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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