So, my computer is gone. Crazy, huh? No, it wasn’t stolen. It had a hard ride in a bush taxi. There’s even a crack in the back. I knew better than to take that taxi, but they convinced me to wait and take them. The last time I rode with them they had a lepper in the car. Yes, leprosy still exists and is still contagious. Anyway, the driver disappeared with the car (and my bag in it) for about 30 minutes to load up more stuff and people. I didn’t even see them drive away, or else I would have gotten my bag. They eventually showed up again and all my stuff was there, so I didn’t think anything of it. The next day, Sunday, I pull it out to do some typing only to find it won’t turn on. I turn it over and see the hairline crack right where the hard drive sits. To make a long story short, I’ve tried and tried since then, but I’m just not having any luck. Sometimes it will turn on and even load up, but soon after it always dies. Either something was shaken loose (hopefully), and therefore can easily be repaired, or else it is something broken. I opened it up and checked the RAM and it seems okay. I would need more proffesional tools to get to the rest. Luckily my neighbor, who is well-to-do and has a computer (desktop) at work, is also having trouble with his computer and he has a technician coming. I guess there might still be some hope, but I’m doubting it.
Some of you might no me well enough to know how much I really enjoy my toys… especially my computers. Knowing this, you might be worried about me and my mental stability at this point. You know, that wouldn’t be withot reason. The first day I was worried too. I couldn’t stop retracing my steps, just imagining myself waiting another day for a different bush taxi, or even just holding my bag, or taking a more expensive moto taxi (motorcycle). Hindsight is 20/20, right? That first night I was so upset that nightmares disrupted my sleep all night long. I barely slept.
The next day I was dragging a bit, and I spent a lot of time tearing into my computer and trying to repair something I couldn’t see. This just depressed me more, so I stopped and tried to relax. I decided I couldn’t stay inside any longer, so I went for a walk.
On my walk I made my usual rounds, but I didn’t feel like speaking French, so I went to visit the Dutch couple in town.
First of all, I should tell you how amazing these people are. They moved here about 7 years ago and they are working against your typical beurocracy all the time, just trying to give people free and reliable health care. Not only do these people aww me, but they also remind me of my parents. The doctor, Mary-Ann, is high strung and very into her work. The husband is the lab technician, and he is quiet and has a quirky sense of humor. Plus, you can usually find him in their garage making something. They speak English as well as French and a few other languages… it’s really nice to have someone around who speaks English.
When I got there I was surprised to find a line of people waiting for Mary-Ann. It was Monday, and she was supposed to strat work again that day. Politics and buerocracy had stopped her for a few months, and they were still stalling. They hadn’t given her permission to start practicing again, so now the sick people were at her house. Some had come 40 to 50 km to visit her with their problems.
Seeing these people was a sobering experience. Here I am wanting to talk about my dead computer when there are women with babies dyeing because the mothers are so malnutritioned they can’t make milk. Others were elderly, some had wounds thatthey were patiently nursing. Others seemed to be there to ask Mary-Ann to visit somebody at their homes because the person can’t walk.
All of this made me feel even worse about my computer problem, but now I was beating myself up more then anything. How can I worry about a computer? These people aren’t eating and some look like they’re dyeing in front of me, and I’m worried about a computer!? Stupid stupid yovo.
I asked Mary-Ann if she needed any help, but there wasn’t much I could do. I waited till the line eventually dissipated. Mary-Ann plopped down next to me, smiling as always, but looking exhausted. I told her about my stupid problem, and I told her I just was really looking for someone to talk to more than anything. Well, I can’t tell you how much better she made me feel. I don’t know if it was her smile and energy, or if it was the resemblence of my mother, or if it was the stories of all her computer and electronic tragedies, but something made me aware of reality again.
