oh, c’est très grave!!!” (“That’s very grave/serious”). Now she wants to have someone come and talk to my family. Oh, I am all worked up now and nervous. I hate confrontation. Just telling her and thinking about having to face my family makes me want to get a little oyster shell and curl up inside. On the other hand, I also realized that I DID want someone to ask, to care. Someone who actually could do something about it, not just say, “Oh, that sucks!” like other volunteers or my family. So, in conclusion, some of my frustration with the Peace Corps has been somewhat alleviated by Giselle. It’s a good reminder of the ups and downs I will face both in dealing with the PC and the work I will do here. I’m sure that one moment, something will completely frustrate me, and the next I will meet someone who makes my day. Hopefully, I find it easier to remember the positive experiences.