Towards the end of last school year I finally decided on a secondary project to do in my village. Many TEFL (English teacher) volunteers do other projects outside of our daily teaching job such as clubs, building a new school building, etc. I could never think of a project that I really wanted to do. Everything I could think of revolved working with my students on some level and since I did not enjoy teaching much last year, the thought of working with my kids outside of regular school hours seemed like something I did not want to do. My school is currently working on building several new classrooms, so it appeared to me that I wasn’t needed there either. Also, every time I brought an idea up my colleagues, they would instantly agree that it was exactly what the village needed, but didn’t give much input aside from that. No one asked me to help them with any projects or came to me with an idea. I know as a Peace Corps Volunteer I am supposed to find out my communities needs and try to address them on some level, but this idea has always been difficult for me. I never wanted to swoop in and give my village a new set of magic latrines and then leave. I wanted to work with people to help them help themselves. And since no one ever seemed to have any ideas besides asking me for money, I did my job and not much else. I tried to integrate into my community and tutored kids. I helped other professors come up with lesson plans and improve their teaching and I participated in a girls empowerment camp last summer. Mostly I just spent my first year in Benin trying to survive.
Even with all that, I felt like I should be doing something else, especially my second year. I tried to think of things that I’m passionate about and what kinds of interactions make me happy. I wanted to do a project that was interesting to me as well as beneficial to my community. One thing I am passionate about it reading and discussing themes and issues found in books with others. So I decided to start a reading/discussion group. I can count on one hand the amount of Beninese people (outside of a few of the other professors at my school) I’ve seen reading a book for fun. I often read a book at school if I’m not in class or waiting for a meeting to start and I always get comments on it. People want to know what I am reading and usually comment on how I am “improving myself”. If the worth of reading is recognized by people in Benin, then why don’t they read more? For one thing, books are expensive and difficult to find just anywhere. There are book stores in major cities but not in smaller towns and villages. There are not many public libraries and the ones that exist are not exact equivalents of what we consider a library in the States. I decided that I wanted to instill in at least one person the love of reading and the magic that can be found in books.
I thought of doing a reading group in French, which would improve my French and be easier for anyone who wanted to join since they speak French here. But then I remembered that I am a native English speaker and there are many people who want to improve their English, so I decided to make a group for the upper level students at my school that would be in English. I teach the first few years of English (the American equivalent of 6th,7th, and 8th grade-ish) and that’s not much fun for me outside of the very beginner level students. My school goes all the way up to the American equivalent of 12th grade so I figured I would work primarily with the upper level students who have been taking English for at least 4 years. That way we could actually read and speak in English and have good conversations. So fast forward several months, and we had our first meeting last week (November 16). My work partner and I decided to create an English Club at the school in which he would work with the younger kids and I would work with the older kids and then at the end of the meeting we could all come together. We made signs for the club and asked the other English teachers to tell their classes about it. Our meeting time is on Wednesdays at 3 o’clock. We don’t have school on Wednesday afternoons so I figured many kids who weren’t serious about being involved wouldn’t make the trek back to school for the club. I was wrong. Perhaps it was the lure of the white woman. Perhaps it was the lure of doing anything other than going to the market or sitting around their concession on a Wednesday. Perhaps it was the Vodun gods plotting against me. But for our first meeting there had to be like 60 to 70 kids who showed up. And kept showing up. It seemed like every ten minutes a new group of kids would wonder in and start making noise. For the first meeting we decided to have all the kids together to explain the group and get them excited. I had planned to get the kids excited about the club by playing an American song on my ipod with speakers and giving them most of the lyrics with some of them omitted. Then they would have to listen to the lyrics and write in the missing words. Simple, right? Uh, no. I had ONLY made 40 copies of the lyrics so about half of the kids just had to sit there with nothing in front of them. I wrote the lyrics on the board but that didn’t seem to help matters much. There wasn’t enough room for everyone to sit so it was essentially just a big crowd of kids who couldn’t concentrate but were excited about something new. We finally got them calmed down, did the activity, and explained how the weekly meetings would work when a new group of kids walked in, one of them with a guitar strapped to his back. I will call them the Teenie Boppers.
The Teenie Boppers used to be in an English club with my work partner at his old school. Without telling me about it, my he invited them to come and say hello to our English Club/uncontrollable mob. The Teenie Boppers said hello and then broke out the guitar and proceeded to have a concert for themselves in our already overcrowded classroom of 70 kids that should have only fit 40 at best. From what I could glean over the excited noises the kids were making in reaction to the heartthrob newcomers and their music, the song they played was a mix of random popular/not at all popular American/Reggae songs. They were a hit. My English club was in shambles. There were some shining moments of hope though when some of the upper level kids spoke to me and responded to the original song (Yesterday, by the Beatles. Please see the irony in this song being upstaged by a young group of boys singing to a rabid crowd of Beninese teenagers) with very thoughtful comments IN ENGLISH!!!! Which is quite a change from the 16 months it has taken my students to correctly ask to go to the bathroom in English. So I left the club with hope that the next week, when we split the group in two and I got my decent English speakers, would be better. And oh how it was!!!
This week I got to work for almost 2 hours with the upper level students and it was awesome. Well, it was awesome after we spent the first 45 minutes sitting in silence because of the torrential downpour that decided to commence right at our starting time. Teaching while rain is pouring on a tin roof is impossible. You can’t hear anything. So we just sat there and they copied the material I wanted to cover off the board while another professor took a nap on an empty desk. I gave them the poem, The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost and they had to summarize it for me and when it stopped raining we discussed the theme of the poem. Its probably impossible for many of you to understand how much this event meant to me. I spend much of my time in village communicating in mediocre French or Sahoue about mundane things. Aside from my work partner, Hyppolite, and a few other teachers, I rarely have real conversations about anything meaningful. So in this meeting, I got to speak about interesting and meaningful ideas in English! AND I was helping kids improve their English! Win, win, win! I’m super excited to continue on and hopefully get to read at least one book with the group. I’m thinking of starting with The Alchemist by Paolo Coello and then the first Harry Potter! I have found a couple organizations that may send me books, but I need to look into it further. So if you have any info on groups that send books to Africa, let me know!
So the final and most entertaining thing about this English Club adventure so far happened at the end of the second meeting. We decided to let the kids suggest names for our group. We could just be the Lobogo English Club, but we were hoping for something more creative and oh my lucky stars did we get it. Here are some of my favorite suggestions for the name of the club: The Best English Club, American English Club, Gracias English Club, Young Boy English Club, Awesome English Club, Vive le club d’Anglais!, Blaise’s English Club (submitted by an enterprising 9th grader named, appropriately, Blaise), School English Club, Good Like English Club, Powerful English Club, Overcoming English Club, Eleven’s English Club, Go!Go! English Club, and my favorite……The Lion King English Club! Tune in next time to we see which one of these I convince everyone to choose!!!
Friday, November 25, 2011
“Maybe the curse came in the form of the disease you have?”