The truth of it all is that I will have another computer, it’s just a matter of time. At least I’m still alive. That stupid bush taxi was so crammed full of people and so piled high with junk on top that I should be glad I’m not dead. Screw the computer. I can live without it. At least I can still live. I’m not hungry. I’m not even sick. I’m just too rich to know that life exists beyond computers.
It’s crazy how the bad, awful things that happen are always the one that make you learn the most. At least I’m still alive and capable of learning. Anyone can make themselves miserable by dwelling on things, when actually things aren’t really that bad.
To all of you at home, have fun and don’t let things control you like I do. They are just things. What really matters is what you create in yourself and with others. If somethings not going perfectly then do like the Africans do… just smile.
Oh yeah, and don’t worry about me. I couldn’t be better.
sarah
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Thursday, November 9, 2006
New pictures!
The order goes from oldest to newest. Enjoy!
This picture was taken in a village that we visited in stag (training). This guy is in his 60s and he is the Magic Man of the village. The daiperesque thing he is wearing is actually made of monkey skin, and he received it when he became the magic man and he is not allowed to take it off or wear anything else. This is the guy who preforms ceremonies where chickens and other animals are sarcrificed to please a/the god(s).
This is my group of business and information technology volunteers that I swore in with. These are also the people I spent all the 2 months of stag (training) with. We are having our first conference/gathering this week, so maybe there will be more pictures of these people soon. We are wearing 'la meme tissue'. It's a tradition that sectors all by the same tissue (material), so everyone had these things made just for this celebration. That is a very Beninese thing to do. They love their fetes (celebrations)! All the African-looking people in the picture are... African.
These are some of my boyz after the swear in ceremony.... On the left is Ryan and on the right is Jose. Jose's my closest volunteer in Benin, so we've become pretty good friends. Ryan is down in the south, but equally fun!
This is me with most of my host family. A few of the kids left town before I finished stag (training), which is when this picture was taken. ...Just a note; I've since lost the chubbiness I gained in stag (and in this picture). Mama's (at least) daily serving of french fries definitely shows here.
This is a little isle at my local market (marche in french). You might call it the vegetable isle, but there are many more veggies than this. The brown pile of nut-looking things are an herbal medicine to help stop a runny nose. The marche mama to the left is my usual onion and garlic lady.
These are a group of volunteers swimming at a swimming hole (hopefully 'sans schista'). Notice how they are surrounded by locals? It's amazing how people come flocking to gawk at the whiteys. Even if no one were stripping down to a bikini they would still come to watch! ...I've got to say though, the bikinis might help. It just solidifies the images of us that they get from Hollywood. You can't see it in this picture, but behind the photographer (who shall remain un-named) there is actually a line of men, maybe 20 of them, just staring together. It seems like it might have been as interesting to watch the locals as it was for them to watch the whiteys.
Cultural note: Even black americans are seen as lighter than the locals, and therefor sometimes called half-white or white. All my asian-american friends usually get called Chinese, and even people with origins in Mexico or the middle east are considered white. Also, the lighter your skin is the more beautiful you are, so they think we are all beautiful. People here even by soap with bleach in it to make them look lighter.
Extra note (and just for my Dad): Yes, that is a volunteer in the background teaching the local kids to throw a football.
This is a road leading to a marche in a bigger town. This is a very typical street. All over Africa people drive moto's like the ones here, women balance things on their heads, and marche products, meaning anything from radios to veggies, are displayed on sheets of plastic on the ground. Some marche's have tables instead, but this is pretty typical. In case your taking notes, this is no where near the center of the market. This is like taking a picture of the Oklahoma State Fair from the parking lot... relatively speaking, that might as well be where this picture was taken from in Africa terms.
Okay, so the walls may still be blank, but the new, beautiful furniture makes it a little more of a home! This are what they call paigne chairs. They fold up, and everything is made from teak. Teak is cheap and disposable here. People burn it to cook with. Those curtains are also new and, though they may look ghetto, I'm actually fairly proud of them as well. Also, note the wood paneling on the ceiling; this is typical for a nicer beninese house, and I believe that's teak as well.
