The date is April 20, 2008, the time 8:00pm, temperature 105, electricity: none. I am so hot. It got up to at least 130 and I only know that because it was 110 in my house which is generally about 20 degrees cooler. I've moved my bed outside. It is bearable inside with a fan, but some nights (like tonight) the electricity gets cut. So it is only 8pm, I have no light to read by and people are walking back and forth across my porch/bedroom so sleep is currently not an option. Alors I decided to ramble on a bit for all you people in the air conditioning.
I had a busy week this week. I decided to leave behind an ONG with whom I had discussed doing a lot and I decided to go ahead and do it, "it" being environmental education in the schools. I just went for a stroll one morning and stopped at the first school I found. There are a ton of primary schools here, and unfortunately the school year is almost over since I wasted so much time talking with the aforementioned NGO. So this week I stood in front of about 60 students and tried to explain what exactly nature was, and what role man plays in biodiversity. It went well, but I have a new appreciation for teachers. I have been given 2 hours once a week; the problem is that I can't really tell how long a lesson will be. Also in honor of Earth Day the local high school students have been doing a city clean up campaign. Saturday, Wednesday and Sunday morning we swept the streets with the help of the local NGO who is in charge of trash collection. We swept and gathered for about 2 hours then we walked around and discussed the importance of keeping our environment clean. All the trash was back by the afternoon, very discouraging but I was so proud of my env. Club! I am also trying to find creative ways to recycle plastic bags, so far I've made bracelets, string, knitted things and stuffed them into pillows, but if you have any further ideas I'd love to hear them. I am hoping to find interested women groups who can use this for income generation.
I'm excited to announce the commencement of my girls club. We have only had a couple of meetings where we have discussed problems that girls face in school and I asked them to identify one problem in Malanville and to offer a solution. The school system in Benin relies heavily on lecturing and memorization which doesn't train people to be problem solvers or participating members in their community. Questions are discouraged and students rarely need to think of answers if that makes any sense at all. So I am hoping to form these girls into intelligent, active members in their community when they are older. They are great and really motivated to work with me. We only took one class of girls in order to keep the size manageable but I have been getting stopped on the streets by other girls who want to join.
As I said before, it's really hot here, I don't think it's natural to sweat this much. I don't have to do anything, just sitting around the house causes sweat to drip down my face. I can't seem to drink enough water and I am drinking several liters a day. I think I would be unable to function if it wasn't for my Gatorade. And I LOVE my shortwave radio. It keeps me connected to the world. I can listen to programs in French, English, Spanish, Chinese, German, Haussa, Arabic... Okay well it is nice to have the first three it keeps me on my toes. The bonus is it is also a flashlight and glow in the dark so when the lights go out I can always find it! I know I get excited by the littlest things.
But anyways today were having regional elections so I wasn't allowed to leave post. Peace Corps wants to be able to find me in case of disasters. I got tired of being asked if I would be voting so I took sanctuary at the pool. I love it there. It is owned by a retired French couple who for some reason decided to open a hotel(with pool) in the middle of nowhere Benin and I have yet to figure out what they do with themselves everyday (aside from sitting in the air-conditioning watching satellite tv and drinking.
Well today is the 26 of April. Our clean-up Malanville campaign is over and it ended with a bang. We even got some people from the mayor's office to come and help us this morning. The trash problem is too big for us to solve but I still hold out hope that one of the people that saw us and thanked us will think twice about where they throw their trash. The festival was a great success. Everyone in town seemed to know about it. Even the Chinese who never leave their house made it out one of the nights. There were lectures about trash management, trees and education and students actually came and listened! I'm so proud of my environmental club and going out and sweeping the sand with them was one of the most rewarding things I've done so far. But it was quite disgusting. Thanks to years of no trash management and sand and wind, you sweep up one level of trash only to find another buried below. And plastic bags stick up like flowers.
