Lots of ridiculous things happen to me all the time here. This is a selection of them:
-I accidentally got pee in my eye once.I was at a restaurant that actually had a real toilet but no light in the room. I hovered over the abyss that I couldn't really see and when I started to go my urine hit the brim of the toilet bowl and shot up at the perfect angle and hit me right in the eye ball.
-One time while I was riding a Zem in Cotonou the Zem driver reaching up while still in motion and almost caught a pigeon with his bare hands and then continued on driving as if nothing happened.
-Once at a buvette in Dogbo (which, by the way has an awesome African mural painted on it that includes Mickey and Minnie in safari gear taking pictures) I had to go to the bathroom so I asked a woman where it was. She pointed to the back area. I went back there, past a group of women doing laundry and cooking, and found the “bathroom” that was actually a 4 foot wall behind which I was apparently expected to pee while making eye contact with the women while they worked. Some thoughts that ran through my head while I did this: “What is a person’s face supposed to look like when they are peeing?” “Should I talk to the women and act like this is normal (which it is for them)?” “ I wonder what they are cooking?” and finally “OMG What is that creature?!?!?!?!”. That last thought was in reaction to the thing I saw laying in a basin on the other side of the wall. It looked like a 3 foot long, hairless, hampster. I stared at it in wonder for a good five seconds and then ran/skipped back to my friends to tell them all about it in excitement. I think it was a bush rat, which apparently taste pretty good.
-I have had a lot of ridiculous, scary, and uncomfortable “taxi” rides here. A taxi here is a car that you flag down on the side of the road that is going the direction you want and carrying other people that are going that same direction. It is quite common to be showed into these taxis with 4 other people in the back seat (plus a baby) and 3-4 people in the front seat. Sometimes it’s nice to sit in the front seat because it’s a little roomier and the Beninese will often give it to you because you are white. One time, though. I had a horrific front seat experience. I got separated from my friends and had to sit in the front seat with an enormous Beninese woman. She would not move over at all so I ended up sitting where the gear shifter was. One option in this situation is to sit with one leg on each side of the console and the gear shifter between your legs. As can be expected, I didn’t like this option much. The one I ended up choosing by default was to lift myself up every time the driver had to shift all the way down and hold myself up like that until he shifted back up again. At various times in the trip he would try to push my back down while the gear shifter was still down. It was hellish.
-Last weekend I went to a funeral fete near Lalo for a Beninese woman who was reportedly over 100 years old. The Beninese have huge parties for funerals with lots of food, drinking, dancing, and obnoxiously loud music. I went with five other volunteers from my region, one of whom had actually been invited. When we got there we had an opportunity to see the body and of course we jumped on it. The woman was being kept in an air conditioned box that was big enough to fit her and six other people perfectly. We waited in line and then piled into the death chamber. As we stood silently in the glass box surrounded by Beninese people pressed up against the glass to observe the white people observing the dead woman, a song began to play from a tiny toy next to the casket that captured the mood exactly: “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”. One of the most unique and beautiful moments of my life so far.
As for a real update on my life, I am doing really well. I am feeling more comfortable in my village and my French is getting better. It’s my goal to force a bunch of the female teacher at my school to be my best friends and then get them to start a girls club to encourage girls to stay in school. I am also thinking of working on a Book Club with my students. Beninese people don’t read much and don’t have easy access to books so maybe I can help my students discover the world outside Lobogo through books. The previous volunteer had a bunch of books donated to the school from America and I am going to look at those after Christmas break to see if any of those serve my purposes. For Christmas I am traveling to the north of Benin and then going to Niger to see giraffes in the wild with some fellow PCVs and then spending New Years in Parakou. I miss and love everyone and hope you are all doing well! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Incidents in the Life of a Cat Lady...in Africa
You would think that by doing something so exciting as moving to Africa and participating in this whole “Peace Corps” thing I pushed off the inevitable future I have as an Old Maid in her house with only her cats to serve as companions. Not so. I am a cat lady. It probably doesn’t matter that these cats aren’t my preferred companions. That doesn’t negate the fact that I talk to them all day long and that we frequently have very strongly worded one sided arguments on a weekly basis. Sometimes I even give them the silent treatment.
I inherited two cats from the previous volunteer and was actually pretty excited about getting pets. I’ve never had pets of my own as an adult and I thought we could be gal pals in my little African house (see what I mean about the inevitability of Old Maid-dom?). They really are adorable cats, especially for this country. Most of the cats here are real sickly and mangy looking. You would think that fact would keep people from killing and eating them. But it doesn’t. My cats are getting fatter by the day. They constantly harass me for food even though I feed them regularly and they supplement that with mice and lizards that they catch and I recently found out that they go to my neighbors house and bed for food as well. I’ve learned to tune out a lot of animal noises here, including the sound of a lizard skull being crushed by a cats jaw under my bed while I’m trying to sleep.
My first night at post my cats scared the shit out of me. I was already a little nervous being in a new place surrounded by strangers and also certain that I was going to die in my sleep because I had electrocuted myself earlier in the day. How’s that for your first day in an African village? I tried to plug something into my converter and accidentally touched the prongs with my middle and index finger and nearly killed myself. I couldn’t get the thing off my hand for about 5 seconds. During which I had time to consider the fact that it was going to be real pitiful to have died on my first day in village from electrocution among the million other things that could kill me in this country. I also made a strangled animal-like noise that I’m certain everyone in my concession could hear. This fact explains what I did immediately after I got the thing off my hand. I went straight to my shelf and pulled out my dictionary to figure out how to say, “I electrocuted myself!!!” in French. I think I was in shock. My fingers were burning and tingling and I was shaking all over. My next reaction was to call two other volunteers to let them know why I would be found dead and being eaten by my cats in a few days. Finally, I sat down and put my hand in cold water and searched my PC health book for what to do if you seriously shock yourself. So you can understand (please understand?) why I was a little unsettled that night as I went to bed. On top of that, I am taking an anti-malaria drug called Larium that gives you crazy dreams. I woke up at like 3 AM from a really weird Larium dream to the sound of animal cries above my bed. In my half sleep state I could only explain these noises as coming from some terrifying bush creature that had found its way into my house. I grabbed my phone and used the screen to illuminate the area above my bed only to find my two cats on top of my mosquito net staring down and me and crying. It was a special first night.
The cats have also caused me a certain amount of embarrassment in my concession. I heard that you could get cat food in a magic store called Erevan in Cotonou, so, on a trip to the city, I stopped in the store to buy some. The sign next to the bags of cat food said “Cat Food’ and there was a cat on the front, so I figured it was a safe bet and grabbed it. This was the first time I had been in anything resembling an American store since coming here and I was just too dazzled by everything to pay much attention to any one thing at a time. It’s amazing how quickly you lose your ability to deal with overwhelming varieties of things that you can find in America. In my village I can literally fit on a post it note all the things I could buy at the market. That’s because the only food I can get in my village is as follows: onions, tomatoes, garlic, peppers, eggs, soy cheese, fish, some obscure type of leafy vegetable used here to make a sauce, yams, bananas, rice, noodles, bread, and oranges. There may be some other random things, but I don’t eat those things. Anyways, this store in Cotonou confused me greatly. I stood in the aisle with air fresheners for at least 20 minutes and there were like 5 options. Anyways, I bought the cat food and air freshener and then escaped from the store as quickly as possible. I lugged the bag of cat food home in a taxi and on a zem and was greeted by my neighbors who had apparently missed me. As I was talking to them about my trip my cats were at my ankles bothering me for food so I grabbed the bag of cat food and poured it into their bowl while my neighbors watched. What came out of the bag at first baffled me. It was little pellets of grey stuff. I took a look at the bag again and realized that the cat on the front was indeed frolicking in a litter box, not poking around at its food in a bowl. I had bought cat litter. I tried to explain to my neighbors what it was but they just could not comprehend that a human being would ever spend money on something for cats to go to the bathroom on. I could see their point. It was an epic fail.
Soon after this little debacle, the cats and I got into a bit of a tiff over some soy cheese. Soy cheese, or ‘soja’ has become one of my favorite foods here. Every time I buy it at the market I have my own little Iron Chef competition to top my previous efforts to come up with new ways to incorporate it into my meals. I am basically a vegetarian in my village. I don’t like eating the fish they sell here very much and since I don’t relish the thought of buying a live goat or chicken on market day, leading it home on a rope, slaughtering it in my front yard, and preparing it, I don’t eat much meat. Soy cheese is a good source of protein and it is delicious, so win-win-win! Anyways, one day I brought home some soy cheese and left it on the table while I went to greet my neighbor. When I came back in the house my cats were ripping my soy cheese apart on the kitchen floor. I decided they needed to spend some time outside to learn a lesson mostly because my only other reaction was to give them to a villager and tell them and eat the cats as payment for my lost soy cheese. (Please keep in mind that I can only get soy cheese once a week and it’s my main/favorite addition to my primarily rice diet)The only problem with my “time out” plan was that the cats had recently eaten a perfectly cat sized hole in my screen doors so that they could come and go as they pleased. I solved this by grabbing a big piece of cardboard and taping it across the hole so they couldn’t get in. This seemed to enrage them. Instead of disappearing into the foliage behind my house like I had hoped. They staked out the 2 inch piece of screen below the cardboard, pressed their faces to it, and cried nonstop for hours on end. Just when I was ready to spray them in the face through the screen with insecticide to teach them another lesson, they eerily quieted down and disappeared. Twenty minutes later, I realized that this was only an attempt on their part to regroup and plan a new strategy to get back into the house. I was sitting on my couch reading when I heard a funny scratching noise from the back door. I looked over and the cats were using their paws as human-like hands to lift the cardboard off the screen and shove their deceptively cute faces underneath it and through the hole in the screen. It was that moment that I realized that these cats have been surviving in a culture that sees them as food and probably fighting off pythons as well as hungry children in their free time and that there was no way I was going to defeat them on their turf. Cats 1- Me 0.
I inherited two cats from the previous volunteer and was actually pretty excited about getting pets. I’ve never had pets of my own as an adult and I thought we could be gal pals in my little African house (see what I mean about the inevitability of Old Maid-dom?). They really are adorable cats, especially for this country. Most of the cats here are real sickly and mangy looking. You would think that fact would keep people from killing and eating them. But it doesn’t. My cats are getting fatter by the day. They constantly harass me for food even though I feed them regularly and they supplement that with mice and lizards that they catch and I recently found out that they go to my neighbors house and bed for food as well. I’ve learned to tune out a lot of animal noises here, including the sound of a lizard skull being crushed by a cats jaw under my bed while I’m trying to sleep.
My first night at post my cats scared the shit out of me. I was already a little nervous being in a new place surrounded by strangers and also certain that I was going to die in my sleep because I had electrocuted myself earlier in the day. How’s that for your first day in an African village? I tried to plug something into my converter and accidentally touched the prongs with my middle and index finger and nearly killed myself. I couldn’t get the thing off my hand for about 5 seconds. During which I had time to consider the fact that it was going to be real pitiful to have died on my first day in village from electrocution among the million other things that could kill me in this country. I also made a strangled animal-like noise that I’m certain everyone in my concession could hear. This fact explains what I did immediately after I got the thing off my hand. I went straight to my shelf and pulled out my dictionary to figure out how to say, “I electrocuted myself!!!” in French. I think I was in shock. My fingers were burning and tingling and I was shaking all over. My next reaction was to call two other volunteers to let them know why I would be found dead and being eaten by my cats in a few days. Finally, I sat down and put my hand in cold water and searched my PC health book for what to do if you seriously shock yourself. So you can understand (please understand?) why I was a little unsettled that night as I went to bed. On top of that, I am taking an anti-malaria drug called Larium that gives you crazy dreams. I woke up at like 3 AM from a really weird Larium dream to the sound of animal cries above my bed. In my half sleep state I could only explain these noises as coming from some terrifying bush creature that had found its way into my house. I grabbed my phone and used the screen to illuminate the area above my bed only to find my two cats on top of my mosquito net staring down and me and crying. It was a special first night.
The cats have also caused me a certain amount of embarrassment in my concession. I heard that you could get cat food in a magic store called Erevan in Cotonou, so, on a trip to the city, I stopped in the store to buy some. The sign next to the bags of cat food said “Cat Food’ and there was a cat on the front, so I figured it was a safe bet and grabbed it. This was the first time I had been in anything resembling an American store since coming here and I was just too dazzled by everything to pay much attention to any one thing at a time. It’s amazing how quickly you lose your ability to deal with overwhelming varieties of things that you can find in America. In my village I can literally fit on a post it note all the things I could buy at the market. That’s because the only food I can get in my village is as follows: onions, tomatoes, garlic, peppers, eggs, soy cheese, fish, some obscure type of leafy vegetable used here to make a sauce, yams, bananas, rice, noodles, bread, and oranges. There may be some other random things, but I don’t eat those things. Anyways, this store in Cotonou confused me greatly. I stood in the aisle with air fresheners for at least 20 minutes and there were like 5 options. Anyways, I bought the cat food and air freshener and then escaped from the store as quickly as possible. I lugged the bag of cat food home in a taxi and on a zem and was greeted by my neighbors who had apparently missed me. As I was talking to them about my trip my cats were at my ankles bothering me for food so I grabbed the bag of cat food and poured it into their bowl while my neighbors watched. What came out of the bag at first baffled me. It was little pellets of grey stuff. I took a look at the bag again and realized that the cat on the front was indeed frolicking in a litter box, not poking around at its food in a bowl. I had bought cat litter. I tried to explain to my neighbors what it was but they just could not comprehend that a human being would ever spend money on something for cats to go to the bathroom on. I could see their point. It was an epic fail.
Soon after this little debacle, the cats and I got into a bit of a tiff over some soy cheese. Soy cheese, or ‘soja’ has become one of my favorite foods here. Every time I buy it at the market I have my own little Iron Chef competition to top my previous efforts to come up with new ways to incorporate it into my meals. I am basically a vegetarian in my village. I don’t like eating the fish they sell here very much and since I don’t relish the thought of buying a live goat or chicken on market day, leading it home on a rope, slaughtering it in my front yard, and preparing it, I don’t eat much meat. Soy cheese is a good source of protein and it is delicious, so win-win-win! Anyways, one day I brought home some soy cheese and left it on the table while I went to greet my neighbor. When I came back in the house my cats were ripping my soy cheese apart on the kitchen floor. I decided they needed to spend some time outside to learn a lesson mostly because my only other reaction was to give them to a villager and tell them and eat the cats as payment for my lost soy cheese. (Please keep in mind that I can only get soy cheese once a week and it’s my main/favorite addition to my primarily rice diet)The only problem with my “time out” plan was that the cats had recently eaten a perfectly cat sized hole in my screen doors so that they could come and go as they pleased. I solved this by grabbing a big piece of cardboard and taping it across the hole so they couldn’t get in. This seemed to enrage them. Instead of disappearing into the foliage behind my house like I had hoped. They staked out the 2 inch piece of screen below the cardboard, pressed their faces to it, and cried nonstop for hours on end. Just when I was ready to spray them in the face through the screen with insecticide to teach them another lesson, they eerily quieted down and disappeared. Twenty minutes later, I realized that this was only an attempt on their part to regroup and plan a new strategy to get back into the house. I was sitting on my couch reading when I heard a funny scratching noise from the back door. I looked over and the cats were using their paws as human-like hands to lift the cardboard off the screen and shove their deceptively cute faces underneath it and through the hole in the screen. It was that moment that I realized that these cats have been surviving in a culture that sees them as food and probably fighting off pythons as well as hungry children in their free time and that there was no way I was going to defeat them on their turf. Cats 1- Me 0.
Friday, October 15, 2010
In Benin, Kids Bring Machetes to the First Day of School!
