Everyday Politics

So first a friendly reminder to DONATE HERE (this is a direct link now); to my upcoming School Improvement Project. [Or go to donate.peacecorps.gov and the project is # 14-680-001 ]. Hurry up to claim your TAX DEDUCTION for this year. Otherwise you'll have to wait over a year before you see any tax-impact from your donation. And thank you for everyone who has already donated! We're already 40% there. If you missed my last blog explaining the project, you can check it out here: http://srsmith3791.blogspot.com/2013/12/improve-school.html

And now for the report on a project of mine nearing completion. I hope this doesn't discourage you from donating to me. It's just an account of the difficulties of implementing a project, and the hurdles I have to overcome, etc. It's not an easy task! I'm learning a lot though, which is awesome.

They say TIME IS MONEY. If that were true, then I would be a poor, poor person right now. Wait, whom am I kidding? I am! I am a poor, poor volunteer.

So let me give you a quick re-cap of this project. It is the one to bring an irrigation system to the Fétékou Women’s Gardening Group.

August 2012:  I meet the women in the group for the very first time. They mention that their biggest obstacle is the hardship of watering their plants [I would later find out they water their plants by carrying basin by basin to their plot and flinging the water with a smaller bowel haphazardly over the area]. They insist it is hard work, and they’d love something to make their work easier—namely making the watering an easier task. At this point, I have absolutely no idea how to ameliorate this problem, but I keep it tucked in the back of my mind.

February 2013: After my 2^nd prolonged stint in the medical office, I attended a training on irrigation systems offered by Peace Corps. The specific system presented—drip irrigation—while efficient, seemed highly expensive, precise, and incompatible with village life. It would require me to order the equipment from this super-store in Cotonou [then what would the women do after I left?], and for the system to be implemented perfectly so that the holes in the irrigation system matched up with the plants, and then, of course, coordinating the rotation of garden plants… so, yeah, not the most feasible idea. However, during the training, the host volunteer also showed us an irrigation system in a public garden, where individuals could rent out space. It involved water from a spring brought into the nearby garden by moto-pump. Individuals would rent out a plot, and have access to the water, which came to them through a series of pipes and then hoses, and made watering easy. This is basically the system I am trying to replicate in Fétékou.

April/May 2013: The women still have their garden in what is—during the wet season—a lake. This makes my irrigation system plans complicated, in fact impossible. But unreliable and early rains mean the Hubert finally has enough force to convince the women to move to a new garden. It is in a site that he’s been working on for years, but has been complicated. Now that the women have no other choice, however, they agree. Plus this means that it is actually a site where an irrigation system would work, so I set about writing up the grant

September 2013: So I have been stumbling about, trying to talk to solders, trying to get prices from the local hardware store. There is no help from Hubert, until magically one day, he swoops in. First, with the over-priced SONEB guy, who thinks that he can over-charge, just because the american girl is funding the project. It isn’t until I suggest that the Hubert look for someone else—especially since Hubert might wish to duplicate the project to expand the gardening area later on—that he calls his friend from Nati, who comes, and gives us a very reasonable estimate for the money he will require for finishing his work. I explain the other research I’ve been doing on prices, etc, and Hubert seems satisfied. Days later, I am in Natitangou and submit the grant.

End of September 2013: Peace Corps Benin is undergoing an audit and end-of-the-year paperwork. They don’t get around to finishing processing my grant. The government fiscal year ends.

October 2013: Government Shutdown. Because no one has anything better to do with their lives than watch the political parties play the chicken game with each other.

November 2013: The government shutdown is way over. But for some reason, Peace Corps Washington seems to be way more delayed than the shutdown merits. They announced, suddenly, at the end of September, that any new grants in the new fiscal year would have to be submitted over the internet [which is super lucky, because I have super-awesome, super-fast internet in the developing country I’m supposed to be helping]. However, even a month after the end of the government shutdown, these forms are still not ready. Peace Corps Benin gives up on them, and sends me a note that I can apply with the old form…as long as I promise that one day I will re-submit EVERYTHING in the new forms. Because EFFICIENCY.

December 2013: I finally get the money for my grant. Just returning from dropping Mom and Bob at the airport, I am in Nati, pay the plumber/irrigation guy for everything he must order form Cotonou. Then I go back to Kérou, and stay a total of two days, because after that I am summoned by my Peace Corps boss, Yves, to give a presentation to the newer volunteers regarding some tools I developed for Budgeting and Villages Savings & Loans Groups. I also give money to the solder in Kérou, so he can begin making the sprayer-part that I want for the hoses. At this point I attempt to contact Hubert, to have him help me work out what the solder needs to do, and also transportation of the supplies from Nati to Kerou. I get no response.

I spend a week in Parakou at the training, in which I receive absolutely no response from Hubert. I even called him once, received a busy signal, and called him back immediately, only to be ignored. I know there is some kind of passive-aggressive something going on here, but it’s not funny, because I actually want to get stuff done. I probably called him over 100 times in a 3-week period. No response. Not once. Except for one time when he accidentally picked up and immediately hung up on me. That was while he was on speaker-phone, so the plumber could know that I wasn’t crazy.

But, whatever. Even without Hubert, I managed to coordinate buying all of the pieces, having the plumber organize the transportation, etc. Which brings us to:

Wednesday, 18 December 2013

So today is the day we are leaving, with all the equipment we have. It is the driver, myself, and the plumber in the front of this kind of pick-up trunk. The plumber’s apprentice is riding in the covered bed with all of the equipment, plus my stuff, as well as the plumber’s motorcycle.

Anyway, we continue to Kérou, stopping a few times to fix the PCV tubes that are bouncing around and trying to get loose.  I realize at one point that I am hopelessly lost. We need to deposit these pipes in Fetekou, but the women don’t know we’re coming, and I cannot explain anything in Bariba. So I call up Pierre, and make him promise to help me out. We stop by in his village, and he says he’s following us, but then veers off somewhere along the way. But we keep going. Anyway, I stop at the house of the 2^nd group’s president. She is the one closest to the outskirts of town; and therefore closest to the garden. So we take all of the pipes and deposit them outside the doors of her house. She—and it seems everyone else in village—is out in their fields, harvesting the corn that is ready. Of course, this is probably the most un-ideal time to be doing this, but hey, that is out of my control. So we wait around there, until Pierre FINALLY shows up. He explains the situation to the little kids and the one old man around the house, telling them to protect all of the PCV stuff, etc. Then we go to the house of the 1^st group’s president. She is out, in her large field, which is apparently far away. The Vice President is there, however, apparently only because she’s sick. I tell here we need the women—or boys they hire, to start digging tomorrow. She says this is absolutely impossible. Couldn’t I have given them more of a warning? I seethe inwardly, thinking about how if Hubert would answer my calls, he could have sent someone to tell me when I was coming. But… Well, anyway, I agree that we can start after-tomorrow, being Friday.

Thursday, 19 December 2013

So it actually worked out fine that no one could work the very next day. In fact, it would have been an utter waste for them. The plumber brought a ruler that only went up to a little over 4 meters. So I have absolutely no idea how he ever envisioned measuring a half-hectare [that’s 100m x 50m]. It was I who suggested that he get some string and tie knots to measure out where I wanted the system to be placed. Luckily, It was market-day in Fetekou, so I went in there—the garden is only just outside the village—and got some string, which I believe helped measure-out the garden. At some point, a guy shows up, claiming to have been called by Hubert, who I guess is still alive and communicating with everyone—except me.