January 2008
Yep, that's me the reformed vegetarian. Let me explain, I was a vegetarian for 4 long years but that all changed the night I landed in Cotonou, Benin. When I joined the Peace Corps I realized that being a vegetarian in Sub-Saharan Wes Africa where eating is the number one social activity and meat is an expensive luxury for all and is rarely tasted by those who would profit from it the most, i.e. the enfants, it would be extremely difficult and possibly rude to explain that I never eat meat. So I made the rash decision to reform and become once again the carnivore of my past. To a certain extent it was never a problem. Sure there is the occasional questionable meat portion on the plate when you eat with the neighbors, but it is easy enough to choke down. But on Tabaski I figured out just what I had gotten myself into.
For those new to Tabaski, it is the Muslim holiday in celebration of the day Ibrahim sacrificed a sheep instead of his son. This I was told by one of the minority Christians of the town because my Muslim friends seemed reluctant to talk about it. So the Muslims, as you may surmise, sacrifice sheep. Lots of sheep. What I have gathered is that married Muslim men buy sheep to sacrifice. I have the luck to live next door to the man who bought two sheep. Why is that luck? After the throat slitting I was asked by my enthusiastic neighbor to watch as the whole family worked together to hack the poor things apart. (Sorry it's the vegetarian buried deep within me). But my neighbor was so excited to share the holiday with me how could I say no?
After the family had finished with their two sheep, I was taken on a tour of the town to see the traditional preparation of the sheep. The dead sheep are usually put onto two sticks in the form of an "x" and put over a fire. A stirring image when you see five sheep around a fire. And it really warms my heart to know that if only for the next few days the children of Benin will eat all the protein they can.
Overall I really enjoyed the experience, until the next day began. Everyone forgot to tell me that this is in fact a two and sometimes three day holiday. They also forgot to add that it is probably best to stay in the house on the second day. The way my courtyard is set up I can't leave my house with out greeting my two neighbors. That being said, every time I left my house I was handed a plate of meat. Day two is the day you share your sheep with friends and family. I discovered that I had too many friends.
Day two is apparently also the day that you give gifts ($) to people who tell you bonne fete (happy holiday); another key piece of information which everyone omitted in their explanation of Tabaski. I walked out to the street only to be greeted by people coming up to me and speaking Dendi. Now I speak very little Dendi, and I can assure you all that unfortunately the words "happy holiday" and "now that I said that you are supposed to give me money" are not currently in my vocabulary. This in retrospect means I spent the majority of the day smiling, nodding and being extremely rude.
Once I was finally informed of this little culture glitch I decided to return to the safety of my home, only to be greeted by cries of "Jiri bareyan!" (bonne fete) by the twelve or so women sitting in front of my neighbor's house. (Did I mention that my neighbor is the queen of the Dendi people?) What could I do? I emptied my pockets and continued toward the safety only of my home, only to be greeted by my other neighbor who held out a bowl of various meat pieces. As I looked into the bowl trying to decipher meat from organs I kicked my former vegetarian self. After much deliberation I decided to just get it over with. I closed my eyes and grabbed. My neighbor was thrilled. "Ah tu aimes ca?" (Oh you like that?) she cried. Trying to feign some carnivore connaissance I said "oui! C'est quoi? Tu sais je ne veux pas vraiment savoir". "Liver" she replied quand même. Oh well it was only one little piece right? Well as it turns out they have been trying to figure out what pieces of meat I like. You see, my neighbors have taken my general dislike of meat to mean that I haven't liked the pieces they've given me. I have been receiving plates of liver since that moment. Oh well, at least the cat is eating well.