I LOVE the first day of school. I love everything about the “back to school” season. Back to school shopping was one of my favorite experiences growing up. It was more than just the excitement of getting to pick out a new backpack, lunchbox, and crayon box. For me, back to school was a time of giddy anticipation. I didn’t love getting up early or having to do homework, but for some reason I loved going back to school in the fall. I loved seeing everybody after what seemed like ages. I loved waiting to see if there were any new kids in our class of kids who had all basically gone to school together our whole lives. I love the feeling in the air the first day of school as well as the smell of the school on the first day. Maybe it was all the new plastic and polyester accoutrements that made the first day of school smell that way or maybe it was just me. I never really told too many people about my love of “back to school” because I’m sure they would hate me or laugh.
Obviously, back to school season is a little different in Benin. The kids wear uniforms but they are all these khaki outfits that are made for them by the tailors in the village. There is a tailor across the street from my house who has been “working on” three dresses for me for three weeks but has really just been making little khaki outfits for all the kids who are going back to school. The tailor across the street works in a building made out of mud brick and has a sewing machine but it is powered by a foot pedal. I just got one of my dresses back from her and it was done really well. Anyways, back to the “back to school”. In Benin, the first day of school is official, but most of the students don’t show up and neither do the teachers. Students generally trickle in for the first few weeks of class. Teachers show up only to write their schedules on the board. I think I was the only person teaching the first week of school and I had about twenty of my supposed sixtyish students there. My classrooms are open air cement rooms with a chalk board, desks, and a dirt floor. The “cafeteria” is a thatched roof pavilion where moms come to sell food around lunch time. The kids who do show up for the first week of school come with brooms and machetes. The brooms are to sweep the garbage out of the classrooms and the dirt off the desks. The machetes are to hack away at grass that has grown in the school yard over the summer. I was so confused when I saw the kids walking up with machetes on the first day. At lunch time I stood in the “cafeteria”, ate some rice, and watched a bunch of kids hack through chest high grass. Suddenly there was a lot of yelling and running and pointing. It turns out that the kids found a python! They got a big stick (more like a branch) and lifted the python out of the grass with it. The python was at least 4 feet long and HUGE! One of the older kids carried the stick and the snake over to the jungle and through them both into it. They also found a hedgehog in the fifteen minutes that I was standing there. I almost didn’t want to leave for fear that I would miss an African bigfoot emerging out of the grass.
Obviously, back to school season is a little different in Benin. The kids wear uniforms but they are all these khaki outfits that are made for them by the tailors in the village. There is a tailor across the street from my house who has been “working on” three dresses for me for three weeks but has really just been making little khaki outfits for all the kids who are going back to school. The tailor across the street works in a building made out of mud brick and has a sewing machine but it is powered by a foot pedal. I just got one of my dresses back from her and it was done really well. Anyways, back to the “back to school”. In Benin, the first day of school is official, but most of the students don’t show up and neither do the teachers. Students generally trickle in for the first few weeks of class. Teachers show up only to write their schedules on the board. I think I was the only person teaching the first week of school and I had about twenty of my supposed sixtyish students there. My classrooms are open air cement rooms with a chalk board, desks, and a dirt floor. The “cafeteria” is a thatched roof pavilion where moms come to sell food around lunch time. The kids who do show up for the first week of school come with brooms and machetes. The brooms are to sweep the garbage out of the classrooms and the dirt off the desks. The machetes are to hack away at grass that has grown in the school yard over the summer. I was so confused when I saw the kids walking up with machetes on the first day. At lunch time I stood in the “cafeteria”, ate some rice, and watched a bunch of kids hack through chest high grass. Suddenly there was a lot of yelling and running and pointing. It turns out that the kids found a python! They got a big stick (more like a branch) and lifted the python out of the grass with it. The python was at least 4 feet long and HUGE! One of the older kids carried the stick and the snake over to the jungle and through them both into it. They also found a hedgehog in the fifteen minutes that I was standing there. I almost didn’t want to leave for fear that I would miss an African bigfoot emerging out of the grass.
Life in Lobogo
Its been a really long time (like a month or two) since I’ve updated my blog and I’m sure my loyal readers are dying for more stories on my life here! I’m currently in my village, Lobogo and have been here for 3 weeks. Village life takes some getting used to. It is really slow moving and laid back which was nice for like three days and then got really boring. A typical day for me (before school started for me last week) involved sleeping until around 10. Then I would get up and make myself some coffee in my French press and eat some oatmeal and feed my cats. Then I would sit around and read (I went through like 5 books in my first two weeks) and stare at my walls. Then I would walk around my village and to the market. I attempt to do yoga in the afternoons and then at night I make myself dinner and read for hours or socialize with my neighbors or walk around. Lobogo is a decent sized village but still pretty small compared to other villages and towns here. It is very green and lush and to get here you have to drive on a jungle-y red dirt road for about twenty minutes. Most of the houses are made of mud and have thatched roofs. My house is cement and in a walled concession with other houses but all the houses around me are mud houses.
Some things I like about my house and village:
-Everyone is ridiculously excited when I greet them in my terrible Sahoué.
Mi fon! = Good morning
Mi dahoué!= Good afternoon/evening
Na de mi le do?= How are you?
Ko le nyuedé= I’m fine
Ézahndé!= Goodbye
I have no idea how to spell any of those things really, but that is how they sound and look in my mind.
-It is really beautiful. I have visited some other volunteers in my region and some of them are in bigger towns and they are surrounded by dirt and cement. They generally have better access to the goodness that is cheese and internet but I think I’d trade that for what I have here. Plus, we have a big market day every five days and I can find almost anything there (except cheese and internet, lol).
-My house was basically fully furnished by the volunteer before me (Thanks Angelina!) and there was also some food left behind that helped me survive my first few days when I couldn’t figure out where to buy things or how to cook anything decent with Beninese ingredients. I have a couch and a bed and shelves and while that may not seem like a lot, it really makes a big difference. Volunteers who are opening a new post have to furnish their own house and that takes a lot of time and money. When they first get to their post all they usually have is their PC issued trunk, a mattress, some buckets, and a portable stove. That means that they sleep on a mattress on the floor and that basically everything in their house is on the floor and their house is really bare. Angelina left me lots of cool stuff that I didn’t even know I would want. For example there was a bunch of sticky putty to put things up on my walls and tons of cool books and games to keep me entertained. She also left me Febreeze and candles so my house smelled a lot less like dirt and cats pretty quickly.
-I have seen more stars here then I have ever seen in my life, even out in the country in the States. I went to Catholic Mass with my concession Maman, Angele, just to see what it was like one night and when we walked out of the church I looked up and was made speechless by the night sky. It seriously felt like the stars were falling down all around me. There were so many stars- it was overwhelmingly beautiful. It is moments like that in which I am forced to stand still and realize what an amazing experience I am having here. It is so easy to lose perspective in the struggle that I have every day here but then there are always those little moments that it occurs to me that I am really living in Africa. Crazy.
-A million other little things and experiences: the market mamas feeding me when I come and sit with them even though they don’t speak French and I can’t really speak Sahoué so we just sit in silence while I eat and smile at them; the time my laundry lines broke twice in one day and my laundry fell into the dirt and my neighbors helped me rewash my clothes twice by hand and rehang them; my first day in the market when I was totally lost and my neighbor, Dorcas, appeared out of nowhere and basically led me around by the hand and helped me find everything I needed; the fact that there are other volunteers about an hour or two away that I am growing to love and that are there for me if I really need it; all the people who have come to my house to welcome me to Lobogo; etc etc etc.
-The mail and packages that everyone has been sending me from home. Every little thing in those packages is appreciated, whether it is tampons or candy!
Some things that are challenging:
-The language barrier. I was spoiled during stage by the language facilitators who spoke very clear and slow French for me. It seems like the people in my village all speak so fast and don’t open their mouths when they talk. I guess that’s how people speak their native language. Haha Its just really hard for me to understand people sometimes and the most simple activity can become so frustrating when I can’t communicate right. Part of the problem is that I have a strong accent as well, so people don’t understand me. One day I was walking to the market and started talking with a girl who was along them way. I said something to her in French and she turned to me and said, “I don’t speak English!”. I was definitely speaking French to her but either my French was so terrible that it was unintelligible or my American accent was so strong that the girl thought I was speaking English. It was a sad day. Luckily my French is getting better and even more luckily, I don’t have to use it much in the classroom because I’m teaching English!!! I am hoping to get a French tutor though soon to help me a little bit more.
-The abundance of free time. I am an over-thinker already and given this much free time my mind has tons of time to evaluate every issue under the sun. This is a terrible idea when one of your most recent ideas was to move to an obscure African village away from all of your friends and family. With school starting this past week things have gotten a little better and I imagine I will only be getting busier as time goes on so maybe I should appreciate this alone time more, but it has been really rough.
-I am always worried that I am doing/not doing something here that I may or may not be supposed to do. The smallest interactions can become stressful when the language/culture barrier takes away all of the small indicators about how you are supposed to act. I am always worried that people think I am either too forward or too shy on various occasions.
All in all I am beginning to love my village and get used to life here.
Some things I like about my house and village:
-Everyone is ridiculously excited when I greet them in my terrible Sahoué.
Mi fon! = Good morning
Mi dahoué!= Good afternoon/evening
Na de mi le do?= How are you?
Ko le nyuedé= I’m fine
Ézahndé!= Goodbye
I have no idea how to spell any of those things really, but that is how they sound and look in my mind.
-It is really beautiful. I have visited some other volunteers in my region and some of them are in bigger towns and they are surrounded by dirt and cement. They generally have better access to the goodness that is cheese and internet but I think I’d trade that for what I have here. Plus, we have a big market day every five days and I can find almost anything there (except cheese and internet, lol).
-My house was basically fully furnished by the volunteer before me (Thanks Angelina!) and there was also some food left behind that helped me survive my first few days when I couldn’t figure out where to buy things or how to cook anything decent with Beninese ingredients. I have a couch and a bed and shelves and while that may not seem like a lot, it really makes a big difference. Volunteers who are opening a new post have to furnish their own house and that takes a lot of time and money. When they first get to their post all they usually have is their PC issued trunk, a mattress, some buckets, and a portable stove. That means that they sleep on a mattress on the floor and that basically everything in their house is on the floor and their house is really bare. Angelina left me lots of cool stuff that I didn’t even know I would want. For example there was a bunch of sticky putty to put things up on my walls and tons of cool books and games to keep me entertained. She also left me Febreeze and candles so my house smelled a lot less like dirt and cats pretty quickly.
-I have seen more stars here then I have ever seen in my life, even out in the country in the States. I went to Catholic Mass with my concession Maman, Angele, just to see what it was like one night and when we walked out of the church I looked up and was made speechless by the night sky. It seriously felt like the stars were falling down all around me. There were so many stars- it was overwhelmingly beautiful. It is moments like that in which I am forced to stand still and realize what an amazing experience I am having here. It is so easy to lose perspective in the struggle that I have every day here but then there are always those little moments that it occurs to me that I am really living in Africa. Crazy.
-A million other little things and experiences: the market mamas feeding me when I come and sit with them even though they don’t speak French and I can’t really speak Sahoué so we just sit in silence while I eat and smile at them; the time my laundry lines broke twice in one day and my laundry fell into the dirt and my neighbors helped me rewash my clothes twice by hand and rehang them; my first day in the market when I was totally lost and my neighbor, Dorcas, appeared out of nowhere and basically led me around by the hand and helped me find everything I needed; the fact that there are other volunteers about an hour or two away that I am growing to love and that are there for me if I really need it; all the people who have come to my house to welcome me to Lobogo; etc etc etc.
-The mail and packages that everyone has been sending me from home. Every little thing in those packages is appreciated, whether it is tampons or candy!
Some things that are challenging:
-The language barrier. I was spoiled during stage by the language facilitators who spoke very clear and slow French for me. It seems like the people in my village all speak so fast and don’t open their mouths when they talk. I guess that’s how people speak their native language. Haha Its just really hard for me to understand people sometimes and the most simple activity can become so frustrating when I can’t communicate right. Part of the problem is that I have a strong accent as well, so people don’t understand me. One day I was walking to the market and started talking with a girl who was along them way. I said something to her in French and she turned to me and said, “I don’t speak English!”. I was definitely speaking French to her but either my French was so terrible that it was unintelligible or my American accent was so strong that the girl thought I was speaking English. It was a sad day. Luckily my French is getting better and even more luckily, I don’t have to use it much in the classroom because I’m teaching English!!! I am hoping to get a French tutor though soon to help me a little bit more.
-The abundance of free time. I am an over-thinker already and given this much free time my mind has tons of time to evaluate every issue under the sun. This is a terrible idea when one of your most recent ideas was to move to an obscure African village away from all of your friends and family. With school starting this past week things have gotten a little better and I imagine I will only be getting busier as time goes on so maybe I should appreciate this alone time more, but it has been really rough.
-I am always worried that I am doing/not doing something here that I may or may not be supposed to do. The smallest interactions can become stressful when the language/culture barrier takes away all of the small indicators about how you are supposed to act. I am always worried that people think I am either too forward or too shy on various occasions.
All in all I am beginning to love my village and get used to life here.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Lesson 1 from Benin: The World is Your Trash Can and Toilet
Recently I peed in a near stranger’s yard in the middle of the night and I didn’t have the excuse of being drunk or five years old.
I was staying with a different host family while visiting my village. I already have a house in my village that is mostly furnished but as this was my first time in village I stayed with a host family who could introduce me to a lot of people in the village and give me tips on living there and show me around and such. This family had electricity but no running water and the nearest latrine was next to some jungle-y looking trees and across the yard where there were no lights. I had to go to the bathroom after dark and this was my only option. I took my book light with me and wandered out to the latrine. I opened the door and was greeted by a moving wall of giant cockroaches and other bugs. With thoughts of touching these bugs with my hands or having them jump on me as I tried to balance and pee into a hole while holding my book light in my teeth I quickly decided that the latrine was not a viable option. This left me with either holding it until day light (about 10 hours) or peeing in the yard. Peeing in the yard obviously won. I won’t describe the scene that ensued but I’m sure you can imagine something just as comical and sad as the real thing without my help. Oddly enough, my biggest problem came when I realized that I had nowhere to dispose of my toilet paper if I didn’t want the family to know that I was using their yard as a toilet. Most Beninese people don’t use toilet paper. I haven’t asked exactly what they do as an alternative but I think it has something to do with their aversion to using their left hand for anything related to shaking hands and eating. Luckily we can find toilet paper here but there was no way that I could blame the toilet paper on one of the kids in the family or something because I was probably the only person within a 50 mile radius or more using toilet paper. The option of disposal that I chose was running back to the latrine, opening the door really fast, and throwing the toilet paper in the direction of the hole in the ground, squealing, and running back to the house.
In my last post I mentioned a moment when I saw a current volunteer hiss at a Fan Milk guy to get his attention. (Well actually I didn’t mention the Fan Milk which is strange because Fan Milk is a delicious Beninese treat of joy and joyness. There are different flavors but I have become a loyal fan of Fan Milk Vanille. They are about the size of a hot pocket but utilize the concept of a GoGurt. They are sold by guys who walk around with little freezers on wheels like old school ice cream men, complete with a bell to ring and attract children or Americans from blocks away. The vanilla one tastes like a vanilla pudding pop. SO GOOD.) In the previous post I talked about how I thought I could never hiss at a person and then I went ahead and hissed at students without even thinking about it. I had a similar thought around the time of the “I will never hiss” that was similar but regarding littering. That same day I saw a volunteer buy something at a street vendor, take off the wrapper, and drop the wrapper to the ground without a thought. I saw volunteers and Beninese doing this everywhere for the first couple weeks. I mentioned my surprise at all this littering to a current volunteer and they recalled feeling the same way when they first got to Benin. At first I tried to keep all of my garbage and find a trash can to put it in. The problem is that there are no trash cans anywhere. Seriously, you could walk around a major city all day and not find a trash can and there is likely no way you would find one in a village unless a current volunteer or NGO has placed it there. Everyone just throws their trash in the street or in piles behind their house or someplace else. Most of the time there trash piles are picked through for a time and then burned. I guess it wouldn’t be that bad if plastic bags weren’t such a hit here. Little black plastic bags are used with every purchase here and are all over the place littering streets and such. Its such a weird concept to get used to.