Sorry it's sideways, but I took this picture when I went hiking one day. This shows off some of the beautiful, untouched rock around Boukoumbe!!! This rock is only about 35km (22 miles) out of town. Now, If anyone's interested in exploring with me....
sarahinafrica@gmail.com
So, that's all for now. Maybe I'll load some more from this week, but don't count on it. I've stayed up all night just to load these pictures now, but luckily there is free internet at the Peace Corps building where I am now (Internet cafes are never open all night... which sucks.).
I hope all of you are doing well back at home! Things are going well here, and I have to say it's really starting to feel like home. I think I might actually belong here.
Anyway... bundle up, doctor your colds, and start searching for a plane ticket to visit me!
Sarah
This picture was taken in a village that we visited in stag (training). This guy is in his 60s and he is the Magic Man of the village. The daiperesque thing he is wearing is actually made of monkey skin, and he received it when he became the magic man and he is not allowed to take it off or wear anything else. This is the guy who preforms ceremonies where chickens and other animals are sarcrificed to please a/the god(s). 
This is my group of business and information technology volunteers that I swore in with. These are also the people I spent all the 2 months of stag (training) with. We are having our first conference/gathering this week, so maybe there will be more pictures of these people soon. We are wearing 'la meme tissue'. It's a tradition that sectors all by the same tissue (material), so everyone had these things made just for this celebration. That is a very Beninese thing to do. They love their fetes (celebrations)! All the African-looking people in the picture are... African.
These are some of my boyz after the swear in ceremony.... On the left is Ryan and on the right is Jose. Jose's my closest volunteer in Benin, so we've become pretty good friends. Ryan is down in the south, but equally fun! 
This is me with most of my host family. A few of the kids left town before I finished stag (training), which is when this picture was taken. ...Just a note; I've since lost the chubbiness I gained in stag (and in this picture). Mama's (at least) daily serving of french fries definitely shows here.
This is a little isle at my local market (marche in french). You might call it the vegetable isle, but there are many more veggies than this. The brown pile of nut-looking things are an herbal medicine to help stop a runny nose. The marche mama to the left is my usual onion and garlic lady.
These are a group of volunteers swimming at a swimming hole (hopefully 'sans schista'). Notice how they are surrounded by locals? It's amazing how people come flocking to gawk at the whiteys. Even if no one were stripping down to a bikini they would still come to watch! ...I've got to say though, the bikinis might help. It just solidifies the images of us that they get from Hollywood. You can't see it in this picture, but behind the photographer (who shall remain un-named) there is actually a line of men, maybe 20 of them, just staring together. It seems like it might have been as interesting to watch the locals as it was for them to watch the whiteys. Cultural note: Even black americans are seen as lighter than the locals, and therefor sometimes called half-white or white. All my asian-american friends usually get called Chinese, and even people with origins in Mexico or the middle east are considered white. Also, the lighter your skin is the more beautiful you are, so they think we are all beautiful. People here even by soap with bleach in it to make them look lighter.
Extra note (and just for my Dad): Yes, that is a volunteer in the background teaching the local kids to throw a football.
This is a road leading to a marche in a bigger town. This is a very typical street. All over Africa people drive moto's like the ones here, women balance things on their heads, and marche products, meaning anything from radios to veggies, are displayed on sheets of plastic on the ground. Some marche's have tables instead, but this is pretty typical. In case your taking notes, this is no where near the center of the market. This is like taking a picture of the Oklahoma State Fair from the parking lot... relatively speaking, that might as well be where this picture was taken from in Africa terms.
Okay, so the walls may still be blank, but the new, beautiful furniture makes it a little more of a home! This are what they call paigne chairs. They fold up, and everything is made from teak. Teak is cheap and disposable here. People burn it to cook with. Those curtains are also new and, though they may look ghetto, I'm actually fairly proud of them as well. Also, note the wood paneling on the ceiling; this is typical for a nicer beninese house, and I believe that's teak as well.