May 2008
I hop on my bike, which has been weighed down by everything I imagine I might need within the next four days. I packed light, being clean is not high on my priorities, no one else will be clean anyways. That's the thing about Peace Corps Volunteers, we become very close due to our seeming lack of hygiene. I've been looking forward, dreading this moment for weeks now. I start to pedal, repeating in my mind "It's only 5 k, only 5 k". My luck is good; it is 5 k on dirt road but mostly down hill. Good, hopefully this will set the scene for the next four days. Regardless I am worried, I ungracefully clamber off my bike 5 k latter sweaty and breathless. 40 k left for the day. What am I doing here? The whole village is gathered under the shade of a large mango tree. Upon our arrival the town crier begins to walk down the street drumming and announcing our arrival in Bariba. We split the village into 4 groups, old men, old women and mamas, young men, young women the not-yet mamans, and children. AIDS is a sensitive topic in any culture and we want our talks to be as open and intimate as possible. I work with the young girls. I am working with 4 other PCVs and a Beninese volunteer who has come along to translate. We start with a song then stumble our way through all the facts we had planned to share: what is AIDS? How can you get it? How can you prevent it? Then we pull out our secret weapon, we hold up the wooden phallus for the group and ask "Qu'est-ce c'est?" The girls giggle, we giggle, the benefit of splitting up the village is that we are all around the same age, we're all girls and we try to play it up. AIDS is a concern for everyone, white people as well as black people have to protect themselves, we're in this together. We talk about the ABCs (Abstinence, Be faithful, Condom) they've never heard of abstinence. It takes me until the second day of the bike trip until I realize that it is not really an option for these girls. They have so little control over their own lives, it makes me sad. But we just push the condom that much harder. After the condom demonstrations we discuss myths, not you can't get AIDS from mosquitoes, or sharing a latrine. No the condom companies don't put AIDS or STDs in the condom, they make them for your protection.
I get back on my bike full of confidence from our first village, I can do the next 7 k no problem. Next 7k I'm still pedaling. The day ends in a grand finale of a 20 k stretch. When I feel like I can't possibly keep up the pedaling I see the congregation of PCVs gathered under a tree at the high school of Guineagorou. I have never been so relieved in my life. I put my feet on the ground but I'm afraid to swing my leg over to get off the bike, I don't think I can make it without falling over. People laugh and agree with me, I'm dripping sweat, we all are. Some people take my picture, I don't care, I made it, I'm proud of myself and I know they are too because it is no secret that I'm not a bike rider and I had made it. I drink an entire bottle of water, get off the bike and follow the others into the classrooms full of students. This time it's different, it is all high school students, separated by class not age or gender. They have heard of AIDS more than even me I'm sure, we skip over the facts and get to the nitty gritty. "You all know you should use condoms, I know that, the question I have for use is why don't you use them, we all know that is the reality". They respond well, we get the same excuses you would hear in the USA. Then our discussion takes a sad turn. A girl in the corner raises her hand and says "Sometimes the teacher will refuse to use one, since he is older and a superior the girl has no choice". This comment hits me right in the heart. There is the unspoken reality. We all know it's happening despite the new laws but it is usually kept quiet. Luckily my partner is quick, we run with the comment. We discuss laws, what good is the higher grade you get for sleeping with your teacher going to amount to when you find out you're dying of the AIDS you got along with the grade? I can't help it, hearing stories like this ignites a fire in my heart. I survived day 1.
Day 2 is shorter only 35 k. It goes by without much drama. Same things, pedal pedal, just keep pedaling. Stop, talk about AIDS get on the bike pedal pedal, just keep pedaling. At the last village for the day Perere we get ambushed by children. The 20 of us arrive at the high school to see a stampede of students headed our direction. That was the most terrifying moment of my life. They stop at an invisible line forming a circle around us and our bikes. Then they stare. No laughing, no talking just silence and eyes, all eyes on us. It is an unsettling feeling. We are waiting for instructions so we decide to pass the time by teaching them the wave. They learn fast. This time my partner and I get stuck with the class that has no classroom. We have 60+ students under the shade of one mango tree. We decide to split them up. It was the best discussion ever. I take the girls; they form a circle around me. I uncharacteristically turn around and yell at the cluster of male teachers who have decided to watch me and my girls rather than the multitude of male and mixed classes being taught.
I follow the same path as the day before, we briefly cover the basics then I ask the question. I get the same myths, some girls ask about the science behind AIDS, where it lives in the body. I ask "whose job is it to bring the protection?" "The boys'!" they cry. "Quoi?!" is my response "you actually trust the guy to protect you?" there is a brief pause followed by an irruption of "NO!" with a smile I survived day 2.
