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.
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