Recently one of my best friends in village, Dorcas, has become very sick. Dorcas is about 30 years old and has two small children. She is a neighbor of mine and lives in a mud hut with the parents of her husband (who died last fall). Many women in my village make money by selling things at the market, sewing, or doing hair. I’m not exactly sure what Dorcas does for money aside from the money I pay her every month to help me with my laundry and bring me water once a week. She has been a very good friend to me over my last year in village. When I have been sick she has brought me food from the market and is generally just really nice and thoughtful. She is very poor but has never asked me for anything except for a mosquito net for her 2 year old daughter who kept getting sick with malaria. She fed my cats when I was gone in America and refused to take money from me when I offered it to her afterwards. She is an honest and hardworking person and she sees me as a person as well, not just a rich white anomaly in her world. Also, she speaks some English, which has probably helped us get closer.
Anyways, recently Dorcas disappeared from her house across the street and when I finally found her at her mother’s house near the market it was a sad shock. She was lying on the ground and could barely get up to greet me. The last time I had seen her she had complained about a pain in her side. When I found her, she showed me these horrible open sores on her side that looked like the skin was being eaten away. It went all down her right side and onto her stomach. She was also very tired and occasionally dizzy. She complained that her heart would suddenly start beating really quickly and she couldn’t breathe. Apparently she went to several doctors in the area and they gave her a bunch of medicine that cost a lot of money but could not explain what was wrong with her. After she explained all this she told me how she believed that someone in the village had cursed her and sent bad spirits to her and that was what was making her so sick. Benin has very strong Vodun traditions and many of the slaves that were taken from here went to the Caribbean and created the voodoo traditions there. Essentially there are many good and bad natural spirits. The bad ones can be sent to others in the form of gris gris or a curse and can make that person sick, die, or have bad luck. It may seem sort of crazy but it makes more sense when you live here and you see the kind of lives that many people live.
I tried to work within this structure when I talked with Dorcas and I asked her maybe if the curse had come in the form of the actual disease or sickness she had and she said yes. When I asked her what disease was, she said it was a bad spirit, so we were back to square one. It was so frustrating to me to not be able to understand the sickness that she had and do nothing to help her. She couldn’t even lift her two year old daughter. As I sat with her next to her mother’s mud hut and watched the other women prepare a meal on the fire, it made more sense to me why so many people here resort to blaming evil spirits for their misfortune. Who/what else can they blame? Many of them wash with and drink water filled with parasites. They eat untreated fruit and vegetables. They go to the bathroom in a field next to their house. They sleep without mosquito nets. They are not vaccinated against any diseases. The cause of Dorcas’ ailment could have been any combination of these factors and perhaps exacerbated by others. She has little money to pay doctors and the ones around can’t even properly diagnose her problem. When you have no explanation, no options, and no education an evil spirit makes as much sense as anything I could have told her about the transmission of parasites. It was just so frustrating and heartbreaking to sit there with her and know that there were not many options. I called the male nurse who works in my concession and he came over to look at her and decided to give her infusions of some liquid that he said would reduce the infection. When I asked what the infection was he couldn’t really explain it. Even if I had the money to pay more/different doctors for her, they would probably all say the same thing. There I was sitting with my best friend who could not get access to decent medical care and I could at any moment call the Peace Corps doctors and tell them of any ailment I had and it would be taken care of. The sad difference is that she is a real citizen of a third world country and I am an American citizen.
Currently, Dorcas is still sick but slightly better. The last time I saw her she was living in a local church and spending her days praying with other women for God to take away her sickness/curse because there is nothing else she can do. Regardless of the state of health care in America, none of us will ever have to experience the kind of powerlessness my friends here do.
Anyways, recently Dorcas disappeared from her house across the street and when I finally found her at her mother’s house near the market it was a sad shock. She was lying on the ground and could barely get up to greet me. The last time I had seen her she had complained about a pain in her side. When I found her, she showed me these horrible open sores on her side that looked like the skin was being eaten away. It went all down her right side and onto her stomach. She was also very tired and occasionally dizzy. She complained that her heart would suddenly start beating really quickly and she couldn’t breathe. Apparently she went to several doctors in the area and they gave her a bunch of medicine that cost a lot of money but could not explain what was wrong with her. After she explained all this she told me how she believed that someone in the village had cursed her and sent bad spirits to her and that was what was making her so sick. Benin has very strong Vodun traditions and many of the slaves that were taken from here went to the Caribbean and created the voodoo traditions there. Essentially there are many good and bad natural spirits. The bad ones can be sent to others in the form of gris gris or a curse and can make that person sick, die, or have bad luck. It may seem sort of crazy but it makes more sense when you live here and you see the kind of lives that many people live.
I tried to work within this structure when I talked with Dorcas and I asked her maybe if the curse had come in the form of the actual disease or sickness she had and she said yes. When I asked her what disease was, she said it was a bad spirit, so we were back to square one. It was so frustrating to me to not be able to understand the sickness that she had and do nothing to help her. She couldn’t even lift her two year old daughter. As I sat with her next to her mother’s mud hut and watched the other women prepare a meal on the fire, it made more sense to me why so many people here resort to blaming evil spirits for their misfortune. Who/what else can they blame? Many of them wash with and drink water filled with parasites. They eat untreated fruit and vegetables. They go to the bathroom in a field next to their house. They sleep without mosquito nets. They are not vaccinated against any diseases. The cause of Dorcas’ ailment could have been any combination of these factors and perhaps exacerbated by others. She has little money to pay doctors and the ones around can’t even properly diagnose her problem. When you have no explanation, no options, and no education an evil spirit makes as much sense as anything I could have told her about the transmission of parasites. It was just so frustrating and heartbreaking to sit there with her and know that there were not many options. I called the male nurse who works in my concession and he came over to look at her and decided to give her infusions of some liquid that he said would reduce the infection. When I asked what the infection was he couldn’t really explain it. Even if I had the money to pay more/different doctors for her, they would probably all say the same thing. There I was sitting with my best friend who could not get access to decent medical care and I could at any moment call the Peace Corps doctors and tell them of any ailment I had and it would be taken care of. The sad difference is that she is a real citizen of a third world country and I am an American citizen.
Currently, Dorcas is still sick but slightly better. The last time I saw her she was living in a local church and spending her days praying with other women for God to take away her sickness/curse because there is nothing else she can do. Regardless of the state of health care in America, none of us will ever have to experience the kind of powerlessness my friends here do.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
There and back again…and 10 lbs heavier.