Day 3 starts with a pep talk for Meagan. It's not much farther than yesterday and there are fewer hills. This was to be the first in a long line of lies. I was still going strong on my confidence from the day before. Until I hit that first hill. I skipped the scenery today. I just looked down at the road and told myself, it's not uphill it's not uphill. When in fact it was entirely up hill, ending in a grand finale of the steepest hill yet. Every rotation of the pedal was painful and I seemed to be going nowhere. I'm convinced I could walk faster up this hill but I somehow pull my legs keep moving and I arrive at the top. The day started off great as well. Benches in this country are made of branches sitting on branches. As the whole crew was sitting on one at the very first village it came crashing down, landing on my leg. In my mind I was screaming, "Oh no, I've broken my leg, bike trip's over and I only made it halfway!" but on the outside I was calm and cool, my leg was not broken and I continued on. I survived Day 3.
Day 4 I was miserable. I was tired of sleeping on cement, I wanted my pillow and I was facing the longest day of them all, with supposedly fewer hills than the day before. My bike was just as worn out as my body. Only random gears worked and never the same ones, it was always a surprise! My stomach was in knots. Today was the day I'd discover if I could make it. We stopped in the smallest village yet. We asked our usual beginning question "What is AIDS?" but this time was not usual. For the first time in the past four days we were met with blank stares. It was time to start from scratch. "How can you get AIDS?" "God sends it" was the only response. This was going to take a while. When the condom demonstration came the girls were curious enough. To conclude we asked where they could buy condoms. "We have no idea. We've never seen them before." We handed out twice the usual amount. The drumming and singing with the children was going on in the distance. For the first time I truly felt like I had made a positive change in Africa, even if it was just this one village that seems to have been neglected by all the other NGOs that have driven past.
In the end I did make it. Kalale, our final destination was set, as you might expect, right on top of a hill. We reached it after a 15 k stretch and a total of 50k for the day. I stopped at the top of every hill to drink some water. I was never the caboose, but I was never the leader. I finally pulled under that mango tree, got off my bike and tried to enjoy the welcoming ceremony through my fatigue. The community was wonderful; there was singing and dancing, cold water and bananas. We danced along for a little while then we retired to the nearest volunteer's house for showers and rest. Four days ago I left Parakou with hope and doubt that I would make it here. And finally I had arrived with a new respect for myself, a new view of my own limits and with some amazing experiences under my belt. To this day these four days have been the best time I have spent in Benin. And while my bike once again gathers dust, I hope that I will one day recover from the trauma of all those hills and ride again.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Hey everyone! So I have passed the 1 year-in-Benin mark, and to celebrate my computer has forgotten how to access the Internet. Yay! Well, something was bound to happen eventually. I guess I'm lucky because most laptops seems to have died completely by this time. I technically swore in on September 22, 2007 so I have yet to reach the VRAI year mark, but it is close enough.
