Girls' Camp in Bassila

All the girls from the girls' Camp we did in Bassila. The only person missing in this picture is our wonderful Beninese counterpart, Olivier. There are more pictures at the end!!!

Okay, I know I’m terrible… I should have written before now. So much has happened that I don’t know where to begin!!

The most exciting event recently was the girls’ camp in Bassila. Bassila is a town about 3 hours to the south of Boukombe, mostly Muslim, and the cultural groups there are the Ani and the Nago, and both have their own languages that have integrated a lot of Arabic into them. Anyway, this was the 2nd year of this girls camp, but the two volunteers who set it up last year both finished their services literally within 2 weeks of the end of the camp, and long before their replacements had even arrived. To top it all off, one of the new volunteers quit Peace Corps about 1 month before the camp was scheduled to start, leaving all the planning and budgeting to one new volunteer. That’s a lot of weight for one person to carry, especially in a still strange culture with a still new language. It was impressive in that aspect, but that’s not to say there weren’t some hitches.

The biggest difficulty was the lack of help. Unfortunately there were quite a few Peace Corps camps going on at the same time as this little Bassila camp, making it more difficult to get volunteers to come up and work. Also, this year they decided to rent a house and have all the girls stay in it together. The house used was a good size with a living room, 3 bedrooms and a huge front yard that was walled in. It was ideal… until the last minute when the Mama that was supposed to stay with them at the house decided that she was just going to stay at her own house at night. This left the Carly, the volunteer, with a bunch of volunteers in her house while she slept on the porch of the rented house with the girls. I can’t imagine how bad the mosquitoes were that night! So, needless to say, she was tired the whole camp. That Mama barely helped the whole camp. Then the last 2 days (out of 5) all the other volunteers left, leaving Carly and I and Olivier, our Beninese counterpart for the camp. It was hectic, but we managed!

The experience of the camp was truly fully embodied in our last field trip. Olivier, our awesome Beninese counterpart, had arranged for 2 mini-buses to come at 8am to pick us up for our day trip in Djougou, a bigger town about 1 ½ hours to the North. Breakfast was scheduled to arrive at 7am. Since it was just Carly and I at that point, we were both sleeping on the porch, a mosquito net ghetto-rigged above us. 5am the girls start getting up to take their showers, which means they had to go get the water at the faucet across the street, which mean we were quickly woken to the sound of voices and squeeky doors opening. The electricity had been cut for most of the week, so I laid there and watched the sun rise, glad to have a warm sheet on such a cool morning. 5:30am: Cries and screams start coming out of the house. Poor Carly was so exhausted that she didn’t even budge from all the noise, so I went to check it out. I found a girl bawling on the floor of one of the bedrooms with girls rubbing her legs while she screamed in pure agony. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard screams like that before.
“What’s going on” I asked
Another girl answered, “She’s sick, this is her sickness.”
‘Oh great’, I thought to myself as I went to wake Carly. With Carly’s help we easily moved the girl onto the living room couch as the girls continued to rub her legs ferociously and occasionally wrap one as tight as possible with a head scarf. The girl was yelling something in Nago, the local language. “What’s she saying?” I finally asked.
“She wants us to beat on her legs. We won’t do this. She’s irrational from the pain.”
I was overwhelmed. “What’s her sickness?” I finally thought to ask.
“Rhumatism”
I mulled the word over, searching my tired brain for the meaning. I wanted to say it was arthritis, but that didn’t seem right for a young girl. Carly, who was beyond exhausted, decided to go to her house and get the girl some aspirin as I sat there and continued to rub her legs. She was in so much pain that it was painful to watch, so I left the girls to rub her legs as I moved up and had her put her head in my lap. The sudden silence was a shock to the ears. She all-of-a-sudden just stopped balling. As she laid on my chest I could feel the moistness of her t-shirt, completely drenched in tears. Carly arrived after a while with the aspirin, and that also calmed the girl.

As I sat there the girls flew around, occasionally stopping to gawk at the sick girl. The breakfast, of course, didn’t arrive till 7:45. “It’s okay.” Carly said, “They can all eat in about 30 minutes or less. We’ll be fine. Besides one bus just arrived, but the other isn’t here yet.”

After the sick girl calmed down we sent her to change shirts and get ready. She was determined that she didn’t need to go home, and that she would be fine on the trip. She had stopped crying and was even walking a little, so we decided it would probably be okay. Once ready and fed, we loaded her in the first bus as we waited for the second.

9:30: Olivier decides to go look for another bus to take us. At least we didn’t pay the guy in advance. 10am a 2nd bus arrives and the girls start piling in. The 2nd bus had a whole row less than the 1st bus, so the girls had to squish together with 5 to a row…. And for some reason the driver of the 2nd bus, after filling his vehicle, comes over the 1st and starts having the already-loaded girls start moving so that they are 5 to a row as well, which gets the 1st driver involved, and then the apprentices for both drivers come to help their patrons, and within a minute there was 5 African men standing at the door of a sardine-packed bus with room to spare, yelling over something in Nago. Seeing she stupidity of the situation, I get involved and add my voice to the yelling, “LEAVE THOSE GIRLS WHERE THEY AAARRRREEE!!!” …no use. Men just don’t listen to women here, white or not. Seeing the intelligent approach, I went to tell Olivier what was going on, and he breaks the 5 minute discussion up with a few words. It’s so frustrating working with men here.

10:00 Start your engines, we’re ready!! … of course the 1st bus wouldn’t start though, which once again meant all 5 men came back over to the 1st bus and stared at the bus together while the drive dabbled here and there – nothing. So, everyone got out of the front seat so it could be lifted up to view the engine underneath. The driver again dabbled here and there as now 8 sets of eyes glared at him, while the other driver annoyingly puts in his two cents along with sounds of disapproval. Another minute or two and, “VVvrroooommmm!” The engine finally starts. We’re off! “It’s still only 10:30. I guess we’re not hurting to much on time.” Carly says as we roll up to where we were dropping stuff off. Carly jumps out to take care of things with some people as I stay with the girls and the driver. The driver, speaking oddly more English than French, says, “I go there” pointing to some people. I nodded. The man walks over to the group of men, says high, then walks over to a nearby taxi-moto and jumps on and takes off!!!! I caught his eyes as he looked back at me while holding up a ‘1 minute’ finger as he shot off ahead. I must have sat there astounded for a few seconds, because all girls behind me started laughing at my expression. “Where did he just go!!??!!” I asked them. “Did he tell you guys??” Everyone nodded no. Carly came back and quickly got worried by my expression. I explained what happened, and then the girls laughed at both of our expressions. We sat there for a few minutes wondering what was going to happen next, when the driver finally comes back, takes an envelope from his dash and says, “I visit moda. She live dehr. She not fa. I go now.” I flipped a little, and took advantage that he was speaking English, “No, you can’t visit your mom!!! We have everyone in the car!!! You will bring us back this evening. You should visit your mother then.” Luckily this guy wasn’t too hard to convince, so after just a little more cajoling he put the envelope back on his dash and started the car back up. Off we went.

We had left the 2nd bus to go pick up the lunch while we were supposed to pick up the disappearing camp Mama near where she worked on the main road. We found her easily, and she ran over to the window looked in to find a packed car and said, “I am waiting for Olivier’s bus.” “Okay” we respond, and we took off for Djougou.

The next hour and a half passed smoothly. Arriving on the outskirts of Djougou we decided to stop and wait for the other bus. The engine rolls to a loud stop, and everyone gets out to stretch. 5 minutes pass.
“You know, they might have passed us since we took so long dropping that stuff off.” Carly mentioned. “Maybe they’re ahead of us.”
“It is possible. Can you call Olivier?” Carly tries to call. His phone doesn’t ring.
“He might be behind us because his phone isn’t working… but we did take a long time. Maybe his battery’s dead. Let’s go ahead into town.” We all loaded up into the car again. The driver turns the key. Gr-gr-gr-gr-gr. Silence. Try again. Gr-gr-gr-gr-gr. Silence. “It not go now.” The driver says as he calls a man nearby over to push us. We were right off the cement of the road on probably a 5 degree angle with a big, stagnant puddle 10 feet in front of us. The two of them push… no luck. The driver tells 3 girls to get out and push, this time helping push it backwards to avoid the nasty puddle. The engine still doesn’t start and the 5 of them aren’t enough to get the bus back on the pavement. “Wouldn’t ya know. Let’s do it.” I say as Carly and I get out to push, quickly followed by all the other girls. We pushed it forward again. We pushed it back onto the pavement again. We pushed it forward again. Back onto the pavement again. Forward again, and, finally the engine roars up and we all run to jump into the moving vehicle. I turned around to see a bunch of sweaty smiling faces as I started a head count, only to turn back around to the slowing of the car again… our driver had voluntarily stopped at a police stop not 500 feet in front of where we had just come from.

Let me explain about policemen here in Benin. Ya see, there are a LOT of cars in Benin that just don’t want to get their paperwork for their vehicle. Maybe they just work a local route, or maybe they can’t afford it. After all, it costs an arm and a leg. Anyway, most roads aren’t barricaded, they’re just mostly blocked off, letting everyone pass and only stopping ‘suspicious’ vehicles. Suspicious vehicles, if in the wrong, can usually be let off with a small private donation – a bribe. Luckily though, a lot of people just roll through the stops without any problems. Let’s face it, you don’t want to take too many bribes or else it might get back to your superiors… and your average policeman works so hard fattening their pockets that they need at 20 hours of sleep a day… my point is, about 60% of vehicles fly through without a hitch.