Interesting Story: We went to a local healer last week and I got my fortune read by a medicine man! Another stagier, Wendy, went before me and he used what looked like a Jumanji board to tell her that she was born under the sign of a very grand tree and that people are going to be jealous of her in her life because of it. It was this really long and intricate fortune with lots of cool metaphors having to do with the tree. I was not having a good day and had in fact just organized a strike amongst the stagiers. I had gotten at least two people to agree to strike to the soundtrack of Newsies and then had to spend several minutes explaining Newsies to a few poor souls who had never seen it. So instead of continuing to sulk in the back I decided to play the African Jumanji game and get my fortune read. To my surprise, once I sat down the guy put the Jumanji board away and brought out a few strings with seashells tied to them. He asked me to use my money and the marble he gave me and rub it to my fore head and then put it on the ground. I accidentally dropped the marble while doing this and blurted out in front of everyone, “Oh no, now I’ll have gris gris!” which is a sensitive topic for Beninese since they are the home of the original Vodun or Voodoo and are constantly having to discuss voodoo curses with people (i.e. Americans). I am choosing to believe that the combination of singing Newsies songs under my breath for his first fortune telling, the likening of his fortune telling accoutrements to a Robin Williams movie, and the dropping of the sacred marble explain my subsequent “fortune”. The man rubbed the strings with shells over my marble and money and then basically said that I am in good health but that my biggest troubles in life will come from not being able to keep my mouth shut. He said that I will have trouble with language and how to say things and that this can be helped if I am generous to churches and poor people. No grand tree metaphors for me! Shut your mouth and give us money! I guess I won’t be going there to have them cure my malaria if I ever get it.*
*On a serious note, that health center had a lot of cool plants that are natural remedies to many ailments and they help a lot of people and don’t accept much money (or any, I can’t remember with all that ‘French” they were speaking).
I was staying with a different host family while visiting my village. I already have a house in my village that is mostly furnished but as this was my first time in village I stayed with a host family who could introduce me to a lot of people in the village and give me tips on living there and show me around and such. This family had electricity but no running water and the nearest latrine was next to some jungle-y looking trees and across the yard where there were no lights. I had to go to the bathroom after dark and this was my only option. I took my book light with me and wandered out to the latrine. I opened the door and was greeted by a moving wall of giant cockroaches and other bugs. With thoughts of touching these bugs with my hands or having them jump on me as I tried to balance and pee into a hole while holding my book light in my teeth I quickly decided that the latrine was not a viable option. This left me with either holding it until day light (about 10 hours) or peeing in the yard. Peeing in the yard obviously won. I won’t describe the scene that ensued but I’m sure you can imagine something just as comical and sad as the real thing without my help. Oddly enough, my biggest problem came when I realized that I had nowhere to dispose of my toilet paper if I didn’t want the family to know that I was using their yard as a toilet. Most Beninese people don’t use toilet paper. I haven’t asked exactly what they do as an alternative but I think it has something to do with their aversion to using their left hand for anything related to shaking hands and eating. Luckily we can find toilet paper here but there was no way that I could blame the toilet paper on one of the kids in the family or something because I was probably the only person within a 50 mile radius or more using toilet paper. The option of disposal that I chose was running back to the latrine, opening the door really fast, and throwing the toilet paper in the direction of the hole in the ground, squealing, and running back to the house.
In my last post I mentioned a moment when I saw a current volunteer hiss at a Fan Milk guy to get his attention. (Well actually I didn’t mention the Fan Milk which is strange because Fan Milk is a delicious Beninese treat of joy and joyness. There are different flavors but I have become a loyal fan of Fan Milk Vanille. They are about the size of a hot pocket but utilize the concept of a GoGurt. They are sold by guys who walk around with little freezers on wheels like old school ice cream men, complete with a bell to ring and attract children or Americans from blocks away. The vanilla one tastes like a vanilla pudding pop. SO GOOD.) In the previous post I talked about how I thought I could never hiss at a person and then I went ahead and hissed at students without even thinking about it. I had a similar thought around the time of the “I will never hiss” that was similar but regarding littering. That same day I saw a volunteer buy something at a street vendor, take off the wrapper, and drop the wrapper to the ground without a thought. I saw volunteers and Beninese doing this everywhere for the first couple weeks. I mentioned my surprise at all this littering to a current volunteer and they recalled feeling the same way when they first got to Benin. At first I tried to keep all of my garbage and find a trash can to put it in. The problem is that there are no trash cans anywhere. Seriously, you could walk around a major city all day and not find a trash can and there is likely no way you would find one in a village unless a current volunteer or NGO has placed it there. Everyone just throws their trash in the street or in piles behind their house or someplace else. Most of the time there trash piles are picked through for a time and then burned. I guess it wouldn’t be that bad if plastic bags weren’t such a hit here. Little black plastic bags are used with every purchase here and are all over the place littering streets and such. Its such a weird concept to get used to.
Interesting Story: We went to a local healer last week and I got my fortune read by a medicine man! Another stagier, Wendy, went before me and he used what looked like a Jumanji board to tell her that she was born under the sign of a very grand tree and that people are going to be jealous of her in her life because of it. It was this really long and intricate fortune with lots of cool metaphors having to do with the tree. I was not having a good day and had in fact just organized a strike amongst the stagiers. I had gotten at least two people to agree to strike to the soundtrack of Newsies and then had to spend several minutes explaining Newsies to a few poor souls who had never seen it. So instead of continuing to sulk in the back I decided to play the African Jumanji game and get my fortune read. To my surprise, once I sat down the guy put the Jumanji board away and brought out a few strings with seashells tied to them. He asked me to use my money and the marble he gave me and rub it to my fore head and then put it on the ground. I accidentally dropped the marble while doing this and blurted out in front of everyone, “Oh no, now I’ll have gris gris!” which is a sensitive topic for Beninese since they are the home of the original Vodun or Voodoo and are constantly having to discuss voodoo curses with people (i.e. Americans). I am choosing to believe that the combination of singing Newsies songs under my breath for his first fortune telling, the likening of his fortune telling accoutrements to a Robin Williams movie, and the dropping of the sacred marble explain my subsequent “fortune”. The man rubbed the strings with shells over my marble and money and then basically said that I am in good health but that my biggest troubles in life will come from not being able to keep my mouth shut. He said that I will have trouble with language and how to say things and that this can be helped if I am generous to churches and poor people. No grand tree metaphors for me! Shut your mouth and give us money! I guess I won’t be going there to have them cure my malaria if I ever get it.*
*On a serious note, that health center had a lot of cool plants that are natural remedies to many ailments and they help a lot of people and don’t accept much money (or any, I can’t remember with all that ‘French” they were speaking).
Good Morning, Madame Dione! OR That Time I Hissed at My Students and Threw a Rock at the Feet of Some Kids Cowering in a Latrine. (8-28-10)
I may have hissed at a student this week and/or whipped around and made a noise that sounds like “Ehh!” in response to students talking behind me as I wrote on the board. Also, a few weeks ago I chased after some kids, followed them into their house and back to their latrines, and threw a rock at their feet while yelling at them in broken French. In both scenarios I instantly realized that while this response would have been out of character for me, socially unacceptable, and generally unheard of in the United States it came almost naturally to me in a classroom here. You see, in Benin, it is common for people to hiss at people to get their attention.
The first time I heard a Beninoise do this I was perplexed. The first time I saw an American do it I was in awe. I remember thinking something like, “Wow , I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable hissing at another human being.” Some other common ways to get someone’s attention here include: Making smooching noises with your lips as if you are calling a dog, snapping your fingers, or yelling out the most obvious physical characteristic or perhaps the profession of the person such as “Fat! Short! White! Foreigner! Blond! Bar Lady! Carpenter! Teacher!”. All of these things appear to be rude to an American, but are completely acceptable here and unquestioned. When the Beninese Peace Corps trainers first started working with Volunteers they could not comprehend why the volunteers would get so upset by all the Beninese people screaming “Yovo” at them all the time. It is just so common here to call someone by what they look like or what they do that they couldn’t understand why having “White/Foreigner” shouted at you would make someone upset. It took them a while to understand that in our culture it is usually seen as an insult to refer to someone in that way. That we don’t like to be loudly pointed out as the foreigner by every person we see on the street every day even if we walk down the same street past the same people every day came as a surprise to them I guess.
A few weeks ago I was hanging out at the TEFL house with some other stagiers (those of us who have not yet sworn in) and some of the local kids began to mildly harass us from outside the walls of our courtyard. I’ve gotten used to the fact that we are a constant source of wonder and amusement for local kids, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes. The kids kept coming and opening the metal door to our courtyard a little bit and then running away. I got so annoyed because we have very little privacy here and those kids knew that they were not allowed to come into that gate unasked. Children here have very particular cultural restrictions on how they can interact with adults. Teachers are often bowed to by students and in most cases a child is not allowed to say that an adult has made a mistake or lied about something. That being said, children are children, and there are troublemakers and punks everywhere and in Benin it is super fun for the punk kids to harass the foreigners who don’t speak English very well. Eventually the kids got bored with opening the gate and decided to start throwing things over our wall. A rock came flying over the wall and I had had enough. I picked up the rock and along with another girl went out into the street. Some little Beninese girls who were sitting in the street watching this entire exchange told me where the kids went and led me into the courtyard of their concession. I couldn’t find the kids anywhere and the little girl pointed to one of the doors of the houses. I asked if their parents were around and she said no. If I didn’t do anything the kids were just going to keep bothering us so I walked straight into their house with the other stagier and the little tattle-tale Beninese girl and found the kids in the back of the house hiding in the latrines. They looked terrified when they realized that I had followed them back there. I took the rock that they threw over our wall and threw to the ground at their feet and it bounced back up a little bit as I yelled “Ce n’est pas bon!!!!”which basically means, “It is not good!!!!!”. And then attempted to say something along the lines of “Your parents will hear about this and you better not come back to our house again!” in broken French. As I walked away I thought of how much my power had probably diminished the moment I opened my mouth and sounded like a 2nd grader but I was still oddly proud of myself for at least trying to get my point across. I know that American Dione would never chase children into their house or throw rocks at them. I know that American Dione wouldn’t gesticulate wildly and argue prices with a vendor of any sorts. American Dione definitely wouldn’t hiss at students or make unintelligible noises like the one I made at my group of kids the other day. Benin has already changed me. I am giving you fair warning to forgive my breaches of American cultural norms in two years when I return and hiss at a waiter at a bar to get their attention. There is a phrase that volunteers in West Africa when there isn’t much you can say or do about a situation: WAWA- West Africa Wins Again. So WAWA America, I’m becoming bien integre.
The first time I heard a Beninoise do this I was perplexed. The first time I saw an American do it I was in awe. I remember thinking something like, “Wow , I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable hissing at another human being.” Some other common ways to get someone’s attention here include: Making smooching noises with your lips as if you are calling a dog, snapping your fingers, or yelling out the most obvious physical characteristic or perhaps the profession of the person such as “Fat! Short! White! Foreigner! Blond! Bar Lady! Carpenter! Teacher!”. All of these things appear to be rude to an American, but are completely acceptable here and unquestioned. When the Beninese Peace Corps trainers first started working with Volunteers they could not comprehend why the volunteers would get so upset by all the Beninese people screaming “Yovo” at them all the time. It is just so common here to call someone by what they look like or what they do that they couldn’t understand why having “White/Foreigner” shouted at you would make someone upset. It took them a while to understand that in our culture it is usually seen as an insult to refer to someone in that way. That we don’t like to be loudly pointed out as the foreigner by every person we see on the street every day even if we walk down the same street past the same people every day came as a surprise to them I guess.
A few weeks ago I was hanging out at the TEFL house with some other stagiers (those of us who have not yet sworn in) and some of the local kids began to mildly harass us from outside the walls of our courtyard. I’ve gotten used to the fact that we are a constant source of wonder and amusement for local kids, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes. The kids kept coming and opening the metal door to our courtyard a little bit and then running away. I got so annoyed because we have very little privacy here and those kids knew that they were not allowed to come into that gate unasked. Children here have very particular cultural restrictions on how they can interact with adults. Teachers are often bowed to by students and in most cases a child is not allowed to say that an adult has made a mistake or lied about something. That being said, children are children, and there are troublemakers and punks everywhere and in Benin it is super fun for the punk kids to harass the foreigners who don’t speak English very well. Eventually the kids got bored with opening the gate and decided to start throwing things over our wall. A rock came flying over the wall and I had had enough. I picked up the rock and along with another girl went out into the street. Some little Beninese girls who were sitting in the street watching this entire exchange told me where the kids went and led me into the courtyard of their concession. I couldn’t find the kids anywhere and the little girl pointed to one of the doors of the houses. I asked if their parents were around and she said no. If I didn’t do anything the kids were just going to keep bothering us so I walked straight into their house with the other stagier and the little tattle-tale Beninese girl and found the kids in the back of the house hiding in the latrines. They looked terrified when they realized that I had followed them back there. I took the rock that they threw over our wall and threw to the ground at their feet and it bounced back up a little bit as I yelled “Ce n’est pas bon!!!!”which basically means, “It is not good!!!!!”. And then attempted to say something along the lines of “Your parents will hear about this and you better not come back to our house again!” in broken French. As I walked away I thought of how much my power had probably diminished the moment I opened my mouth and sounded like a 2nd grader but I was still oddly proud of myself for at least trying to get my point across. I know that American Dione would never chase children into their house or throw rocks at them. I know that American Dione wouldn’t gesticulate wildly and argue prices with a vendor of any sorts. American Dione definitely wouldn’t hiss at students or make unintelligible noises like the one I made at my group of kids the other day. Benin has already changed me. I am giving you fair warning to forgive my breaches of American cultural norms in two years when I return and hiss at a waiter at a bar to get their attention. There is a phrase that volunteers in West Africa when there isn’t much you can say or do about a situation: WAWA- West Africa Wins Again. So WAWA America, I’m becoming bien integre.
So, I’ve been in Africa for over a month? (8-22-10)
It’s hard for me to comprehend that I have been here for that long already and at the same time I feel like I have been here forever. Time is flying and going ridiculously slow at the same time and I don’t like it! I have recently had a few rough days/series of days and a lot of moments where I try to figure out how the hell I got myself here. That happens to me a lot. I generally work really diligently to get myself where I want to go but then once I am there I can’t even remember all that and it just seems like I magically got myself to Africa and it is hard to see all the little moments that came together to make this happen. I got to talk to my mom, Bonnie, and Mandi (sisters), last weekend and that made me feel a lot better about being here. It is really easy to lose sight of why I came to Benin in the drama/drudgery of daily life here. It was extremely helpful to take a step back for a second and see what I am doing through the eyes of the people who know me best. Also, Jeremy (love interest/creepy stalker) asked me to describe what I am hoping to gain out of this experience and the process of thinking about that again and writing it out and trying to explain it to someone else really helped me refocus myself. For those of you who are intrigued by what I am hoping to gain out of this, these are some things I came up with:
1) I am a very curious person and it is hard for me to accept other people’s descriptions of things as true. I have a strong desire to figure things out myself. I wanted to join the Peace Corps because I want to experience what life is like for the majority of the world outside of America. I wanted to live in a developing country and figure out what drives the people there. I want to know about their daily lives, their quirks, their hopes, their opinions, their culture, their habits, and basically everything about them there is to know. I realize that as an American who knows they can go home whenever they want and is for sure going home after two years, my experience isn’t going to be the same as the people who actually live their entire lives here, but I want to get as close to what they have as possible.