The Volunteers who greeted us are now saying their goodbyes. It is a mixture of excitement and sadness. Everyone reflecting over the 2 years they have spent in Benin. Those of us who are only halfway through are hugging our friends who will return to their various cities back in the US, the temporary bond of PC Benin is now breaking and there is no knowing when or if we will meet again. We are mixed with feeling of sadness, jealousy and excitement for those that are leaving. I am currently on my way home from Porto Novo, where I worked stage for 2 weeks. I was a trainer for the newest arrivals of PCVs. It is quite a shock going from a city full of new arrivals(Porto Novo) full of excitement and their minds racing with all the possibilities the next 2 years may hold. They are as yet undaunted by the frustration of the speed of change, or rather lack there of. Now I find myself in a city full of the departers(Cotonou) many who leave in no more than 3 days. They are all busy running around finishing any last minute details before they get on that plane. These are the people who introduced me to Benin, and shared with me her secrets, hopes and sorrows, the ones who let me know that my discouragements are normal, and have convinced me that I can in fact go the distance. Whew, sorry I'm getting a little sentimental. So I spent a few days in Camate, with a fellow volunteer, she does ecotourism in the hills of the Dassa region. We spent the days hiking and walking around the village. Next we headed to Porto Novo, a beautiful city. It is the current capital of Benin and has been since colonial times. Walking around the grand market was like exploring the past. I agree that colonialism was a sad time in the history of Africa, but it left behind some amazing buildings. All the government buildings are housed in old colonial houses, some looking over the ocean. The grand marche is filled with old two-story colonial building, unkempt and often unused. The city is also home to a very old, very large mosque, cathedral and a 60ft Zangbeto, a large vondun god. I fell in love with the historical appearance of the city, but it was exactly that, a city, with neon lights, supermarkets, billboards, and I was also overtaken by a homesickness being surrounded by things at once so familiar and not familiar at all. All I crave now is the nice peaceful life that awaits me back in Malanville. Sorry this is a long one, but I have not written in my journal for a while. I, as always, miss you all and will see you in 1 year!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
An American in West Africa
I am a strong believer in traveling; it will profoundly change your view of the world, and more specifically your identity as an American. I'm using the American identity in this example because I am in fact an American coming to terms with my nationality, because no matter how hard we try we just can't shake it. In Benin particularly they won't let you forget that you're different, and can you blame them? I stick out like a sore thumb in the largest of crowds. I've made the President do a double take every time he has graced Malanville with his presence. And the people won't let me forget. I don't belong.
When I was still within my first few months in Malanville I lied to avoid the inevitable "please take me home with you". I told people I was any number of nationalities; German (until of course the German girl showed up to the confusion of many), Canadian, French, Swedish, und so weiter. But then I recalled the three objectives of the Peace Corps, one of which is to share my American culture with the Beninese, and I began to take a new pride in my American skin, if you will. There have been countless moments when I glow with pride about my country: when my friend Claude (a metal worker) tells me, in almost perfect English, about his Peace Corps English teacher from his childhood, or Mary Ange a Beninese woman who radiates authority, you can see from a distance that she is not the average meek woman here, who went to school at an American-run Catholic School and who is always quick to tell me how much she loves Americans because she has seen so many Americans doing good deeds in Benin. I glow with pride when I enter the local high school built primarily by US dollars, thanks to the US they have a library, science lab, two new buildings and a wall around the school, or when I walk in the field of newly sprouted trees planted by Beninese hands but donated by, you guessed it the good ol'US of A. I know that Peace Corps has affected numerous lives because the gratitude is there. A man at the bank whom I've never met thanks me for being a Peace Corps volunteer, or the security guard at the airport who lets me use the private bathroom after asking me "Peace Corps?".
Unfortunately all reminders of my nationality are not always satisfying. I can cite any conversation about our government, when I am told ever single time without exception, "You Americans like war too much". Or the shame I felt at the airport when I was screaming "I am a citizen of the United States! I do NOT need a visa to go to France!!" knowing that the lady refusing to let me pass will probably never leave the country because of finances or her inability to obtain a visa to any country outside of Africa. I'm from a country that uses a lottery system to distribute visas. So even if you save up the money for that plane ticket you may never step foot on American soil. But me? I can come and go as I please...
However, after weighing the good and the bad, I still have to smile when the children who were chanting "chinois, annasara, chinois, annasara" (chinois for non-francophones is Chinese, and annasara for the non-Zarma-ciine is white person or foreigner) look at me with wide-eyes like I'm the boogey man as I correct them pointing to myself saying "americaine". They stare as I turn away and it only takes one of them to begin "americaine, annasara, americaine, annasara" and the chanting picks up behind my back. Victory! I will always be an Annasara, as I've already acknowledged, I don't belong and no matter how well I wear the clothes, eat the food and speak the language, I never will. Fact. But at least in the lives of these children I am an AMERICAN annasara. Thank you very much.