But our driver willingly stopped at this police stop, knowing that he didn’t have his papers and that that would be of interest to the police. He takes 2,000 francs ($5usd) of his pay in advance from us as he gets out of the car to talk to the policeman. The policeman, taking not of the 2 white women in the front seat, strolls back to the vehicle, acting as though he’s truly outraged, “Can you believe this man hasn’t bought his papers in 3 years!! 3 YEARS!!! And here he is putting you and all these young girls at RISK!!! Mesdames, you are not secure in this vehicle!! What do you think of that?!!!” He obviously assumed we were stupid enough to possibly side with him on the ordeal. I just turned to him and quietly said, “It’s between you and the driver.” The policeman turned to Carly and started in, “And you??!! This man is putting you in danger!!”
“It’s between you.” Carly responded, without even a turn of the head. As we sat there the other 2nd bus flew by past us with a few black arms sticking out of the windows and waving. Luckily it didn’t take to much longer, and we soon were left to pass with the little tip the driver had offered.
The other bus had gone on to meet with the women who made cloth, and we quickly found it without to much trouble. In arriving, Olivier quickly asked, “Where’s Mama Angelique????”
“She said she wanted to go with you.” we each replied.
“No, you were going to take her. I didn’t pick her up!” Olivier responded.
Ooops.

The rest of the trip seemed to go well. I got to see most of the tour of the hand-made cloth shop before the sick girl had another attack of pain. She broke out a bottle of her own medicine, and reading in English I found what they were calling arthritis; the girl had Sikle-cell Anaemia. I was shocked again!!! Now it all made sense. I vaguely remembered hearing somewhere that that was one of the most painful diseases anyone could have. Wow. I sat with her till the first tour was over, then another girl tied her on her back like a baby and took her to sit in the bus.

The woman who gave us a tour of the cloth factory was so excited to have a group of girls there, that she lead us to visit a metalworker, a jeweler, a leather worker who made shoes and purses, and a man who made makeup and other cow products, like cow hide jewelry boxes and hats. She single-handedly made the day a huge success, and all other problems seemed worth all the fun. The poor Sickle-Cell girl sat in the car crying the whole time with another girl who spoke her language. I wasn’t much help, so I took the role of trip photographer for most of the day. We got back while the sun was still setting with a load full of very happy, pumped-up girls.

That’s the perfect example of how the whole camp went. It was one thing after another, but it was really all about the girls, and I think they had a great time and learned a lot. I was so excited to help them learn to take hold of their lives, and this year my French was so much better than last year that I could even teach them sessions without them giggling at my mistakes. By the end of the camp all the girls were in tears, and I have to admit I was the worst of them all. It was all so difficult and exhausting and frustrating, but all so very worth the trouble.

In case your curious, Sickle-Cell anaemia is actually a hereditary disease that causes the red blood cells to take a sickle shape instead of their normal round, flexible shape. Because of this, they sometimes get blocked up in the system and restrict oxygen from the blood vessels downstream, causing attacks that, in the developed world, need opioids to calm the pain. It can cause strokes, ulcers, gallstones, and much more, and the average lifespan of an inflicted person is 42 to 48. Interestingly though, Sickle-Cell is more common in places where malaria exists, because people with Sickle-Cell have red blood cells that aren’t conducive to the parasites causing immunity to malaria altogether. Crazy, right?

This was a long post, huh? Well, I hope you all are doing well. I have about a month left in Boukombe, then 2 months of travel, and then I’ll be home!! I look forward to it.

Sarah


All the girls singing in the bus. They had about 5 camp songs that we sang everywhere we went.


Here the girls are learning about weaving cloth.


In this little shop the girls learned about making aluminum products. The workers here can make 3 to 4 spoons a day like this one, and they can sell them for $4 a piece.


These girls are looking over the materials and tools used to make jewelry at the jewelers.


This man made these things out of cow hide.


After touring all the different workers' shops, The woman who was helping us also introduced us to her mother. Her mother was the one that taught her to weave, and here you can see she is in the process of starting a loom.

The times, they are a Changin'

These are some of my neighbor kids in my reading group. When I took this picture I told them to smile like they were laughing, so they all started to laugh like crazy... hence the great facial expressions! I love these kids.

It’s that time of year again! School is finally over here, the rains finally started, all the school kids have gone back to their villages and everyone has gone to the fields. Bent over with a 13th century style farming tool, people turn over the moist soil by hand until they make neat rows, rows that turn into swimming troughs and drinking holes for ducks and cows when it rains. After the soil is arranged they take a mango branch and, hole by hole, poke it into the ground and drop a seed in. This goes on and on till all of their land is planted, all of their father’s land is planted, all of their brothers lands are planted, and so on.

Now’s also the time when the water tables rise back up. Soon water will be above the low parts of most roads, making transportation all the messier. All this standing water also means that it’s mosquito season again, which means people will start getting even more sick from malaria or colds, which they’ll conveniently call malaria anyway. The only good things that the rain brings are more food and colder weather. Whip out those winter coats everyone, it’s 85*F outside!! …and they do. They actually do catch cold here if it’s colder than about 85*. I’ll admit, I even put on a coat!

Unfortunately, it’s also time to say goodbye to people. My service is quickly coming to an end, and I’ll actually leave Boukombé around August 15th. Most of my work is wrapped up or will be easily right before I leave. My latest business club ended a few months ago without as much success as the year before. My reading club with all of my neighborhood kids will free up the kids’ Saturday mornings once I’m gone. My good friends in town will go on with their lives and probably talk about me and how nice I was, how fat I was (remember, that’s a compliment here. It means you’re a big person basically.), how my parents came, how I liked to work with kids and education, and how I used to always bake breads and cakes and cookies and share them with everyone. I hope that’s what they’ll remember. I don’t think anybody here thinks badly of me, but if there are some then those people might talk about how I bargain like an African, how they might think I traveled too much, how I refused to marry an African, or how I never really quite mastered Ditammari (the local language).

You might want to ask if I think I’ve been a successful volunteer. My answer would definitely be a yes. I really do believe so. After all, I’ve achieved exactly what I came here to do. In leaving home, I knew I wanted to grow along with a community and help them grow without just giving handouts. I helped kids by mentoring them and teaching them basic business practices. I even took a group of 15 on a business trip and introduced them to successful people who weren’t always well educated and some who were even successful even though they are handicapped. I helped a women’s group start a micro-credit union amongst themselves, and by the end some women could show me their increased savings balances in their account books because of their loan. I’ve helped kids learn English, and I’ve helped them get interested in reading with my Reading Club. I’ve also helped private small business owners make personal investment plans, which are helping them save the money to improve their businesses and their lives. I lived with a host family for over 2 months, and there I learned about life in the house of a Muslim family, and what it must be like to have 20 to 30 kids in a household all the time. I’ve also taught people about my culture, and I’ve learned an incredibly lot from them. I’ve also grown up while being here. I’ve learned patience, self-reliance, confidence, perseverance, what it’s like to be a minority, humiliation, and for a time I even experienced being poor first hand.

I’m truly going to miss my friends here. Most of all I’m going to miss Mama who has adopted me as her own and who I will never forget. I’m going to also miss my neighbor kids. They have always made me laugh, even on my darkest and most difficult days here. I’m going to miss Zena (a nickname), an intelligent female student of mine that has become a good friend and a huge help to me. I’ll never forget my work partner Paulin, who has always been there for me. I’ll never forget all of our discussions and all of the help he has so willingly given me. I’ll really miss Therese, who has always been a great friend and defended me till the end against the racism of others. I’ll miss my tailor lady, Fassi, who has always been a good friend and a willing student when it came to learning western-style clothing. If only you all could see some of the things we’ve produced! I would love to name off everyone I’ll never forget, all the women, all the artisans, all the people at the mayors office, all the people at Zongo (where the Muslim women sell things)… there’s just not enough time or space, but I’ll never forget any of them.

What next? I’m not quite sure. I would like to learn more languages, especially Chinese and/or Spanish, and I’m thinking I would like to continue to work abroad to some extent. It’s not like I have the fear of going home that so many volunteers develop, but it’s more that I feel like I have so much to learn about the world, and there’s so much I want to experience! I have an offer for grad school in China, but it’s starting to look unlikely that I will take it. I’ll probably take the GMAT again once I get home and apply to better schools. Right now it seems more and more likely that I’ll be putting off grad school for work though.

I’m really excited about my upcoming Close of Service trip!!! A friend, conveniently also named Sara, and I are going to make a tour of West Africa! She is going to meet up with me a week after I COS (Close of Service), but we’ll be going through Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, and then back to good ol’ Benin where we’ll fly to Paris together and hang out for a few weeks. Then, to top it all off, I’ll meet my parents in Italy in mid October for a family vacation! I should be touching down on that sweet American soil no later than mid October! Oh that beautiful land of grocery stores, fast food and coffee shops… and broccoli, cheese, spinach, tomatoes… I’ll be seeing you soon!!! Is it too obvious that I can’t think about anything but food? That must be the malnutrition speaking.

Well, I’ll probably only write once or twice more before my service is over. It’s crazy to imagine that I won’t be writing about Boukombé and Peace Corps anymore. Anyway, I hope you all are doing well, and I look forward to seeing you all in just a few months. Isn’t it crazy how time flies???