2) I love languages and learning languages and I know the best way to do that is to get immersed in the culture and language. Hopefully I will become somewhat fluent in (West African) French and also become somewhat proficient in Sahoué, which is the language spoken in my village. By the way, I haven’t yet addressed in my blog which village I will be in. I will be living and teaching at a middle school/high school in the village of Lobogo. It is in the south western region of Mono/ the Mono-Couffo in Benin. If you are intrigued you can look at my facebook album “A Little of This and a Lot of Lobogo” or you can Google “Lobogo, Benin” and see a map and some pictures.
3) Whenever I told people that I was thinking of joining/actually joining the Peace Corps, a good portion of them responded with something along the lines of, “Oh I thought of doing that but I got married/got a teaching job/had kids/did something else instead. But that’s awesome that you are doing it!” Every time I think about wanting to come home I remind myself of my gut reaction to these responses to my decision: thinly veined horror. I don’t want to ever have to say something like that to someone twenty years from now. Even if this experience is one of the most difficult things I will go through in my life, deep down, I still want it. Relatively speaking, two years is not that big of a chunk of my life. Before I found out in late May that I was coming here I was also looking into a teaching job in the school corporation that I student-taught in. I interviewed for the job, it’s a good school corp, and it would have been perfect for me, but every time I thought about actually taking it I had a slight panic attack. I just couldn’t imagine doing that next. It didn’t feel right to me. This experience is what I wanted and begged the universe for over the last year. I re-read some of journal entries from the last six months and came across what I wrote in my excitement during my flight from New York to Paris on my way to Benin:
“ I am currently on my plane to Paris that will connect me to my flight to Benin. I am feeling so many emotions. When the plane began to take off I started to cry a little but and had a moment of panic. I can’t believe I have actually done this. I have made my dream come true and joined the Peace Corps. Its going to be awful and amazing. I’m going to love it and hate it. I’m going to desperately want to come home. I’m never going to want to leave. I’m going to feel isolated. I going to feel like a part of something. I can’t wrap my mind around it yet.”
I don’t even remember writing this but when I found it I was struck by how much it already has come to be true. I’ve already experienced all of these emotions and many more since coming here and I know it is going to get better/worse. I just need to remember that this is what I want and if I can’t remember that then I am eternally grateful for the expensive phone calls, the packages, the letters, the hidden cards in my luggage, and the emails/facebook messages that have come to mean more to me than you can probably realize.
Funny/awkward story: I created havoc at my host family’s house the other day with Silly Bands. I have no idea why, but the Silly Band obsession has been brought to Benin by current volunteers and now I have spread it to my family. A few weeks ago I got a bright pink T-Rex silly band from my roommate from the first week of training. I wore it all the time and the kids in my family were always asking me about it and wanting to see it. I decided it would be a fun game to have my sister send me a bunch of them from the States so that I could give them to the urchin children in/around my house. I knew it was going to be a delicate situation just because there are so many kids around here and I was going to have to give one to any kid who was near, so I was waiting for a time when just my favorite kids who actually live in the house. My opportune moment came one day after school. I walked up to the house and my urchins had trained all the urchins in our neighborhood to sing the Yovo song to me but instead of “Yovo” they said “Dione!” So it went something like this:
“Dione! Dione! Bon soir!”
“ça va, bien? Merci!”
I was so excited that instead of screaming “foreigner” at me that they remembered my name that I decided this was to be Silly Band Distribution Day. Little did I know that it was going to cause so many problems. Once I handed out a silly band to all the little kids, the older teen sisters wanted them. I had planned on that so I gave one of the sisters a pile of like 15-20 Silly Bands to disperse to the other sisters. I went out back to sit with the women while they were cooking and I got mobbed by like 10 people wanting more Silly Bands. The kids wanted new ones. Some of them were chewing on them like pieces of gum while other hitting each other with them. The sisters all claimed that I didn’t give them any Silly Bands when I personally helped the one sister hand them out so I knew that wasn’t true. In this confusion, the little kids starting seriously injuring each other in an attempt to supply their newly acquired Silly Band addiction. The parents who were sitting around either looked at me like it was my fault or started beating their kids to get them to stop complaining/fighting OR chastising me for not giving them a Silly Band. The sisters kept harassing me for more Silly Bands and when I said I had already given them to them they held up their Band-less wrists and said, “Well then where are they?”. Then they started grabbing at the blue duck bracelet what I was wearing on my wrist that has sentimental value and saying I should give them that one. They tried to physically take it off me. This and the mob of kids pawing at me and demanding more broke me. I shouted in broken French something like this, “NO! This is a little gift from someone in the United States. Someone in the United States sent it to me and it is for me and you CANNOT have it. Stop you! Maybe it was not a good idea for me to give the Silly Band!” After this I could hear the sister mocking my over emotional reaction in the alley behind the house from my bedroom window. What could have been a sweet little moment with my host family turned into a shit storm in which I was alternately made to feel guilty, embarrassed, or super bitter and angry for having to deal with this unintended scenario. It was AWFUL.
1) I am a very curious person and it is hard for me to accept other people’s descriptions of things as true. I have a strong desire to figure things out myself. I wanted to join the Peace Corps because I want to experience what life is like for the majority of the world outside of America. I wanted to live in a developing country and figure out what drives the people there. I want to know about their daily lives, their quirks, their hopes, their opinions, their culture, their habits, and basically everything about them there is to know. I realize that as an American who knows they can go home whenever they want and is for sure going home after two years, my experience isn’t going to be the same as the people who actually live their entire lives here, but I want to get as close to what they have as possible.
2) I love languages and learning languages and I know the best way to do that is to get immersed in the culture and language. Hopefully I will become somewhat fluent in (West African) French and also become somewhat proficient in Sahoué, which is the language spoken in my village. By the way, I haven’t yet addressed in my blog which village I will be in. I will be living and teaching at a middle school/high school in the village of Lobogo. It is in the south western region of Mono/ the Mono-Couffo in Benin. If you are intrigued you can look at my facebook album “A Little of This and a Lot of Lobogo” or you can Google “Lobogo, Benin” and see a map and some pictures.
3) Whenever I told people that I was thinking of joining/actually joining the Peace Corps, a good portion of them responded with something along the lines of, “Oh I thought of doing that but I got married/got a teaching job/had kids/did something else instead. But that’s awesome that you are doing it!” Every time I think about wanting to come home I remind myself of my gut reaction to these responses to my decision: thinly veined horror. I don’t want to ever have to say something like that to someone twenty years from now. Even if this experience is one of the most difficult things I will go through in my life, deep down, I still want it. Relatively speaking, two years is not that big of a chunk of my life. Before I found out in late May that I was coming here I was also looking into a teaching job in the school corporation that I student-taught in. I interviewed for the job, it’s a good school corp, and it would have been perfect for me, but every time I thought about actually taking it I had a slight panic attack. I just couldn’t imagine doing that next. It didn’t feel right to me. This experience is what I wanted and begged the universe for over the last year. I re-read some of journal entries from the last six months and came across what I wrote in my excitement during my flight from New York to Paris on my way to Benin:
“ I am currently on my plane to Paris that will connect me to my flight to Benin. I am feeling so many emotions. When the plane began to take off I started to cry a little but and had a moment of panic. I can’t believe I have actually done this. I have made my dream come true and joined the Peace Corps. Its going to be awful and amazing. I’m going to love it and hate it. I’m going to desperately want to come home. I’m never going to want to leave. I’m going to feel isolated. I going to feel like a part of something. I can’t wrap my mind around it yet.”
I don’t even remember writing this but when I found it I was struck by how much it already has come to be true. I’ve already experienced all of these emotions and many more since coming here and I know it is going to get better/worse. I just need to remember that this is what I want and if I can’t remember that then I am eternally grateful for the expensive phone calls, the packages, the letters, the hidden cards in my luggage, and the emails/facebook messages that have come to mean more to me than you can probably realize.
Funny/awkward story: I created havoc at my host family’s house the other day with Silly Bands. I have no idea why, but the Silly Band obsession has been brought to Benin by current volunteers and now I have spread it to my family. A few weeks ago I got a bright pink T-Rex silly band from my roommate from the first week of training. I wore it all the time and the kids in my family were always asking me about it and wanting to see it. I decided it would be a fun game to have my sister send me a bunch of them from the States so that I could give them to the urchin children in/around my house. I knew it was going to be a delicate situation just because there are so many kids around here and I was going to have to give one to any kid who was near, so I was waiting for a time when just my favorite kids who actually live in the house. My opportune moment came one day after school. I walked up to the house and my urchins had trained all the urchins in our neighborhood to sing the Yovo song to me but instead of “Yovo” they said “Dione!” So it went something like this:
“Dione! Dione! Bon soir!”
“ça va, bien? Merci!”
I was so excited that instead of screaming “foreigner” at me that they remembered my name that I decided this was to be Silly Band Distribution Day. Little did I know that it was going to cause so many problems. Once I handed out a silly band to all the little kids, the older teen sisters wanted them. I had planned on that so I gave one of the sisters a pile of like 15-20 Silly Bands to disperse to the other sisters. I went out back to sit with the women while they were cooking and I got mobbed by like 10 people wanting more Silly Bands. The kids wanted new ones. Some of them were chewing on them like pieces of gum while other hitting each other with them. The sisters all claimed that I didn’t give them any Silly Bands when I personally helped the one sister hand them out so I knew that wasn’t true. In this confusion, the little kids starting seriously injuring each other in an attempt to supply their newly acquired Silly Band addiction. The parents who were sitting around either looked at me like it was my fault or started beating their kids to get them to stop complaining/fighting OR chastising me for not giving them a Silly Band. The sisters kept harassing me for more Silly Bands and when I said I had already given them to them they held up their Band-less wrists and said, “Well then where are they?”. Then they started grabbing at the blue duck bracelet what I was wearing on my wrist that has sentimental value and saying I should give them that one. They tried to physically take it off me. This and the mob of kids pawing at me and demanding more broke me. I shouted in broken French something like this, “NO! This is a little gift from someone in the United States. Someone in the United States sent it to me and it is for me and you CANNOT have it. Stop you! Maybe it was not a good idea for me to give the Silly Band!” After this I could hear the sister mocking my over emotional reaction in the alley behind the house from my bedroom window. What could have been a sweet little moment with my host family turned into a shit storm in which I was alternately made to feel guilty, embarrassed, or super bitter and angry for having to deal with this unintended scenario. It was AWFUL.
Africa: Where T-Shirts Go To Die (8-14-10)
Have you ever wondered what happened to that obnoxious Mickey Mouse t-shirt that you bought when you were twelve at Disney Land and then never saw again? How about that festive “Curves” t-shirt you worked out so hard for last fall, ladies? Well don’t fret; it’s probably on the back of some African. More particularly it’s probably being worn by someone in my host family.
I have been noticing for weeks that people often wear the most random clothes here and I was compelled to write this entry because of a very special t-shirt I saw some ten year old kid sporting this evening while on a walk with my host sister. The shirt said something like, “Mabel’s Whore House: Las Vegas”. All I know for sure is that the shirt said “whore” really big on the front and a kid was wearing it. I laughed out loud and then tried for twenty minutes to explain to my sister why and then gave up and decided to share it all with you! Last weekend one of my host brothers came into the room wearing a Halloween “Curves” shirt-yes, like from the women’s workout club! My best guess is that it was used as an incentive for women to not eat so much Halloween candy?! Moving past the irony of a weight loss t-shirt celebrating a candy-coated holiday, we must examine how in the world a Beninese teenage got a hold of this t-shirt. I’m thinking some good intentioned women’s group got together to help the “Africa children” and decided to clothe them with donated t-shirts and such. Or maybe Africa is where the Salvation Army sends its extra drop-offs? Or maybe Curves has gone global and I just didn’t know.
In addition to t-shirts, one can find a smorgasbord of inappropriate/misinterpreted clothing here in Benin. My sister wears a bathing suit tank top that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen in the States for a shirt several times a week. It is common to see women walking around with shower caps during or after a rainstorm to protect their hair. Every once in a while I come home to one of the children around the house wearing a puffy winter coat. I was stuck in the middle of an argument between all the adults in Hausa the other night and when I looked around for help, the only person around was one of the urchin children and he was spinning around in circles in the corner of the courtyard while wearing a bright pink winter coat unzipped over his birthday suit. I couldn’t find a single reason to critique this child’s fashion choices. It had gotten chilly that evening but he was prepared in case his spinning caused his body heat to rise too dramatically for him to maintain homeostasis. Smart kid.
In other news, I visited my future village this past weekend and it was crazy.
Highlights:
-There is a little midget woman who works in the market and who is going to be my best friend.
-There is another marché maman who sent me Sangria as a welcome gift and told me that she knew I would do well in the village because of my smile.
-There is a monkey that hangs out in the marché (market).
-I ran into a ragtag group of kids who were blocking the dirt path out of my village with a rope made out of leaves and demanding a toll. I’m sure if they are there playing an African version of Lemonade Stand or if they are an actual orphan gang who set up the toll for a living. Either way I am also going to make them be my friends.
-My village is beautiful and everyone seems really nice.
Some not so awesome things:
-It’s a tiny village in Africa and it really just hit me that this is what I am doing with my life now. I haven’t really gotten a chance to sit down and think about how much my life has changed in the last 6 months until now and it hit me really hard this weekend. I left all the people and things that have come to define me and it is going to be harder than I thought.
-I have a nice private latrine, but it is still a latrine. Latrine= hole in the ground that I have to squat over whenever I want to go to the bathroom. Some other volunteers with latrines have to walk out of their house and across the yard to get to the latrine every time they want to go to the bathroom so everyone in their concession knows what they are up to and will often stop them to chat on their way even though it is obvious that they have toilet paper in their hands. My latrine is a room attached to the back of my house and has a pipe that directs unseemly smells out of it.
-I have a nice outdoor shower but that just means that I will be standing outside (in a roofless room of sorts) and pouring water over my head from a bucket.
-A lot of people in my village don’t even speak French so I have to learn Sahoué, the most common local language. This is both exciting and a little discouraging because I am struggling right now to learn French and I probably won’t be able to use it with a lot of the women who will become my friends L. On the upside, if I work really hard I could be fluent in two more languages instead of one by the time I’m done here. Since most of the local women only speak Sahoué (and other African local languages)and they will most likely be the people, aside from my students, who I will be spending most of my time with, it is possible that I can become fluent. We’ll see!
Funny/awkward story: When I got home from visiting my village I walked straight through my gate into a Muslim prayer session of about 30 people. Literally the entire family was in the courtyard alternately standing and kneeling on rugs in a ceremony being led by a Muslim priest of sorts. I was carrying a bunch of bags and a cement sack of oranges that I brought back as a gift and I had to inch around all the people as they were praying to get to the door of the house. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I wanted to make sure I greeted my maman and didn’t seem anti-social and I also wanted to present her with the bag of oranges I brought back from my village since I had lugged them all over Southern Benin for the previous two days on various modes of transport including a crowded car full of strangers that included a woman breastfeeding her baby amidst the 6 of us who were shoved in the back seat as well as a Zem. I say all this like you should be impressed but you would be amazed at the things one can find delicately balancing on the back of a Zem here. My personal favorite so far includes two people and two live goats. Back to my story, I basically just sat on a chair in the courtyard and waited for the ceremony to be over completely unsure if I was offending anyone n any way. It was super awkward.