So I didn’t mention in my summer post that I got to go HOME!!!! For the month of August and a little bit of September I was in Cleveland, Ohio spending time with family and friends. This was all thanks to the donations of a lot of people who gave money to my ticket home and I am eternally grateful and humbled by how many giving people there are. I really needed this trip back and I couldn’t have done it myself, so thank you to all of you! It was really weird to get a on plane home. I must have looked a little special in the plane before it took off in Cotonou. It looked so shiny and new and fancy. I just couldn’t believe I was going home. I had also been stressed for days by the idea that somehow this was all a cruel joke and my ticket wasn’t real and that I would get to the airport and they would just laugh at me and tell me to go back to whatever village I crawled out of. Well, surprise, that didn’t happen and I got on the plane. Did you know they feed you awesome food on planes? They were feeding me like every four hours and it was delicious and a little bit too much. So many tiny little morsels of goodness. By the morning I couldn’t handle it any more but didn’t want to waste my food so I started wrapping it up and putting it in my bag. Benin has made me like an old person who lived through the Depression. Napkins, jelly packets, salt and pepper packets, plastic silverware, and wet wipes all made it into my bag. I just kept thinking, “I could use this in my village!!”. Except I was going to America and looked like a fool lol. I finally realized I had a problem at the airport in Paris. I had wrapped up a baguette with some butter and a plastic knife while still on the plane from Cotonou and placed it in my bag so that it wouldn’t get waster. I mean, butter?!?! I never eat butter in village! So sure enough at the Paris airport I got hungry and decided to pull out my baguette and eat it. The problem was that now I was in fancy society and I also looked sort of like a bum. I had old, baggy, faded linen pants on and a sweat shirt. My hair was slightly disheveled and I was real tired. As I sat huddled over my piece of bread I realized the Americans sitting next to me were addressing me. “So where are you coming from?” they asked, confusion and pity in their eyes. I told them I was coming from West Africa and saw nods of comprehension. “What were you doing there?!?” I told them I am a Peace Corps volunteer and they said, “oohhhhh” and turned away and started chatting in hushes undertones. Looking down I realized that I had crumbs all over my sweatshirt and a few on my face. My first day back in civilization and I looked like a homeless person.
Aside from the first episode I think I did pretty well in the first world. I had a minor break down in Target when I realized that the five pairs of underwear I picked out would be the only new ones I would have for another year so I better choose wisely. At times I felt a little disconnected from people but I think that’s probably normal. I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to fit in here and that means a lot to me but I know it’s hard for someone who hasn’t experienced it to understand or appreciate that. It was so nice to see my family and friends and make new memories with them to tide me over for another year. It was also nice to eat American food. I managed to gain close to 10 pounds while I was home, which I feel is no mean feat. I would say almost every woman friend I have in village has commented on how fat and beautiful I got in America, so there’s that. They also do this arm movement and “boom, boom” sound when they say this that makes me picture a jolly fat person and makes me a little uncomfortable. Beninese people don’t see calling someone fat an insult. They just see it as the truth. In their eyes it’s similar to calling a doctor, “Doctor” or a tall person “tall”. Also I’ve taken it in stride since I’m quite certain my rice and bean diet and close proximity to all the parasites and amoebas the world has to offer should slim me down again once more.
Aside from the first episode I think I did pretty well in the first world. I had a minor break down in Target when I realized that the five pairs of underwear I picked out would be the only new ones I would have for another year so I better choose wisely. At times I felt a little disconnected from people but I think that’s probably normal. I’ve spent the last year of my life trying to fit in here and that means a lot to me but I know it’s hard for someone who hasn’t experienced it to understand or appreciate that. It was so nice to see my family and friends and make new memories with them to tide me over for another year. It was also nice to eat American food. I managed to gain close to 10 pounds while I was home, which I feel is no mean feat. I would say almost every woman friend I have in village has commented on how fat and beautiful I got in America, so there’s that. They also do this arm movement and “boom, boom” sound when they say this that makes me picture a jolly fat person and makes me a little uncomfortable. Beninese people don’t see calling someone fat an insult. They just see it as the truth. In their eyes it’s similar to calling a doctor, “Doctor” or a tall person “tall”. Also I’ve taken it in stride since I’m quite certain my rice and bean diet and close proximity to all the parasites and amoebas the world has to offer should slim me down again once more.
Summa Summa Summa Time!
I haven’t written any entries in a while and a lot has happened in my life over the last few months so I figured I should probably give my readers what they want: an update on my life! This summer has been kind of crazy. I ended my first year of teaching in Benin, woot woot! Then proceeded to have some of the most boring days of my life in village since school was out and I didn’t have anything to do. I made it my goal to learn more Sahoue (my local language) this summer and started on that but didn’t actually get very far. I spent a lot of time sleeping and reading and sitting with mamas in the market trying to learn local language. I was realllllllyyyyy bored. A lot of my village left for the summer to work in Nigeria or visit relatives in another city, so my concession (the walled complex I live in) was all but empty and many of my friends were not around. By friends, I really mean all the little kids that I hang out with on a pretty regular visit. Sometimes it is easier for me to hang out with little kids in village because their French is not much better than mine and we just play games or sit around coloring and I feel much less awkward then with adults. Usually with adults I greet them in local language or French and then they all start speaking local language really quickly for a long time and I just sit there staring blankly. This is also why I have become obsessed with babies in Benin. Babies are everywhere here and they provide a perfect distraction for me while I am sitting around staring blankly. Well expect for when they pee on me or start crying because they are afraid of my spooky white skin. Most babies in Benin don’t wear any kind of diaper and half the time are sitting on my lap with only a string of beads around their waist so you could see how that would happen.
I also happened to make friends with a new family in my village which has been awesome. I went to meet this family to ask permission to take their daughter to a girl’s camp (which I will talk about in a bit) and they were super nice and welcoming. They live on the other side of my village and it is quite a hike to get to their house. Plus it is about on the edges of the jungle and down this tiny dirt path, so I would never have found them accidentally. The mama works in the market on market day selling medicines and the father must work outside of the village because I have only met him once. Anyway, the mama doesn’t speak much French but is always so happy to see me and so welcoming. I greet her on market day at her stall and she always makes me sit down and eat something (which she buys) and promise to come eat with her family the next day. They don’t ask me for things and generally seem to just really like my company. This development is especially nice because my mama in my concession has been disappearing a lot lately to another village and is generally unhappy and unpredictable and I’m not sure how to deal with her on a day to day basis. There is also this ridiculously adorable little boy who loves in the family complex with this new family and his name is Rodrigi and he is delightful. He always runs up to me and hugs me and then hangs all over me while I’m there. In America that would most likely annoy me but here it’s nice to hang out with Rodrigi while everyone speaks Sahoue around me..
In June I had a break from monotony when I took 5 girls from my village to a weeklong girl’s camp run by PCVs. They were the top girls from all my classes and the camp was to help them make connections with other hard working girls in the south of Benin and also successful Beninese women who had worked really hard to get where they are in the hopes of inspiring them to stay in school and make Benin a better place for themselves and their daughters. There were also hygiene, sex ed, study skills, and malaria prevention sessions, to name a few. It was really cool to be a part of such an awesome event. There are very few girls who graduate from secondary school in Benin and go on to university to become professional women. Most girls drop out to get married, have children, or work. It is also very difficult for girls to keep up in school while they have so much responsibility at home. The best part of the camp, I think, was the small group time the girls had to talk to various successful Beninese women. There was a mayor, a doctor, an entrepreneur, and several other professions. I can tell my girls a thousand times to stay in school and work to become something more but if I strong independent Beninese woman says it, there is such a big difference. This camp inspired me to attempt to do a girl’s camp in my region next year for all the top female students in the surrounding schools. I’m currently talking to my work partner and other people in my village to see if it is possible. If anything comes of this, I’ll let you know…probably by asking for money for it lol.