One of my artisans, Dennis, zooms by at one point. I know he is vaguely connected with the water-tower. I explain to him what I’m doing here, which takes him by surprise. I was under the impression that Hubert would have talked to him, some time in these negotiations, but apparently that never happened. He is flustered by our plans, and tells us what we are doing is impossible, but then just zooms off. Afterwards, Issa, the man who Hubert sent, spends an hour dragging on about how Dennis doesn’t have any REAL power, he just wishes he does, and how he’s just trying to butt his way into things, and Hubert already has his number, and he is of no real significance, just wants to be important, blah, blah, blah. This bothers me slightly, because I really like Dennis, but I just want this project to be done, and not to have any snags.

I had to turn in early, so that I could go home and talk to my electrician, who was dealing with my once-again failed electricity.

So apparently, the wood bringing my line to me was not put high enough, so it was knocked down by large trucks [I think this has happened more than once], and then burned while I was gone. So, awesome. One day… one day, I’ll have electricity that works almost all the time, and if not, it is repaired almost instantly…for free. Sent out by the electric company, who realizes it’s in their interest to repair all the lines as soon as possible.

Anyway, while I’m waiting for my electrician, I get a call from Peace Corps, telling me that my new grant [this is the one to improve a new school] is ready to go through. But, oh wait, they need my signature forms…in less than 24 hours, thanks. So I call Constant, who is the one with whom I’m working on THIS project. He is in Nati, and I tell him that he needs to arrive by 10AM the next morning. I feel this is a terrible pattern, me mentioning nothing, then suddenly, ready to do the grant, and calling whomever I’m working with, and being like, OKAY, NOW! YOU ARE REQUIRED TO DROP EVERYTHING! I really hate it, but I also blame it on Peace Corps and USAID, and just the NGO/government environment in general. They can’t give you any committal dates, but they second THEY are ready, they expect you to be. Then I have to pass that along to my work partners. No, “This should be ready in two weeks, so you can start planning…” but only, “well, when it is approved, then it should be processed. This could take 4 days or 2 weeks. It’s just this whole crazy bureaucratic process…”

Friday, 20 December 2013

So yeah, I get this call, Constant leaves at 5 the next morning, and arrives in plenty of time for me to send it, have it signed by the country director…and we’re off! Or will be, once Peace Corps Washington signs off on it too. [as you are aware, this grant has been approved, and you can donate to it, if you haven’t already! See the top of this page]

So anyway, I get this all done and set off for Fetekou. On my way, I stop to order the hoses that will be required for the system. The appliance store is owned by a Nigerian, and the boy who runs the hose-part of the store doesn’t even speak French. I am trying to explain to him what I want. He requests that I speak in English. And I think he understood—if possible—even less. Because Nigerian English isn’t like real English. Any Beninese who attempts to learn English from Nigerians can only say, “I speak English small-small.” Anyway, it’s a horrible time. And at this point, I realize that we had a terrible miscommunication beforehand. I had gone in, and asked about the hose that I wanted, explaining exactly what I needed it for. Yes, it did take a lot of discussion, but it was finally told that it would cost 200F/meter, and possibly cheaper by the roll. So that’s what I put on my grant request. However, when I come in to officially order this, I am told that such a hose does not exist. Or, well, specifically that it is not in stock.

“That’s okay,” I say, “I just want to order it. Can I do that? I want the thing you told me cost 200F/meter.”

Sales guy: “Okay, so you want 200 meters of hose?”

“No, I want the hose that costs 200/meter, and I wanted 320 meters of it.”

“So, wait, do you want 200 or 320 meters?”

…this was basically the discussion that went round and round for at least 20 minutes. Until finally, I insisted on seeing the boss, who apparently was off finding change somewhere [is that a boss thing to do?] He comes and explains that whoever told me that prices was gravely misinformed. When I told him it was this very shop, he started yelling at the worker, and I offered up that it was quite some time ago… But he explains to me that whatever cost 200/meter is not at all for irrigation and water. Their cheapest hose is actually sold at 700/meter, but the diameter I wanted is sold at 1500/meter, although, that goes down to 1000/meter if I buy the whole roll.

At this point, I almost break down, realizing my project is slowly slipping into a defeated mode. I tell the guy hollowly that I’ll figure something out, and I’ll be back. The boss is disappointed that I don’t want to place the order now, but…

So I ride my bike to Fétékou, which although only about 10km away, takes over an hour, because the entire road is having construction projects done on it, and there are constant detours. I am pretty sure I cried under my sunglasses for half of this trip, and spent the second half pulling myself together and forcing myself to figure out what I was going to do about it.

I get to the garden, where the plumber is still measuring. Apparently, measuring out 100 meters is hard, because the earth and boundaries aren’t exactly parallel and perpendicular. Because of course, every other stretch of land ever comes in perfectly formed squares. Whatever. He complains about how the women still haven’t found someone to come and dig the trenches. I hold back on pointing out that he has not even figured out where he wants to tell them to dig anyway, so what does it matter? I sit under a tree, until Igance, another guy sent by Hubert comes along, and we go to Fétékou to talk to the women, and manage to pull together a few boys who will come and dig the trenches.

They get there, and the plumber has finally marked where they are to dig. They begin, and dig about a meter, and then stop. They come and sit down in front of me and the Plumber, and I ask if there’s a problem. Igance says they want to know how much they’ll get paid. I throw my hands up saying that I explained perfectly clear when we were back in the village, that this work had nothing to do with me, and it was all the women in the gardening group were paying. At this point, the boys are all like, “What!?” There is a huge ordeal, and someone has to go back and grab the Vice President, Salimatou. She comes to the garden to survey the work, even though she has actually no idea what the price should be. We finally work something out, even though the boys are being ridiculous, wanting way to much money. The Plumber tells them that they should be more respectful, this work if for their community, for their mothers, etc. Then I finally jump in and say that I’m doing all this work for free, so they should lighten up on the prices, which nobody finds remotely hilarious, so there is just an awkward silence, until finally they boys half-heartedly accept the deal. They start working, and I eventually leave, promising there to be there early the next morning.

Saturday, 21 December 2013

So my plans to be up and out bright and early were ruined by a few things. Firstly, it is not bright early, and in fact it is quite cold [er, relatively]. So all I wanted to do was sit in my house, boil water long enough to heat up my main room slightly, and drink my coffee. Plus, if I were to actually arrive at the time I said, I would have had to leave my house when it was still dark…no thank you! Then, I decided to set up a meeting with the solder. I had figured out a plan to help with the hoses. I had already given an advance to the solder for the materials, but hadn’t actually been able to talk to him, so I was hoping that he might not have started on them yet (most Artisans that I’ve asked to do things for me are always terribly late, anyway). The way the garden is set up, I have 4 points along each of the two lines where there is a branch for water to come out. And each of these has two sides, for a total of 16 hose/nozzle combinations. But this means I also only technically need 8 (the extras were just so more women could work at once). So I cut back on the hoses and number of nozzles, and can actually afford what I want. Almost.

Unfortunately, the one time it would have been really helpful to have someone NOT on their game, they are. I see the solder, and he excitedly shows me all the sprayers he’s done. All he’s waiting on is the diameter of the hoses we are doing, so that he can put on the final tube. So that’s one failed backup plan.