I had forgotten that Ramadan had started while I was away and the family it pretty serious with the whole Muslim thing, which is to be expected. They are currently fasting from five in the morning to seven at night. Last weekend I realized too late that I accidentally fed some of the urchin children and probably made Allah very unhappy with them. I was eating a delicious lunch that I had guiltily watched Aisha (one of the sisters who I spend a lot of time with but who does not speak French so there are a lot of awkward silent pauses) make me in the middle of her long day of fasting. It was an omelet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers on top of some fried ignames, which are basically yams but taste sort of like potatoes. This has become my favorite meal that the host family makes me though it is quickly becoming edged out by these fried vegetable dough things that the second or third wife has started making since Ramadan started. The family starts eating them as soon as the fasting stops for the evening and usually they give me an entire bowl of them and they are so good. Anyways, I didn’t realize until days later that the reason the urchin children were begging me for food more than usual was because it was Ramadan and that I had provided several of them with pieces of the pineapple I had eaten for lunch. Oops.
I have been noticing for weeks that people often wear the most random clothes here and I was compelled to write this entry because of a very special t-shirt I saw some ten year old kid sporting this evening while on a walk with my host sister. The shirt said something like, “Mabel’s Whore House: Las Vegas”. All I know for sure is that the shirt said “whore” really big on the front and a kid was wearing it. I laughed out loud and then tried for twenty minutes to explain to my sister why and then gave up and decided to share it all with you! Last weekend one of my host brothers came into the room wearing a Halloween “Curves” shirt-yes, like from the women’s workout club! My best guess is that it was used as an incentive for women to not eat so much Halloween candy?! Moving past the irony of a weight loss t-shirt celebrating a candy-coated holiday, we must examine how in the world a Beninese teenage got a hold of this t-shirt. I’m thinking some good intentioned women’s group got together to help the “Africa children” and decided to clothe them with donated t-shirts and such. Or maybe Africa is where the Salvation Army sends its extra drop-offs? Or maybe Curves has gone global and I just didn’t know.
In addition to t-shirts, one can find a smorgasbord of inappropriate/misinterpreted clothing here in Benin. My sister wears a bathing suit tank top that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen in the States for a shirt several times a week. It is common to see women walking around with shower caps during or after a rainstorm to protect their hair. Every once in a while I come home to one of the children around the house wearing a puffy winter coat. I was stuck in the middle of an argument between all the adults in Hausa the other night and when I looked around for help, the only person around was one of the urchin children and he was spinning around in circles in the corner of the courtyard while wearing a bright pink winter coat unzipped over his birthday suit. I couldn’t find a single reason to critique this child’s fashion choices. It had gotten chilly that evening but he was prepared in case his spinning caused his body heat to rise too dramatically for him to maintain homeostasis. Smart kid.
In other news, I visited my future village this past weekend and it was crazy.
Highlights:
-There is a little midget woman who works in the market and who is going to be my best friend.
-There is another marché maman who sent me Sangria as a welcome gift and told me that she knew I would do well in the village because of my smile.
-There is a monkey that hangs out in the marché (market).
-I ran into a ragtag group of kids who were blocking the dirt path out of my village with a rope made out of leaves and demanding a toll. I’m sure if they are there playing an African version of Lemonade Stand or if they are an actual orphan gang who set up the toll for a living. Either way I am also going to make them be my friends.
-My village is beautiful and everyone seems really nice.
Some not so awesome things:
-It’s a tiny village in Africa and it really just hit me that this is what I am doing with my life now. I haven’t really gotten a chance to sit down and think about how much my life has changed in the last 6 months until now and it hit me really hard this weekend. I left all the people and things that have come to define me and it is going to be harder than I thought.
-I have a nice private latrine, but it is still a latrine. Latrine= hole in the ground that I have to squat over whenever I want to go to the bathroom. Some other volunteers with latrines have to walk out of their house and across the yard to get to the latrine every time they want to go to the bathroom so everyone in their concession knows what they are up to and will often stop them to chat on their way even though it is obvious that they have toilet paper in their hands. My latrine is a room attached to the back of my house and has a pipe that directs unseemly smells out of it.
-I have a nice outdoor shower but that just means that I will be standing outside (in a roofless room of sorts) and pouring water over my head from a bucket.
-A lot of people in my village don’t even speak French so I have to learn Sahoué, the most common local language. This is both exciting and a little discouraging because I am struggling right now to learn French and I probably won’t be able to use it with a lot of the women who will become my friends L. On the upside, if I work really hard I could be fluent in two more languages instead of one by the time I’m done here. Since most of the local women only speak Sahoué (and other African local languages)and they will most likely be the people, aside from my students, who I will be spending most of my time with, it is possible that I can become fluent. We’ll see!
Funny/awkward story: When I got home from visiting my village I walked straight through my gate into a Muslim prayer session of about 30 people. Literally the entire family was in the courtyard alternately standing and kneeling on rugs in a ceremony being led by a Muslim priest of sorts. I was carrying a bunch of bags and a cement sack of oranges that I brought back as a gift and I had to inch around all the people as they were praying to get to the door of the house. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I wanted to make sure I greeted my maman and didn’t seem anti-social and I also wanted to present her with the bag of oranges I brought back from my village since I had lugged them all over Southern Benin for the previous two days on various modes of transport including a crowded car full of strangers that included a woman breastfeeding her baby amidst the 6 of us who were shoved in the back seat as well as a Zem. I say all this like you should be impressed but you would be amazed at the things one can find delicately balancing on the back of a Zem here. My personal favorite so far includes two people and two live goats. Back to my story, I basically just sat on a chair in the courtyard and waited for the ceremony to be over completely unsure if I was offending anyone n any way. It was super awkward.
I had forgotten that Ramadan had started while I was away and the family it pretty serious with the whole Muslim thing, which is to be expected. They are currently fasting from five in the morning to seven at night. Last weekend I realized too late that I accidentally fed some of the urchin children and probably made Allah very unhappy with them. I was eating a delicious lunch that I had guiltily watched Aisha (one of the sisters who I spend a lot of time with but who does not speak French so there are a lot of awkward silent pauses) make me in the middle of her long day of fasting. It was an omelet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers on top of some fried ignames, which are basically yams but taste sort of like potatoes. This has become my favorite meal that the host family makes me though it is quickly becoming edged out by these fried vegetable dough things that the second or third wife has started making since Ramadan started. The family starts eating them as soon as the fasting stops for the evening and usually they give me an entire bowl of them and they are so good. Anyways, I didn’t realize until days later that the reason the urchin children were begging me for food more than usual was because it was Ramadan and that I had provided several of them with pieces of the pineapple I had eaten for lunch. Oops.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Mamans and the Papas
This evening I had a chat with my maman in which I discovered the source of at least some of the millions of urchin/slumdog children that run around my house. Apparently, my papa here in Benin has 3 wives and they all live on different floors of this house! It is actually quite common in Benin for men to have up to four wives but I just thought that most of the women around this house were sisters, daughters, and aunts. I could care less either way but it would have been nice to know that I was living on the set of “Big Love: Africa” before now. But you should all be aware (because my maman made sure that I was very clear about this) that my maman is the first wife and the most powerful. She told me about how she is in charge of all the cooking and cleaning and the running of the house. That is a source of pride with many women in Benin and that means that the 2nd and 3rd wives don’t really get to feed their husband like my maman does so they have a different status. The husbands here with more wives typically spend two days in a row with each wife and then move to the next. Many of them have families in different houses in different parts of the city and move around to each house every few days or every week. Apparently in my house, the papa can conveniently just walk up or down a flight of stairs to see his wives.*
*I want to be clear that I deeply respect the women of my house and the family that I am staying with as well as the Beninoise people as a whole even if for some reason my comedic writing makes it seem like I am mocking. That is not my intention. I’m trying to relate their culture to you so that you can understand it a little but more and maybe also respect it.
My maman is middle aged and wears beautiful tissue (the patterned fabric that everyone wears here). She is pretty funny and really nice. She has a few gold teeth which sort of makes her look pirate-ish but that is common here (the gold crowns, not pirates). She is going to help me hand wash my laundry this weekend which should be an adventure. The thing that I am most stressed about is having to hang up my underwear, bras, and the rest of my clothing outside for every person in this house to look at. There are at least 10 women/teenage girls who do the work of women who live/work around here and I’m sure that they would love to chat about my underclothes with or without me. Although I guess that wouldn’t be as bad as the children who run around here. I can barely get them to stop pawing at my hair, skin, and general self. I cannot imagine the amount of times they would rub their grimy hands all over my stuff if they had the chance and I wasn’t there yelling at them to stop.
Back to my maman, the first day we met she told me that since I was American then that must mean I was Christian and that she was a Muslim but she told me not to worry because, “We have the same heart, you and I” and gestured from her chest to mine. Now that I have seen her bare chest at least a dozen times, I’m beginning to wonder if I misunderstood what she said. Maybe she was pointing to her chest and saying something like, “You poor thing, I hope you are comfortable living in a house full of Muslim women who feel it necessary to cover their head at inane moments throughout the day but do not find it at all odd to sit around topless in front of strangers.” It is common (at least in my house) for the older women to sit topless in my maman’s room at night and watch Spanish soap operas that have been dubbed into French. Some other shows that might interest you: Campus (pronounced Cam-poose)-An overacted drama about a group of West African students living on some college campus somewhere in West Africa and doing scandalous things. And this other show that I have dubbed “The Fallen”-a series of old photographs of people who have just died followed by their obituary all presented in silence on the tv screen with a fancy blue background. The women actually watch this procession of the dead for at least a half hour every night. So odd. One time I watched the French Spanish soap operas with my sister in the corner while maman did her prayers right in front of us so we had to crane our necks to see if the dying grandpa was going to remember his daughter or keep calling her “Maria” and believing that she was a former lover while she sat there crying, “Papa, c’est moi, tu fille!” (Papa, its me, your daughter!). Riveting.
Yesterday I exchanged $100 USD (which is a good portion of the money that I have to my name) with a man sitting on a bench on the side of the road. Shady? No, it was ridiculously sunny and hot. I have been trying to exchange money since I have gotten here and it has proven quite difficult. The banks all close around the time that I can get to them after school and sometime the people at the bank just don’t want to exchange your money. I don’t really need to exchange money for anything because I am getting paid enough money by the Peace Corps to eat and stuff but I really want to buy a phone so I can talk to people back home. Apparently all the volunteers here have one and many of the people in my staging group already have them. I decided the other day after school that I was going to exchange my money and that my family was going to help me whether they liked it or not. I harassed my siblings until they convinced one of my brothers to go with me. We walked several miles and got the banks only to find out that they were all closed! I should probably tell you that the only other significant experience I have had so far with this brother was when I got a little but snippy with him one day after school when he kept mumbling at me and would not enunciate and then attempted to grab my arm every 5 five minutes which the pretense of crossing the street but I really think he was just trying to touch me. It’s mostly inappropriate for a man here to touch you if you are not family. And while I am a host sister, I think maman and Allah would think there is still a big enough difference between me and my brother to warrant him keeping his hands off of me. Plus, I am pawed pretty regularly by the ragamuffins around my house and I was not having a good day and he was a convenient target for my anger.
Back to the money story, I’m almost certain that if my brother (his name is Halelo) didn’t hate me before we walked several miles in the heat that he was going to hate me now. Then a Nigerian saved the day! Well, I am assuming he was Nigerian because every time I tell someone that I changed money with a shady looking person on the street they say something along the lines of, “Oh you found a Nigerian?”. We were about to give up our search when my brother said something that translated to, “I know a guy…”. At this point I was more than willing to give my money to “a guy” because it was just worthless paper in my wallet at the moment and I just wanted to stop walking and to have him quit asking me what I was going to do about “the money problem” We walked up to the guy and he was sitting on a wooden bench and leaning against a building. He had a table in front of him that held an enormous stack of West African money and a calculator. Legit. Too legit to quit! I actually got a really good exchange rate from him and lucked out. Plus, on the walk home, we ran into my brothers funny old English teacher and that was an awesome conversation starter. The teacher sort of reminded me of what Jafar looks like in Aladdin at the beginning when he is pretending to be a toothless old man and he convinces Aladdin to go to the Cave of Wonders or whatever it is called. Except this old man was wearing an impressive hat and was sporting an even more impressive beard. After that, my brother and I bonded and little and I am really glad I forced him to take me to get money.
Some things I am excited about for the near future:
1) I just bought some awesome tissue to make into dresses and I can’t wait to take them to the seamstress person.
2) I should be receiving tons of mail and packages soon (wink)
3) I find out which village I will be teaching in NEXT FRIDAY (August 6)
4) I get to visit my village and meet my school director the week after that!
5) I should be buying a phone soon and will actually be able to talk to people I love for more than 5-10 minute sessions.
*I want to be clear that I deeply respect the women of my house and the family that I am staying with as well as the Beninoise people as a whole even if for some reason my comedic writing makes it seem like I am mocking. That is not my intention. I’m trying to relate their culture to you so that you can understand it a little but more and maybe also respect it.
My maman is middle aged and wears beautiful tissue (the patterned fabric that everyone wears here). She is pretty funny and really nice. She has a few gold teeth which sort of makes her look pirate-ish but that is common here (the gold crowns, not pirates). She is going to help me hand wash my laundry this weekend which should be an adventure. The thing that I am most stressed about is having to hang up my underwear, bras, and the rest of my clothing outside for every person in this house to look at. There are at least 10 women/teenage girls who do the work of women who live/work around here and I’m sure that they would love to chat about my underclothes with or without me. Although I guess that wouldn’t be as bad as the children who run around here. I can barely get them to stop pawing at my hair, skin, and general self. I cannot imagine the amount of times they would rub their grimy hands all over my stuff if they had the chance and I wasn’t there yelling at them to stop.
Back to my maman, the first day we met she told me that since I was American then that must mean I was Christian and that she was a Muslim but she told me not to worry because, “We have the same heart, you and I” and gestured from her chest to mine. Now that I have seen her bare chest at least a dozen times, I’m beginning to wonder if I misunderstood what she said. Maybe she was pointing to her chest and saying something like, “You poor thing, I hope you are comfortable living in a house full of Muslim women who feel it necessary to cover their head at inane moments throughout the day but do not find it at all odd to sit around topless in front of strangers.” It is common (at least in my house) for the older women to sit topless in my maman’s room at night and watch Spanish soap operas that have been dubbed into French. Some other shows that might interest you: Campus (pronounced Cam-poose)-An overacted drama about a group of West African students living on some college campus somewhere in West Africa and doing scandalous things. And this other show that I have dubbed “The Fallen”-a series of old photographs of people who have just died followed by their obituary all presented in silence on the tv screen with a fancy blue background. The women actually watch this procession of the dead for at least a half hour every night. So odd. One time I watched the French Spanish soap operas with my sister in the corner while maman did her prayers right in front of us so we had to crane our necks to see if the dying grandpa was going to remember his daughter or keep calling her “Maria” and believing that she was a former lover while she sat there crying, “Papa, c’est moi, tu fille!” (Papa, its me, your daughter!). Riveting.
Yesterday I exchanged $100 USD (which is a good portion of the money that I have to my name) with a man sitting on a bench on the side of the road. Shady? No, it was ridiculously sunny and hot. I have been trying to exchange money since I have gotten here and it has proven quite difficult. The banks all close around the time that I can get to them after school and sometime the people at the bank just don’t want to exchange your money. I don’t really need to exchange money for anything because I am getting paid enough money by the Peace Corps to eat and stuff but I really want to buy a phone so I can talk to people back home. Apparently all the volunteers here have one and many of the people in my staging group already have them. I decided the other day after school that I was going to exchange my money and that my family was going to help me whether they liked it or not. I harassed my siblings until they convinced one of my brothers to go with me. We walked several miles and got the banks only to find out that they were all closed! I should probably tell you that the only other significant experience I have had so far with this brother was when I got a little but snippy with him one day after school when he kept mumbling at me and would not enunciate and then attempted to grab my arm every 5 five minutes which the pretense of crossing the street but I really think he was just trying to touch me. It’s mostly inappropriate for a man here to touch you if you are not family. And while I am a host sister, I think maman and Allah would think there is still a big enough difference between me and my brother to warrant him keeping his hands off of me. Plus, I am pawed pretty regularly by the ragamuffins around my house and I was not having a good day and he was a convenient target for my anger.