After the camp, I went directly to Cotonou to welcome the new volunteers who came to Benin this summer!!! It was really cool to be with them their first few days in country and explain life in Benin to them a little bit. It was also weird to have that many new Americans around. I’ve become so used to seeing them exact same people all the time that having new Americans here was surreal. Seven of them are coming to live and work in my region and 2 of them are going to be around an hour away from me!!! New friends! I am going to bombard them with intense energy. They swear in on Sept 15 and move to their villages a few days after that. I also had to say goodbye to the volunteers who were leaving this summer as well. We serve for two years and a new group comes every year so all my friends from the group who came the year before me were leaving to go back to America. That was very difficult, especially with the people from my region. Those were the volunteers I saw the most and they became my support network and my family. We had regular taco nights (not real tacos, but close) and hang outs and it is going to be a little difficult at first to not have them around. But with the new volunteers replacing them and coming to new posts in my region, I should be good. And to think, I have less than a year left here! Crazy! School starts in a couple weeks, along with my reading/discussion club, so bring on the machetes!!!!
Funny story/ridiculous story: When I was buying fried yams in my market a few weeks ago I was handed a coin straight from the red hot coals of the mama’s fire. How did this happen? Well I handed her a bigger coin and needed change. She exchanged the coin with a different woman and in the transfer, dropped one of the coins in to the fire that she was frying yams on. She proceeded to pick up the coin out of the fire with her bare hands and then hand me my coins. Not paying attention, I grabbed the coins and one of them burned a hole into my palm. As I drop the coin and swear, the woman says, “Doucement!”, which means “watch out!” two seconds too late. Beninese women have oddly thick skin on their hands from a lifetime of work. They can grab boiling pots from a fire without oven mitts and apparently pick change out of a pile of hot coals. As I was walking away from this woman and nursing my hand, another woman yells at me, “What are you looking for?!?” I distractedly said I was looking for oranges. She shouted at me, “Those do not exist!” and walked away. I have heard my village name, Lobogo, means “under the orange tree”….It was not my day in the market.
I also happened to make friends with a new family in my village which has been awesome. I went to meet this family to ask permission to take their daughter to a girl’s camp (which I will talk about in a bit) and they were super nice and welcoming. They live on the other side of my village and it is quite a hike to get to their house. Plus it is about on the edges of the jungle and down this tiny dirt path, so I would never have found them accidentally. The mama works in the market on market day selling medicines and the father must work outside of the village because I have only met him once. Anyway, the mama doesn’t speak much French but is always so happy to see me and so welcoming. I greet her on market day at her stall and she always makes me sit down and eat something (which she buys) and promise to come eat with her family the next day. They don’t ask me for things and generally seem to just really like my company. This development is especially nice because my mama in my concession has been disappearing a lot lately to another village and is generally unhappy and unpredictable and I’m not sure how to deal with her on a day to day basis. There is also this ridiculously adorable little boy who loves in the family complex with this new family and his name is Rodrigi and he is delightful. He always runs up to me and hugs me and then hangs all over me while I’m there. In America that would most likely annoy me but here it’s nice to hang out with Rodrigi while everyone speaks Sahoue around me..
In June I had a break from monotony when I took 5 girls from my village to a weeklong girl’s camp run by PCVs. They were the top girls from all my classes and the camp was to help them make connections with other hard working girls in the south of Benin and also successful Beninese women who had worked really hard to get where they are in the hopes of inspiring them to stay in school and make Benin a better place for themselves and their daughters. There were also hygiene, sex ed, study skills, and malaria prevention sessions, to name a few. It was really cool to be a part of such an awesome event. There are very few girls who graduate from secondary school in Benin and go on to university to become professional women. Most girls drop out to get married, have children, or work. It is also very difficult for girls to keep up in school while they have so much responsibility at home. The best part of the camp, I think, was the small group time the girls had to talk to various successful Beninese women. There was a mayor, a doctor, an entrepreneur, and several other professions. I can tell my girls a thousand times to stay in school and work to become something more but if I strong independent Beninese woman says it, there is such a big difference. This camp inspired me to attempt to do a girl’s camp in my region next year for all the top female students in the surrounding schools. I’m currently talking to my work partner and other people in my village to see if it is possible. If anything comes of this, I’ll let you know…probably by asking for money for it lol.
After the camp, I went directly to Cotonou to welcome the new volunteers who came to Benin this summer!!! It was really cool to be with them their first few days in country and explain life in Benin to them a little bit. It was also weird to have that many new Americans around. I’ve become so used to seeing them exact same people all the time that having new Americans here was surreal. Seven of them are coming to live and work in my region and 2 of them are going to be around an hour away from me!!! New friends! I am going to bombard them with intense energy. They swear in on Sept 15 and move to their villages a few days after that. I also had to say goodbye to the volunteers who were leaving this summer as well. We serve for two years and a new group comes every year so all my friends from the group who came the year before me were leaving to go back to America. That was very difficult, especially with the people from my region. Those were the volunteers I saw the most and they became my support network and my family. We had regular taco nights (not real tacos, but close) and hang outs and it is going to be a little difficult at first to not have them around. But with the new volunteers replacing them and coming to new posts in my region, I should be good. And to think, I have less than a year left here! Crazy! School starts in a couple weeks, along with my reading/discussion club, so bring on the machetes!!!!
Funny story/ridiculous story: When I was buying fried yams in my market a few weeks ago I was handed a coin straight from the red hot coals of the mama’s fire. How did this happen? Well I handed her a bigger coin and needed change. She exchanged the coin with a different woman and in the transfer, dropped one of the coins in to the fire that she was frying yams on. She proceeded to pick up the coin out of the fire with her bare hands and then hand me my coins. Not paying attention, I grabbed the coins and one of them burned a hole into my palm. As I drop the coin and swear, the woman says, “Doucement!”, which means “watch out!” two seconds too late. Beninese women have oddly thick skin on their hands from a lifetime of work. They can grab boiling pots from a fire without oven mitts and apparently pick change out of a pile of hot coals. As I was walking away from this woman and nursing my hand, another woman yells at me, “What are you looking for?!?” I distractedly said I was looking for oranges. She shouted at me, “Those do not exist!” and walked away. I have heard my village name, Lobogo, means “under the orange tree”….It was not my day in the market.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Who wants to send me to America?!?!