So anyway, this means that turned up later to the garden than I participated. So I was quite late arriving at the garden. Everyone was just sitting around, clearly in the middle of an argument. I asked what was wrong, and they said the women had told them that there was no money to pay the boys for their work. They made it sound as if there was no money, ever, sorry, we’re done here. I sigh. But then I go with Ignace to talk to Salimatou, [VP]. He explains that the boys were there at 6 this morning, and finished digging the total 200 meters at 7. I didn’t say so, but I am 100% sure he was lying. Maybe not intentionally, but Beninese people in general don’t set much store by watches. But there’s no way those boys were there, digging at 6; it was still dark then! That’s when I had planned on leaving, but looked outside and realized that was never happening. Then if they were finished at 7, there was also no way they just sat there for hours, and were in a fresh argument when I arrived, 2 hours later. Please.

But anyway, we went to Fétékou and discovered that the problem wasn’t that the women weren’t willing to pay. It was just that, being so many women that are paying a part of it, they would have to wait a few days to get around to everyone. Plus this is a really busy time of the year with the corn harvest, so it is hard to find the women actually in the village, and furthermore many have to sell the corn before they have any access to cash. So they said they needed three days to get the money together. The boys looked angry, and I said that they could either accept that, or wait a few days to do the digging, but then have to pay for the technician’s return trip out of their salary. I don’t know if that was actually ever translated because Ignace looked kind of annoyed by me. But I thought it was funny.

So that gets worked out. We get little children to carry at least most of the PVC pipes to the garden [about .5km away]. The plumber starts putting pieces together It’s really cool to see it. A bunch of plastic tubes, all worked out with their proper adjoining pieces to make everything to right… Little by little it comes together. The pieces are snug, but of course the plumber also has special glue meant for PVC pipes, which is spread generously over all the ends.

The Plumber and his apprentice, putting the pipes together

A finished corner

Observers, some of whom, not hours before, had been yelling at us to stop
Now they're interested, especially this climatic moment.
This is when the irrigation system gets officially hooked up to the Water Tower supply

So there are two times over the past two days where are work attracts random passer-bys. Both of them come up to me, immediately criticizing, which annoys me to no end. The first one comes up and says, “well this looks interesting, but was a feasibility study done?” No, jerk, I just spun a wheel and it landed on irrigation system, on this plot. Granted, had I actually done a thorough feasibility study? No. But Hubert and I had kind of calculated it out. We had come up with that under perfect conditions, the women would still make money. But seeing as conditions are never perfect, etc, Hubert promised to find a contract price that the women could pay for the use of water in the garden. Then the second boy comes by, and immediately asked me if the soil would actually grow anything. I know it’s bad soil. It’s basically clay. But this is the only plot of land assigned, thank you. Plus there are plenty of fields surrounding this area that seem to be growing corn just fine. So both of these guys I lectured about how it was super-rude just to come up and start criticizing like that. Both of them pulled the, “No, you didn’t actually understand what I was saying,” line. I understood perfectly well, thank you. And I explained that I didn’t mind their input, as long as it was constructive. Like, coming up, after a project is already underway and asking if a Feasibility Study has been done helps no one. NO ONE. What, does the guy think I’m going to just stop everything and go, “wait guys, is this actually feasible?” Please. If he’s interested in the project, he can come up and ask what I’m doing, how far along, or even if there’s anything he can do, etc. See, nice, constructive conversation. After I lectured, and he finally at least said that I was right, I explained the project, and he seemed actually very impressed, and we had a nice little chat. The second guy, however, was accompanied by a friend, who was very offended that my vagina-toting self would ever dare to contradict the first guy. Apparently he was under the impression that the first guy I was talking to was a “chief” of sorts. The first guy waved this allusion to authority off, and told me that I was right. I responded “I know.” The second boy looks absolutely flabbergasted that I would have the audacity—AUDACITY—to say such a thing. He laughs at me. Then he asks me to marry him. At which point I fly off the handle, tell him he’s dumb, and that I would kill myself before I every married him. “But I need a wife!” he protests. I go on some feminist rant, mostly consisting of, “BUT YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME.” He then responds that I’m beautiful, which encourages another tirade from me, telling him he needs to focus on a person’s heart. “But your heart is beautiful!” he protests. Then I tell him “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME,” again, and inform him that I am actually crazy and heartless. He asks for my number, at which point his friend, the first guy, begins to drag him away, apologizing and in and undertone tells me he really likes what I’m doing here. So… yeah, an interesting day. I can’t even work in a garden without getting a marriage proposal. Hmm.

But then we come to the real dramatic part, where Dennis speeds by, then doubles back. He sees the boys hired from Fétékou digging around where the main pipe from the water tower passes. He jumps off the moto, flapping his arms, demanding that they immediately put all of the earth they have just dug up back. Right now. RIGHT NOW, he yells. I join in the argument, trying to explain that the people in charge right now are all foreigners [okay, the plumber is only from 4 hours away, but that still counts]. We do not know how things work here, but are simply doing what Hubert instructed us to do. We have no power to change anything, and we are not in the mindset of stopping our work. If he has a problem with it, he needs to propose something constructive. What can we do to make this project work, that will work within the confines of the system that is already set up. He just keeps yelling to close the hole we’ve been digging, and then I just start repeating that he just needs to go talk with Hubert and figure out what we’re doing. Oh, did I mention that where we were has no cell phone reception? So even under the circumstances that Hubert was talking to me, it would still be difficult to work things out. In the end Dennis jumps on his moto, I thought to go see Hubert, but heads the opposite direction. I roll my eyes and tell everyone to carry on. We do, but for the moment avoiding the hole in question.

Later the guy in charge of water in the mayor’s office comes by, and I explain to him the whole situation. That I’m just doing what I’m told would be perfectly fine, and if there’s a problem, someone needs to talk to Hubert. I also mention, that although Hubert said it wouldn’t be necessary, the plumber says he is already installing a valve right where we would be tapping into the main water source. This could be easily switched off to allow for the installation of a counter, to measure water usage. And voila! The problem was solved. No really. That’s all it took. No shouting, no insisting that all efforts be abandoned immediately. Just a, “umm, what we’re already planning on installing would allow for the easy installation of whatever you need to monitor water.” AND… we’re done here.

So what I found out over the course of the day was that water is not fully controlled by the mayor’s office. When Hubert was talking about the project, he made it sound like he would just strike a deal with the mayor’s office on how much the gardeners would have to pay, and that would be that. No need for a counter. Come to find out, however, that it’s not that simple. Although the mayor technically controls the water tower, they have essentially sold off the job of collecting the money for its use. The nearby farmers—represented by Dennis—pay an advance on the water, then go around checking the counters, and making sure everyone has paid. Of course, they do this at a slightly higher rate to get their own profits, because god forbid should we have some system where the government actually had to do their job, and no one externally profited from it. Wait, we were talking about America, right?

This, of course means, that if the gardening group was just peeling off water for their own use, this would really mess the system up. So we agreed that the counter would eventually be installed. And then everyone was happy. And Dennis and his companions mood went from raging and storming to, “Wow, thank you so much for installing this system. This is the first irrigation system in Kérou [false], and it will benefit our society so much.” Yeah, it’s great as long as you’re still getting your cut of the pie, whatever pie that is.

When we finally finished the irrigation system, almost all of the pipes were then buried under the ground. Then we went into the forest to search for thorny things under which to put the remaining parts, which sat above the ground. This is mostly to keep things likes cows, goats and children from stepping on or playing with them and breaking them. No one seemed to want to help, so I was like, fine, I’ll go. Someone handed me a machete, so I went into the surrounding trees, trying to hide myself, so as to not embarrass myself. I hacked away at a few branches, but for the most part, all I got was that loose flowers and leaves were knocked off, and descended on my head, so I looked like a crazy forest maiden. With a machete. It felt really cool though, whacking away at branches, and eventually having some of them drop off. After about an hour and after sustaining many pricks from thorns, I dragged a pile of what I thought were an impressive amount of thorny branches out, only to pile them on one of the above-ground points, and have the plumber come over and sigh. “I meant bigger branches, not these pathetic things,” he says. He takes the machete, and goes and hacks off branches in much larger groups [say almost the whole tree, instead of branch-by-branch, like I was doing]. We drag them around, and finally, FINALLY we are completed. Well, at least the plumber’s work is complete. I still have stuff to do.