Sorry it's sideways, but I took this picture when I went hiking one day. This shows off some of the beautiful, untouched rock around Boukoumbe!!! This rock is only about 35km (22 miles) out of town. Now, If anyone's interested in exploring with me....sarahinafrica@gmail.com
So, that's all for now. Maybe I'll load some more from this week, but don't count on it. I've stayed up all night just to load these pictures now, but luckily there is free internet at the Peace Corps building where I am now (Internet cafes are never open all night... which sucks.).
I hope all of you are doing well back at home! Things are going well here, and I have to say it's really starting to feel like home. I think I might actually belong here.
Anyway... bundle up, doctor your colds, and start searching for a plane ticket to visit me!
Sarah
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Day to Day Life
It occurred to me that I never have told you guys what I do at post now. I can’t really say I’m doing much yet, but there some very productive things that might seem minute to you.
So, here’s a good day for me: I usually wake up somewhere around 7:30am, unless the Lariam (powerful anti-malarial medicine) has kept me awake all night. I wake up, go out to my kitchen and boil some water for my oatmeal and my instant coffee. It’s almost ironic, but the few things at home that aren’t fake or perfected are the only things that are fake here; coffee and milk. Both are powdered here. Anyway, I take that inside and sit on my bed with it, and usually I either read and eat or I turn on something to wake me up, like some Blackalicious. After I get dressed, which is usually after a shower if the water’s on (I’m terribly lucky to have a shower here), I open my door my front door and leave the screen door closed. Usually a few people come by to saluate me, mostly the 2 or 3 little kids who I occasionally give work to (such as sweeping my house and burning my trash, or getting water if it’s not on), and my neighbor Angel. I usually wait a while to see if anyone is wanting to talk to me. Sometimes someone comes by, but I usually get bored, so I put down my book and go out to make my rounds. I usually start with a visit to my favorite person in village, Mama Ynes.
I was introduced to Mama Ynes by a Fulbright Scholor who used to live here in Boukoumbé. She is an older, retired woman who lives fairly close to me. She spends most of her days taking care of her corn that she’s picked, her funion (a local grass that they make into a soup and paste), and usually the fish she might have recently bought. Mama Ynes is a very smart woman, and I get the feeling she is very respected in village because about every 15 to 30 minutes someone will come by just do saluate her. I will usually talk with her and play with her kittens for an hour or two, and then I’ll leave. Mama Ynes never lets me leave without taking something though, so I usually leave with at least a couple of pieces of really good wagashi (cheese) and a bottle of water.
After this I usually go to my favorite buvette (bar) here in town, but I’m really just going to visit with the woman who works there. She is also the owner of the bar, and she is a very ambitious woman. She is in the process of building a boite (night club) behind the current buvette, but the current buvette is made up of roughly cut trees that hold up a roof of pieces of aluminum. There is also more aluminum on the side so that her guests are blocked from the dust of the road and the rain of rainy season. She does have a really good refrigerator though, and the drinks are always really cold. She also has a fairly large tv (huge by Africa standards) where she has paid extra to get 5 channels that actually have good broadcasts (which is saying something). There is news in French from France every night, and that’s how I ended up going there, and we got to be friends in the process. A lot of times it is just her and I sitting there talking over the tv. Her name is Denise and the bar is called The Providence.
After a few hours I leave Denise, and if there’s daylight left I make one more house call to a man named Riggobert. He’s quite the entrepreneur, and he has a bunch of business ideas. He wants to get rich quick and, even though he’s one of the wealthier people in town, he always refers to himself as a poor man who just needs the money for his ideas. This is Riggoberts way of asking me for money, but I’ve always refused with the same roundaboutedness, so he now excepts me as a good person for business advice. I have offered to help him with business plans so that he might get a loan from a bank, but Riggobert is lucking for the fastest possible way of getting money. I’m afraid that he’s so eager to make his ideas work that he will end up giving all of his possible profits away to whoever he finds to be his investor. I have tried to express this fear for hours at a time before. Usually I end up leaving fairly late from his house.