So I would really love to come home to Cleveland for a few weeks in August/September but I have no money, being a Peace Corps Volunteer and all. This is why I have created this super awesome paypal button on my blog!!!! The money will go into an account that my older sister Mandi manages for me and she will buy the ticket! I need about $3,000 for a ticket and I'm hoping people will be willing to contribute! I realize that it may sound silly to me living in Africa and asking for a donation for myself, but I would really love a break before starting my second year of teaching here. So please donate!!!! :)
Sunday, April 17, 2011
White trash bush woman
My friend Scott came to visit for the weekend and I think my maman was excited to show off two white people for all her guests. In Lobogo, everyone calls her “yovo” which is the term for a foreigner or white person. Angele is definitely black, but she has an albino daughter and has had three different white women live in her concession over the last six years, so she has gotten the nickname, “Maman Yovo”. A few weeks ago, some white people were visiting my village and saw my albino concession sister and asked to take a picture of her. Angele agreed and then said something along the lines of, “You know…we have a real white person who lives here too…”. She brought them to my house to greet me. I had been taking a nap and was extremely disoriented when all of a sudden there were three white women standing outside my door. I got up and walked outside and I must have looked like a crazy white bush woman to them. I was wearing only a tissue wrap and my hair was disheveled and my normally adequate French was hindered by my sleepy state. I could barely form a coherent sentence and the fresh from Europe Frenchwomen looked horrified to find someone in such a sorry state in a remote African village. “You live here? By yourself?” They asked with a mixture of confusion and pity. It was ridiculous. There have been a lot of random white people in my village lately which is strange and they always seem to catch me at my most unkempt. But I guess I can't fault that since I am in an unkempt state quite often here. The problem is that I only notice it when I occasionally go some place nice in Cotonou and instantly realize that I look like a homeless person and that it isn't necessary to look like a bum all the time here. Honestly, I think Peace Corps Volunteers are like the white trash of the aid workers in Benin. We always have less money and look so much more stressed out and dirty than any other people I've seen here.
8 months in (a month later)
So depending on when I get to post this I have been in Benin for about 9 months. That is about 1/3 of my total time here, which is crazy to consider. It feels like a lifetime and yet it feels like just yesterday I left home. It is hard to reconcile my two worlds with each other. I knew when I made the decision to come here that my life would change completely. The most interesting part is how many ways I have changed that I didn’t expect. It is both beautiful and terrifying to realize how much the people here, both volunteers and Beninese, have come to be almost my entire world. That doesn’t diminish my relationships with people back home, but it is really difficult to imagine life back at home while I am here in the bush. January was a rough month for me and I even considered maybe coming home, but with the support of other volunteers and a change of perspective, I am becoming incrementally more happy here. I was getting very frustrated with teaching and life in this tiny village but I have been doing a lot of little things to make myself happier. I’ve started trying to sing a song or play a game with my students at the end of every class. Even when I have a bad day and the kids are horrible or don’t understand what I was trying to teach, it makes me feel much better to leave the classroom to a chorus of Beninese children butchering, “We are family! I’ve got all my sisters with me!” or “L is for the way you look at me!”.
A few weeks ago my maman, Angele, had a fete for her father who died in December and it was ridiculously awesome. I had heard from the previous volunteer that my concession papa, Quirin, is one of the wealthiest men in Lobogo, but it is kind of hard to grasp that when we have no running water and sketchy electricity. Although, seeing as how all the houses surrounding our concession are mud huts and we live in a cement house, maybe I should have known. Beninese people love to throw parties, especially when the deceased was really old. Angeles father used to own a buvette (bar) in town and was pretty well known in Lobogo. I never met him because he got sick before I came to Lobogo. Angele told me about the fete two months ago and I expected a reasonable sized party that lasted all day. Little did I know. Every day of the week leading up to the fete there seemed to be more and more women and children congregating in my concession bringing water, huge cauldrons, and food items. I really loved this week a lot. The women were overjoyed and entertained when I offered to do any simple task to help out. They thanked me profusely when I washed like five dishes one afternoon and in my mind they responded like this when I sat with them on mats in the concession pealing garlic, “Look at the yovo pealing garlic! Isn’t she cute!!” It was beautiful to see the network of women who came to offer help. One afternoon a group of about twenty women came into the concession with basins of water on their head to help fill the huge jugs of water that were to be used to prepare, cook, and clean. They called Angele out and sang to her and offered her the water. Then they saw me standing there with a Beninese baby on my hip and proceeded to sing to me and dance around me. It was amazing. It really made me think about all the women I have in my life who have helped me and supported me over time and miss them a lot.
The fete was scheduled to happen on Saturday. By Friday night there were two canopies set up in the concession and four huge speakers. The music was turned on Friday night and did not stop until Monday afternoon. People came to greet Angele, offer condolences, and eat and drink for three days straight. When a new group of people came into the concession, the dj would yell, “Wuezo! Wuezo!” which is welcome in Sahoue and that group would find some empty seats. Angele and her husband would them come to greet them and thank them for coming. Then one of the women (family members, friends, neighbors, etc.) would bring the group beers and the first round of food, which was rice and goat meat. I know for a fact that it was goat meat because I had to listen to the goats being slaughtered and hacked apart every morning before the fete-ing started. There are always goats wondering around my concession but on Friday three special goats had been brought into the concession and tied to a wooden post. Saturday morning I woke up to a mysterious hacking sound and theorized on what it might be but I didn’t realize it was goats bone being hacked apart with hatchets until Sunday morning when I walked out of my house and saw a guy doing it. The second round of food was pate or akassa, both of which are made with corn flower and sort of the consistency of mashed potatoes accompanied by a sauce and fish and eaten with your hands. After this there was a lot of dancing and yelling and funness to be had by all.
A few weeks ago my maman, Angele, had a fete for her father who died in December and it was ridiculously awesome. I had heard from the previous volunteer that my concession papa, Quirin, is one of the wealthiest men in Lobogo, but it is kind of hard to grasp that when we have no running water and sketchy electricity. Although, seeing as how all the houses surrounding our concession are mud huts and we live in a cement house, maybe I should have known. Beninese people love to throw parties, especially when the deceased was really old. Angeles father used to own a buvette (bar) in town and was pretty well known in Lobogo. I never met him because he got sick before I came to Lobogo. Angele told me about the fete two months ago and I expected a reasonable sized party that lasted all day. Little did I know. Every day of the week leading up to the fete there seemed to be more and more women and children congregating in my concession bringing water, huge cauldrons, and food items. I really loved this week a lot. The women were overjoyed and entertained when I offered to do any simple task to help out. They thanked me profusely when I washed like five dishes one afternoon and in my mind they responded like this when I sat with them on mats in the concession pealing garlic, “Look at the yovo pealing garlic! Isn’t she cute!!” It was beautiful to see the network of women who came to offer help. One afternoon a group of about twenty women came into the concession with basins of water on their head to help fill the huge jugs of water that were to be used to prepare, cook, and clean. They called Angele out and sang to her and offered her the water. Then they saw me standing there with a Beninese baby on my hip and proceeded to sing to me and dance around me. It was amazing. It really made me think about all the women I have in my life who have helped me and supported me over time and miss them a lot.