Back to the money story, I’m almost certain that if my brother (his name is Halelo) didn’t hate me before we walked several miles in the heat that he was going to hate me now. Then a Nigerian saved the day! Well, I am assuming he was Nigerian because every time I tell someone that I changed money with a shady looking person on the street they say something along the lines of, “Oh you found a Nigerian?”. We were about to give up our search when my brother said something that translated to, “I know a guy…”. At this point I was more than willing to give my money to “a guy” because it was just worthless paper in my wallet at the moment and I just wanted to stop walking and to have him quit asking me what I was going to do about “the money problem” We walked up to the guy and he was sitting on a wooden bench and leaning against a building. He had a table in front of him that held an enormous stack of West African money and a calculator. Legit. Too legit to quit! I actually got a really good exchange rate from him and lucked out. Plus, on the walk home, we ran into my brothers funny old English teacher and that was an awesome conversation starter. The teacher sort of reminded me of what Jafar looks like in Aladdin at the beginning when he is pretending to be a toothless old man and he convinces Aladdin to go to the Cave of Wonders or whatever it is called. Except this old man was wearing an impressive hat and was sporting an even more impressive beard. After that, my brother and I bonded and little and I am really glad I forced him to take me to get money.
Some things I am excited about for the near future:
1) I just bought some awesome tissue to make into dresses and I can’t wait to take them to the seamstress person.
2) I should be receiving tons of mail and packages soon (wink)
3) I find out which village I will be teaching in NEXT FRIDAY (August 6)
4) I get to visit my village and meet my school director the week after that!
5) I should be buying a phone soon and will actually be able to talk to people I love for more than 5-10 minute sessions.
Bouvette?!? Oui!
Since the first 9 weeks of Peace Corps life are intense training, they bring in intense trainers who are current volunteers to help! Luckily, these people understand what we are going through and know just the thing to make us feel better: a few beers and lots of complaining. After training today (Tuesday July 27) we walked down the street to a local bouvette (read: shady roadside bar) and actually got to hang out and distress a little bit together. Our days basically consist of intense language and technical training and then sleep so it was a needed relief. It may have been the deux grand Beninoise talking but I really do love most of the people in my staging group for one reason or another. It’s actually kind of surprising how many different types of people and personalities are in our group. I was really worried before I came here that I wouldn’t be able to find people that I could connect with and I’m not really worried about that anymore, which is nice.
After a few hours at the bouvette I figured I should head home since it was getting dark and I cannot even express how many times we have been told not to go out at night. I discovered very quickly that a little alcohol can take you a long way in breaking language barriers. I had to take a Zemidjan home. Zemidjans are these motor bike taxis here that drive real fast and are pretty cheap. You have to “discuter” or argue for a price with them though and that it quite difficult with a limited French vocabulary. But, non, with a few beers, I am almost fluent! I held up my hand, hailed a Zem, and convinced him that he indeed wanted to take me to the school by my house for 200 CFA even though he suggested 300. I also was able to ride a Zem for the first time without being scared shitless. I was so calm on this Zem ride that I even had a moment of deep thought in which I considered how surreal it was that I was riding on the back of a Zemidjan in Africa going home to a family of Beninoise Muslims who spoke Hausa as a first language. After I got off the Zem I had to walk a few blocks to my house. Conveniently, the group of Mamas who I chat with on the road were out so I could try out this new and improved me on them. It was a success! Then I went home and chatted up my family like never before. My sisters appeared to love me more than ever and my mama was glad I was using more French.
This amazing evening came to a skidding halt when my dinner was plopped down in front of me. It was pâte. Pâte (pronounced “pot” ….cue jokes) has become the bane of my existence here in Benin. It is a pasty corn meal business that has the consistency of disgustingly dense mashed potatoes. I have not yet come to love or even like it. I have eaten it twice and gagged like 20 times in the mix. It doesn’t help that it is typically eaten with an accompanying sauce that is slimy and stringy and looks like boogers. I will have you know that in the space of several weeks I have become dramatically less picky about what I eat, but pâte has not made it off my hit list yet. What?! A plate of spaghetti noodles with mayonnaise on top? Wait? Is that a plate full of super spicy whole fish (eyes included)? I’m down. I have managed to convince myself that the mayo spaghetti is just like a casserole that my family makes at home. I even play a little game with myself where I see if I can make myself like something by making pleased noises as I am eating it. That doesn’t work. Saying “yum” and “mmmmm” while eating something you detest just serves to make you bitter and to convince the people around you that you do like the food and that they should make it more often. One thing I do love here is the chicken, the avocado sandwiches, and the bread. I love the fresh made bread they make here. It is delicious. There is a lady that sells avocado sandwiches from a stand near my school and they are delicious. I don’t even like avocados and I am sold. The chicken here is probably the best chicken I have eaten in a while. It is so tasty. My family often gives it to me with a plate of rice and red sauce that they make that is made out of onions and tomatoes and spicyness.
Note: In addition to the cocktail of shots I am receiving I am also eating about 3 oranges a day, so if you have fears about me going pirate and acquiring scurvy you can rest easy. I may be at a high risk for various parasites and “monsters inside me”, but my teeth shouldn’t be rotting out due to a lack of vitamin C.
Second note: After dinner I had a talk with my maman in which she gave me a curfew (8 o’clock) and told me not to come home drunk. I wasn’t sure if she added the “drunk” part because 1) the volunteer they had last year was maybe a drunk, maybe they think all Americans are drunks, or perhaps because she smelled alcohol on my breath and assumed I was drunk and that’s why I was so chatty. Either way it was super awkward and I never want to do it again.
After a few hours at the bouvette I figured I should head home since it was getting dark and I cannot even express how many times we have been told not to go out at night. I discovered very quickly that a little alcohol can take you a long way in breaking language barriers. I had to take a Zemidjan home. Zemidjans are these motor bike taxis here that drive real fast and are pretty cheap. You have to “discuter” or argue for a price with them though and that it quite difficult with a limited French vocabulary. But, non, with a few beers, I am almost fluent! I held up my hand, hailed a Zem, and convinced him that he indeed wanted to take me to the school by my house for 200 CFA even though he suggested 300. I also was able to ride a Zem for the first time without being scared shitless. I was so calm on this Zem ride that I even had a moment of deep thought in which I considered how surreal it was that I was riding on the back of a Zemidjan in Africa going home to a family of Beninoise Muslims who spoke Hausa as a first language. After I got off the Zem I had to walk a few blocks to my house. Conveniently, the group of Mamas who I chat with on the road were out so I could try out this new and improved me on them. It was a success! Then I went home and chatted up my family like never before. My sisters appeared to love me more than ever and my mama was glad I was using more French.
This amazing evening came to a skidding halt when my dinner was plopped down in front of me. It was pâte. Pâte (pronounced “pot” ….cue jokes) has become the bane of my existence here in Benin. It is a pasty corn meal business that has the consistency of disgustingly dense mashed potatoes. I have not yet come to love or even like it. I have eaten it twice and gagged like 20 times in the mix. It doesn’t help that it is typically eaten with an accompanying sauce that is slimy and stringy and looks like boogers. I will have you know that in the space of several weeks I have become dramatically less picky about what I eat, but pâte has not made it off my hit list yet. What?! A plate of spaghetti noodles with mayonnaise on top? Wait? Is that a plate full of super spicy whole fish (eyes included)? I’m down. I have managed to convince myself that the mayo spaghetti is just like a casserole that my family makes at home. I even play a little game with myself where I see if I can make myself like something by making pleased noises as I am eating it. That doesn’t work. Saying “yum” and “mmmmm” while eating something you detest just serves to make you bitter and to convince the people around you that you do like the food and that they should make it more often. One thing I do love here is the chicken, the avocado sandwiches, and the bread. I love the fresh made bread they make here. It is delicious. There is a lady that sells avocado sandwiches from a stand near my school and they are delicious. I don’t even like avocados and I am sold. The chicken here is probably the best chicken I have eaten in a while. It is so tasty. My family often gives it to me with a plate of rice and red sauce that they make that is made out of onions and tomatoes and spicyness.
Note: In addition to the cocktail of shots I am receiving I am also eating about 3 oranges a day, so if you have fears about me going pirate and acquiring scurvy you can rest easy. I may be at a high risk for various parasites and “monsters inside me”, but my teeth shouldn’t be rotting out due to a lack of vitamin C.
Second note: After dinner I had a talk with my maman in which she gave me a curfew (8 o’clock) and told me not to come home drunk. I wasn’t sure if she added the “drunk” part because 1) the volunteer they had last year was maybe a drunk, maybe they think all Americans are drunks, or perhaps because she smelled alcohol on my breath and assumed I was drunk and that’s why I was so chatty. Either way it was super awkward and I never want to do it again.
Je Ne Sais Pas…but I Swear I’m Smart Enough to Get Into MENSA!!!
It is unbelievably frustrating to not be able to speak the same language as the people who surround you on a day to day basis. You know how you talk to people who don’t understand you? You probably talk to them like they are an idiot. I have come to believe that every culture believes that their language is super simple to learn and you could do it if only you just listened to them repeat the same words over and over in an increasingly annoyed voice. That is how I am talked to. I’m almost certain that my host family thinks I am actually here on some program that takes American kids who ate too many paint chips or were raised in an asbestos ridden half-way house and tries to let them see the world. If that were the case, this would be awesome because I would be blissfully unaware of how inept I am at saying even the simplest phrase. Unfortunately, I actually am somewhat intelligent, so I realize how terrible my West African French skills are and am constantly worried about it. Part of my problem is that I took a year of French my freshmen year of college and only kept using the phrases that entertained me after that. Also, the French phrases I remember from the movie Hocus Pocus (“Je voudrait mon livre”) spoken in a funny Bette Midler French accent isn’t going to get me far in West Africa. To my horror, the phrases that entertained me had nothing to do with doing my own laundry or telling a Zemi driver how to get back to my house or even attempting to figure out what time dinner is served at my house. All this complaining aside though, I do think I am learning pretty quickly and at least I am a delightful court jester for my host family to laugh at when I ask for the 30th time what I am supposed to call my water bottle. (Bouteille de l’eau, just in case anyone was left in suspense)
Sarcasm and complaining aside, I really like my host family. There are about a million people who live at my house. It’s actually more like two houses surrounded by a wall with a big courtyard in the middle and a gate. All that sounds fancy, but don’t let it fool you. The women of my family cook almost all of the meals in the alleys behind and next to the house on little hibachi type ovens heated by coal. The men appear to reside in the house across the courtyard. My family is Muslim and I think they are very particular about gender stuff. Although, in reality, the Muslim thing could have very little to do with the gender issues. Most of Benin has different ideas of gender roles than we are not typically used to in the United States. One of the things I am most excited about with my job is that there is a real emphasis on empowering girls in the schools. We got an entire book on it and many of the summer projects we do are girls camps that help girls do better in school and improve their confidence and self-esteem. In my house, the women to all the cooking and housework (and when we think about it, women still do the majority of the work in American houses as well). They sweep the house every morning with brooms that are made out scraggly tree branches or grasses. They cook all day because there are a million people to feed in/around our house. To be honest, I’m not sure who actually lives here and who doesn’t. I have a mama and a papa and then there are tons of children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, grandparents, nieces, and nephews. Also, there are people who may be distantly related or not related to the family at all who work around the house for their room and board. These are called domestiques. They get treated differently depending on the house they live in. I’m actually not sure which of the younger girls are definitely domestiques in my house because many of the sisters and daughters do a lot of work too. They also do all of the laundry by hand. I haven’t even asked them how to do my laundry yet. They hang it up in the alleys around the house and I’m sure my colorful underwear and bras would prove super entertaining to all the children who run around here.
That’s another thing. There are little kids everywhere here. I walk to school for French class and technical training most days and you would not believe how many kids I see. I can hear them before I see them because they all yell, “YOVO!” which means “white person” or “foreigner”. They even have an adorably annoying little song that goes along with it. Precious. A typical day for me involves waking up and escaping from my mosquito netting around 6:30 AM. I take a cold shower and get ready. Then I go eat delicious fresh made bread that they buy that morning with butter and drink some tea. I take most of my meals in my mama’s dining room by myself. The family insists and I think/hope it is a gesture of respect and not because they hate me so much. I really don’t mind though because it gives me a chance to get some reading in with my busy schedule. Then I either walk/bike/or Zem to school depending on the day and where we are meeting. If I walk or bike I can count on a constant stream of “Yovo!” the entire way there. I have at least convinced the kids who live in/around my house that my name is “Dione” and not “Yovo” so its kind of nice when I come home and they shout “DIONE!” like I am a celebrity. The little girls in/around my house are adorable. The other day I came home and a bunch of them were playing house. The women here carry their babies around their back and wrapped in the fabric of the cloth that they wear in a variety of ways. One of the little girls had an actual blond Barbie doll on her back with the hair sticking out the top of the fabric and the plastic feet sticking out at the bottom at her waist. I didn’t get a look at the face of the Barbie but I am hoping it was one of the really old ones with the creepy faces and it has a long story to tell about how it made its way to West Africa and into the affection of a Beninoise girl. It was the cutest thing ever. The other little girl had a purse full of odds and ends that included a tin can and measuring tape among other things. Today I came home and one of the little boys that runs around the house was wearing the smartest pair of pin striped dress pants, a dirty white button down shirt, and a matching pin striped vest. I have no idea where he got it but he looked like quite the little gentleman.
I have a lot of French lessons and some teaching stuff mixed in to my school day. Also, there are classes on surviving in Africa and such. Today (Tuesday July 27, 2010), we got a morning’s worth of information on diarrhea and how to avoid/prevent/treat it while patiently waiting in line for our Hepatitis shots. After school I usually head home. Besides the main roads, which are paved with stone, most of the roads in Benin are dirt/sand roads with lots of rocks and garbage. It’s a good thing that the Peace Corps gave us mountain bikes because it is quite a trek for me to get to school and it’s really only about a 5 minute bike ride. Once I get home I usually have about an hour or two to myself. I have tried to do some yoga and that is a great stress reliever. I am ridiculously happy with myself that I brought my yoga mat here. When “Alone Time With Dione” is over, I usually go out behind/next to the house and sit with the women while they cook. For the longest time I thought my French was actually worse than it is because I could not understand anything the women were saying to each other while I sat there. Then I learned that the language of the family is Hausa and they mostly speak that at home even though many of them speak French. They tolerate my infantile French though, so I’m not complaining. I’ve already learned some phrases in Hausa to surprise my mama when she comes home and the kids think it is hilarious.