On my way home, if the boutiques and marche (market) mama’s are still open and out, I usually get an orange or two, some cold water, and whatever I might have ran out of lately.
Once at home I usually cook my dinner, which is a mélange of vegetables and wagashi in a cheese (Vache Qui Rit, can find it in the states) sauce, or a tomato sauce, both served with pasta. Sometimes I do something different, but all I have is a stovetop and a dutch oven (An oven made of a large pot on a stovetop), so variety in cooking methods is a little limited.
After dinner I either read some more, watch a movie on my computer (all of which I have seen at least 4 times), or I just fall asleep. Once I pick myself up for bed, I brush my teeth and then crawl under my mosquito net and turn on my fan.
That’s a usual day. Sometimes it’s nothing like that. Sometimes I go on a hike all day, sometimes for 6 or 7 hours. I definitely never miss a marche (market) day, and sometimes I make those take up most of a day. Sometimes I go meet up with my post mates, and we’ll cook dinner together and watch movies and be Americans for a while. Maybe I’ll go visit other people in village instead of visiting one of my routine people, or sometimes I just relax around the house all day, but that’s pretty rare. That’s my life though.
I know it would be easy to mistaken me for lazy after reading this, but I honestly can’t begin work till after I learn the language, and that’s coming. Besides, life is just slower here. People might have to do 5 things all the time to get by, but I assure you they rarely feel rushed or over-worked. It’s a different culture completely, and this is just life.
Soon I will start giving business formations to a women’s group here in town, but I’m not comfortable with my language skills yet. Also, once the language comes, I will start trying to help with the development of tourism in Boukoumbé. If anyone has any books I can read on developing tourism, please send me the name. Boukoumbé has no previous infrastructure for tourism, and I have no idea where to begin.
I hope all of you are having a wonderful life. Don’t catch cold over there!
Sarah
So, here’s a good day for me: I usually wake up somewhere around 7:30am, unless the Lariam (powerful anti-malarial medicine) has kept me awake all night. I wake up, go out to my kitchen and boil some water for my oatmeal and my instant coffee. It’s almost ironic, but the few things at home that aren’t fake or perfected are the only things that are fake here; coffee and milk. Both are powdered here. Anyway, I take that inside and sit on my bed with it, and usually I either read and eat or I turn on something to wake me up, like some Blackalicious. After I get dressed, which is usually after a shower if the water’s on (I’m terribly lucky to have a shower here), I open my door my front door and leave the screen door closed. Usually a few people come by to saluate me, mostly the 2 or 3 little kids who I occasionally give work to (such as sweeping my house and burning my trash, or getting water if it’s not on), and my neighbor Angel. I usually wait a while to see if anyone is wanting to talk to me. Sometimes someone comes by, but I usually get bored, so I put down my book and go out to make my rounds. I usually start with a visit to my favorite person in village, Mama Ynes.
I was introduced to Mama Ynes by a Fulbright Scholor who used to live here in Boukoumbé. She is an older, retired woman who lives fairly close to me. She spends most of her days taking care of her corn that she’s picked, her funion (a local grass that they make into a soup and paste), and usually the fish she might have recently bought. Mama Ynes is a very smart woman, and I get the feeling she is very respected in village because about every 15 to 30 minutes someone will come by just do saluate her. I will usually talk with her and play with her kittens for an hour or two, and then I’ll leave. Mama Ynes never lets me leave without taking something though, so I usually leave with at least a couple of pieces of really good wagashi (cheese) and a bottle of water.