Sarah



This is me with my new haircut. It's now the shortest it has ever been.

NEWSFLASH!

So much has happened since I wrote last!!!

First things first: I now have my official COS (Close of Service) date; August 25th, 2008. After that I plan to travel around West Africa for about 1 1/2 months before I fly home. Don't worry, I've got a travel partner!

A couple of weeks ago I had my COS conference with the other 45 or so volunteers that I swore in with. Peace Corps put us up in a really awesome hotel where we ate buffet-style for 3 meals a day!!! It was really nice, actually... it was the exact getaway I needed! Unfortunately I didn't get to hang out with the other volunteers as much as I had hoped. I had to study for the GMAT in just about all my spare time.

So, I had to schedule to take the GMAT in Ghana (2 countries over) because it's not offered in Benin or Togo. The visa's just to get over to Ghana cost about $50 USD, so I decided to take advantage of them and spend the last of my vacation days in Ghana as well. I'm actually still in Ghana right now!

Ghana is an incredible place. People are so friendly here! Also, they are on the American/British system instead of the French system, which means they speak English, eat toast instead of baguettes, work during those 3 hours in the middle of the day, and they even have fast food! I feel like I could really live here. Even though it is English speaking here, it is still surrounded on every side by French speaking West Africa... surely I could find a job here, right? We'll see. Right now I want to finish my service and my travels, then touch American soil for a while.

Since being here I've really played tourist the whole time. Ghana and Benin were the two largest exporters of slaves during the slave trade, so I spent quite a bit of time visiting the Gold Coast. The Gold Coast is, obviously, the coast of Ghana. It was named this because of all the gold found there. The Gold was actually the first thing that attracted Europeans to Africa. Gold would be traded over the Sahara from one tribe to another in the forms of traditional carvings and gold dust. Back then the people here saw it as something beautiful that could be used as decorations, so when the Europeans came in search of gold, they found they could buy it off of the locals very cheaply. Because of this, they built huge fortresses along the coast line. The Portuguese were the first to arrive, but over time they left the coast. This left the British and the Dutch as the main powers in Ghana, and after time they found that trading humans was much more profitable than trading gold. Over 250 years 65 million slaves were traded from Ghana's coast.

There are over 20 castles and forts that still stand on the coast of Ghana today, and touring them was incredible. In the Cape Coast Castle human waste would be left in the cells to the point where in one room it had solidified to a highth of 4 feet. Most castles held up to 1,000 people at a time for 2 to 3 months before being shipped off like animals... and that's not counting the 2 to 3 months WALK in shackles to get to the coast. As many as half of the people involved died before reaching the new world.

Playing tourist and seeing these forts was incredible. I visited Cape Coast Castle, Fort Victoria, and St. George's Castle. I also went to the towns of Cape Coast, Elmina, Takoradi, Kumasi, and of course Accra, the huge and wonderful capital.

Other news: I gave birth for the first time Wednesday, May 28th. I had had this swollen spot on my stomach for about a week, and after taking the GMAT I finally decided that it might be time to squeeze out all the liquids that seemed to be inside. I squeezed and squeezed, and then this line of white stuff about 1 centimeter long comes out all at once... and then it starts wiggling!!!!! I flipped out!!!! And started calling the Peace Corps doctors and explaining what happened to everyone who passed my way. I soon settled down though. It turns out it's just a common thing here, and you squeeze out the bug and it's over. They never have twins. It's actually a fly that lays larva on wet clothes, and if you don't let your clothes dry completely before putting them on then the larva will hatch on your skin and start forming a fly. Apparently, if I had left it much longer I would have started to see the fly moving under my skin!!! Crazy, right?! Anyway, I killed it right away, and ever since I've been drying my clothes to the point of obsession.

That's about all of my news though. I know this blog is a little eclectic and not well organized, but I've just been writing as things come to me. I hope all of you are doing well, and I hope to see you all when I get back in early October!!!

Sarah

Food

This is me with a bush rat I bought on the road from Boukombe to Natitingou. It had just been killed and some of its hair was being plucked when I bought it, hence his white bald spot on his side. I ate him that same evening. He was tasty!!!

I always love my weekly phone calls from the States. I love just hearing familiar voices, hearing about day to day life back at home, hearing about how wonderful things are over there. I like to hear that most of day to day life is just as I remember it. I love imagining everyone in the air-conditioned bubbles, the work bubble, the car bubble, the store bubbles… the stores…

I like to imagine all the things you could buy in the States. If I were there, I would jump out of my house bubble and into a car bubble and drive down to the nearest grocery store bubble where all the produce and meat I could imagine could be found, and in perfect condition (aka in their own bubbles). I might cry if I could go in a grocery store. Tears of happiness, of course. I would buy a head of broccoli, a head of cauliflower, carrots, and some big steaks. …Scratch that; I would go to Charleston’s in Oklahoma City. I would order a steak with mixed vegetables and Charleston’s glazed carrots. Maybe some potatoes too, depending on how I felt. I would hate to not eat them and be wasteful. After all, think of all the starving children in Africa.

Food is one of the things I miss most. There’s something very soothing to be found in grilled chicken or a hamburger. There is meat here, but it is all very lean. The chicken tastes rubbery and flavorless unless fried. For the small price of 3 hours of work, I could grind my own hamburger and make my own burgers… and that’s not even considering the time to make the buns. I’ll admit though, I do do that occasionally.

Food has probably been my hardest thing to deal with in living here. In the 2 years that have now passed, I’ve probably lost more than 50% of my hair, and it turns out that it’s more likely I lost it from a lack of protein than from the anti-malarial medicines as I had previously assumed. I’ve also gained weight and lost muscle mass… also results of more carbs than proteins.

It’s just so hard to eat protein here! For chicken or guinea fowl you have to wait till market day (every 4 days) to buy the live chicken, keep it alive (and crapping and crowing at 3:30am) until you want to eat it, then cut it’s throat(not easy to do with a dull knife), defeather it in hot water (which you have to get from a bucket and boil), then remove its innards and prepare for cooking. Let’s not even think about boneless chicken!!! I definitely don’t.

Beef and pork are easier, but pork is a little risky. To kill all the possible diseases in pork you have to bring the uncut beast to a high temperature I believe, and this doesn’t get done here. Pork is sold in small, precut pieces at the market though, which is less work than chicken. Beef is sold by the kilo, and you can choose with or without bones. Of course, you’re ordering this from a butcher who is standing 3 ft in front of a huge cow carcass, only to fill your order by turning around and hacking at the poor remains with a machete. There’s also a separate butcher who sells the innards, if that’s your thing. A good cow’s brain can be bought whole for the small price of about a dollar or two. And yes, I’ve eaten that, along with the skin, intestines and tongue. No signs of Mad Cow Disease yet!!!

Goats and sheep can also be bought, but your basically buying the whole baaing, squealing animal at the market. I don’t mess with that, but I’ll eat it when it’s served at places. Goat’s pretty tasty really, and of course mouton is.

My favorite meats are really the surprising ones. I really like bush rat. In fact, I will eat bush rat any chance I get!! It’s just SO GOOD. Bush rat is as huge as a rabbit, and just as decadent. Rabbits good to. I keep meaning to try dog. I hear it’s a rich mans meat. Monkey to. The monkey is always so pre-cooked that it looks disgusting though. Same for the moles. I have eaten your average rat though… it might have been mouse I guess. It wasn’t my thing, but a lot of people like it. Fried rain bugs are good, but I don't know if you would call that a good source of protein. The only thing I probably won't get a chance to try is cat. They say that cat is for really poor people and there’s not much meat. Pigeon also didn’t do much for me, but I guess if you’re eating meat mostly for the bone marrow, it might be good.

Everyone here breaks the bones and sucks out the bone marrow… yes, like a dog. My post mate ate dinner with a French woman/tourist once, and they were with some Beninese as well, and when the Beninese started chewing the bones and sucking the marrow out the French woman literally said, “Oh, like a dog!” …Which is so offensive I can’t even imagine the looks on everyone’s faces. Especially since in Ditammari (local language) calling someone a dog is a way of really putting them down. She just didn’t understand. If you throw unbroken bones on the ground or in the trash here you will most likely offend some people. At least leave it for some kids. After all, bone marrow is a great source of protein!

I do miss vegetables as well, but if you work at it you can get your veggies. We get cabbage and carrots at the Market for most of the year here in Boukombé. For a brief period at the end of the rains (September) we get eggplant and mushrooms. We seem to get green beens for a month or two after the rains as well. We almost always have tomatoes, though defunct in flavor, and onions in either white or purple. We also have okra all year around, but people don’t fry it here. If you drop raw okra into boiling water it turns into a snotty looking goo sauce, which is eaten all the time here. When anything can’t be found in Boukombé it can almost always be found in Natitingou, the big town 35miles (50km) to the East. I bring carrots back, and sometimes avocados, green beens, eggplant, radishes, and/or cucumbres.

Fruits are seasonal, but more abundant than veggies. Oranges can be found from about July to December. Bananas are a year around cheap potassium source. Papaya shows up everywhere from about December to February. Mangoes to are incredibly abundant, but only from March till May when they disappear completely. Grapefruits, melons, and pineapples (very rare up here for lack of water) all make appearances at the end of the rains (August/September) till about December. Citrons and lemons also are fairly easy to find, especially during the rains.