My identity as an American affects my life in deeper ways than that. Whether it is admiring my fabulous shoes (see photo) or being addressed by the local German guy as "American Girl" (hey the labeling goes both ways), I am constantly aware that it is my Americanism that defines me here. I wear it wherever I go, it is my most evident feature (whether or not I'm sporting the shoes), it is the aspect of me that people are the most curious about, and it is the part of me that defines my strength. It is a common belief among the locals that white people cannot survive in Malanville, they suffer. And it is both a truth and a fallacy in a delightful way that only those of us who have survived Malanville's heat can understand. We can survive, but at only by losing our decorum. You see during the HOT seasons we turn into what can best be described as "heat zombies" or playing on skin color "ghosts". I survived those brutal months by hiding from the sun in my house. I did nothing of great consequence during those months, aside from learning the details of my ceiling very well as I lay on the cool cement floor. And I take great pride in knowing that although Malanville is often the host of a wide variety of foreigners, I, the lone American, am by far the worst paid. Fellow foreigners stare in disbelief at my latrine and shower bucket, and I just smirk at my own ruggedness.
Let us digress briefly onto the subject of living standards. I recently had the opportunity to visit what we foreigners often refer to as the "Real World" but what is more suitably known as "the modern world", "the developed world", or "the Western World". It was a shocking experience to say the least. This trip was my first opportunity to see how I've changed during my brief sojourn in Africa. And the stark reality hit me that what I was seeing was not the "real world" at all. My life here in Benin is only on the outskirts of the reality of the majority of the world's population because no matter how little I actually get paid here I can still afford to eat, well, no question. I never have to budget to ensure that I can eat all week; I can spend the extra money to eat a variety of fruits, vegetables, meats. My house is made of cement, and these are all just the luxuries given to me in Benin. I get truly red-faced with shame when I think of how I'm "living at their level" when I am sitting in front of a laptop not even available in this country, listening to my IPod, and these are just two is a number of fancy electronics that most people couldn't even dream of.
So to my fellow Americans, wear it with pride, because this outfit is one that you can never change. Unfortunately it doesn't go with everything, but add enough of your own flare and you can always make it work. I have faith in you all. We were all blessed at birth to come into life in such a fine country, in that we are blessed with boundless opportunities including the unique opportunity to go almost anywhere in the world. Talk to anyone outside to USA and they will tell you that we have an incredibly difficult country to enter. So next time you are reentering the country from a little adventure into the rest of the world, as you zip through the passport control line with a flash of your blue passport repeat after me "God Bless America".
May 2009
Burkina Faso (It’s another country)
The year was 2007, I was sitting in a desk in a classroom, it was our first day of interpretation. We have spent the entire semester translating various texts but this was the real thing, instant translation, no notes, no time to think. I remember how fun it was laughing at each others' mistakes. For our test we were told the subject of what we would be interpreting and given a vocabulary list to study.
Flash forward to this month. There I was standing in front of a room full of people from various West African countries, translating for a Ghanaian king. The subject: Moringa, "the miracle tree", vocab list: non-existent. I spent a week in....Burkina Faso....attending a conference to discuss the new hot topic, Moringa. In light of the world food crisis and the rains that have yet to arrive, there is worry of famine. And Peace Corps, being right in the thick of it has responded with this conference. I'm sure I've mentioned it before but Moringa is a tree that grows in a variety of conditions and has leaves packed with vitamins, minerals and protein. If prepared correctly and eaten regularly it could greatly cut down on malnutrition. So Peace Corps brought together volunteer as well as host-country national representatives for ....Burkina Faso...., ....Togo...., ....Niger...., ....Benin.... and ....Ghana.... to gather all the information that currently exists in the hopes of forming a new guide to distribute to future volunteers all over ..Africa... How I got invited is beyond me, but I'm glad I did regardless.