After this I usually go to my favorite buvette (bar) here in town, but I’m really just going to visit with the woman who works there. She is also the owner of the bar, and she is a very ambitious woman. She is in the process of building a boite (night club) behind the current buvette, but the current buvette is made up of roughly cut trees that hold up a roof of pieces of aluminum. There is also more aluminum on the side so that her guests are blocked from the dust of the road and the rain of rainy season. She does have a really good refrigerator though, and the drinks are always really cold. She also has a fairly large tv (huge by Africa standards) where she has paid extra to get 5 channels that actually have good broadcasts (which is saying something). There is news in French from France every night, and that’s how I ended up going there, and we got to be friends in the process. A lot of times it is just her and I sitting there talking over the tv. Her name is Denise and the bar is called The Providence.
After a few hours I leave Denise, and if there’s daylight left I make one more house call to a man named Riggobert. He’s quite the entrepreneur, and he has a bunch of business ideas. He wants to get rich quick and, even though he’s one of the wealthier people in town, he always refers to himself as a poor man who just needs the money for his ideas. This is Riggoberts way of asking me for money, but I’ve always refused with the same roundaboutedness, so he now excepts me as a good person for business advice. I have offered to help him with business plans so that he might get a loan from a bank, but Riggobert is lucking for the fastest possible way of getting money. I’m afraid that he’s so eager to make his ideas work that he will end up giving all of his possible profits away to whoever he finds to be his investor. I have tried to express this fear for hours at a time before. Usually I end up leaving fairly late from his house.
On my way home, if the boutiques and marche (market) mama’s are still open and out, I usually get an orange or two, some cold water, and whatever I might have ran out of lately.
Once at home I usually cook my dinner, which is a mélange of vegetables and wagashi in a cheese (Vache Qui Rit, can find it in the states) sauce, or a tomato sauce, both served with pasta. Sometimes I do something different, but all I have is a stovetop and a dutch oven (An oven made of a large pot on a stovetop), so variety in cooking methods is a little limited.
After dinner I either read some more, watch a movie on my computer (all of which I have seen at least 4 times), or I just fall asleep. Once I pick myself up for bed, I brush my teeth and then crawl under my mosquito net and turn on my fan.
That’s a usual day. Sometimes it’s nothing like that. Sometimes I go on a hike all day, sometimes for 6 or 7 hours. I definitely never miss a marche (market) day, and sometimes I make those take up most of a day. Sometimes I go meet up with my post mates, and we’ll cook dinner together and watch movies and be Americans for a while. Maybe I’ll go visit other people in village instead of visiting one of my routine people, or sometimes I just relax around the house all day, but that’s pretty rare. That’s my life though.
I know it would be easy to mistaken me for lazy after reading this, but I honestly can’t begin work till after I learn the language, and that’s coming. Besides, life is just slower here. People might have to do 5 things all the time to get by, but I assure you they rarely feel rushed or over-worked. It’s a different culture completely, and this is just life.
Soon I will start giving business formations to a women’s group here in town, but I’m not comfortable with my language skills yet. Also, once the language comes, I will start trying to help with the development of tourism in Boukoumbé. If anyone has any books I can read on developing tourism, please send me the name. Boukoumbé has no previous infrastructure for tourism, and I have no idea where to begin.
I hope all of you are having a wonderful life. Don’t catch cold over there!
Sarah
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Reality Check
I feel like I need to write today. I’m not quite sure why. I know I’ve been reading some Steinbeck lately, and I really find his style inspirational, but I can’t say I really have much subject matter.
One thing is for sure though: Within these last few days I feel as though I have started seeing things in a completely different light. The reason? I guess you could say I took a vacation. I took a few days where I spoke very little French, saw very few non-white people, ate food that tasted as close to home as possible, and read and even watched movies in English. It really was a vacation though, because when I finally took the brave step to leave my shelter, I finally realized where I am and why. I don’t know if I can say that had really hit me in a while. I started to see things though.