As I’ve mentioned before. After September we don’t see another drop of rain, much less even a cloud till March, so that limits everything that can be found here. It also determines when you can find meats. For some reason birds like to lay eggs during the rains. Also, people sell off their cows in the middle of the dry season because the poor beasts are starving and getting sick. Animals don’t get fed, they roam for food, so once the rains stop food gets more and more rare for goats and cattle. Also, one of the biggest thing lacking in Benin is an affordable transport system, whether it be with humans or produce, so we rarely see items from elsewhere. There are buses that go north and south on the 3 long paved roads that run through the country, but they are mostly for people, and they are expensive even for that (approx $16usd one way Natitingou to Cotonou – a 9 hour trip).

I just realized that I’ve probably explained my food situation in way to much detail to you. Honestly, I just really am obsessed. Luckily Boukombé gets a lot more variety than most towns its size, but in that month or two when you can’t get tomatoes here you realize how limited you are. When onions double in price and sell out early in May you can’t help but imagine that far away land of grocery stores who keep hundreds of pounds of huge onions stocked at just about the same price year round. Or what about that moment where you’re craving a steak (no matter how lean), only to realize it’s not market day or that the butcher took the market day off.

Though it might seem I’m complaining, I’m really not. I’ve gotten used to things here. Yes, it will be nice to go home to the carcass-free land of plenty, but I’m busy enjoying the here and now. There are so many incredible things to see and learn and experience here. It’s just to bad that a good piece of meat can’t be one of those things to.

Sarah

Le Dernier Baobab A Tombé – The Last Baobab Has Fallen

This is what a Ditammari Cemetary looks like.

The last baobab has fallen… it’s a beautiful phrase, is it not? It’s what people say here to signify that an era has changed, or that the last of the great symbols of a generation are gone. Today, the last baobab was actually my best friend in village’s husband.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned my Mama to you before. Mama Agness? She is an older woman, about 65, who grew up in Boukoumbe. She did not live in Boukoumbe her whole life, but she grew up here and she has retired here. In between then she was married, had 3 children, was then left by her husband, and all that time worked for 25 years as a secretary in Cotonou.

My Mama’s husband left her to start another family with his 2nd wife, and then after they had both retired he left his 2nd wife to live again with Mama. Mama is a strong and very religious woman, and so she found the strength within her to take care of him as his health started to fail him, even though she felt betrayed by how he had treated her all of their lives.

Though his health was fairly good within the last few years, he had been having bouts of tension (I assume they were strokes), and the last one hit him hard. He lost a significant amount of weight and strength, and on his return it was hard to recognize him from all the weight and muscle he had lost. Papa was a strong-willed man, and since modern medicine wasn’t working he turned to the local healers. He spent over a week out in the bushes, living with a medicine man who was giving him treatments and having him sleep on a mat on the ground, and of course there was no electricity. He did everything to try to get better, but to no avail.

Papa Alexis died on March 29th, 2008. I believe they said he was 65 or 68 years old.

I was in Cotonou at the time, but Mama called me the morning after to tell me the news. The funeral was set for 2 weeks later (In case you’re wondering, there is a morgue in Natitingou that has refrigeration). That was last Saturday, April 12th.

Now, I have seen funerals before, but I had never seen a funeral for an old man from Boukoumbé. For young people, aka people without children, the funerals are very sad and morose. On the other hand those who reached old age have their lives celebrated.

This particular funeral was more than a funeral – it was a all-inclusive town event! Everyone made sure nothing was planed for Saturday, because no one wanted to miss the funeral. Ya see, Papa Alexis wasn’t just an ordinary man. After he left Mama for his 2nd wife he was promoted to be a big chief in the Police department in Cotonou. Big men get big celebrations.

It all started on Friday night at 8pm. The body was not there, but everyone gathered and spoke about Papa Alexis. It ended with a ministre speaking, which was when I showed up. My excuse for being late: Nothing ever starts on time in Africa! …except for funerals apparently. Anyway, after the memorial service was over coffee and bread (both specialties) were served to help people stay awake all night. That’s right, they stayed awake all night in memory of Papa Alexis. I drank my coffee and went home to go to bed.

The real, official ceremony started at 7am on Saturday. Mama had the viewing of the body in her living room. In preparation for this, within days she had completely replaced the linoleum on the floors and had her front porch painted white. The masses of people lined up to walk past the body, which was incased in a locally made teak casket, featuring a window over the face where people could look in. I can’t say I got much time to look at him, but let me just say that they don’t embalm the bodies here. By 8:00am this was done, so they took the body to the Mayors office so that the mayor could say goodbye. Papa had worked as a council for the mayor, and so it was a sign of his service and his importance to the community. By 9am he had arrived back to the church for his last Mass.

I found the mass to be especially interesting, because they seemed more interested on focusing on Papa Alexis’ lack of attendance in the church rather than his personality or his family or how much he would be missed, though those things were slightly mentioned. If you think about it, that’s quite a way to convert people: Come to church or we will crucify you at your own funeral!

Anyway, After mass the body was taken to a cemetery out in the bushes. It was buried, and it was encased in cement as they do at home, but people do not have headstones here, and there are not families buried together. There is a cemetery for men and only men can enter it, a cemetery for women, and another separate one for children. After the bodies are buried they put a clay pot on top with a hole in it. I assume that this is a home for their spirit, and the hole is so that the spirits can easily get in and out.

The men all went to witness the burrying, while the women were left in town to wait. Afterwards. Lunch was served at the local bar, where important invited guests were fed while the peasants were given drinks. After this, the festivities continued at Mama’s house, where canned drinks (a rarity) were served, along with plates of rice and beef, fried dough balls, beers, tchouk (the locally made beer), ice water, and even cookie packets for the kiddies were given out. Everyone sat around in the heat and talked and stuffed themselves. Me especially! I decided to leave at about 2pm for no real reason, but the party kept going till sunset.

The next day, yesterday, there was a traditional ceremony as well, which involved lots of dancing and noise, but I didn’t realize it was Papa Alexis’ traditional funeral until it was too late. It started around 4pm and ended by 7:30pm, and the ending honestly sounded like an orchestra warming up, from a distance at least.

I visited Mama again today, and she seemed distressed. I think she is tired and worn down from having to entertain and stay up all night and everything. I also know she’s sad though. She has had 4 days of nothing but talking about her deceased husband who caused her so much pain in her life, but that she can’t help but love and miss.
Most of the guests are gone, and the 2nd wife as well. Many of you are probably wondering how they get along. They are very affable towards one another. Mama realizes that it was him that searched for a 2nd wife, not the other woman searching him out. In fact the other wife (her name escapes me) was incredibly nice and very helpful to Mama.

Mama and the few relatives left are still sitting there talking about Papa, probably even as I type. When I left them they were talking about how “The last baobab has fallen.” As poetic as this is, it is a sign that they are still in mourning. The other visitors will go home soon though, and Mama will get a chance to move on and be happy again. I look forward to that, for Mama’s sake.

As for other things, well it’s hot here!!! It’s been about 110*F the last few days. It’s even hot at night, and having the fan on full blast doesn’t even seem to help at all. Well, I say that and then the electricity will get cut and I’ll realize that the fan’s not so bad after all! Hopefully the rains will start in another week or so. I keep thinking that I see or smell rain clouds on the horizon, but it must be a desert mirage. Stupid mirages.

It’s so hot that no one even leaves their houses between about 10am and 6pm. Today I got a little stir crazy and so I tried to go out and walk around at about noon, and everyone who saw me stopped me and tried to give me a ride home. “What are you doing out right now!?!? It’s too hot to walk around right now!!! Can’t you tell it’s hot?!!!?! Get on my moto, I’ll take you home…” I swear I hear that speech 10 times before I took the offer, and I only took it because I literally got blocked in by 2 people who refused to let me walk a step further. Ha ha. I guess it might have been hot outside.

As for work: I’ve got some new stuff started, but I’m hesitant to announce it because it will indefinitely fall apart if I do. I’m working with another women’s group though, and we will hopefully rebuild a flood pond, giving water to a waterless area during the dry season. I also hope to get some other classes started with this same group of women, but we’ll see how it goes. I plan to train some trainers on how to give some classes as well, but we’ll see how things go before I say to much.

That’s about all of my news. I hope all of you are doing well! It would be great to hear from you guys at any time, new and old friends alike! My email is sarahinafrica@gmail.com. Best of luck to you all.

Sarah

Robberies and Bandits Galore!!!

It must be a full moon tonight, because never have I seen so much craziness!!! Right now I happen to be in Cotonou, the capital of Benin in every way but name (Porto Novo is the offical capital), where I am staying at our office to get some work done. As always, when I am in Cotonou I walk around a lot. It's not necessary, but I do. We have what we call 'Zemidjans', which is local language for 'Get me there fast', which are taxis on motorcycles. They are safe and reliable, but honestly I just like walking.

Anyway, today I was walking around one of our many large markets where which is also surrounded by a few banks, one of them being my bank. I was walking from my bank towards the street and the market when I started hearing a popping sound from what sounded like the next road over. I didn't think anything of it and just kept walking towards the market. As I got to the main road and the market, all of a sudden the popping got louder and a wave of people overtook me. I decided that it might be a good idea to run with them, so I went to the nearest large car and hid between it and a building. After a seconds the popping stopped, and a minute or so later an armored car rolled away. I asked a fellow hider what had just happened, and they told me that some bandits had just attacked that armored car. As exciting as this was, I decided to keep moving and to get away from the market.