The fete was scheduled to happen on Saturday. By Friday night there were two canopies set up in the concession and four huge speakers. The music was turned on Friday night and did not stop until Monday afternoon. People came to greet Angele, offer condolences, and eat and drink for three days straight. When a new group of people came into the concession, the dj would yell, “Wuezo! Wuezo!” which is welcome in Sahoue and that group would find some empty seats. Angele and her husband would them come to greet them and thank them for coming. Then one of the women (family members, friends, neighbors, etc.) would bring the group beers and the first round of food, which was rice and goat meat. I know for a fact that it was goat meat because I had to listen to the goats being slaughtered and hacked apart every morning before the fete-ing started. There are always goats wondering around my concession but on Friday three special goats had been brought into the concession and tied to a wooden post. Saturday morning I woke up to a mysterious hacking sound and theorized on what it might be but I didn’t realize it was goats bone being hacked apart with hatchets until Sunday morning when I walked out of my house and saw a guy doing it. The second round of food was pate or akassa, both of which are made with corn flower and sort of the consistency of mashed potatoes accompanied by a sauce and fish and eaten with your hands. After this there was a lot of dancing and yelling and funness to be had by all.
That's Actually A Dog That You're Eating...
I just ate a potentially E.Coli filled half-raw omelet sandwich. My second gas can ran out of gas just as I was about to flip my possibly delicious onion omelet over in the skillet. My options at this point were numbered and pretty obvious. I could walk over to my concession maman’s while wearing my requisite panya house wrap, raw egg filled skillet in hand, or I could flip the omelet over as fast as possible and attempt to use the remaining heat in the pan to partially finish the job. Guess which option I went with?!? I placed the soggy omelet onto a loaf of bread, which managed to soak up/disguise some of the raw egg goop. It was surprisingly delicious. No one told me one of my areas of personal growth in the Peace Corps would involve discovering what new lows I can bring myself to where food is involved.
Here is a list of gross or just plain sad things that I or PCVs I know have eaten:
-Crystallized slugs disguised as pretty pink candy in Niger
-Little round mystery meatballs suspected to be goat testicles
-A piece of goat that appeared to contain both teeth and a hairy nostril
-An entire log sized igname after an ill fated first trip to the marche in village
-About 10 pieces of gum all at once that exploded from the container and landed on the ground
-Mashed ignames mixed with a potentially 2 year old Mac n Cheese cheese packet left by a previous volunteer
I had a dream recently in which I was hurrying around a grocery store, Super Market Sweep style, and frantically putting everything I wanted to eat in my shopping cart. I stopped short at one of those giant plastic jars of dill pickles that appeared to be illuminated from above by something more than mere supermarket fluorescent lights. As I excitedly reached into the jar to get a pickle, a pair of tongs appeared in my hands and the jar turned into a hot dog dispenser. Next to it were all the ketchup, mustard, and relish you could ever want. As I continued through the store, the hot dog in my hand turned into a peanut butter container that I began attacking with my bare fingers. I’m not exactly sure what point I’m trying to make in telling that story, but seriously, how awesome is the idea of a huge pickle jar/hot dog dispenser?!? Also, think about how much more tolerable our mystery meat food would be here if it came in a delightful hot dog shape and was served on a bun with endless amounts of ketchup and mustard. A hot dog made of real dog meat? It’s at least got to be more visually appealing than my runny, undercooked excuse for an omelet sandwich.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Wait....those Giraffes Really live here?! Wierd or Day 3 in Niger
Day 3: Niamey to Malanville (and Giraffes!)
6am – Sam wakes up with eyes swollen shut from mysterious and invisible bugs. Dione: “Well, is it better now?” Bevin: “I don’t know, I didn’t put my glasses on to check.”
6:50am -- Man with bus who's taking us to Malanville is, confusingly, 10 minutes early. He's also brought 3 extra men with him, one of whom is wearing a ski mask. The van has bars on some of the windows. Briefly wonder aloud if we're being kidnapped, then get in the car anyway.
9:13am -- Arrive at entrance to giraffe park! Get cameras out and practice our action shots while taxi man negotiates with guide. Also buy omelette sandwiches -- you can't be a National Geographic-quality photographer on an empty stomach.
10:30am -- After driving around in the bush (like on sand and stuff -- we had to get out once or twice because the bus got stuck) for an hour plus, the taxi man tells us that there's a pretty good chance we won't see giraffes because of the season. The guide, who's riding on top of the van, talking fast in Hausa, and pointing at things with a stick agrees. Try to be tough and not cry, despite crushing disappointment.
10:36am -- Bevin, who is not riding on top of the van, speaking in a local language or carrying a stick, spots a giraffe on the horizon.
10:42am -- We get out of the van and take pictures of a pregnant giraffe! Trip is ruled an automatic success. Also, giraffes are determined to look/move a lot like dinosaurs, based on our highly qualified opinions.
11:37am -- Leave park. Super-professional taxi man announces that he'll leave us here, but we're in good hands with his driver. We depart for Malanville.
12:03pm -- Driver stops van on side of road to tell us that he won't take us to Malanville, but to a city in Niger on the border. He also tries to add more people to the van, which we've spent extra money to have all to ourselves . This begins a series of arguments over the next three hours that leaves everyone angry and headachy.
2:30pm -- Finally get to the border, pay the *$^&$% driver a reduced fee. Discover that it's actually easier to cross the border without the mandatory WHO Card than with it. Rosa is almost refused entry into Benin, thanks to the visa that the Nigerien embassy filled out incorrectly. Rosa sweet-talks the border guards, and we make it to Matt's house alive.
5:30pm -- Decide we're starving, make a massive pile of spicy eggs and breakfast potatoes for dinner. Share life plans (Lissa determines that she should probably have a life plan). Roll out mats on cement floor, and go to bed early, content to be "home" in Benin.
6am – Sam wakes up with eyes swollen shut from mysterious and invisible bugs. Dione: “Well, is it better now?” Bevin: “I don’t know, I didn’t put my glasses on to check.”
6:50am -- Man with bus who's taking us to Malanville is, confusingly, 10 minutes early. He's also brought 3 extra men with him, one of whom is wearing a ski mask. The van has bars on some of the windows. Briefly wonder aloud if we're being kidnapped, then get in the car anyway.
9:13am -- Arrive at entrance to giraffe park! Get cameras out and practice our action shots while taxi man negotiates with guide. Also buy omelette sandwiches -- you can't be a National Geographic-quality photographer on an empty stomach.
10:30am -- After driving around in the bush (like on sand and stuff -- we had to get out once or twice because the bus got stuck) for an hour plus, the taxi man tells us that there's a pretty good chance we won't see giraffes because of the season. The guide, who's riding on top of the van, talking fast in Hausa, and pointing at things with a stick agrees. Try to be tough and not cry, despite crushing disappointment.