I feel like an idiot for all of the things that I blocked out. The realities of life here… and there are so many of them.
One thing I started to see was the hungry eyes. There are thousands of them everywhere. All of them look at me in a dull emptiness, maybe with a little bit of hope even. It was just pure selfishness that kept me from seeing them before. I started thinking about these eyes a little more… I started looking around. So many of them are so young. You can hear the statistics that say the median age of a population and think to yourself, “Wow, that’s young”, but seeing so many hungry eyes that are under the age of 20 is a little disheartening. I saw some of these eyes on a bush taxi the other day. It was a little old 60’s model mini van with 5 people crammed into every row, with 6 rows in total. On the top of this bus was a pile of things about 15 feet high (not including the height of the car). This car took off with all of us crammed underneath this pile, some on the top next to it, headed for the dusty pothole-ridden road that was to stretch before us for the next 25km (15miles).
I was in the most comfortable of seats, because there were only 4 people in our row. They have a tendency to make these exceptions for us yovos (once again, this is the word for white people). One of the rows in front of me was riding backwards though, and it was full of children. These children were actually sitting on the incredibly hot compartment, which covers the engine of the vehicle, and they were all being shipped to a neighboring village for the market day. Those kids… I couldn’t stop staring. They looked so hungry, so frail, and so innocent. I directed my attention to the one that I had the best view of. She was probably 7 or 8 years old, and her hair had that light brown color to it… the color of serious malnutrition (in the worst of cases children will actually be blond from malnutrition). Right before the taxi had taken off I had bought an egg sandwich, and this girl had been trying not to watch me eat it. After eating a little more then half I offered the rest to her, and she refused. I tried to make her take it again, and then the lady next to me tries to convince her, and when it was refused again she pockets it for herself for later. I then asked her why the child had refused. “Many people put medicine in food to make children sick, and she doesn’t know that you wouldn’t do that.” It hit me quickly… could she be talking about Ruffies (spelling?), the date rape drug?
Whatever the ‘medicine’ was she was referring to, these children thought that I might be trying to poison them with something. I found myself with a very disgusting, sad feeling in my stomach. What a vile place this is for these children. What a short childhood.
Another thing that I have begun to see is the utter hospitality of people here. Many of these people have very little income, and yet they all welcome me, a stranger, into their homes and offer me their nicest things. It’s not just because I’m white either. I have seen them do this with many of their neighbors, kin, and friends. Even if there is nothing to share, you at least share what is for you.
There is a woman in Boukoumbé who I truly love to visit who is the epitome of kindness and hospitality. Her name is Mama Ynes, and she is an older retired woman with a nice house surrounded by cornfields, zinnias, and impatiens. She passes much of her day saluating all of the people who come to say hello to her, and every time I have been to visit her it seems that there has been at least one person every 30 minutes. Mama Ynes does have quite a bit for African standards, and she shares all of it with every single visitor. Every time I visit I must take a bottle of bottled water and three wheels of wagasi (the local sponge-looking cheese. Very good stuff.), which is enough to eat for a week. “Sarah, you must take it.” she always says, “If you don’t take the gifts people give you, you will look like you have ill will against them (une voleur, in French).” For this reason I cannot refuse.
These aren’t the only things that I’ve just begun to realize. There are so many beautiful, sad, and amazing things that didn’t really hit me before now. Why is it that so many things like these just became apparent to me? One might theorize that I wasn’t ready for them before now, that I was overwhelmed and unable to take in anymore. Maybe that’s true. Still, I feel as though my black and white world just received a whole lot of color… or maybe I should say it received a whole lot of gray. Well, it’s reality... and I can only hope to see as much as possible, good or bad.
Good luck with the cold!
Sarah
One thing is for sure though: Within these last few days I feel as though I have started seeing things in a completely different light. The reason? I guess you could say I took a vacation. I took a few days where I spoke very little French, saw very few non-white people, ate food that tasted as close to home as possible, and read and even watched movies in English. It really was a vacation though, because when I finally took the brave step to leave my shelter, I finally realized where I am and why. I don’t know if I can say that had really hit me in a while. I started to see things though.