Monday, 30 December 2013

So, let’s see. Last Monday, I finally tracked down Hubert. I complained to enough people, until finally one of them called me when Hubert was in his office, so I came by. And so I’m just sitting there like, “So…you haven’t been answering my calls.”

Hubert just gets this really aggressive look on his face. He says, “Well, I was just under the impression that you didn’t want to work together anymore. I called you after I sent the Plumber’s number, and you never responded. I even called Raili (the other volunteer) to tell you to call me, and I got no response. I figured if you can’t respond to my calls, I can’t respond to yours.”

I stare at him in utter disbelief. What a passive-aggressive @#@^%#%^^%$$@#$!#&$*&%#$#@#!@*$%$#$#@$!@#@$#&*$*^$#@@%#$@.

Okay, to be fair, I am terrible with phones. Horrendous. I hate them. I hate phones so much. If I could burn all regular phones, and disable calling on smartphones (leaving them just for texting and facebook, etc) I would. And I’m not alone. I think there was one website talking about introverted-ness, that explained it best, saying that introverts, who live a lot inside their mind, and like to give their full attention to tasks. The phone call is a very, very unwelcome interruption into life. I resent it.

Even my best friend knows this. She knows that when she calls, I might not pick up. If I don’t, I will eventually call back, with in a few hours or days. If someone calls and I’m doing something as mundane as watching a film with my family, I won’t answer the phone. In fact, I pretty much threw a temper-tantrum when I was young, every time the phone rang during a movie and my mom paused the movie to answer it.

It doesn’t [necessarily] mean I don’t like the person on the other end of the phone. All it means, is that it takes A LOT of emotional energy to pull myself out of the private experience I’m enjoying with myself or with some close family/friends, and actually talk to someone. Extroverts get emotional energy from interacting with people; introverts lose it. Sometimes I just don’t feel like putting myself out there right at that moment. [Texting takes a lot less emotional energy, or really none at all, so that’s why it’s my preferred option] Maybe it’s selfish to ask people to wait for when I’M ready to talk, but apparently there are plenty of people out there that think my conversation/voice/thoughts are worth waiting for. I do try to be respectful of other people, even answering when I may not be terribly inclined, messaging as to the reason behind my failure to answer, and/or calling them back in a timely manner.

So that’s my background. I wasn’t ignoring Hubert completely. Although the fact that I dislike him so much, does make it harder to convince myself to answer the phone. I tried to explain this, but what French class ever prepared me to give a lesson on personality and psychology? I ended up saying, “Well, I hate phones…”

He responds, “Exactly. That’s why I figured I should just stop responding to you ever, and we would only ever talk when face-to-face.” I just stare at him. Obviously I’m never going to be able to explain. He clearly doesn’t even want to listen. He launches into how Anna and Raili always respond, blah, blah, blah. His phone rings, and I see that Beninese tenseness that I HATE. I HATE IT, whenever I’m in an important conversation, and a phone rings. There’s this hesitation, then the slow move of the hand to the pocket, the conflicted look of yearning on their face. They want to answer their phone. They HAVE to answer it. All incoming calls are free. Call-backs and texts cost money. So I just have to shut up, and wait for them to answer before returning to the person sitting right in front of them (me). At least when phones ring in the states, yes the person will probably check it. But most of the time, they’ll glance at the caller-ID, decide it’s most likely not an emergency, and continue to be engaged with me. Or they might be half-engaged, momentarily, as they shoot back a text, but at least pretend to keep listening to the conversation.

We come back to the conversation, and I ask about this most recent affront (there was one other time I didn’t answer for a few days. That was when I knew exactly what he wanted, and I hadn’t done it yet. But I called as soon as it was ready and sent). It was right after I got the grant money, which was, as I pointed out, while I was still on vacation with my parents. I didn’t feel like talking to him while with them, to which he responds, well you could have at least sent me a text. Okay, fair point.

Then he points out that I only came and looked for him (unsuccessfully) two days before I left Kérou. “Why did you have to be last minute?” he demands. I point out that I was only in Kérou for two days before leaving again, owing to the unlucky combination of event timing and broken down zemidjans. For the first time Hubert looks abashed. “Oh,” he mutters.

In the end I just ended up staring coldly at Hubert, fuming inwardly, and promising to answer him when he calls. Then I got lectured for bringing Pierre to the Fetekou Gardening group. He was mad at me, because I know that Pierre has been fired. I explained that my impression was that, yes, he was fired, which simply meant the Mayor’s office would no longer be paying for his services. But Hubert, said that no, since the gardening groups are supported by the mayor’s office, I am not allowed to bring him along to a group, even if I am the one paying for it, because then it looks like the mayor’s office is supporting him.

Apparently, the whole reason this Pierre situation is a big issue, is because the Premier Adjoint (some sort of political office) hates Pierre. Like a blood-curdling kind of hate. And Hubert, knowing this, therefore, never actually informed the mayor that he was hiring Pierre. When Anna, Maria, and I went to thank the mayor for allowing Pierre to work with us, this led directly to Pierre’s sacking, because the mayor found out about Pierre’s role through us. And now when the Premier Adjoint heard rumors that I had taken Pierre to Fetekou, he apparently called Hubert and ripped him a new one.

So I understand why I can’t take Pierre to the gardening groups. I just resent that I have to be a part of this political game. Additionally, it would be helpful to have been provided with someone that I can work with. For the moment, I am completely on my own. And the only reason that I was able to successfully get the project done, was relying on myself, asking for Pierre’s help, and then of course the people that Hubert sent along while still refusing to talk to me. I don’t understand what Hubert wants. If he wants me to work with the gardening groups, I have to have someone that can go with me and translate. I really didn’t have anyone else I could have called to go with my parents and I to Fetekou. And furthermore, if Hubert would just explain properly what was going on, maybe he wouldn’t have all these problems. Maybe he should have told Anna and I in the first place to keep everything on the DL. And a bunch of other things that Hubert habitually lies to me about, then I act on these lies, and it blows up in both our faces. Not helpful.

Hubert then went on to tell me that I am completely forbidden from working with Pierre, since I am here by the invite of the Mayor’s office. I told him that Peace Corps says I can work with whomever I want, because my purpose is to be here for the community, not solely one organization. Hubert sighs, and says that is perfectly fine by him. But he wants us to go to the Premiere Adjoint and explain this, so at least Hubert can stop getting yelled at. Then he sighs again and says, “You know, you all blame this all on me. I don’t understand why. I was the one that hired Pierre. I’m trying.”

And for a moment I did have a twinge of pity. I suppose it’s not exactly a cakewalk for Hubert, especially having the Premier Adjoint and possibly the mayor yell at him repeatedly. But on the other hand, if he didn’t lie so much to me, if he didn’t do backhanded things, if he didn’t treat me in such a passive aggressive way… maybe I could actually pity him. But it’s not like he’s acting the part of the good guy. I want to believe the best about him. He seems so passionate about helping the women, how can I listen to the rumors that he steals from them too? Maybe he was trying hard to keep Pierre. But then I remember how he talked about Pierre, how he treated Pierre (and now a new guy who is helping Raili): like they’ve agreed to be his personal servants. The rumors about a series of guys before Pierre who agreed to work for Hubert, only to give up after being screwed over a few too many times. I hear these things from multiple people. I’ve experienced his lies first hand.

