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.
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