I feel like an idiot for all of the things that I blocked out. The realities of life here… and there are so many of them.
One thing I started to see was the hungry eyes. There are thousands of them everywhere. All of them look at me in a dull emptiness, maybe with a little bit of hope even. It was just pure selfishness that kept me from seeing them before. I started thinking about these eyes a little more… I started looking around. So many of them are so young. You can hear the statistics that say the median age of a population and think to yourself, “Wow, that’s young”, but seeing so many hungry eyes that are under the age of 20 is a little disheartening. I saw some of these eyes on a bush taxi the other day. It was a little old 60’s model mini van with 5 people crammed into every row, with 6 rows in total. On the top of this bus was a pile of things about 15 feet high (not including the height of the car). This car took off with all of us crammed underneath this pile, some on the top next to it, headed for the dusty pothole-ridden road that was to stretch before us for the next 25km (15miles).
I was in the most comfortable of seats, because there were only 4 people in our row. They have a tendency to make these exceptions for us yovos (once again, this is the word for white people). One of the rows in front of me was riding backwards though, and it was full of children. These children were actually sitting on the incredibly hot compartment, which covers the engine of the vehicle, and they were all being shipped to a neighboring village for the market day. Those kids… I couldn’t stop staring. They looked so hungry, so frail, and so innocent. I directed my attention to the one that I had the best view of. She was probably 7 or 8 years old, and her hair had that light brown color to it… the color of serious malnutrition (in the worst of cases children will actually be blond from malnutrition). Right before the taxi had taken off I had bought an egg sandwich, and this girl had been trying not to watch me eat it. After eating a little more then half I offered the rest to her, and she refused. I tried to make her take it again, and then the lady next to me tries to convince her, and when it was refused again she pockets it for herself for later. I then asked her why the child had refused. “Many people put medicine in food to make children sick, and she doesn’t know that you wouldn’t do that.” It hit me quickly… could she be talking about Ruffies (spelling?), the date rape drug?
Whatever the ‘medicine’ was she was referring to, these children thought that I might be trying to poison them with something. I found myself with a very disgusting, sad feeling in my stomach. What a vile place this is for these children. What a short childhood.
Another thing that I have begun to see is the utter hospitality of people here. Many of these people have very little income, and yet they all welcome me, a stranger, into their homes and offer me their nicest things. It’s not just because I’m white either. I have seen them do this with many of their neighbors, kin, and friends. Even if there is nothing to share, you at least share what is for you.
There is a woman in Boukoumbé who I truly love to visit who is the epitome of kindness and hospitality. Her name is Mama Ynes, and she is an older retired woman with a nice house surrounded by cornfields, zinnias, and impatiens. She passes much of her day saluating all of the people who come to say hello to her, and every time I have been to visit her it seems that there has been at least one person every 30 minutes. Mama Ynes does have quite a bit for African standards, and she shares all of it with every single visitor. Every time I visit I must take a bottle of bottled water and three wheels of wagasi (the local sponge-looking cheese. Very good stuff.), which is enough to eat for a week. “Sarah, you must take it.” she always says, “If you don’t take the gifts people give you, you will look like you have ill will against them (une voleur, in French).” For this reason I cannot refuse.
These aren’t the only things that I’ve just begun to realize. There are so many beautiful, sad, and amazing things that didn’t really hit me before now. Why is it that so many things like these just became apparent to me? One might theorize that I wasn’t ready for them before now, that I was overwhelmed and unable to take in anymore. Maybe that’s true. Still, I feel as though my black and white world just received a whole lot of color… or maybe I should say it received a whole lot of gray. Well, it’s reality... and I can only hope to see as much as possible, good or bad.
Good luck with the cold!
Sarah
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