I guess it’s just hard for me to accept using someone for what they can give me. I detest Hubert, so I feel guilty for asking for his help. Maybe I need to stop being so all-or-nothing. I don’t have to like—or even respect—a person to accomplish something, although obviously that’s not an ideal situation. I should find at least one thing that is redeeming about a person. Hubert, for instance, is great to talk to. He’s funny and can be really inspiring/motivating. Just as long as I don’t believe anything he promises me.

I guess what I’ve learned is that having a bad work partner can make things more difficult. Oh, because also I mentioned the problem about the hoses, and Hubert says something to the fact, “Well, that’s why you have a community partner to help you with these sorts of things.” I almost reached across the desk and strangled him while yelling, “Well maybe that community partner should answer his &$^@*#&!^*&^ phone!” But I didn’t. Instead I smiled and said, “You’re right, I was totally wrong.” Then we figured out how much we needed, and Hubert will (hopefully) get this money, perhaps from the Union of Gardening Groups or something. And he asks me to figure out how to get it. I don’t feel guilty being like, “Sorry, I have no options.” Because if he had answered his phone, I might have found out two weeks ago about the hose-cost-difference, and been able to put my less-nozzles-and-hose plan into effect, but nooooooo. Or if he hadn’t insisted we wouldn’t need things like a water counter, I could have put it in my budget in the first place. So now Hubert has to figure it out. I’m staying on top of him, calling him to make sure he figures it out in a timely manner, so we’ll see.

So I’ve persevered. I’ve broken down behind my sunglasses a few too many times, but shaken myself together and worked on figuring out the next step. The advantage with Hubert, is that he has to figure out how to complete this, or the gardening group will pester him. I’ve already had the women stop me in the market and thank me…even though the system isn’t fully operational yet. It will work out because it has to, plain and simple (I used to tell my mom that about her business, that it would work because well, it has to. She has to make it work. I would drive her crazy saying that, because she would respond, "Shannon, it's not that simple"). There’s a lot of things that could have gone better…both those things in and out of my control. But I guess that’s life.

In other news, I stayed in Kérou for Christmas (and I’ll be here for New Years). No big plans or anything, but I have been invited by community friends to celebrate with them. I hung out with my neighbors for Christmas, so that was fun. Plus I made some special food (quiche) for myself. Then, right after New Years I head off to meet up with the wonderful Allison and Ryan and go around Ghana and Togo. I’m so very excited!

Reading back over this, I discovered that is mostly just a litany of complaints, etc. I guess those are just the thing were pounding through my brain. But this project wouldn’t have been possible without things that went well. Firstly, I guess I should say that even though I expressed regret that my solder finished in a timely manner, which didn’t allow me to swiftly cover up my mistake, I am really thankful for him. He was really dedicated to completing it. He went on his own accord to talk to Hubert while I was at the PC training, so that he could have them ready for me. He also had extra metal, and made me two extra sprayers. These can be used as the garden expands, which is really awesome.

Also, the plumber was amazing. He dealt with my ill-disguised freakouts, my impatience, demands, and everything. Although I still don’t understand why it took him so long to measure out the garden, his actual installation was very quick, precise, and almost flawless (as far as I can tell). He didn’t get angry at the plethora of politics and what not that infiltrated the project. He just ignored it and kept on doing what he needed to do. Obviously, it’s his job to know exactly what is involved in an irrigation system, but I was amazed at how all the pieces fit perfectly into the vision I described to him.

Salimatou. She is probably my favorite woman in all of Kérou commune. She is just this delightful, skinny bundle of cheerfulness. I worry about her, and I have no idea how that old, skinny fragile woman carries basins of water on her head, but she does. She is the main reason I want this project to really, really succeed. Every time I see her, she smiles, greets me, and talks to me in Bariba. I speak to her in French, and although we don’t exactly understand each other, it’s always pleasant. She was very essential in the process, as the only gardening group woman I knew left in the actual village. It was only through her efforts that trench-diggers were organized. Oh, and she brought me lunch while I was out in the field. It was very sweet of her.

Improve a School!

So I mentioned in a previous blog entry that I visited the school at which a local teacher and longtime friend of volunteers in Kérou is now a director. I wanted to go a little more in detail about this school. Mostly because at the end I will be asking YOU for money. So prepare to be moved (I hope).

So Constant, after years of hard work and caring very much about the children of Benin, finally passed a test and observation to become a director of a school. At the same time, this little tiny village (if one can even call it that) was recognized as an official school. So fate has brought them together.

To become an official school in Benin, the community has to come up with a six-hectare plot to give for the school, and then build at least a two-room school on the premises, before the government will ever consider recognizing them and actually giving them funds. This particular school, was started two years ago. There are a lot of Peul in the area. (These are the ones that have traditionally herded cattle, and still do often. They have become more sedentary, especially with the increasing emphasis on state borders. The Peul that live near this school are spread out, almost like people living on farms in the Midwest in the US. On the forty-minute ride to the school, Constant drove me along this very narrow path (only wide enough for a moto) through the bush, through cornfields, through forests, and even at one point through a stream. Occasionally, we’d see a small group of houses, belonging to one family.

Having started only two years ago means that all the students are pretty young—only starting the basic equivalents of kindergarten through 2^nd grade. All older residents have either no schooling, or went to school that is about a 30-minute drive away. I’m guessing that would be 90 minutes by bike (that is an approximation from other routes here on which I have taken both a moto and bike). By foot—I don’t even want to imagine. If they had the opportunity, children would probably live with a relative in a closer location. But many, of course, are required at home to help with farming, herding, etc.

But now, they finally have a little school. And an awesome director!

Nevertheless, this school is very poorly equipped. The teachers don’t even have books to teach from. And there are no chalkboards, just scraps of corkboard nailed to the wall. The desks and benches are wobbly pieces of wood placed between the “Y”s in tree limbs. Constant says that the children often fall off the benches, and the tables are unreliable.

Furthermore, children live very far away. They often have to walk 5 or more kilometers (that’s over 3 miles) back to their house for lunch, then return to school for the afternoon. They often don’t get very nutritional meals, and of course, use up a lot of the energy on the trek. This means that their body is not getting enough energy for proper development, and they find it hard to pay attention in class.

So this is where you and I come in! I am currently working on a project to help fund this school. To start off, Constant wants build the tables and make the chalkboards, plus make photocopies of the teachers’ book for the other teachers. Then, the community will donate some of their limited resources, such as chickens, and corn seed, etc. That way, the school itself can start a small-scale animal husbandry project, plus a garden, and fields for corn and soy. Then, once these things are ready, the children will be able to eat at the school—a nutritious meal even—instead of walking all the way home. Plus the school can sell some of these products to make money. The money would go to the women preparing the food for the children, as well as to buy new supplies for the school or make any repairs. Plus I get to work in my own sector here—business—by teaching the kids some very basic business skills.

So I’m super excited about this project, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to donate a little bit of money to this cause. Donate HERE! [you must type in my project number, which is 14-680-001 -- or you can search; my project is called "School Improvement" Obviously I'm in Benin, and my home state is Maryland. Sorry, I can't figure out if there is a direct url I can give you. My computer isn't that quick!]

The children of this community thank you!