10:36am -- Bevin, who is not riding on top of the van, speaking in a local language or carrying a stick, spots a giraffe on the horizon.
10:42am -- We get out of the van and take pictures of a pregnant giraffe! Trip is ruled an automatic success. Also, giraffes are determined to look/move a lot like dinosaurs, based on our highly qualified opinions.
11:37am -- Leave park. Super-professional taxi man announces that he'll leave us here, but we're in good hands with his driver. We depart for Malanville.
12:03pm -- Driver stops van on side of road to tell us that he won't take us to Malanville, but to a city in Niger on the border. He also tries to add more people to the van, which we've spent extra money to have all to ourselves . This begins a series of arguments over the next three hours that leaves everyone angry and headachy.
2:30pm -- Finally get to the border, pay the *$^&$% driver a reduced fee. Discover that it's actually easier to cross the border without the mandatory WHO Card than with it. Rosa is almost refused entry into Benin, thanks to the visa that the Nigerien embassy filled out incorrectly. Rosa sweet-talks the border guards, and we make it to Matt's house alive.
5:30pm -- Decide we're starving, make a massive pile of spicy eggs and breakfast potatoes for dinner. Share life plans (Lissa determines that she should probably have a life plan). Roll out mats on cement floor, and go to bed early, content to be "home" in Benin.
Day 2 in Niger!
Day 2: Niamey
8am – While eating breakfast in Niamey (Niger) Rosa receives phone call from Peace Corps vice head honcho Lauren: “Whatever you do, don’t go to Niger.” Um…
10am -- Go to Musee National, discover that the actual museum is closed. Vendors outside are, however, excited to see us. Buy Nigerien jewelry and gorgeous batiks. Find man to take us to Malanville tomorrow; are surprised and slightly suspicious about how professional he is.
10:15am -- Sam, Lissa and Rosa go to bank to see if we've been paid (we haven't), while Dione, Bridget and Bevin wander around the Musee grounds and zoo. The latter three spend 15-20 minutes blocking small children from playing on giant slide because they want to slide themselves.
Noon -- Meet at Grand Marché for rice, beans, and lots of talk about our lack of money (thank you, hotel). Calculate how much we need to get back to Benin, realize we're short by about 50 mille ($100). Brainstorm alternative sources of income, most of them legal.
1pm – Lissa calls her mother: “So… we may or may not be stranded in Niger. Can you Western Union me $50?” Two hours later, she receives $300. To the same question, another volunteer’s mother responds, “I am going to kill you.”
3pm – In order to be bien integré, we try crystallized slug “chewing gum.” Street urchin subsequently receives a cadeau (gift).
6:25 pm – Eat dinner/watch sunset at awesome buvette on the water. Bridget: “What is this weird, awesome sauce on my peas?? ...Oh my god, it’s butter!” (Everyone gasps.)
7pm – Bevin tells story about how father and brother make fun of her math skills.
7:30 pm – Spend 45 minutes trying to figure out dinner bill because 7 and 9 look similar. Determine that this is the fault of “Bevin Math.”
8am – While eating breakfast in Niamey (Niger) Rosa receives phone call from Peace Corps vice head honcho Lauren: “Whatever you do, don’t go to Niger.” Um…
10am -- Go to Musee National, discover that the actual museum is closed. Vendors outside are, however, excited to see us. Buy Nigerien jewelry and gorgeous batiks. Find man to take us to Malanville tomorrow; are surprised and slightly suspicious about how professional he is.
10:15am -- Sam, Lissa and Rosa go to bank to see if we've been paid (we haven't), while Dione, Bridget and Bevin wander around the Musee grounds and zoo. The latter three spend 15-20 minutes blocking small children from playing on giant slide because they want to slide themselves.
Noon -- Meet at Grand Marché for rice, beans, and lots of talk about our lack of money (thank you, hotel). Calculate how much we need to get back to Benin, realize we're short by about 50 mille ($100). Brainstorm alternative sources of income, most of them legal.
1pm – Lissa calls her mother: “So… we may or may not be stranded in Niger. Can you Western Union me $50?” Two hours later, she receives $300. To the same question, another volunteer’s mother responds, “I am going to kill you.”
3pm – In order to be bien integré, we try crystallized slug “chewing gum.” Street urchin subsequently receives a cadeau (gift).
6:25 pm – Eat dinner/watch sunset at awesome buvette on the water. Bridget: “What is this weird, awesome sauce on my peas?? ...Oh my god, it’s butter!” (Everyone gasps.)
7pm – Bevin tells story about how father and brother make fun of her math skills.
7:30 pm – Spend 45 minutes trying to figure out dinner bill because 7 and 9 look similar. Determine that this is the fault of “Bevin Math.”
Adventures in Niger: Day 1
The following is a log of important events from our trip to Niamey. Collectively written by Bevin Kloepper, Rosa Lehman, Bridget Kennedy, Dione Folmer, Lissa Glasgo, and Sam Speck.
Day 1: Malanville to Niamey
7am -- Leave our amazing friend Matt's house. Get zem to border, cross border, get taxi to Niamey. Cram four people into the back row of a poorly designed mini-bus... poorly designed because Rosa, who stands about four feet tall, could not sit up straight in her seat. The rest of us looked like pretzels.
9am -- After waiting for an hour in very uncomfortable seat (sans explanation, of course), we begin 6 hour hell ride to Niamey on a very very broken road. Are collectively amazed at how tiny Nigerien villages are. We live in tiny villages here, but at least the PCVs here are guaranteed a cement house...
4pm -- Arrive in Niamey! Our spines cry tears of joy. Find a buvette to grab a cold drink and a snack, and to call the Peace Corps Niger Safety & Security Officer, because we don't know how to get to their office (where we're planning to stay).
4:13pm -- Are told by S&S Officer that PC Benin wasn't supposed to allow more than 4 people into Niger over break. Including us, there are 11 PCVs in Niger. Are told not to come in or near any official PC Niger buildings.
4:47pm -- Finally find a hotel, which is nine times more expensive than staying at Peace Corps Niger would have been. Are angry on behalf of our damaged budgets.
4:52pm -- Check in, go to rooms. Discover hot water, decide that all is right with the world.
7ish pm -- Eat expensive but delicious meal at hotel (coconut chicken!), drink actually delicious Biere Niger. Toast to a wonderful vacation.
Day 1: Malanville to Niamey
7am -- Leave our amazing friend Matt's house. Get zem to border, cross border, get taxi to Niamey. Cram four people into the back row of a poorly designed mini-bus... poorly designed because Rosa, who stands about four feet tall, could not sit up straight in her seat. The rest of us looked like pretzels.
9am -- After waiting for an hour in very uncomfortable seat (sans explanation, of course), we begin 6 hour hell ride to Niamey on a very very broken road. Are collectively amazed at how tiny Nigerien villages are. We live in tiny villages here, but at least the PCVs here are guaranteed a cement house...