About an hour later, at approximately 16:30 (4:30pm), I was walking near yet another, completely different market. This market, Dantokpa is the second largest in West Africa. While I was walking around near there, all of a sudden I saw a police car speed away with lights blazing, and behind it followed between 100 and 200 motorcycle taxis who were screeming and yelling. I knew that people here didn't like theives and that they had a habit of forming a mob to chase after and kill theives, but I had never seen this before with my own eyes. ...But that trail of motorcycle taxis, THAT WAS A MOB!!! It turns out, some people had also attacked a completely different bank near Dantokpa, and there they had also shot and killed 2 gaurds. The reports don't say anyone was captured, so who knows who was in the police car... but I think there was a mob that was after them, whoever they were.

People here are very conscious of justice. That is the main principle behind gri gri (the word for voodoo magic spells). You put a spell on someone because they did you wrong, or if something happens to someone, it is because they have been cursed. Supposedly everyone does gri gri, and just about everyone fullheartedly believes in it. The only reason someone would move far away from their home is because someone that was near them was cursing them, and the only way to break the curse is to move. The people who moved don't always tell you that, but the people around them will. If someone gets sick, the go to the local magician to make them better. They might have a chicken sacrificed for them, and homeopothy is largely practiced here with many natural remedies that still remain unknown to the Western world. Many times, alcohol is administred with roots and leaves, but also many other things might be done. People no longer sacrifice humans here, but sometimes a goat or cow might be sacrificed for a big occasion. Most sacrifices are chickens though.

This information probably sounds scary to you guys out there, and I don't want to make you scared of where I am. Honestly, the people here keep there distance from the white people. And they know that seriously messing with us can get the governments involved, so they really don't give us trouble. Honestly, there is no reason to be afraid for me or for anyone other volunteer in Benin. Think of it this way: If the anal-retentive US government is letting us live all over West Africa, then it's probably not that bad. And believe me, they are anal.

Well, that's my only exciting news that I can think of. Since my bike tour I got sick, bursted an ear drum, meaning I had to go all the way down to Cotonou (9 hour trip) to get it taken care of, but it's healing up nicely. Other than that, I did start a new farmers group of about 6 people who I am teaching to grow potatoes and other things. Potatoes sell for a lot and don't require much work, so they are really excited. People just didn't know how to plant them! I'm also working to get them general information on diseases and plant pests that can help them. Their biggest weakness is their lack of information, and since I can easily solve that gap things are going well.

Well, it's getting late and I'm getting tired. I hope you are all well. I would love to hear any questions or comments on anything from you guys out there, so don't be afraid to respond. If you don't want to post a public comment, you can email me at sarahinafrica@gmail.com. I will answer within a month, since I don't always have internet.

Goodnight everyone.

Sarah

A Tour on a Whim

They say we should all be whimsical like a child. Honestly, I think this is a bad expression, because after being here for a while I see that ‘being whimsical like a child’ means hitting another child with a stick because it seemed like a funny thing to do at the moment… or to take something just because you want it, and then cry when you have to give it back (and then get beaten in front of everyone, of course). I do think we should all be whimsical though… but maybe whimsical like a… dog? Bird? Maybe the saying should simply be put, “We should all be whimsical.”

Anyway, this comes up because I did something crazy on a whim yesterday. I decided to bike from Boukoumbe to Tanguieta, then Tanguieta to Natitingou today, and then tomorrow I hope to do Natitingou – Boukoumbe. To give you an idea, I think the Boukoumbe – Tanguieta road was about 65 kilometers… so about 45 or 50 miles? It took a grueling 4 hours and 57 minutes, to be exact.

It was funny how the ride progressed. I started out at lightning speeds, flying through sand spots, throwing up a dust trail… but that only lasted about 20 kilometers. After that I kept a moderate pace, and I started looking around a bit… but then I got scared. After about the 22km mark I hit a village called Manta, and it basically was the last sign of human existence for about 15 or 20 km. No problem, right? I decided to stop in this stretch and take a Snickers Marathon power bar break, and that’s when I started getting freaked out. I was standing there with my oober nice PC American, sent-from-the-States Trek bycicle, my ipod headphones in, my CamelBack backpack on, chewing to myself when I see a spot of red in the bushes about 20ft in front of me. Then, the spot disappeared, then reappeared within a few seconds. It was a red t-shirt! Coincidentally, Creedence Clearwater Revival happened to be playing at the moment, “…Better run through the jungle. Better run through the jungle. Better run through the jungle, don’t look back again.” I found this to be good advice, so I jumped on my bike and finished my Marathon bar while pedaling at all new speeds.

There was only one possibility of who would have been all the way out there alone, wearing a shirt like that: It was a Fulani cow herder. The Fulani are very interesting people. They are migratory people, muslims, who never, maybe rarely, speak French. You can recongnize them because they always have very intricate facial scars. Their women are incredibly beautiful for their ceremonies, because they braid white sea shells into their hair, along with beads and other things, and they cover their arms with about a foot’s worth of silver metal bracelets while wearing the traditional clothing. Anyway though, they move from one place to another in the brush with their cows and their families, and they don’t like strangers. The non-migrant people here usually don’t like the Fulani, because they seem to have a reputation for being thieves and bandits. I don’t know how credible that is, but I do know there are certain positives and negatives to being migrant. Negative: Because you move around a lot, people can blame you for their problems knowing that you would just disappear at the first sign of ill will. Positive: Because you are migrant it is much easier to steal and just get away with it. I took the safe root and decided that I wouldn’t let my red-shirted friend prove which was correct.

Back to my bike trip: By about the last 20km I was really starting to hurt. I had run into a new geological area, which meant my red-dirt and gravel roads had turned into a path of compacted white clay with interludes of fine sand, great for sinking into. The clay was bumpy, which turned my *cursed* buttocks into a finely ground meat, while the sand would make me stop and get off to pull my tires out and onto the next patch of clay. It was tedious, but I just kept looking to the mountains next to me and thinking how incredible it is here, and also how glad I was that I’m not male. Also, I was really out in the brush. None of the people I came across spoke French, and most probably had never seen white skin before. To give you another idea, no one passed me from either direction for a good 20-25km!

I passed quite a few people in my last 15km, but very few spoke French. 10km before arriving I hit a town called Tayacou, where a friend of mine lives. Unfortunately she had just left for Tanguieta on her bike as well, so I painstakingly finished those last 10km to the big town of Tanguieta. On arriving I went straight to the white-person store (I usually call them yovo stores), and bought myself some shortbread cookies and a coke, which I scarfed while I called Yesenia.

Yesenia came and, after a beer, showed me the way to the volunteers house where we were crashing. I had arrived right at dark (18:00), so it was good to have someone there who knew the way. I showered and fell asleep soon afterwards, only to awake to burning calves in the middle of the night. The hard cot I was sleeping on didn’t help either.

The next morning I got up to turn off my phone alarm in the other room, only to find I was walking like a toddler! My muscles eventually loosened, so I decided to try to bike to Natitingou as planned. It is a paved road between Tang and Nati, so I thought it would be easier. Ha! I was ready to kill myself on the first hill. Plus, everyone I saw asked me for money, and some of them seemed scary enough to take what I wouldn’t give them (and I never give anything, by the way). Luckily that was all my imagination… although children were relentlessly chasing after me and grabbing on to my bike as the shouted, “Give me candy!” I got so fed up with it, and so tired, that after about 15km I was ready to flag a taxi. No one passed me for quite some time though, but the next person that did stopped for me, and I got in. I made it half way, a good 20km or so out of 45. …and of course we made the other 25km in 15 minutes!

Since then I’ve eaten and showered and written this post. Tomorrow I plan on finishing my triangular tour by biking the last 45km back to Boukoumbe. We’ll see if I feel up to it tomorrow!

Other than this, things are going well for me. I’m working with people on personal financial plans and I’m about to start a Training of Trainers session, which would give a group of people the information needed to teach others about certain business practices, like marketing, accounting, or personal finance.

There have been other exciting developments lately as well. I’ve started a new garden, where I am also going to start a compost pile. I had the mud bricks for it made 2 days ago. My garden is going well, but there are termites that have moved in to eat all the cow refuse that I’ve used as fertilizer, which means they are also munching on my seeds. Also, I had something or someone kick up about half of my garden one night, making it all feel a little pointless.

Another crazy development: I had a complete stranger (white, British, female) come ask to stay at my house if necessary, because she was moving to Boukoumbe and couldn’t find a place. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I said, “maybe.” Well, of course she ‘moves in’ for a visit 3 weeks later, making me have to feel like a jerk when I had to kick her out a week and a half after that. It just didn’t work, and I didn’t want to be too associated with this stranger. If people see two white people together all the time, they just assume that if one is nice or not nice that the other is or isn’t to, and I didn’t want to have to deal with that. Plus she was using my house like I was the stranger… but I won’t get into that. I’m trying not to rant about it anymore.

That’s about all of my news though. I hope all of you are doing well, and I hope the weather’s not to cold! Best of luck to you.