Visit from America

So, as many of you are probably aware my mom and her husband, Bob, came to visit me in Benin! It’s been over 17 months since I last saw my mom—which is the longest I’ve ever gone without her. Granted, we do have things like Skype and Whatsapp to keep in touch, but it’s just not the same.

I went to Cotonou early, to turn in my passport for my Ghanaian visa, and also to buy my usual stock of supplies. Finally, it’s the time for Mom and Bob to arrive. I went to the airport, and have to stand outside. They had come in on an Ethiopian Airlines flight, so I was perfectly happy to wait, and watch the steady stream of gorgeous men walk by. Seriously. Ethiopian men are probably among the most gorgeous men on the entire planet. It’s incredible. I was torn away from this eye candy, however, by the arrival of Mom and Bob. It was so good to see them! To welcome them properly, I insisted they jump right into Beninese life, on the back of a moto. They gave their suitcases to the driver, and got on the back. We were off!

The first moto ride was successful. We got to the hotel, put down our stuff, and decided to grab a quick drink at Livingstone’s, a nearby ex-pat bar, and then wandered around a bit. Finally, I took them to a restaurant that had a mix of Beninese and foreign dishes. Maria joined us, which was fun. The meal was super delicious and filling.

On the way back, however, we ran into a snag. Or kerfuffle, whatever you want to call it. It took a long time to find zems, then we are finally ready to go, and my mother’s just speeds off, not at all taking into account that she has no clue about the layout of the city, and doesn’t speak French, or anything. Bob’s moto is having problems, so as I’m freaking out on the back of the zem, my driver is like, “it’s okay, we’ll just overtake her,” but we can’t because we also have to wait for Bob. My zem starts driving, but Bob’s zem is going SO SLOW. My zem pulls over, down this one road (there are two routes to get back to our hotel). Bob’s zem zooms past without seeing us, and so I’m telling the zem to go quickly, and we do pass Bob’s zem. But my mother’s zem is nowhere in sight, so I start imagining having to comb the streets of Cotonou for the next three hours. It was the longest zem ride ever, until we finally pulled up to the hotel, and my mom was waiting there, safe and sound. I almost collapsed on the ground from relief.

But the zem sagas were not over. The very next morning, we are getting on zems to head to the bus, and as Bob’s zem zooms off, my zem stops, complaining about the big suitcase I had sat in front of him. He asks me to put it on my lap, which would have been impossible, so I just tell him no, and to please hurry up and get a move on. So he does. This time I am not so worried, because we are going to a large traffic circle, which everyone in all of Benin knows about. So at the very least, Bob will be somewhere in that circle, and I had every intention of forcing my zem to drive in circles around it until we found him. Fortunately we saw him right away, although he and his zem missed us, so I had to get off, and go back and get him. Then my mom’s zem doesn’t realize to which bus company we were going. So he stops at the other ones, which are cheaper, and people don’t usually make advance reservations. They just show up, and then a crowd of twenty people descends on you, trying to make you take their bus. So I just started yelling, “NO NO NO NO” at them in the local language, told my mother to get back on the moto, and then finally we pulled around to the right bus.

The bus ride was typically long, and Mom and Bob had the pleasure of being introduced to these mini-films that are produced for the bus. They are supposedly hilarious sketches, mostly in Fon and French, which basically involve a lot of yelling. At first, Mom and Bob were like, it’s just like the Three Stooges, because the guys were hitting each other and basically acting like idiots. But after a while it got old, and eventually we finally arrived in Nati.

We went immediately to the hotel, and then I tried to get us up to this cool bar that is on a hill, and overlooks the valley. It’s a really great place to watch the sunset. Unfortunately, we were a little late, so we only got to see the sunset from our moto-taxis along the way. We did still sit at the buvette and admire the gorgeous valley that is Natitangou. We had dinner at this nice place called Chez Daniels. I believe a volunteer had worked with the owner to help him get started. They make incredible food, with a lot of potatoes, sauce and veggies. It was delicious. Plus Bob tried “La Beninoise” for the first time, which is the local beer. He was so impressed by this huge beer that only cost approximately one dollar.

The next morning, we left for Kérou, with our own private taxi. One of the people that work for Peace Corps in Nati knows him, and helped put us in contact. He was a fairly good driver, but had a really low car. We ended up taking the slightly longer road, because the other one is far to bad for his car to make it. And even though it’s the better road, it was still a very bumpy and dusty ride!

We arrived in Kérou, and I brought Mom and Bob to see my house, and meet Luna. We chilled for a bit, and mom unpacked all of my stuff from America-land, putting it in little Christmas bags she had brought. Then we walked back through town, towards the other end, where we would be getting dinner. I stopped at a hairdresser friend of mine named Amina. She is on the Artisan-Union board, and she’s really cool. I think I’ve talked about her before. She was happy to meet Mom and Bob, and was busy, but promised to join us later. However, as the sun went down, the mosquitoes started bothering us a little too much, so we left and went back to the hotel where Mom and Bob were staying.

That night I barely slept, because Luna was acting so crazy. I thought maybe she just missed me, but she kept running up and jumping up on me, kneading me, even biting me. I think I hit her a few times, and at some point in the middle of the night, I had a dream where I had gotten a Peace Corps grant to help kitty-cats, and she was messing it up.

When I finally woke up in the morning, I realized that she had actually had a kitten! I felt so, so bad for being mean to her. She was just so happy with herself, and I realized hadn’t really stopped purring the whole night. In my other room, there kept being this little mewing, and she would run right over, and curl up next to this little ball of existence. The kitten was a spitting image of Luna, with the exact same raccoon-tail, and same markings, except for an extra spot on the back. I thought it was weird that there was only one, and I’m also pretty sure it was premature, based on when I think Luna got preggars.

Luna with her baby

But I had to leave this new kitten, and met up with my parents. We started off by going to the Savings and Loans group that I created. Mom and Bob got to see the bookkeeping system I created for them, and I explained how the Association works. Then the group thanked Mom and Bob for coming, and told them (through me translating), how happy they were to have me there, how much I’d helped them, etc. Mom got a little teary-eyed, and told me my dad would be super proud of me.

My Savings and Loans Group

Next we went to Fétékou. I showed Mom and Bob the site where I will be installing the new irrigation system (now a funded project)! Then we went to visit the women’s gardening group. It was market day in Fétékou, so not that many women could be found. However, we did see the President and Vice President, who are my favorites anyway, so it was fine. The Vice President, Salimatou, doesn’t speak French; I still can see her fun, loving personality when she speaks Bariba to me. When I introduced Mom and Bob with the Bariba words for “Mother” and “Father”, she actually kneeled down, which is a HUGE sign of respect, and was just so happy, and welcomed them and everything. I had had Pierre come along so he could translate. One thing they said was that I resemble my mom SO MUCH. Pretty much every person we saw this trip said that. Some of the guys that live in the Vice President’s concession had just been out getting honey. They had their beekeeping suits on, and containers that they had used to send the smoke into the hives. It was kind of cool to see all that. The women wanted to give us a chicken, but they couldn’t find one. So instead, they gave us money to buy one when we got back to Kérou. We saw a foosball table, which really shocked Bob, and he had to take a picture.

Me with some Fetekou Gardening Group Members
The President and Vice President are the two women in the center of the first row;
left to right; respectively

We continued onto the dam on the other side of Fétékou. I think it’s really pretty, plus it’s neat to see where the women used to garden. This is also a spot where I taught Pierre to skip rocks. He made a few attempts, but couldn’t get more than two. Then Bob picked up a great rock, and skipped it really far. Pierre and the Zemi drivers were all super impressed.