4pm -- Arrive in Niamey! Our spines cry tears of joy. Find a buvette to grab a cold drink and a snack, and to call the Peace Corps Niger Safety & Security Officer, because we don't know how to get to their office (where we're planning to stay).
4:13pm -- Are told by S&S Officer that PC Benin wasn't supposed to allow more than 4 people into Niger over break. Including us, there are 11 PCVs in Niger. Are told not to come in or near any official PC Niger buildings.
4:47pm -- Finally find a hotel, which is nine times more expensive than staying at Peace Corps Niger would have been. Are angry on behalf of our damaged budgets.
4:52pm -- Check in, go to rooms. Discover hot water, decide that all is right with the world.
7ish pm -- Eat expensive but delicious meal at hotel (coconut chicken!), drink actually delicious Biere Niger. Toast to a wonderful vacation.
Going North!
This is a commentary complied by me and my friends of our trip up to Parakou before Christmas. Travel in Benin is always an adventure!
5:47am -- Leave PC Office, get zems to bus place (Etoile Rouge)
6:03 -- Arrive at Etoile to mass chaos.
6:04-6:25 -- Attempt to make sense of chaos, are told to stand/sit/be in three places at once. Are subsequently ignored by four different bus officials when asking for clarification.
6:32 -- Get on bus that might be headed to Parakou. Maybe. Or Nigeria.
6:33 -- Get off of bus to put bags underneath (as instructed by angry bus man). Walk against tidal wave of angry Beninese men and Kleenex-selling Beninese women.
6:35 -- Back on bus, get settled.
6:48 -- Get yelled at to move to extreme back of bus so that it can leave on time.
6:49 -- Rumor spreads that something is wrong with bus. All other passengers get off of bus, decide that rumor is stupid, and get back on. Crisis averted.
7:03 -- Bus leaves, weirdly on time.
7:08 -- Realize that Official Bus Man is wearing a shirt that reads, in English, "Lazy and Proud."
7:13 --Someone throws a candy wrapper out of the window. It flies back into our window and hits Dione in the face.
7:18 -- Stop to pick up more people.
7:19 -- Same man throws another wrapper out window. It hits woman in front of us in the face.
7:48 -- Bus stops in the middle of main road for no known reason. No one gets on or off. Six minutes later, we go.
7:52 -- Feel strangely cold, thanks to the first moving air I've felt in a month. Use extra jeans as a shawl/mini blanket. Jeans were clearly not invented to be blankets.
9:07 -- Michael Jackson songs start playing from a mysterious source in the back of the bus. Mysterious, as the bus has no speakers.
9:52 -- Man falls asleep on Bridget. We giggle, take many pictures.
9:40 -- Start to get out of jungly south and into the drier Collines -- rolling hills, tall grass/scrub, and considerably worse roads.
10:12 -- We watch in horror as bus almost backs over three women and a giant pile of pineapples. The women make it out alive.
11:27 -- Pass 2 semis going up a steep hill, one of which is labeled "GAS." Surpisingly, do not die.
11:29 -- Road block: cows.
12:16 -- Dione gasps "OH. MY. GOD," next to me as I'm dozing. I wake up and, terrified, clutch the seat ahead of me, certain that I am about to meet Jehovah. It's more cows.
12:59 -- In the middle of nowhere, there's a bunch of logs on the road creating a kind of stunt driving course for all passing vehicles. Our driver zigzags through at minimum 80mph.
1:21 -- Woman in front of Dione literally just reaches up, tilts her hand back, and throws her garbage directly onto Dion. We die giggling (silently).
1:30 -- We have a mini dance party in the back of the bus. All other passengers fail to noties our genius on the improvised dance floor.
2:05 -- Another woman throws trash on Dione. We're not sure she even tried to find the window.
2:08 -- Drive into giant cloud of "ass-smelling" smoke. Wording courtesy of Bridget Kennedy.
2:56 -- Arrive at stop in Parakou, successfully avoid getting trampled in mass exodus from bus. Buy wine at nearest supermarche. We made it!
5:47am -- Leave PC Office, get zems to bus place (Etoile Rouge)
6:03 -- Arrive at Etoile to mass chaos.
6:04-6:25 -- Attempt to make sense of chaos, are told to stand/sit/be in three places at once. Are subsequently ignored by four different bus officials when asking for clarification.
6:32 -- Get on bus that might be headed to Parakou. Maybe. Or Nigeria.
6:33 -- Get off of bus to put bags underneath (as instructed by angry bus man). Walk against tidal wave of angry Beninese men and Kleenex-selling Beninese women.
6:35 -- Back on bus, get settled.
6:48 -- Get yelled at to move to extreme back of bus so that it can leave on time.
6:49 -- Rumor spreads that something is wrong with bus. All other passengers get off of bus, decide that rumor is stupid, and get back on. Crisis averted.
7:03 -- Bus leaves, weirdly on time.
7:08 -- Realize that Official Bus Man is wearing a shirt that reads, in English, "Lazy and Proud."
7:13 --Someone throws a candy wrapper out of the window. It flies back into our window and hits Dione in the face.
7:18 -- Stop to pick up more people.
7:19 -- Same man throws another wrapper out window. It hits woman in front of us in the face.
7:48 -- Bus stops in the middle of main road for no known reason. No one gets on or off. Six minutes later, we go.
7:52 -- Feel strangely cold, thanks to the first moving air I've felt in a month. Use extra jeans as a shawl/mini blanket. Jeans were clearly not invented to be blankets.
9:07 -- Michael Jackson songs start playing from a mysterious source in the back of the bus. Mysterious, as the bus has no speakers.
9:52 -- Man falls asleep on Bridget. We giggle, take many pictures.
9:40 -- Start to get out of jungly south and into the drier Collines -- rolling hills, tall grass/scrub, and considerably worse roads.
10:12 -- We watch in horror as bus almost backs over three women and a giant pile of pineapples. The women make it out alive.
11:27 -- Pass 2 semis going up a steep hill, one of which is labeled "GAS." Surpisingly, do not die.
11:29 -- Road block: cows.
12:16 -- Dione gasps "OH. MY. GOD," next to me as I'm dozing. I wake up and, terrified, clutch the seat ahead of me, certain that I am about to meet Jehovah. It's more cows.
12:59 -- In the middle of nowhere, there's a bunch of logs on the road creating a kind of stunt driving course for all passing vehicles. Our driver zigzags through at minimum 80mph.
1:21 -- Woman in front of Dione literally just reaches up, tilts her hand back, and throws her garbage directly onto Dion. We die giggling (silently).
1:30 -- We have a mini dance party in the back of the bus. All other passengers fail to noties our genius on the improvised dance floor.
2:05 -- Another woman throws trash on Dione. We're not sure she even tried to find the window.
2:08 -- Drive into giant cloud of "ass-smelling" smoke. Wording courtesy of Bridget Kennedy.
2:56 -- Arrive at stop in Parakou, successfully avoid getting trampled in mass exodus from bus. Buy wine at nearest supermarche. We made it!
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