Overall the idea was great but there were some technicalities to overcome; the most cumbersome being language. ....Burkina.., ..Benin.... and ....Togo.... are all French-speaking, thus all host-country nationals spoke only French, with the volunteers being bilingual with a range of abilities French. ....Ghana.... is English-speaking and ....Niger.... was entirely Zarma. So it was decided early on that all important points needed to be said in both French and English with volunteers doing simultaneous interpretation into Zarma. Needless to say the sessions were endless. Every country but ....Ghana.... had their own translators (the volunteers). And I became the official translator for ....Ghana..... It was a 2 hour presentation followed by a question and answer session. Having learned all about Moringa in French, the technical vocabulary was there but the King got into a talk about the various health issues which can be cured by Moringa. Here I was lost. It would not have been nearly so intimidating had I not been in a room half full of bilingual people that could decipher ever fault I made, but they could also help with the holes in my vocabulary. It was a wonderful experience, and even though I was only up there for two hours out of the 4 days I became known as "the translator" and I don't think I did half bad with the exception of the question/answer portion when I had questions and answers coming in both French and English and all needing to be translated so that everyone could follow. I had just finished restating a French question in French when I realized I was supposed to be translating into English!
I didn't spend much time in Burkina aside from that. We took a Peace Corps car there and back. I did get to talk with PCVs from all over ..West Africa.. and we had the opportunity to marvel over how different PC becomes when you cross a border.
Aside from that little excursion I've been very busy this month. I painted a lion on the wall at the local elementary school where I give weekly environmental lessons. The painting was tied to a lesson about endangered animals. It was the first usage of a new project I worked on with a fellow volunteer to raise awareness about endangered animals. My boss had mentioned the idea of a painting project that was specific to the environment sector. So we found a poster with the various endangered species of ....Benin.... and we drew them onto graph paper and put a grid on it. We have everything from lions to birds. These girds were handed out to any interested volunteers at the all-volunteer conference and will go into the toolkit for the new volunteers. So I finally tested out me new project and I'm a bit (more) of a celebrity in town now. I work in a school that is kind of out of the way, but somehow everyone seems to know about the big cat I drew on the wall. I've also extended the project to art lessons. All the children that come over to ask about the painting can sit down and learn to draw using the grid method. They love it, my house if filled with children.
When I got home from the Moringa conference I was also re-inspired to work with it. I've set up some plantings, and cooking demonstrations in two villages nearby and I finally started my first tree nursery for the hospital who wants to plant about one hundred trees for the center to treat malnourished children.
Also my sad attempts at using Zarma with the Nigerians at the conference have inspired me to learn the local language (Zarma). It was one of my main goals when I set out for ..Africa.., but I got lazy. Recently I've been studying every morning, but I ran into a bit of a dilemma. I'm accustomed to learning language from a book, thus learning to read and write then speak. I have a great book to learn from here but Zarma is a spoken language, no one can read or write in it. So while I do know a little Zarma now it is entirely worthless because I still can't communicate yet. C'est la vie!
Unfortunately as I'm sending this I am no longer in Malanville. I had to leave again, this time for a summer school organized by another volunteer. It is an English summer school and I was invited to come and talk about the environment.
Friday, June 05, 2009
2 Years Later
First, I’d like to say that I am sorry that it takes me so long to write now. I guess after 2 years life here just seems unexciting. My days are spent much as they were when I first arrived. I sweat, I work, I greet my friends around Malanville, I go to the market, but I sure do cook a lot better. I have learned not to fear recipes that used to seem so scary and complicated, like bread. I am comfortable, well maybe that is going too far, but I can easily squeeze into a car built for 5 that already contains 9 people. Things have changed of course. I understand my town a lot better. I know all of Malanville’s little quirks, I can hold a fairly simple conversation in Zarma, I’m a lot tanner, I’ve had ample time to ponder many of life’s questions, and lesser subjects, and suddenly that question of what to do next has reared its ugly head again. Does it ever just shut up?