We went back to Kérou, and to Sous Les Nimes, which is a bar (the name means “Under the Neem Trees, since there are a lot of neem trees in the courtyard). This is where Maria, Raili, and I meet up a lot, since it is really pretty, and a central location. Well, maybe not so central for Raili, who is a few villages away. But it’s halfway between Maria’s and my house. Also, my hairdresser friend, Amina, wanted to come and hang out, but was again super-busy. Instead, she sent some boiled African Yams with this kind of oily onion/hot pepper/sardine sauce. Mom couldn’t eat the sauce; it was too hot. But the yams were still good. And Bob said it was his first time having sardines.

Madre and I at my favorite bar

Raili met up with us eventually, and later we went to my house. I just wanted to hang out, and I also made pizza from scratch. I can’t get cheese in Kérou, and of course wasn’t able to make it. However, we did get soy “cheese”, which I basically just tofu. Mom and Bob both admitted to liking it, and it did go well crumpled up on the pizza. I was just super-happy to have Sriracha back in my life, and slathered it all over my slices.

At the end of the night, I called my zem, who then took both Mom and Bob on the same moto to their hotel. They are getting even more used to Beninese life, now stuffing themselves on motos!

We all cooed over the kitten that night, but Luna started acting weird, and spending more and more time with us, rather than the little one. Every time it would cry out, she’d rush back in, but wouldn’t stay. My mom worried about this, and we even went in to see if it was nursing. The kitten had this abnormally huge tongue, and couldn’t even close it in its mouth. I think this meant it couldn’t nurse at all, even though it tried really hard, and Luna kept trying to get it nurse. I think Luna realized something was wrong, and obviously didn’t know anything she could do about it. Raili talked about this being a defense mechanism, even in the people here, who can usually figure out if a child is doomed shortly after it’s death. In the states, we might spend tons of money fighting to keep a child alive, but there is simply not the technology or resources available here. And so the families quietly accept it, I think just as Luna did. By the next mid-morning, the kitten was dead, having been alive for less than 36 hours. I went to pick it up, and Luna licked it one last time, and Pierre helped me bury it in the area behind my house. I think things were stacked against the kitten from the beginning—being born prematurely to a young mom [Luna will turn one year old on Dec 10], and that weirdly huge tongue. I was sad, but mom assures me Luna will have more kittens, even though I continue trying to keep her inside.

The next morning, my Savings and Loans group had asked us to come back briefly. I was confused as to why, but when we got there, they showed us matching Beninese “boumbas” that they had made for Mom and Bob. I was super impressed, because they had actually gotten the sizes entirely by eyeballing them the previous morning, and then completing everything in one day. I was really moved. I think the group was super-excited to meet my parents, plus there’s a huge culture of hospitality, etc, especially here in the north of Benin.

The "boumbas" made by my Savings and Loans group

Afterwards, we went to Kongorou, which is Pierre’s village. It is also the site of my future chicken-project, so I introduced Mom and Bob to the group, and we went to the site. There wasn’t much to see, but it was still cool.

With members of the group with which I will hopefully be raising chickens

We went back to Kérou to get ready to leave. The taxi driver calls to say he is almost there, and shows up a half an hour later. With a sheep. A live sheep. “It’s market day!” he explains. I was furious that he bought it before I could flat-out tell him not to, but then I shrugged and laugh, and told Mom and Bob they were getting more and more immersed into the culture. This would be such a typical thing to happen in a regular taxi. So we put our stuff in, then the driver chucks the sheep beside our stuff. At first, the sheep would try to get up when we went over bumps, but later it just gives up. When we get to Nati, the driver hands off the sheep to his friend, who simply places it on his moto, and speeds off. Then the driver took us to Tanguieta. It is a town north of Nati, and is the main town before the Park Pendjari. We stayed at a place called Hotel Baobab (yes that is the tree I have tattooed on me). It was quite nice with separate “bungalows” as the rooms.

One thing I must mention is the fact that it rained during our ride. I made fun of my mom, because it always seems on any vacation our family—and even her alone—ever take, the weather behaves in some unnatural way. We go to Maine during the summer to escape the heat, and the Maine experiences the 4 hottest days in 17 years. We go on a cruise, wanting to scuba-dive. The night before, there is a storm. Twice. Yet the people on the ship swear there is only one storm per year [I guess at least un-related to hurricanes]. Now she comes to Benin during the dry season. At least in the north of Benin, the “dry season” means NOT EVEN ONE MOLECULE OF CLOUD in the sky. But when my mom arrives, it rains. Obviously.

The next morning, we were told we would be leaving at 6 in the morning. The hotel offered us breakfast before we left, and then we jumped in this SUV, and headed toward the park. It was still dark out, but as we kept driving, it got lighter and lighter, and eventually we actually got to see the sun rise. We drove past a lot of little villages, until we reached the park entrance. We continued driving normally until we were a good distance into the park. Then we stopped at this overlook place on a swamp. There we got out, admired it, and finally it was time for the ride up top. At this point, we were actually glad for the small rain, as this meant the dust that would normally be billowing up from the dry earth was slightly packed down. It made for a much clearer trip.

Safari time

It was cool riding up on top. The park had some of the best [dirt] roads in Benin, at least in my experience. We got to see a lot of animals, including baboons, monkeys, gazelle (lots and lots!), and we even saw two elephants. Additionally, the landscape was very pretty. It was very exciting riding up on top, seeing trees knocked over by elephants, seeing the river and Burkina Faso on the other side.

By a lake

My favorite part, however, was the Waterfalls at Tanougou. They were on the road leading to and from the park. We pulled in there, and were charged $2 as an entrance fee. We could walk right up to the small falls, but then some locals point out that we can go up to the upper, bigger falls, but it involves a not-to-be-scoffed at trek up through a series of rocks and smaller falls. We agree to this, and a number of guys run around, guiding us, and helping us up, and balancing, etc. Me, being young and spry, flexible, etc, I am fine, but the whole time I was so nervous for Mom and Bob. We made it though. It was so beautiful. We were standing at the bottom of this pool, with a semi-circle of cliffs jutting up around us, and beautiful falls plunging on the other side. The water looked so inviting, and I just wanted to jump in, but I didn’t. However, one local guy comes up to me and informs me that he is part of a “Spectacle Team”, which will jump off the cliffs by the waterfall, if we pay them $2 for every person that jumps. I mention this to Mom, and she laughs, and says, “Sure, why not!?” Bob makes a joke about this being the one time he can say, “Oh, go jump off a cliff,” and the person will actually do it. (Not that this particular person actually understood what he was saying, but that is another point). I thought it was funny, because there are many teenagers and young adults in the states that may put themselves at risk by cliff-diving, but these people in Tanougou were actually able to convince tourists to pay them for their adrenaline rush. Bob asked the guys if they would pay him to jump off the cliff. They laughed and said yes. And in fact, they said, because he was so big, they would pay him a full $10. Much to the relief of his unsuspecting children back home, however, Bob did not in fact jump off the falls.

By the falls

I lingered as long as I could by the falls. I love water, and it was just so pretty. But it was heading towards night, and finally I let myself be led down. However, if I thought the journey there was nerve-racking, the trip down… I was so worried about the slippery rocks, and steep incline. There was one point that the guys had mom and Bob following each other…I just imagined some sort of horrible domino effect, and I think at this point threatened to kill all of the guys if they let either one of them get one little scratch. However, their guidance turned out to be effective, and everyone made it down safely, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We paid the guys for spectacle and for bringing us up and down safely. Then we bought some cool souvenirs. Finally, we headed back, and the sun was already starting to set. We were away from our hotel for the whole time the sun was out!