It is custom to call most older women here “mama” as a title so there are actually lots of “mamas” that live in and around my house. There is a group of mamas that live/are on my route home that I am in the process of charming. Salutations and greetings are also really important here and the first time I saw them all sitting and gossiping I decided that they might be a good group to win over so I went over and greeted them. This was actually one of my first real successes here in Benin I think. I chatted with the women and did all the proper greetings and salutations and I’m pretty sure I am their favorite American now. When I walked away I realized that I had just had a conversation in French with natives and I had survived and been successful. These are the small things that get me through the day most of the time here. Every day and really every section of the day is different for me. I’ll have a great evening with my family only to wake up feeling terrible and not wanting to be here at all. Then I will have an awesome French lesson and be super excited to use what I learn. Then I will attempt to use that French only to have people stare at me like I am Jodie Foster in Nell. Then I will have a technical session on teaching and I will get super excited about getting to know my students and becoming a part of my village. Then I will start to think of people back home and what they might be doing. So basically I take it hour to hour and day to day here. There are some days that I love it and can’t believe that I have the opportunity to sit with the women of my family and chat and exchange our lives and culture halfway around the world. There are other days when culture shock hits me and I can’t believe I have gotten myself this far from home.
Sarcasm and complaining aside, I really like my host family. There are about a million people who live at my house. It’s actually more like two houses surrounded by a wall with a big courtyard in the middle and a gate. All that sounds fancy, but don’t let it fool you. The women of my family cook almost all of the meals in the alleys behind and next to the house on little hibachi type ovens heated by coal. The men appear to reside in the house across the courtyard. My family is Muslim and I think they are very particular about gender stuff. Although, in reality, the Muslim thing could have very little to do with the gender issues. Most of Benin has different ideas of gender roles than we are not typically used to in the United States. One of the things I am most excited about with my job is that there is a real emphasis on empowering girls in the schools. We got an entire book on it and many of the summer projects we do are girls camps that help girls do better in school and improve their confidence and self-esteem. In my house, the women to all the cooking and housework (and when we think about it, women still do the majority of the work in American houses as well). They sweep the house every morning with brooms that are made out scraggly tree branches or grasses. They cook all day because there are a million people to feed in/around our house. To be honest, I’m not sure who actually lives here and who doesn’t. I have a mama and a papa and then there are tons of children, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, grandparents, nieces, and nephews. Also, there are people who may be distantly related or not related to the family at all who work around the house for their room and board. These are called domestiques. They get treated differently depending on the house they live in. I’m actually not sure which of the younger girls are definitely domestiques in my house because many of the sisters and daughters do a lot of work too. They also do all of the laundry by hand. I haven’t even asked them how to do my laundry yet. They hang it up in the alleys around the house and I’m sure my colorful underwear and bras would prove super entertaining to all the children who run around here.
That’s another thing. There are little kids everywhere here. I walk to school for French class and technical training most days and you would not believe how many kids I see. I can hear them before I see them because they all yell, “YOVO!” which means “white person” or “foreigner”. They even have an adorably annoying little song that goes along with it. Precious. A typical day for me involves waking up and escaping from my mosquito netting around 6:30 AM. I take a cold shower and get ready. Then I go eat delicious fresh made bread that they buy that morning with butter and drink some tea. I take most of my meals in my mama’s dining room by myself. The family insists and I think/hope it is a gesture of respect and not because they hate me so much. I really don’t mind though because it gives me a chance to get some reading in with my busy schedule. Then I either walk/bike/or Zem to school depending on the day and where we are meeting. If I walk or bike I can count on a constant stream of “Yovo!” the entire way there. I have at least convinced the kids who live in/around my house that my name is “Dione” and not “Yovo” so its kind of nice when I come home and they shout “DIONE!” like I am a celebrity. The little girls in/around my house are adorable. The other day I came home and a bunch of them were playing house. The women here carry their babies around their back and wrapped in the fabric of the cloth that they wear in a variety of ways. One of the little girls had an actual blond Barbie doll on her back with the hair sticking out the top of the fabric and the plastic feet sticking out at the bottom at her waist. I didn’t get a look at the face of the Barbie but I am hoping it was one of the really old ones with the creepy faces and it has a long story to tell about how it made its way to West Africa and into the affection of a Beninoise girl. It was the cutest thing ever. The other little girl had a purse full of odds and ends that included a tin can and measuring tape among other things. Today I came home and one of the little boys that runs around the house was wearing the smartest pair of pin striped dress pants, a dirty white button down shirt, and a matching pin striped vest. I have no idea where he got it but he looked like quite the little gentleman.
I have a lot of French lessons and some teaching stuff mixed in to my school day. Also, there are classes on surviving in Africa and such. Today (Tuesday July 27, 2010), we got a morning’s worth of information on diarrhea and how to avoid/prevent/treat it while patiently waiting in line for our Hepatitis shots. After school I usually head home. Besides the main roads, which are paved with stone, most of the roads in Benin are dirt/sand roads with lots of rocks and garbage. It’s a good thing that the Peace Corps gave us mountain bikes because it is quite a trek for me to get to school and it’s really only about a 5 minute bike ride. Once I get home I usually have about an hour or two to myself. I have tried to do some yoga and that is a great stress reliever. I am ridiculously happy with myself that I brought my yoga mat here. When “Alone Time With Dione” is over, I usually go out behind/next to the house and sit with the women while they cook. For the longest time I thought my French was actually worse than it is because I could not understand anything the women were saying to each other while I sat there. Then I learned that the language of the family is Hausa and they mostly speak that at home even though many of them speak French. They tolerate my infantile French though, so I’m not complaining. I’ve already learned some phrases in Hausa to surprise my mama when she comes home and the kids think it is hilarious.
It is custom to call most older women here “mama” as a title so there are actually lots of “mamas” that live in and around my house. There is a group of mamas that live/are on my route home that I am in the process of charming. Salutations and greetings are also really important here and the first time I saw them all sitting and gossiping I decided that they might be a good group to win over so I went over and greeted them. This was actually one of my first real successes here in Benin I think. I chatted with the women and did all the proper greetings and salutations and I’m pretty sure I am their favorite American now. When I walked away I realized that I had just had a conversation in French with natives and I had survived and been successful. These are the small things that get me through the day most of the time here. Every day and really every section of the day is different for me. I’ll have a great evening with my family only to wake up feeling terrible and not wanting to be here at all. Then I will have an awesome French lesson and be super excited to use what I learn. Then I will attempt to use that French only to have people stare at me like I am Jodie Foster in Nell. Then I will have a technical session on teaching and I will get super excited about getting to know my students and becoming a part of my village. Then I will start to think of people back home and what they might be doing. So basically I take it hour to hour and day to day here. There are some days that I love it and can’t believe that I have the opportunity to sit with the women of my family and chat and exchange our lives and culture halfway around the world. There are other days when culture shock hits me and I can’t believe I have gotten myself this far from home.
Monday, July 19, 2010
At the Peace Corps Bureau!
Bonjour mes amis! Je suis en Benin! And that’s about as much French as I know. Well, I can also say random phrases like, “It is NOT HERE!”. Oddly enough, these phrases did not get me very far in my language assessment the other day. You know what else didn’t help me? Falling asleep on the floor in the hallway outside the test and then being jarred awake by the test coordinator and led into her office and forced speak French almost instantly. I’m almost certain that half the words I said were a combination of French/Spanish/English/Nonsense sleep talk. I think she thought I was crazy. She asked me about my family and I told her I had a “30 year old niece” instead of a “3 year old nephew”. Despite my obvious lack of French skills, the lady continued to badger me an attempt to find any language skills. She was taping the whole thing on a little recording machine. At the very end she finally asked, “What are you going to do after this?” and I said, “Je voudrait (I want) to take a nap” half in French and half in English and then she quickly reached over and slammed the record button off. It was pretty pitiful. I got my results today though and it turns out that I am Novice Mid-Level and not classified as the village idiot so SUCCESS!
So I guess I have failed to address so far the fact that I am in Africa! My flight was not so great. It was 7ish hours from NYC to Paris and then about the same from Paris to Cotonou, which is the economic capitol. The first flight was ungodly hot. I tried to sleep but I was stuck in the middle of a set of 4 seats and was sweating profusely. At one point I followed the example of the girl next to me and literally took of my shirt so that I was only wearing an undershirt tank top thing. At that point I could care less if anyone saw my goods as long as they got some COLD AIR! The second flight was freezing cold and I watched A Single Man and about 20 minutes of Inglorious Basterds. When we got here we were greeted by a ton of volunteers cheering for us and holding signs. The same thing happened when we arrived at our hotel. They were cheering and greeting us and were so nice. They really got me excited for this. I was a little nervous once we got here but their enthusiasm was catchy. I did have a panic moment when my plane took off in NYC and thought maybe I was going to throw up on the annoying girl next to me but I quickly was distracted by the screen on the seat in front of me. Apparently Air France likes to use videos of flight attendants going through their safety speech instead of forcing the actual flight attendants present in the plane. The video wasn’t that great but in the bottom right hand corner they had a person doing sign language! I tried to figure out what she was saying and that was a fun game to distract myself from the fact that I was starting my journey to a 3 World Country.
So far Benin has been great. Everyone is so pumped for us to be here and it is hard to not be enthusiastic. It is pretty hot already and I guess this is the cool season, so you should expect some complaints over the next few months as it gets hotter and I start to melt and turn into one giant freckle. The people are really nice but I haven’t interacted with many Beninoise yet because when they speak to me they get a scared sad blank look and they think I am mentally handicapped.
I’m moving in with my host family on Wednesday and moving to Porto Novo so hopefully I will be able to buy a phone there and then get everyone my number. I miss everyone and love you so much!
Listening to: not much but some Coldplay. My roommate has a ukulele so we mess around with that.
Reading: Peace Corps manuals and French books. FUN.
Funny/random story: I found out today that 2 different girls in my group have been in the circus already! For those of you who don’t know, the circus is my back up plan and finding out that there are people my age who have already done it is both exciting and super depressing. They have already taken my secret dream back up plan and moved on from it! How is this possible! So, I am taking new suggestions for a backup plan starting now!
So I guess I have failed to address so far the fact that I am in Africa! My flight was not so great. It was 7ish hours from NYC to Paris and then about the same from Paris to Cotonou, which is the economic capitol. The first flight was ungodly hot. I tried to sleep but I was stuck in the middle of a set of 4 seats and was sweating profusely. At one point I followed the example of the girl next to me and literally took of my shirt so that I was only wearing an undershirt tank top thing. At that point I could care less if anyone saw my goods as long as they got some COLD AIR! The second flight was freezing cold and I watched A Single Man and about 20 minutes of Inglorious Basterds. When we got here we were greeted by a ton of volunteers cheering for us and holding signs. The same thing happened when we arrived at our hotel. They were cheering and greeting us and were so nice. They really got me excited for this. I was a little nervous once we got here but their enthusiasm was catchy. I did have a panic moment when my plane took off in NYC and thought maybe I was going to throw up on the annoying girl next to me but I quickly was distracted by the screen on the seat in front of me. Apparently Air France likes to use videos of flight attendants going through their safety speech instead of forcing the actual flight attendants present in the plane. The video wasn’t that great but in the bottom right hand corner they had a person doing sign language! I tried to figure out what she was saying and that was a fun game to distract myself from the fact that I was starting my journey to a 3 World Country.
So far Benin has been great. Everyone is so pumped for us to be here and it is hard to not be enthusiastic. It is pretty hot already and I guess this is the cool season, so you should expect some complaints over the next few months as it gets hotter and I start to melt and turn into one giant freckle. The people are really nice but I haven’t interacted with many Beninoise yet because when they speak to me they get a scared sad blank look and they think I am mentally handicapped.
I’m moving in with my host family on Wednesday and moving to Porto Novo so hopefully I will be able to buy a phone there and then get everyone my number. I miss everyone and love you so much!
Listening to: not much but some Coldplay. My roommate has a ukulele so we mess around with that.
Reading: Peace Corps manuals and French books. FUN.
Funny/random story: I found out today that 2 different girls in my group have been in the circus already! For those of you who don’t know, the circus is my back up plan and finding out that there are people my age who have already done it is both exciting and super depressing. They have already taken my secret dream back up plan and moved on from it! How is this possible! So, I am taking new suggestions for a backup plan starting now!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
America, Je T'Aime
So I am about to leave for Africa! I am sitting in my hotel and leeching off the free internet and contemplating my new adventure!
Well, to be honest, I'm contemplating how delicious that sausage and cheese omelet was that I just had for breakfast and wondering when I will get a chance to eat something like that again. One of my least favorite AND most favorite things about traveling is the food. In Ecuador, I learned to love a lot of new and different fruits and vegetables and even some weird cornbread that was cooked wrapped in a paleo-botonist's dream of a giant leaf. (It was no Tree Star though...). I also learned in Ecuador that just because your host mom tells you that you are going to have pizza for lunch after you had to swallow whole some "liver/pepper/guacamole/tomato/everything you hate" meal the night before , you shouldn't get excited. Its probably some sad imitation of pizza that will tease you until you dig in and end up with something in your mouth that was never intended to be eaten on a pizza. And lets be honest, Americans will eat anything on a pizza. Macaroni and cheese pizza? I've eaten it and gotten seconds and you would have too! In Europe I learned that something as sacred as ketchup (Catsup for my sister Carl and my Dad) can be ruined! Sad day, Great Britain, sad day. I can't imagine the food shenanigans and travesties I will find in Benin, but I am both excited and terrified.
I am actually really excited for Africa today. It was hard for me to accept that I was really going until I got to Philadelphia and interacted with the other volunteers. Everyone seems pretty awesome and I can't wait to get to know them better. One of my biggest worries has been meeting people that I can really connect with. I have been extremely lucky over the last five years to find kindred spirits that I can connect with and that help bring out better sides of me. I sincerely hope I can find people like that in Africa as well.
I'm not sure when I will be able to update this again, so please be patient. I would have written more but I have very little time and I am splitting it between this and uploading pictures to facebook so everyone will get OFF MY BACK about it! :D So until we meet again, I will miss you all and please keep me in your thoughts because I know I will be thinking about you.
Some random info:
Book I'm reading: How Did You Get This Number by Sloane Crosley. Its a collection of essays by this writer that I really like. They are pretty funny and heartfelt and will hopefully influence my writing here. One of my favorite stories from her previous book (I Was Told There Would Be Cake) is called the Pony Problem. I think I like it so much because I can relate. She has this problem where people continuously buy her funny little pony figurines and she doesn't know what to do with them. She has a nervous habit of telling people that she would like them to buy her a pony and, thinking they are being cute and clever, boyfriends and friends end up buying her pony figures. She ends up hiding them in a drawer in her kitchen and lives in perpetual fear that her "problem" drawer will be found out. Many of you who know me probably recognize the fact that I have a similar problem. People seem to think (and probably very correctly) that I would love them to buy me the most ridiculous thing they see at a store, on vacation, at the circus, or that they find on the street. And if you have seen the look on my face when I see a squirrel using its squirrel hands to do anything or a plastic bag floating across the sidewalk that looks like a shrunken head, then you would correctly assume that it is my habit to accept these gifts with an attitude of pure, unabashed joy and entertainment. The problem arises when someone I don't know very well gets a look at the droll nick-nacks that are beginning to clutter any living space I inhabit. Someday, someone is going to have to clean out my house after I die and they will quickly gain the impression that I am some sort of sick hoarder with a creepy animal figurine and doll fetish. But until that day, I would appreciate any and all nonsense type items that you would be willing to send to Africa so that I can fill up my hut with ridiculousness and continue my problem. :)
Currently listening to: Not much, but I'm sure Coldplay will make an appearance as I always listen to it when I travel.
