Cest lAfrique

Here are a few excerpts from my journal, since i do not feel as though i have the ability to adequately summarize four weeks of bizarre and completely fluid circumstances that i have been going through.

July 26, 2009

St Jean Eudes is named after a french martyr from the 17th century, who died about the same time the first African slaves were brought to North America. The entire compound consists of a church, two dormitories, classrooms, a cafeteria and most importantly, a bar. Apparently, even priests get drunk on vacation. At the moment this massive property far outside of the center of Cotonou serves as a playpen for would be Peace Corps Volunteers. On day three I already feel as though I have been here two weeks, the days are just so long. We typically have to be at breakfast at 730 am and each night have been staying up till 330 or so. A few of us, Bradley, Rich, Laura, Hannah (i know a little weird right?), and Mark went to a catholic church service today. After standing around awkwardly outside as we couldnt find anywhere to sit, a woman waved us inside and individually found us a place to sit. The church was packed with probably close to three hundred people with another one hundred or so outside sitting on pagnes so they could listen. The pastor asked all of us, stagiers, to stand so we could be recognized by the congregation and later worked the Body of Peace, the Peace Corps, into his sermon. The service was three and a half hours long, broken up by a phenomenal twenty minute dance party when everyone gave money to the church. They were so happy to see us dancing and having a good time. I think that perhaps, when in doubt, it is best to dance.

July 27, 2009

First night at my host familys house, and all I can say is- Jesus, they are loaded. They picked me up in a Mercedes and have this enormouys house with electricity, running water and a shower. The power did go out for about 30 minutes or so but, Cest lAfrique. I have two host brothers and two host sisters, my papa has two wives but one lives in Cote dIvoire. I met papas mother when I first came in, she clasped my hand in one of hers and with the other slapped my palm lightly singing a song in a language i had never heard before. It ended with Amin. Amen. Camille, the youngest, explained that she was happy to see me. Afterward though, Grandma asked me for a massage. I complied, I didnt feel as though I had much of a choice. It was weird.

I heard my first yovo song today.

One baby at Papas brothers house is terrified of me. He has never seen a white person before and I freak him out. He was toddling up the patio toward his mother when he just stopped dead in his tracks and fell backward as if I had hit him. After staring for approximately thirty seconds he started crying. Il a peur, my aunt explained. I told them that it was good, that I eat babies. I went to grab his tiny hand, which was obviously a mistake because then he got REALLY upset and started screaming, at which point i felt bad. Poor babies.

July 31, 2009

The diet here is all starch cooked in palm oil, the fattiest kind of oil you can imagine. So much for all of the corned beef reubens and beer I indulged on in the States thinking it would be no problem to shed the residual poundage. Soon I will be what the Beninoise call, Bien Grossi. Good fat. I dont think they distingiush between good fat and bad fat. Although in the states I guess we dont either, its just all bad fat.

August 1, 2009

Today was the 49th Anniversary of Beninise Independence. Next year will obviously be a great party, although I may be au village. My family took me to a parade in Porto Novo, where I saw many voodun, marching bands, soldiers, and officials. Including the Kings of Porto Novo. A couple of men with their drums came over and literally drummed them AT me. They looked as though they were trying to intimidate me so I just started dancing as wildly as I could, and with positive results. The crowd absolutely loved it and many people greeted me afterward with such kindness and excitement. When in doubt, dance.
Afterward we went to the ocean outside of Porto Novo, and it was beautiful, albiet too cold and wild to swim. I drank my first coconut macheted open on the beach by a beautiful woman who carried a stack of coconuts and balanced two machetes on her head. The sweet; slimey flesh of the inside was delicious. A cousin, four or five years old, slept in my lap the entire way home.
Later that evening I went to my first mosque. I did the ritual washing and wore a beautiful green veil over most of my body. However since it was call to prayer and there was no Imam, everyone was just kind of doing their own thing and I had no idea what to do. I kind of just made it up and did what I saw Papa do three times in a row and then skipped out of there because children were laughing and giggling at me. I think because of my overall Yovo-ness.
Yovo related behavior from children and adults doesnt seem to bother me, this is my first experience being a minority. I just hope I keep that perspective. I can go home and blend in anywhere easily, if there is anything I wanted out of this it was not for it to be easy.

August 12, 2009

Birthday one of three in Benin. Caddy, my younger sister, pushed me sleepily immediately after waking me into Mama and Papas room where everyone greeted me with presents. I got a pair of gold stud earrings from Caddy, a really comfortable tshirt from Papa, Cookies from Camille, tissue for a dress from Mama, and candy from Sara and Kahled. It was so sweet. After my daily deep fried omlette and bread with lemongrass tea I rode my bicycle to school listening to the Velvet Underground. It was heavenly. The roads are chaotic, but in fact are a perfect exercise in cooperative clusterfuck. That does mean, of course, that sometimes people do die in the street in accidents- but for the road conditions (mostly packed red sand or dirt washed into deep troughs) and the lack of regulation (no laws requiring helmets, vehicle inspection, speed limits, perhaps even licenses) the people are pretty careful. Because they have to be. In the afternoon I sat with Eric outside and listened to my Ipod for three hours, circling Indie, Funk, and 70s rock. I listened to some lovely Nusrat Fateh and Paulhino Moska. Emily gave me some pineapple. It was lovely. After class the girls, the dudes had a soccer game to lose at Kokotia against the other stagiers, took me to the buvette and bought me a beer.
All in all, A+ Birthday.

August 13, 2009

Ahhh I found out my post and I dont even know if I remember its name! I think its Manigri, it is in the North and pratically in Togo. I know nothing about it but everyone is telling me that it is a great post. I mean, would they tell me if it wasnt? Do bad posts even exist? Probably not. I hope not. Guess I will see.

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Since I have now returned from post visit, I can let you know exactly how I felt about Manigri. Despite the fact that I have no real concentration right now because some jerk isnt letting me type and is hitting on me inappropriately. It is not that i am angry with him, although I have to act as though I am because they do not leave you alone if you are not mean.

Manigri is a really pretty, pastoral large village of about 16 thousand people. It is predominately Muslim, and from what I can tell, pretty developed for a village in the North. There is running water and electricity, and fantastic cell phone service. My house even has a refrigerator. Oh, and speaking of my house, HUGE shout out to Carly for leaving me absolutely everything I could possibly need when I first move in. The most precious of all being an enormous bookshelf full of books including the Poisionwood Bible, which is a mandatory re-read. I have pots, pans, a GRILL, a douche and latrine right outside my backdoor and enclosed by walls on all sides (meaning i could go to the bathroom and shower naked if i wanted to), a big bed, extra sheets and towels, a new headlamp. i think the only thing i need to bring with me is a fan, which is incredible.

The people, from the minor interactions I have had with them, do seem a lot more relaxed. I swear people walk with a different rhythm here than in the states. I swear their swagger is syncopated. I did not hear the yovo song once, although I was certainly called yovo, which still fails to annoy me. I found my assinged homologue to be kind, intelligent and very very well spoken. His English is better than mine.

My school has about 800 kids, so my Directeur says. I will be teaching four classes of sixty students, which somehow isnt as scary as it was a month ago. Sixty kids is better than one hundred.

Although I am a little bummed that I have been posted so far away from many of my good friends and in an area I had no expressed interest in going, I am taking it on the chin. Aint no thing.

I still miss everyone; thank you for the letters and phone calls. Everytime I talk to you from home it gets a little bit easier for me to be here.

Love
Sarah