Sarah

Obamamania

I don’t know if it’s the combination of a good Ben Harper CD and a well-written Economist article, but every time I read something about Obama I get goosepimply. I’ve never heard such an incredible speaker (I caught the New Hampshire caucus speeches before going home), but the greatest thing is that I believe what he’s saying. And that’s coming from me, who would usually be the first to tell you that pretty words and false promises get you nowhere.

I’ve done some reading about him since that caucus… I’ve wikipediad all the candidates. I’ve followed the United States section of The Economist as if it was always the most interesting part of the magazine (which it rarely is). I’ve imagined, and I’ve thought it over, and I like what I see.

Granted I’ve only heard one speech, but it was his loosing speech in New Hampshire, and it was shockingly powerful. He sounds so much like Martin Luther King, Jr., and images of Kennedy were floating through my head the whole time. That’s the most exciting part: I would have loved to have lived in the Kennedy era. After all, the first thing Kennedy did in office was form the Peace Corps! Other than that, he helped start the evolution that has made the United States what it is today. The political forums of the day changed rapidly in that time, along with economic, technological, and social aspects of the US. Kennedy himself embodied many of those ideas of the day, and I wish I could have seen it.

I’ve been saying it for a while, but I’ll say it again: I can’t help but feel like our nation might experience another intensive face-lift like that of the 60’s, although maybe milder. The situation is being set up, and people are getting tired of the crap. Pointless wars, a President that makes us all look like idiots, a President that makes us feel like idiots, a system of senseless bureaucracy that eats people whole… health care bureaucracy, Political pork-barrel bureaucracy, insurance bureaucracy... We need a leader who will face these issues and keep on top of things, and I can’t help but think Obama might be that man.

Also, we could use a revamp on the international aspect as well. Right now we might be the most irritating nation on the international stage. We might be in close competition with Russia in that aspect, but do we really want to compete with them like that again? Obama already has an international mentality. His father was Kenyan, his Grandfather a Muslim, and he grew up in Indonesia. It doesn’t get much more international than that!

Also, here’s a little known fact: Although Obama is going through the hustle bustle stupidness of campaigning season, he has still taken the time to try to help Kenya, his father’s birth place. If you don’t know, Kenya is in a real predicament right now. They had a election campaign a few months ago, and the old presidency probably should have been overthrown by the opposition. The two parties are split by tribe, and so the people of the opposition got so upset by this that they have taken to the streets against the leading party. 500 have died already and 200,000 plus have taken to the streets. Obama’s father was a Luo, the opposition tribe, but Obama isn’t putting his support in based upon this. He has called the Luo leader though and asked him to at least try to talk to Mr. Kibaki, the President, and evidence has shown that he did try to call him several times, even though Kibaki doesn’t seem interested.

Do you see what this means though?!?!?!? We, the United States, have a bad history of ignoring international problems. We always get so focused on ourselves and our minuscule internal problems that we don’t even see the real problems of the world. We have time and time again ignored genocide. The United States, the most powerful nation, the nation that leads the United Nations, NATO, and has an intense effect on other world powers… we constantly ignore everyone but ourselves. A well-known example: We could have gone into Rwanda and Uganda and helped stop the fighting months before it ended, possibly saving a whole race of people that are now all but wiped from the face of the earth. We could stop the genocide in Sudan in the Darfur region, but we’re choosing to ‘let Africans handle African problems.’ I bet if oil were involved we would help.

Political agendas aside, I still have a big problem with Hilary and the Clintons taking office again. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Clintons. I look back on their 8 years as a great time for the US… but let’s think about this: We chose Bush senior for 4 years, then Clinton for 8, then Bush Junior for 8… Do we really want to have what would probably end up being 28 years of Presidents within only 2 families??? We are still a young country, a country of precedents, and we can’t afford to set that precedent. It’s already bad enough that our country is only a 2 party system, and now we chance making that even worse by limiting it to a 2 family system!!!! Also, 28 years is a long time. That would mean that my generation would have completely grown up only knowing of 2 presidential families… As much as I love the Clintons, I think variety would help us better our country. Besides, we’re the USA! We’re supposed to relish in fresh ideas!!!! And the American Dream!!! If we elect Obama, we will be showing that it’s still possible to go from rags to riches in the Country of Dreams.

I know that I haven’t even touched on mentioning Obama or Hilary’s policy ideas, but that’s just marketing, and plus they aren’t so terribly different on those issues. Okay, they’re a little different, but I’m not getting into that now.

All emails on the issue are welcome. Also, I’m afraid I’m writing exactly what everyone already knows and doesn’t care to hear… if that’s the case, please let me know. I hope all of you are doing well.

Sarah

Seeing Green

I feel sick. I just had a reality check, and it knocked me sideways. Today I invited over a friend, Maurice, to visit and talk about his problem. I think I’ve written about Maurice before. He is a Zemidjan (motorcycle taxi) here in Boukoumbe, and his moto (motorcycle) is starting to break down. He knows he can sell it for at least 100,000CFA ($200usd) because it is 1 year old, and he paid 300,000CFA for it ($600usd). The new moto he wants to get is 110,000f CFA ($220usd), and his a very common Chinese moto that runs well. He came to me with this problem a few weeks ago, and since he is my zemidjan and a friend, I’ve been trying to figure out how I can loan him the money and not risk loosing on the deal. He can’t just sell the old moto and buy the new one, because people will think that he is hurting and needing to get rid of his moto fast, so they will cut off up to $40usd on the price. He has no collateral to offer other than his bike, and if he leaves his bike with me then people will see that he had to get the money from the white person, and again the price will fall. Knowing all of this, both of us have been trying to work out a way to make his situation work. After all, this was partially the reason that my stolen purse had $300usd in it… I don’t usually take out 2 or 3 months of pay at once.

So, today Maurice came over, and after a while we started talking about his problem. Once again, we ended up getting stumped after a few minutes, so Maurice broke the silence with what he saw as a compliment:
Maurice: “You know, I could have asked to borrow the money from someone else, but everyone knows everyone’s business around here, and no one would expect me to borrow the money from you. Besides, I want to borrow it from you because (HERE’S THE KICKER ) you white people value life more than we do here.
“I’ve seen you white people. You come into town, you give out money, you buy all the kids pens and cookies and soccer balls. Everywhere you go you give stuff. I had white people that came to my house once, and I showed them how to use a bow and arrow… they gave a lot of money after that.
“I’ve seen a lot of you white people come here. There were some that came and paid to build a house for someone. In return that person has to call them every time there is a local festival, and the white people come back for a visit. The white people pay everything for him. He eats and drinks whatever he wants, and he does nothing.
“I know another white couple who came to see a tata somba (the local mud fortress housing) once, and they met a kid that they took interest in. They took him to Parakou (a big city in the center of Benin) and bought him a house and everything. You would think he was a rich business owner if you saw him, but it is the white people who pay everything for him. He doesn’t lift a finger. The white people have paid everything and they just keep sending money.
“I see how you white people work. You just respect life more. You take care of people, and no one goes hungry where you live. If I were to go to where you come from, I would find work easily, and I would never be hungry again.
“White people are all the same, and you are willing to share, and there’s plenty of money left over to send to us here. You people love to give money! That’s what you do. I’ve seen it hundreds of times, and you’re no different.”

After hearing this monologue I finally realized that I had accidentally twisted my face into an image of horror, and that it was making Maurice uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say to this. I now realized many things though. First of all, Maurice didn’t see me as a really person. He saw me as a white machine who’s job is to dispense money to poor Africans. Second, he had no idea that white people don’t just give out money… if nothing else they are paying off their consciences. No one wants to just give away money!!! They get something in return, and it’s not like those money-givers see you as equals. Third, I realized that as much as I have tried to see people here as equals, they will always see me as something strange. I understand their lifestyles and decisions, but they will NEVER understand mine.

I did my best to respond to the situation. I molded my face back into it’s usual ‘friendly mode’, then tried to help ease myself about what I had just heard:
Me: “You know, Maurice, there is no life in the world that is easy. Everything has pay-offs. Even rich kings have a hard life, because they must pay for their wealth and status by keeping the people happy, and that can be stressful.
“Where I come from, it isn’t that easy to find a job. Also, there are things like credit cards, where someone gives you access to some money, but the interest is terrible. And then every month that you can’t repay the loan, they charge you more and more interest until you have to give up your house, your car, and everything in order to pay it back. Then you might have to go live in a group home where it’s cold and difficult to get by… There is no life that is easy.
“Also, I’m not like those white people you are talking about. I don’t make the money I would make where I live. I make the amount of money that someone working here would make, and that’s all. I was willing to help you with this because we are friends and equals, and not because I’m just a white person with money. If I didn’t get this money back, it would really hurt me. Not only would I be sad that our friendship was ruined, I would be poor and struggling to get by myself. I’m human just like you, and I don’t have an endless supply of money.”

He tried to follow that with how he knew I wasn’t like that and that I was his friend, but I could hear that he didn’t really mean it. It was a comfort response, and it was only said to keep from having an awkward moment.

What crap!!!! I work and work and work to fit in here, yet I’m still just a foreigner. I’m still something that is taken advantage of and not respected. Who knows how many of those friendly smiles are just something used to help get something else out of me. I feel confused now. I feel lost. I feel sick.

I don’t know if I should even help him out. I thought we were friends, but we can’t be friends if we aren’t seen as equals. It’s not that he sees me as better than him… he just doesn’t see me as being the same species. Wow. I’m an alien.

