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.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
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!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)