Recently I was down in the bustling city of Cotonou; recovering from a long stretch of sleepless nights and heat rash. It is hot. I can’t stop sweating, my house gets up to 110, and it took me a full day to get that rash back. I can’t sleep deeply at night because it is just too hot. It has rained twice now. Every occasion is a memorable one. Children ran to put an umbrella over my head while we laughed and danced under the first raindrops of the season. I knew that the rain would only make Malanville that much hotter and humid the next day, but for those moments we were cold and wet.
Back to Cotonou. We were actually in a city called Ouidah. Look it up, it is an important landmark for Africa. It is a key point on the Slave Coast. There is a monument on the beach called “The Point of No Return”. You can also follow the footsteps of the Africans sold into slavery from the market to the boats. We were there however to enjoy the last fleeting moments of being in Benin together. We left Philadelphia as 59, and we sat together on the beach as 34. The first two to honorably terminate their service in Benin were leaving in a mere week. We were brought together to learn all of the protocol to follow to get out of here, paperwork, medical exams, how and where to look for jobs. However, when the administration left we were together to have spontaneous talent shows, swim and lounge on the beach. Yours truly did a pretty fantastic parody of the song “Turning Japanese” recreating it to mirror life in Benin, “Turning Beninese”. This little number sparked a long string of hidden talents from my fellow volunteers. Nevertheless, we were not as carefree as you might think because as we enjoyed the AC and the pool a large majority of us feared the next step, lest we find nothing but air under our foot.
That is how I found myself staring up at the starry sky, feet buried in the sand, listening to the waves and wondering what it is about the beach that is so inspiring. Could it be the seeming endlessness of the ocean, or the feeling of being on the edge of the continent? I think it is a little bit of everything, the endless motion of the waves bring whispers of far away lands, and undiscovered adventures. You see? No matter how homesick I get there is always some impetus lurking around the corner. It was a long weekend. Peace Corps offered me the chance to extend in quality locations. Namibia, Samoa and Nicaragua. Spain accepted me into their cultural exchange program. For the first time in my life I could choose just about any corner of the globe and be paid to be there. Anywhere but the US and Asia really. So my head has been off the dark continent for a while you could say. Which is a shame. Suddenly I have to force myself back into the moment. I get lost in thoughts of home, what I will eat, where I will go. I get lost in thoughts of what I want to do next, and after that. I risk losing touch prematurely with the friends I have made here.
Meanwhile I am still in Malanville. I do a lot of work with my girls club. These girls are great; they have the attitude and desire to do great things. I wish I could do more than encourage and be a good role model but I hope that for at least one of them that will be enough. My eyes have been teary more and more often. One of the best things I have done over the past 2 years was for a girls club at the local high school. The great thing about it is that despite my frequent travels they keep meeting and planning. The culmination was in our noticeable presence in the yearly school parade. We had tshirts, headscarves and a banner made. The girls sang songs about the importance of women in Benin and why girls should go to school. We were even given an hour during the 3-day festival in which the girls wrote and acted out a skit about sending daughters to school, and how to recycle. I taught them how to make cake using local ingredients and items found locally for measuring. It was a hit and my schedule has been full ever since with requests for private cooking lessons.
Also there is a German girl working on studies for her phD. She has a bunch of fish ponds, but she got sick and had to return to Germany so lately I have also been the caretaker of 15 fish ponds. As I lean over the scale weighing out fish and food I can’t help but laugh at where life has brought me. All throughout college, I would never have guessed that my skills would someday be put to use on fish.
In between my girls club and fishponds I am still working at the radio. Well kind of. I am making radio shows at home and taking them in to the station in large quantities. So even though that does not sound like much work over several weeks it has kept me busy enough; mostly due to the heat. I am practically comatose from 12-4. I sweat when I sit still; just imagine what happens when I move!
Any leftover free time is now dedicated to organizing my house. I came to this country with 80 pounds of clothes, food and any random items I thought I needed. For the most part I don’t know what I was thinking when I packed. Now the tables are turned. I have less than 2 months in Malanville and about 2 ½ months left in Benin. I am at a point in my service that I never thought I would see. And my house is somehow full of junk. Suddenly the time has come to figure out what 80 pounds will be coming back with me.
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