I have a story that they told us back in Philadelphia right before all of us new volunteers got on the plane for Benin:
“Once there was this boy, Sam, who wore yellow glasses, and everything he saw was yellow. Sams skin was yellow, Sam’s clothes were yellow, and the sky was yellow to. Not only Sam wore these yellow glasses, but Sam’s parents did too. Also, Sam’s neighbors wore yellow glasses, and everyone else in his town did too. Everyone saw yellow and wore yellow and went to yellow places.
“One day, same decided to go on a trip. He got on a plane and went far far away. When he got to this new place he started talking to the people there, and it turns out that they were certain that their world was blue. Sam decided to stay in this world a while, and he tried to get used to a blue world, and over time the color of his glasses started to change.
“After a while, Sam went back home to his family and friends. Sam had had an exciting trip, and he came to his family and friends with some exciting information. “Look!” Sam said, “All these years we thought the world and everything in it was yellow, but we were wrong!!! I went over there where everyone thinks everything is blue, but they are wrong too!!! I’ve found the truth though: The whole world is actually GREEN!!!!!”
“Sam’s friends and family didn’t know how to react to this. Green?!?! Everything was obviously yellow.”
Sam was disappointed that no one understood… I think he later found a group of people who saw green as well, and started hanging out with them, while still understanding why some people only saw yellow and some only saw blue.

This couldn’t be a better example of what I experienced today. I see green, and no one understands!!!! It’s too bad. Yellow was such a pretty color.

Sarah

“American”

This picture was taken with my camera while it was stolen. It was an accident that it turned out so nicely, because people here are oblivious to how to work a camera. I also have pictures of boobs and other things like that that were taken while my camera was traveling without me, but I thought I would spare you guys.

I am an American… Je suis Americaine. I never thought I would be so proud to say that. You know, that is a nice thing about America; You could hate everything about your country, you could badmouth it in debates, you could even spit at your own Presidents picture, but she would always be there to back you up when it comes time to say, “Please help me, I’m not from here, I’m American.”

Now, I wouldn’t say that I hate America. Not in the slightest, actually. I truly love her, but I just don’t agree with all of her ideas. In fact, just like all of us, I occasionally resent something about her. She has come through for me lately. She has made me realize that I may owe her an apology for an occasional badmouthing.

Of course there is a story that goes with this introduction. Here it goes:

So, last Saturday evening me and 8 or 9 other volunteers went to eat at a restaurant in Natitingou after having a little meeting. We went to a place called La Grignotte I believe… we always just call it Chez-Amadou. Amadou is the owner of the restaurant, the cook, and a hilarious alcoholic. Every time we go there we order steaks and fries, and afterwards he always breaks out a huge bottle of sodabi, a local hard liquor. Well, as always, Amadou refused to stop pouring until midnight, when we all made ourselves go home. This particular night I had (on the ground next to me) a sweater, my purse, and my helmet. That night was a tumultuous haze, but the next morning I awoke to find that my purse was no where to be found. I called Amadou first thing because he is a friend and I knew he would help. Then, when I really knew no one else might happen to have it, I went back to his restaurant. He looked around, and told me to go back home while he looked. I went back to the house while he took off for Djougou, a town about an hour away, to ask some employees if they had seen the sack. I waited in hope that whole day. Later that evening he came back by and told me that he had checked everywhere, he had informed the police, he had made an announcement on the local radio, and he had even checked with other clients that had been there, and no one had seen my sack. After this I quickly lost hope, and the rest of the night I tried not to obviously sulk.

Honestly, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit what was in the sack. My world was in that sack. I might as well have had my brain in that sack as well, because that was the only thing lacking. I had just been to the bank to take out 2 or 3 months of money, so I had a little more than $300usd in there. To add to this, I also had 2 credit cards, my Benin bank card, my identification cards, a brand new 1gb USB key, my camera, a tripod, my cell phone, my leatherman multi-tool, and then all my personal stuff like chapstick, hairbrush, and perfume. Like I said, the only thing missing was my brain.

The next day I decided give the situation my best though. It was Monday morning by then, so I called Peace Corps headquarters in Cotonou and told them what had happened, and they told me to file a report with the local police. I did this, then I continued by stopping in every electronic store I could find to ask if they had seen my camera or cell phone. I knew these would be big ticket items that they would try to get rid of quickly. I also bought a new cell phone so that I could give people my number in case something came up (I do have THE SAME phone number though, so if you are one who sometimes calls, no worries). I also cancelled my credit cards and my bank card. At the end of the evening, with no hope left to cling to, I went to the internet café to write home and distract myself. It was 9:30pm at the time, but I figured I might as well ask if he had seen anyone trying to sell anything, and I described my things… and then I found a sliver of hope to suck tight to and run with: A kid had come in the night before and tried to sell a 1Gb USB key, just like mine. The kid had come in and said that some Americans had come and left it somewhere, and he wanted to know how much he could get for it. Isaie, the internet café employee, held the key overnight to think over buying it. The next morning (a few 12 hours earlier), the kid had come back by and asked for the key back.

I got excited. I got REALLY excited. Isaie couldn’t remember the kid’s name, but he knew his face and where he lives, and so he offered to take me there after he closed. An hour later we were ready to go check it out, so I called my friend Jim who is another Volunteer, but he runs the house in Nati and therefore acts as a liaison between Admin and volunteers. I also called Amadou, because he had been such a help the day before. Also, the café employee (Isaie) mentioned that the kid works for Amadou, so I thought maybe Amadou could identify him. I was so anxious I called him and said, in French, “Amadou, there has been a development. Please come to the internet café.” Click.

Amadou showed up minutes later, and we told him about the USB key and the kid. He said, “Oh, yeah, yeah, actually, that kid came to me last night too, and it’s not YOUR key. That key belongs to a friend of mine who lost it a while ago, and we returned it to him last night.”
My response, “That may be so, but that couldn’t have been the same key, because Isaie held this key overnight. Also, this key was just like mine, and I got it in America. Also, the kid was trying to sell the key. Why would he change his mind and give it to you?”
Amadou: “No, it was the same key, the kid came to me this morning with the key and we returned it to my friend who had lost it. He even paid the kid a little money for it.”

Jim, the other volunteer, showed up at this point, so we dropped the issue and started heading to the kids house. We got there, and of course the kid ‘was traveling’. His brothers were there though, and they were claiming to know nothing about anything… in those exact words. It smelled funny, so I called the PC Benin help line to figure out what I should do. I was speaking to the PC help person in English, but I kept using the French word for police/military, gendarmes. Amadou, Isaie and the kids all heard this and started getting scared. The kids then confided in Isaie that they had originally had the sack, but that they had seen that there was a lot of very valuable things inside and that they could go to prison for it, so they had given it to Amadou. Note: You may be wondering why they didn’t take it to the police or an authority figure, but that is not what you do here. If you found something at work, you take it to your boss. That is how it goes, and that’s what they did. We decided to go to the Police (actually the same word in English and French, and a little less scary then the gendarmes) and give some statements about what was going on. Jim, Isaie and I started walking there and Amadou said he would meet us there, as he was with his motorcycle. Amadou disappeared, and the police filed our reports and told us to come back in the morning.

That night at 3am, my purse comes flying over the wall of the Peace Corps house with my wallet, identification and credit cards, my personal junk and the USB key in question. The valuables were still missing: The digital camera, the $300usd (in West African francs), the cell phone, and the Leatherman multi-tool.

The next day Jim and I meet Isaie at the police station at 9am. Amadou eventually did show up, as we had told him to. We went in to speak with the 2nd in command, and Amadou continues to change his stories. He tells about how he had returned the key to his friend that same Monday, but the Policeman didn’t buy it, and he kept calling him out on his contradictions. The policeman then told Amadou to go find the kids that were involved. Amadou leaves, and so the policeman and Isaie go to check with the man who Amadou had presumably returned a stolen key to on Monday (the day before). The man says he did get his key back and that Amadou had found it, but also that he had lost it 3 months ago… things lost 3 months ago rarely reappear. After that we sat and waited. Isaie started becoming curious, so he decided to go the kids house to see if Amadou had been there. The kids told him that Amadou had came by and picked up one of them and taken him somewhere, but they didn’t know where. Isaie came back, we waited another hour for the policeman, then Amadou shows up again without the kid, of course. We listen to Amadou tell about how he had tried to find the kids, but had had no luck. Isaie then politely mentioned what he had found. They also then told him that it seems odd that his friends stolen USB key was found 3 months after being lost, and that instead of checking with me he had just given it back to his friend. After hearing enough lies to be certifiably suspicious, they pulled Amadou and Isaie into a separate room. Isaie reported afterwards that they had spoken about how they really didn’t want to alarm or involve the US embassy, and that if they got involved this would be a much stickier situation. After this speech, they gave Amadou a list of the items still missing and told him to come back at 3pm with all the things, or else he was going to jail.

Coincidentally, Peace Corps had informed all of their top staff of the issue, and one of them, Maria - aka Maria whose brother is the head of all the Beninese police – dropped by to check on the situation, since she happened to be in the area. Because of her, the 2nd in command who had been working with us decided to introduce us to the chief. Maria complimented them on how great of a job they were doing with this situation – and they really, truly were – and then she mentioned something that made those quasi-fake courtesy smiles grow to be a mile long: “You know, I really am glad to hear you guys are helping so much with this. I mean, after all, you wouldn’t want the Embassy to get involved. They usually send a team of investigators out if something like this goes wrong, so you guys are handling this well.”