Funny/random story: I made a fool of myself (not uncommon, but still embarassing) in front of a bunch of people about a week ago. We went swimming at these natural springs in Georgia where my sister lives. The springs were crystal clear and ice cold. You could also jump off a 15-20 foot ledge into them. With all the possibilities that awaited me for shame in this scenario, I will have you know that the most embarrassing thing that happened was that I did a sort of but flop on my first jump and ended up with a bright red behind for the rest of the day. No, my sad story starts later in the day. The springs run out into a warmer river and we discovered that a bunch of cool kids, their less cool parents, and some random adults with tattoos were all using a rope swing that was tied to a tall tree to swing out over the river and jump in. I knew right away that I was not going to have the arm strength for this business. It was a single rope with a few knots tied on the bottom. But I couldn't lose face, so I soldiered on. I awkwardly scrambled down the hill and grabbed onto the rope. The children who had gone before me stared at me with such expectation (and maybe a little doubt) from the river below. My plan was to just hold on to the rope and hang from it like a limp doll. That way, I wouldn't have to exert any arm strength, I would just have to keep a firm grip on the rope for about 5 seconds. THIS DID NOT WORK. As soon as I got anywhere near the river my feet caught on the water and I flipped forward to smack my face and upper body onto the water. I came up and everyone was laughing at me. Especially the children. It was a sad day. So my hope right now it that there are no rope type obstacles that will reveal my lack of upper body strength to my neighbors and students in Africa and make me look like a fool.
And with that I bid "Adieu! Adieu! To you, and you, and you!"
Well, to be honest, I'm contemplating how delicious that sausage and cheese omelet was that I just had for breakfast and wondering when I will get a chance to eat something like that again. One of my least favorite AND most favorite things about traveling is the food. In Ecuador, I learned to love a lot of new and different fruits and vegetables and even some weird cornbread that was cooked wrapped in a paleo-botonist's dream of a giant leaf. (It was no Tree Star though...). I also learned in Ecuador that just because your host mom tells you that you are going to have pizza for lunch after you had to swallow whole some "liver/pepper/guacamole/tomato/everything you hate" meal the night before , you shouldn't get excited. Its probably some sad imitation of pizza that will tease you until you dig in and end up with something in your mouth that was never intended to be eaten on a pizza. And lets be honest, Americans will eat anything on a pizza. Macaroni and cheese pizza? I've eaten it and gotten seconds and you would have too! In Europe I learned that something as sacred as ketchup (Catsup for my sister Carl and my Dad) can be ruined! Sad day, Great Britain, sad day. I can't imagine the food shenanigans and travesties I will find in Benin, but I am both excited and terrified.
I am actually really excited for Africa today. It was hard for me to accept that I was really going until I got to Philadelphia and interacted with the other volunteers. Everyone seems pretty awesome and I can't wait to get to know them better. One of my biggest worries has been meeting people that I can really connect with. I have been extremely lucky over the last five years to find kindred spirits that I can connect with and that help bring out better sides of me. I sincerely hope I can find people like that in Africa as well.
I'm not sure when I will be able to update this again, so please be patient. I would have written more but I have very little time and I am splitting it between this and uploading pictures to facebook so everyone will get OFF MY BACK about it! :D So until we meet again, I will miss you all and please keep me in your thoughts because I know I will be thinking about you.
Some random info:
Book I'm reading: How Did You Get This Number by Sloane Crosley. Its a collection of essays by this writer that I really like. They are pretty funny and heartfelt and will hopefully influence my writing here. One of my favorite stories from her previous book (I Was Told There Would Be Cake) is called the Pony Problem. I think I like it so much because I can relate. She has this problem where people continuously buy her funny little pony figurines and she doesn't know what to do with them. She has a nervous habit of telling people that she would like them to buy her a pony and, thinking they are being cute and clever, boyfriends and friends end up buying her pony figures. She ends up hiding them in a drawer in her kitchen and lives in perpetual fear that her "problem" drawer will be found out. Many of you who know me probably recognize the fact that I have a similar problem. People seem to think (and probably very correctly) that I would love them to buy me the most ridiculous thing they see at a store, on vacation, at the circus, or that they find on the street. And if you have seen the look on my face when I see a squirrel using its squirrel hands to do anything or a plastic bag floating across the sidewalk that looks like a shrunken head, then you would correctly assume that it is my habit to accept these gifts with an attitude of pure, unabashed joy and entertainment. The problem arises when someone I don't know very well gets a look at the droll nick-nacks that are beginning to clutter any living space I inhabit. Someday, someone is going to have to clean out my house after I die and they will quickly gain the impression that I am some sort of sick hoarder with a creepy animal figurine and doll fetish. But until that day, I would appreciate any and all nonsense type items that you would be willing to send to Africa so that I can fill up my hut with ridiculousness and continue my problem. :)
Currently listening to: Not much, but I'm sure Coldplay will make an appearance as I always listen to it when I travel.
Funny/random story: I made a fool of myself (not uncommon, but still embarassing) in front of a bunch of people about a week ago. We went swimming at these natural springs in Georgia where my sister lives. The springs were crystal clear and ice cold. You could also jump off a 15-20 foot ledge into them. With all the possibilities that awaited me for shame in this scenario, I will have you know that the most embarrassing thing that happened was that I did a sort of but flop on my first jump and ended up with a bright red behind for the rest of the day. No, my sad story starts later in the day. The springs run out into a warmer river and we discovered that a bunch of cool kids, their less cool parents, and some random adults with tattoos were all using a rope swing that was tied to a tall tree to swing out over the river and jump in. I knew right away that I was not going to have the arm strength for this business. It was a single rope with a few knots tied on the bottom. But I couldn't lose face, so I soldiered on. I awkwardly scrambled down the hill and grabbed onto the rope. The children who had gone before me stared at me with such expectation (and maybe a little doubt) from the river below. My plan was to just hold on to the rope and hang from it like a limp doll. That way, I wouldn't have to exert any arm strength, I would just have to keep a firm grip on the rope for about 5 seconds. THIS DID NOT WORK. As soon as I got anywhere near the river my feet caught on the water and I flipped forward to smack my face and upper body onto the water. I came up and everyone was laughing at me. Especially the children. It was a sad day. So my hope right now it that there are no rope type obstacles that will reveal my lack of upper body strength to my neighbors and students in Africa and make me look like a fool.
And with that I bid "Adieu! Adieu! To you, and you, and you!"
Saturday, June 5, 2010
This post is dedicated to my sister Bonnie, whom I adore.
It was recently brought to my attention by a concerned reader that my sister Bonnie was not mentioned in this blog yet. This is egregious. I am deeply sorry for this thoughtless blunder. Hopefully this post will make up for my carelessness.
I think it is probably easy for those around me to believe that I am moving forward to a new adventure and leaving them behind without much pause. This could not be further from the truth. One of my first thoughts when I found out that I would be going to Africa for two years went something along the lines of this: "Oh shit, how can I live that long without my people??". By "my people" I mean the people in my life who have most impacted my worldview and who are part of my life every day even if they live hundreds of miles away. Hopefully you all know who you are. I hope you all know how much you have changed the way I look at the world and how much it hurts me to think that you won't be sharing in this advenure with me. I wish life would work like a television sitcom. When a main character has to move or get married or have some major life change, every one else somehow ends up doing the same thing. If only our lives could be like Saved By The Bell: The College Years or Boy Meets World!!!!
But life doesn't work that way and even if it did, I guess I am starting a spin-off. I just want you all to know that it does hurt me and that you cannot be forgotten or replaced and that if there were a way to fit you in my luggage and you were willing to go to Africa, then I would make it happen.
I think it is probably easy for those around me to believe that I am moving forward to a new adventure and leaving them behind without much pause. This could not be further from the truth. One of my first thoughts when I found out that I would be going to Africa for two years went something along the lines of this: "Oh shit, how can I live that long without my people??". By "my people" I mean the people in my life who have most impacted my worldview and who are part of my life every day even if they live hundreds of miles away. Hopefully you all know who you are. I hope you all know how much you have changed the way I look at the world and how much it hurts me to think that you won't be sharing in this advenure with me. I wish life would work like a television sitcom. When a main character has to move or get married or have some major life change, every one else somehow ends up doing the same thing. If only our lives could be like Saved By The Bell: The College Years or Boy Meets World!!!!
But life doesn't work that way and even if it did, I guess I am starting a spin-off. I just want you all to know that it does hurt me and that you cannot be forgotten or replaced and that if there were a way to fit you in my luggage and you were willing to go to Africa, then I would make it happen.
I bet Katherine Hepburn didn't have to deal with this shit....
I'm sitting here going over my ever increasing list of things that I need to buy for Africa. While it is fun to put things on the list, I am getting more and more annoyed that I will have to actually spend money to buy them. Some of the stuff is cool but I worry that I won't use a good portion of it once I actually get there. After that thought comes another one that if I don't buy it I will be so pissed at myself when I get there that I didn't get the things that were recommended. Gross. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Here are some questions I have for the world about my suggested packing list.
1. How am I supposed to know how much underwear I will need for the next two years? I could probably figure out how many pairs of underwear I have gone through in the previous two years, but I have a sneaking suspicion that hand washing and the possibility of pooping my pants for a variety of reasons might take a bigger toll on underwear than whatever I have done the last two years. Conundrum.
2. Who under the age of 50 uses the word "blouse" anymore? I certainly have never used it except with my sister Bonnie to make fun of our friend Liz when she described a male friend of ours as "the one in the blouse". What exactly is a blouse anyway? A button-down shirt? Then why not call it that? When you ask me to bring a blouse, you make me think I am supposed to bring one of the shirts that Bea Arthur wore on Golden Girls and thats depressing. Button downs it is!
3. How am I expected to lure in a rich and handsome philanthropist while wearing a "sturdy" bra? That also sounds like something Bea Arthur would have worn on Golden Girls.
4. Why do you tell me to pack lightly and then give me a three page list of items to bring? Also, why does my job have to be the only one with the extra page of supplies that includes several pounds of classroom materials including books and maps? lol
These are just a few of the things that have intrigued me about this preparation process.
French is the official language of Benin so I will probably have to speak it a lot and I have only two semesters of French under my belt. And I took those a few years ago. I will have some language training when I get there, but I don't want to look like a complete idiot. I also don't want to be one of "those people" who moves to a foreign country and can't speak the language. I have gotten a couple books from the library and am currently practicing French as often as possible but I think I am terrible. I'm mostly focusing on phrases like, "I don't understand" and "Repeat that please?" and my personal favorite, "Please slow down". When I get bored with practical French I move into nonsensical phrases like, "That cat eats lots of cheese" that will probably convince my new Beninese friends that I am crazy and should be left alone. The future looks bleak. lol I am also going to be fluent in office vocabulary because I spent about two hours at work the other day labeling everything in my office in French with post-it notes. I got tired of playing Solitare on "l'ordinateur" aka my computer. I've been thinking that if I convince myself that all of things in my office just have adorably clever names that sound French that I might learn their names more quickly.
I think I will end all of my blog posts with some mundane information about my life at the time so here it goes:
I'm currently reading: Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. I've already read it but I found a cool copy at a used book store and I really love the book so I thought I would reread it. Also, Found by Davy Rothbart. It is a collection of random things that people have found that they think are interesting. My favorite so far is a tie between a sign that was found that reads, "WARNING: The iguana is loose on the porch." and a piece of paper that blew into some guys yard that contains the information (in childish writing) on how to get into "The Adventure Club" which must have been made up by some neighborhood kids. One of the rules of the club is that "You have to be nice to squirills". How to get into the club? "You need to know how to climb a fence. Need to like adventure." I'm totally joining.
Currently listening to: Some Eminem songs I stole from my brother-in-law. I can't help but love Marshall.
Funny random story: I got chased down a country road by a bee the other day. I was jogging down the road near my sister's in laws' house and I felt something hitting the back of my leg. I thought I was kicking up some sticks or something but when I looked down there was a bee trying to land on my leg. I made a suprised squeeling noise and started running really fast. When I thought I was safe I slowed down. I was mistaken. Mr. Bee caught up with me. In desperation and fear of being stung I again started running really fast. This "freak out>run real fast>slow down>notice bee>repeat" process happened like 4 more times before I got to the driveway. My head phones fell out of my ears and I didn't even care. I felt like Laura Dern/Ellie in Jurassic Park when she has restored power to the Park and survived the Raptors but has to run that last 20 feet to Sam Neill/Dr. Grant and she looks like an idiot. I made it to the garage and took one look back and that evil bee was lurking near the garage door to taunt me. I still don't know what he wanted or why he was following me but I do know this: I can run faster than a bee can fly for a short and unsustainable amount of time.
1. How am I supposed to know how much underwear I will need for the next two years? I could probably figure out how many pairs of underwear I have gone through in the previous two years, but I have a sneaking suspicion that hand washing and the possibility of pooping my pants for a variety of reasons might take a bigger toll on underwear than whatever I have done the last two years. Conundrum.
2. Who under the age of 50 uses the word "blouse" anymore? I certainly have never used it except with my sister Bonnie to make fun of our friend Liz when she described a male friend of ours as "the one in the blouse". What exactly is a blouse anyway? A button-down shirt? Then why not call it that? When you ask me to bring a blouse, you make me think I am supposed to bring one of the shirts that Bea Arthur wore on Golden Girls and thats depressing. Button downs it is!
3. How am I expected to lure in a rich and handsome philanthropist while wearing a "sturdy" bra? That also sounds like something Bea Arthur would have worn on Golden Girls.
4. Why do you tell me to pack lightly and then give me a three page list of items to bring? Also, why does my job have to be the only one with the extra page of supplies that includes several pounds of classroom materials including books and maps? lol
These are just a few of the things that have intrigued me about this preparation process.
French is the official language of Benin so I will probably have to speak it a lot and I have only two semesters of French under my belt. And I took those a few years ago. I will have some language training when I get there, but I don't want to look like a complete idiot. I also don't want to be one of "those people" who moves to a foreign country and can't speak the language. I have gotten a couple books from the library and am currently practicing French as often as possible but I think I am terrible. I'm mostly focusing on phrases like, "I don't understand" and "Repeat that please?" and my personal favorite, "Please slow down". When I get bored with practical French I move into nonsensical phrases like, "That cat eats lots of cheese" that will probably convince my new Beninese friends that I am crazy and should be left alone. The future looks bleak. lol I am also going to be fluent in office vocabulary because I spent about two hours at work the other day labeling everything in my office in French with post-it notes. I got tired of playing Solitare on "l'ordinateur" aka my computer. I've been thinking that if I convince myself that all of things in my office just have adorably clever names that sound French that I might learn their names more quickly.
I think I will end all of my blog posts with some mundane information about my life at the time so here it goes:
I'm currently reading: Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. I've already read it but I found a cool copy at a used book store and I really love the book so I thought I would reread it. Also, Found by Davy Rothbart. It is a collection of random things that people have found that they think are interesting. My favorite so far is a tie between a sign that was found that reads, "WARNING: The iguana is loose on the porch." and a piece of paper that blew into some guys yard that contains the information (in childish writing) on how to get into "The Adventure Club" which must have been made up by some neighborhood kids. One of the rules of the club is that "You have to be nice to squirills". How to get into the club? "You need to know how to climb a fence. Need to like adventure." I'm totally joining.
Currently listening to: Some Eminem songs I stole from my brother-in-law. I can't help but love Marshall.
Funny random story: I got chased down a country road by a bee the other day. I was jogging down the road near my sister's in laws' house and I felt something hitting the back of my leg. I thought I was kicking up some sticks or something but when I looked down there was a bee trying to land on my leg. I made a suprised squeeling noise and started running really fast. When I thought I was safe I slowed down. I was mistaken. Mr. Bee caught up with me. In desperation and fear of being stung I again started running really fast. This "freak out>run real fast>slow down>notice bee>repeat" process happened like 4 more times before I got to the driveway. My head phones fell out of my ears and I didn't even care. I felt like Laura Dern/Ellie in Jurassic Park when she has restored power to the Park and survived the Raptors but has to run that last 20 feet to Sam Neill/Dr. Grant and she looks like an idiot. I made it to the garage and took one look back and that evil bee was lurking near the garage door to taunt me. I still don't know what he wanted or why he was following me but I do know this: I can run faster than a bee can fly for a short and unsustainable amount of time.
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