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!