That night, I wanted to go to a place that another volunteer had recommended. She didn’t know where it was, but I called the lady who was in charge, who gave my driver directions. The driver that had taken us around the park stayed longer, saying it was far too dangerous for us to wander around looking for zems at night. The owner of the restaurant/bar was very nice, even hugging me as I arrived, and asking me about the volunteer who had recommended the place. I ordered Sodabe, the local moonshine, and made Mom and Bob try it. This particular one was on the more delicious side of Sodabe that I’ve had, and Mom and Bob at least tolerated it. And it was quite a large serving! Then we ordered our food, and got a huge portion of rice, with an absolutely delicious sauce. Usually Beninese sauce is made entirely of vegetables that have been crushed into oblivion, but this cook included full, yummy veggies in the sauce, and then made chicken that was absolutely delicious. It was really incredible. Bob ordered a few large La Beninoises, and mom and I drank mixed drinks with the liquor that I brought along with me. We had a fabulous night, in which Mom and Bob tried to recall their high school French [and it got steadily better as the night progressed. Because alcohol is an international language. Everyone speaks ‘drunk’] Bob at one point demanded a “Benis-wa”, which I doubt my mother will ever let him live down. There might have been some dancing in our seats, and a lot of laughter. All in all, a good night. When we were done, I called our driver who ever so kindly took us back to our hotel. I gave him an extra tip for being awesome, and he seemed to really appreciate it.

The next day—Thanksgiving—we allowed ourselves to sleep in, which was the first time since Mom and Bob arrived that we were able to do so. We had a nice breakfast again at the hotel, and then we headed to Nati. The ride is only an hour or so, on all paved roads. We ended up finding a taxi, and then paying for only two extra seats so we could avoid having to wait and ultimately be very squished. We got to the hotel and put our stuff down. Then Mom and Bob jumped on the wi-fi they’d been missing while I jumped on a zem and zoomed off to this place I had found that sells coconut rum. I brought it back to the hotel, and we spent the afternoon relaxing, drinking, swimming, etc. Then we went back to the hilltop bar we had been the first night in Nati. I was about to be mad, because I thought we were late and had missed the sunset AGAIN, but we made it just in time. We chilled there, and then headed down to the Peace Corps workstation. There were some volunteers there, but Mom and Bob took the time to use the better wi-fi to actually make calls to family back home. Then we walked down the hill to this place I like to eat. When we left, we grabbed a few Beninoise for Bob, as there we could get large ones [63cl] for 600F, versus the hotel, which sells small Beninoises [33cl] for 1000F.

A day of relaxing

Now the cool thing about this Hotel Tata Samba is that they are very understanding when it comes to Peace Corps volunteers. We come and swim in their pool—it’s open to the public at 1200F/day—and always bring in our own alcohol. And even when Mom and Bob were there, they still tolerated all of that, all while giving me a discount on the room. They said that they appreciate the work PCVs are doing, and they also know there are a lot of us that can all encourage family/friends to stay there. More than that, however, they really hope that one day we will become big, important international diplomats or businessmen/women, and come to their hotel and not blink an eye at the outrageous prices. Plus we did get one lunch and one dinner there, which were actually very incredible.

The next day we went souvenir shopping, then to a museum about the Natitangou region. There were just some small artifacts, nothing like the stuff and presentation you might find in an American/European museum. But I constantly remind people that African societies don’t have much in the way of durable artifacts, nor the money or resources to restore and/or care for the ones they do have. If you can look past the not-immediately-pleasing presentation, however, the history is awesome. One of the rooms had models of traditional houses belonging to the ethnic groups of the area. They were somewhat similar, but had slight variations based on the needs of the location and the wants of their inhabitants.

The rest of the day we again spent relaxing, going over pictures from the trip so far, etc.

That night, my mom started getting sick, and I felt really bad for her. We were planning on going on the bus the following day, but sick and traveling is pretty awful. However, in the morning, she had been taking the medicine I recommended, and was feeling okay enough to travel, so we went for it. I had left a cushion day for this very reason, but Mom decided to tough it out. And although I’m sure she was pretty miserable, she made it through the long, long bus-ride. The only moment of doubt was when the bus driver started playing this clanging/chanting song, that lasted no less than 20 minutes, and I think was starting to give every single person on that bus a headache, not least of all my mom. So when stopped, I asked him to change it, which he did. Or at least the song ended. I’m not sure which. I’m just proud of my mom for making it through, without ever complaining either. I’m sure I would have just sat their moaning, like “ugh, WHY ME O GOD???” or something. Actually, whom am I kidding? I do that every time I take any transportation in this country, even when I’m not sick.

We did go to the artisan market in Cotonou that night, and picked up some pretty souvenirs and gifts. The next day we went to Ouidah, which is the International capital of voodoo, and also was a really huge slave-exporting city. We went to a about the history of Ouidah. One cool display was called something like “The Twins” where around the 1940s/50s they took pictures of two people—one from Brazil and one from Benin. And they really did look like twins. Obviously, they were dressed for the photo, but even facial features, etc, were impeccably similar. Then there were pictures of practices and traditions in the two countries, just emphasizing the connection of the African Diaspora. Also, twins are a really honored idea in Fon culture. In fact, I was reading somewhere that they are honored, and their bond is considered really important. Plus, if one twin dies young, the other will be given a doll to carry in memory of their lost twin, so that they are not truly separated.

Afterwards, we took a tour of the “Route des Esclaves”, a dirt path down which slaves were forced to march before they were tossed into Pirogues and rowed out to the large boats waiting to take them to the Americas. There are different memorials, to ancient Fon kings as well as to the souls of the departed Africans. There is a “tree of forgetting”, where slaves were forced to march around it, and told they no longer had a history or even personal will. There was a site marking the mass grave of those who chose to die rather than leave their homeland, then a tree that was planted in response to this. The local king said that if the slaves marched around this tree, they would be able to return [in spirit] to their homeland, so could they please, please stop dying, because he was losing money. Finally, at the end there is the “Door of No Return,” on the last bit of land these slaves ever touched in Africa.

We went to another small museum, which featured an exhibition on women in West Africa, as well as one regarding voodoo. For being the capital of voodoo, there isn’t much on the surface to see regarding this religion. Even in Porto Novo, I saw some displays of religion, and apparently they are prevalent at parties in the South. I live in the North, so I don’t experience much voodoo, which makes it even harder to explain. We did, however, go to the sacred forest, where there are some voodoo monuments, and then an Iroko tree that is said to actually be the spirit of an ancient king who fought the French, but eventually fled into the forest, and became this tree, instead of dying.

The "Route of Slaves" - where slaves would walk on their way to ships to the Americas

Door of NO RETURN

Old Portugese Fort; now a Museum

We only spent the morning, and a little into the afternoon in Ouidah, then came back to Cotonou. Mom and Bob finally got to experience a somewhat packed taxi, yet survived. When we got back, I introduced them to shwarma, which they said was fabulous. Then we went to the hotel to rest and pack. That night we went out to dinner at this place overlooking a busy intersection of Cotonou. It was a nice, final end to their trip here, I think. The next day we got up and had some expensive pastries—my last meal in luxury—before I took them to the airport. I felt really sad to see them go. Although, ironically, I hadn’t seen them in 17 months, and now I will see them in 8 or less; about half the time! I hope they had a good time, and understand my life here a lot better now, as well as the culture and the people here.