That afternoon was spent giving official, signed and sealed declarations and waiting in vain for Amadou to show up. He later sent a message to the 2nd in command saying that he needed 72 hours to find “where the kid had gotten rid of the things.”

This morning (Wednesday) I had been told to come back at 10am. I was met by Isaie again, and Amadou was apparently inside. The 2nd in command called us in to tell us the phone and camera had been found, and that Amadou was willing to pay back the $300usd (in West African francs). The only thing missing was my precious little leatherman. I told them that if Amadou could find the leatherman that I would drop the charges… but Maria had suggested holding him in prison for a night or two just to show him what the consequences could have been. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Said the second in command, “He’ll be spending at least a week in prison. He has to stay there until everything passes to the tribunal. If they find him guilty of everything, he could spend as much as 6 months in there!” Wow. I was told to let them finish the paperwork and to come back tomorrow (Thursday) at 9am to do an obligatory ‘Confrontation’ with Amadou, and to get my things.

Twice the words ‘American Embassy’ were dropped, and they were heavier than a cannon ball both times. If I had been an African this would still have been a sad story. If I had been in America this would have had no hope of a happy ending, but there’s a good chance the restaurant would have returned the purse to begin with. If I had been a Beninese person with a problem like this in America… well, I only wish life were fair. I would like to think that I would help a foreigner if I saw him in trouble in the States, but I can’t even imagine this situation being reversed. These two worlds are so very different, it’s just impossible to compare.

It is good to be American though, and I realize that this could be a sad story if only my nationality or color of skin had been different. I was glad to be an American before, but I’ve never really realized what kind of things that meant to other nations until now.

What a week.

Sarah

P.S. Thank you Isaie at the cyber cafe in Natitingou, Peace Corps, Beninese Police, and Mom and Dad for being so diligently interested in my cheap little purse. I owe you my world… brain sold separately.

Being Back

Well, I may have spoken to soon about how I feel about being home. It’s so weird, but I had the hardest day yesterday and it made me realize how easy things are back at home. My whole day got fairly bummed by one little miscommunication: mainly, I forgot I was talking to an African and not an American.

It all started when I got off the 9 hour bus ride coming from Cotonou (where I flew into) to Natitingou (the next biggest town from Boukoumbe). There is a little Peace Corps building in Natitingou where I have a locker, so I stopped off and put some stuff in the locker before my ride came to pick me up. I had gotten lucky and gotten a ride from a friend from Boukoumbe who has a truck. Anyway, we go and load the truck full of the other people and head out, and then I realize that I left all my keys in the lock to my locker back at the PC house. I didn’t want to hold everyone up for me, so I decided to go on and just call someone and pay them to bring my keys to me. Fair enough, right? I usually pay $4usd to go between Boukoumbe and Natitingou on a motorcycle taxi (called Zemijhans, or just Zem’s). I called my Zem that I usually go with and told him I would pay the usual price if he would just bring me this ‘package’ that I had left, and that I need it tonight. He agrees, picks up the package, then seeing that he can make more money if he has a client as well he decides to go look for a client. He didn’t find one, so he decides to wait till the next morning. All this time I’m sitting outside my house or with my neighbor with my 2 huge suitcases, helmet, backpack, and groceries… so basically a huge mass of stuff. I finally get a hold of him, and he tells me that he hasn’t even left, and I tell him how urgent it is, and then I start thinking he’s stalling because he’s making a copy of my keys. I also hadn’t slept in 48 hours from jet lag, so I was a little tattered to begin with. After this conversation, he now sees how urgent it is, and leaves right then. He gets here an hour later (dirt roads slow things down), and he demands that I pay $10usd instead of the usual $4, because he had to drive in the night, and he didn’t have a client. My argument was that I was paying him the price of a client without the weight of one, and so the $4 was fair, plus if he had left when I first called then he would have still had daylight left. We haggled, and I ended up giving him $5usd, but I felt bad because I think I might have hurt my relationship with this taximan.

From his point of view he needed a client to come, and since he didn’t have one I should have to pay what I promised plus the fee of a client. I do understand that that is normal here, and I maybe should have given him more, but the American in me was livid!!! How could he tell me he was leaving right then, and then decide to wait till the next day?!?! Doesn’t he know I’m the customer, and that if he wants repeat business he should do what he said, or at least keep me updated if it wasn’t possible??!?! If he HAD to have the fee of my package and a client, why did he accept my offer, why didn’t he tell me I needed to pay more for immediate service?

Luckily, I see his side and mine, and I realize that his logic was logical for the people here, and that I should of just assumed that he would need to take a client as well so that he could make more money. I should have realized that gas prices have shot up since I left 3 weeks ago, and that my $4usd wouldn’t cover it for him. I should have also realized that he showed great devotion in that he actually did come after I called him the second time while in complete distress.

The weirdest thing about all this is that before I left 3 weeks ago this would have all occurred to me at the moment, and nothing would have been stressful about any of it. Granted I hadn’t slept in a while, but I realized that this was a usual situation with my life here, and that I better get used to it again. I just can’t help to think about how things like this would go in the States. There would have been a set price that he would have told me, I would have accepted it, he would have left the second he hung up the first time, and my keys would have been there by 8pm instead of 10pm. Still yet though, in the States I would probably have a vehicle of my own, so I could jump in my one-man vehicle and run and get them myself. What a life. It’s so convenient.

What’s better: Convenience, or a difficult appreciation for convenience? I definitely do appreciate the ease of the life in the States much more than I ever did before. I need to ponder this for a while.

Sarah

The Cultural Light Switch: My Xmas in the USA

What a night to come back to! Since I wrote last I have been back to the states, and then back to Cotonou, Benin again. I actually just arrived to Cotonou tonight. I had a good trip, but I'm not going to miss the cold weather. I just came in from dipping my feet in the warm pool, while enjoying the warm breeze. Its liberating to where my capris again, and the air on my bare shoulders is so relaxing. Call me crazy, but I think this might be what it feels like to be glad to be back. As I sat there I watched the swarm of bats who were circling the pool, just barely above me. There is nothing scary about bats, but there is tons that is fascinating about them. First of all, they thrive in the climate over here, so many times you will find a grove of trees that (in the daylight) look like they might just be a new species of tree who grows black leaves instead of green. Tonight they are active though, and I cant figure it out, but they are swooping down and just barely tapping the surface of the pool, then circling back up into the sky. At first it looked like fish might be jumping out of the water, because the bats are so fast that you only see the water move, but then you see their small white undersides as they circle back around above. There is something incredibly relaxing about watching this... but I imagine that will be hard to relate to for most people.

Anyway, enough about bats!!! I'll talk about my trip instead. First of all, I would like to clear up something that could easily be misconstrued: Because I'm glad to be back (in Benin) does not mean that I was glad to leave (Oklahoma). It was a great trip, and I had a great time visiting with friends and family.

It was also an eye-opening trip. I learned many things about myself and how I've changed. I also learned that other people back at home have changed as well, and I realized that, in many cases, some of my good old friends and I might be going seperate ways while others are becoming closer friends. I also felt a deep love for those friends who made sure that I knew they hadn't forgotten me. That fear of being forgotten was one of my biggest when I left for Benin.

The oddest thing that I finally realized, was that going home came naturally to me, and within days it felt as though I never left. It almost seemed like living in Benin was an intense dream that kept occasionally flickering in my mind, but nothing more. Also, I forgot I speak French. My French was fine once I got on the Air France flights, and it was wierd when I heard something and understood it long before realizing it wasnt in English, but while I was at home it really felt like I didnt know Fench. For instance, at one point I was talking to someone who was telling about how they almost called me in Africa because I was the only person they knew who spoke French, but at first I almost said, "What!? I dont speak French." ... but then that dreamlike haze flickered before me before I replied, and I realized that those hazy dreams were all in French. It's like flipping a light switch. When the lights are off, there is no evidence that they had ever been turned on, but you manage to find your way around the room as if you knew it by heart. Does that make sense????

Once I got to the Paris airport I ran into another volunteer, and we were both surprised that we had come to many of the same realizations from our trips home. I also noticed that I felt so comfortable to be back around another volunteer. I wonder if that will apply to other volunteers from other parts of the world? On va voir.

It's wierd to think I might be different in ways unbeknown to me. It's even odder to imagine what I would be like if I had stayed in the US and gotten an office job. I like to reflect and wonder on these things, but the truth is I don't think I could have made a better choice. Just as I remember saying before joining, "I want to shake up my world." I think I'm doing well so far on that.

I'd like to keep shaking things up though. I guess I like to keep myself lost and confused. I think I'm going to try to go to Asia next. I'd like to give Mandarine Chinese a try, but I'm overwhelmingly intrigued by Nepal and India. Nepal especially.

Well, I would love to give you a more detailed report on my trip and my arrival, but I should be getting to bed. Besides, I can't imagine you would find it very interesting. I will say though I did manage to pack exactly 99.5 Lbs., most of it packaged food. Hahaha! Those poor customs agents. They must hate me!

Anyway, I hope all of you had as merry of a Christmas I did, and an equally happy New Year.

Sarah

P.S. Courtney! I don't have your email address or phone number, or any of your current info. If you could, please email it to me at sarahinafrica@gmail.com. Thanks!