Rachelle in Benin

Christmas

2009-02-14T23:44:00.000-08:00

Last year for Christmas I stayed in my village in order to partake in the festivities with my neighbors. I soon discovered that Christmas is mostly just a fete for the children who go around door to door in search of candy (sound familiar? Halloween perhaps?). So this year when my friend, Jazz, invited me to his father’s home I accepted.

Jazz (I’m pretty sure he gave himself the nickname), was a student last year in my village and would often be at the health center studying. He passed the BPEC (equivalent to 10th grade graduation) and therefore moved to a nearby town to continue his education. Before he left in August he had invited me to his father’s home for Christmas. What was so special about this invitation is that his father is a Charlatan or Voodoo Priest and I was told that dozens of people come the week of Christmas to see him.

I hadn’t seen Jazz since he left, but through sporadic minute phone calls we made plans to meet at his sister’s, Bridgetta, place in Bohicon. When I got there, despite the fact I had come from lunch, she fed me and insisted I take a nap. I decided it was easier to agree and I curled up on the floor of her coiffure shop and slept a bit. Jazz in the meantime left to go to his father’s where family matters were being discussed. I could have slept longer but I wanted to visit with Bridgetta before the festivities began (she has very limited French so really I just watched as she tressed or braided hair).

Jazz came back and we headed out to his father’s which wasn’t far from the main road, but remote in many ways. Upon arrival we were greeted by the 3rd wife of his father who in accordance to the culture gave us some water and as I took a sip apologized for the fact that it came not from a pump, but from a well; oh well. After introductions I was shown around the village. As we walked around, the closeness of the houses to one another gave me the feeling of being inside a maze, not knowing what each turn would lead to. It was communal living to a T. Everyone was related to Jazz in some way, quite a few were brothers or sisters (I once heard his father has over 20 children with 3 wives), while others were uncles or aunts who watched him grow up and were thrilled to see him.

We came back to the main house of his father were Jazz’s mother began to make up some Nescafe (in honor of the Yovo). His father remained in one of his fetish rooms where he had been since morning, fasting the entire time. Jazz and I sat around waiting for the festivities to begin. I was told it would be around 7. However around 10 I gave into my tiredness. I squirmed in a hard wooden chair trying to get comfortable, regretting that I didn’t take advantage of Bridgetts’s floor. Then I moved to the bench that Jazz had recently vacated and napped just a little before I was beckoned by the Charlatan.

Women are not allowed to wear shirts in the fetish room. So I wrapped myself in a pagne or 2 meters of fabric and took off my shoes before entering not realizing that I would spend the rest of the night just as I were. In the room I was given a seat and watched as one of the sons would pray/ read horoscopes by the knocking of a few pebbles and reading their meaning as the fell in front of him. Men, women and children alike sat in front of him. To my left along the wall sat a woman who had already gone through menopause and 3 girls who haven’t yet experience menarche or the age of womanhood. They were dressed in white and I never got the full story of their significance.

As midnight approached the drum began it’s call. We were given candles and gathered outside. Everyone began chanting to the beat of the drum which I felt under my skin, running through my veins. The drummer didn’t give into the arising excitement and stayed consisted, controlled. Boom, boom. And we were off. Following the Voodoo Priest and the 4 girls dressed in white we went down a path, lit by the trail of candles at hand. It wasn’t a short walk, but the path beneath my bare feet was well travelled. We halted at a fetish shrine and I placed my candle in the sand that surrounded along with everyone else’s.

I soon learned that even the Voodoo Priests forget things at times; he or whoever was responsible forgot the goat that would be sacrificed. Luckily there were other things to be done as well…

It began with a distribution of kola nuts. I watched the others begin to rub the kola nuts along their faces, and I was instructed to do the same. The exact reasoning I’m not sure of, but I think it has something to do with giving all my bad spirits to the nut, a reoccurring theme for the evening. The nuts were then placed into a white circle with a star in the middle where the Charlatan said words that I didn’t understand but watched intuitively nonetheless.
Trying to reflect upon the evening now, things seem a bit hazy, probably due to the lateness of the evening and the tiredness that had come over me. I have to look at my pictures to in order to remember what came next. The goat finally made its way. One man grabbed the animal by its hooves and proceeded to touch it against the foreheads, mine included and I was the only one who cringed at the thought of touching this filthy goat to a part of my face, but I was not about to refuse when they were being so accepting of me there. Then wack! The goat was banged on the ground, twice. No slitting of throats as one may think of when talking about sacrifices. The goat they received stomps by everyone. Women made their children touch the animal and I was told I must do the same in order to give all the badness of this past year to the goat so it wouldn’t come with me into the next year.

From the goat came the chicken and the same deal, except we didn’t have to step on it. The sacrifices were then placed into a pit that was dug during the process. Starting with the men, people crowded the pit while their heads were washed with water (I fully participated in everything!). The water that dripped down their faces glistened in the candle light.

We were well into the night and my exhaustion was obvious. Bridgetta, being the mother that she is, took responsibility for me and made a spot for me on a mat along with the others (mostly just the old or young) to rest a bit. There was a wait to get horoscopes read. Men and boys went first. One by one they would kneel in front of the fetish shrine and waited for the Priest to predict the future with his stones and experience. Bridgetta brought me over for our horoscope reading. And then our heads were washed again, the water drained into the shrine leaving us cleansed. I later asked what my horoscope was. I was told this next year things would be fine, but Bridgetta would have to make a sacrifice to avoid dangers in this upcoming year.

Being concerned, Bridgetta sent me and Jazz away, but I assured them I could wait until everyone else had their horoscopes read. It didn’t take much longer and we were on our way back. We no longer had candles so I stuck closer to Jazz, following his steps until we got back to his father’s. I could see everyone was getting ready to celebrate; music was playing, dancing started. I however was dead to the world, it was 4am. I was led to someone’s home where I was given a bed and Bridgetta helped me tuck in my mosquito net. When I first got into country I would have felt off guarded by the situation, sleeping in someone else’s bed, taking a bucket shower, etc. However at this moment I was at ease with my surroundings, completely comfortable, reflecting in what I had just experienced.

La Fete de Chicotte

2008-12-14T22:29:00.000-08:00

A few villages in the northwest, near the Togo border, have a coming of age celebration for their boys. There just so happens to be a volunteer who lives in one of these villages and she invited us to come and join in the festivities.

La Fête de Chicotte or whipping fete occurs around the end of October every year and according to new country regulations they are now on weekends so children will no longer miss school. So early morning Saturday Oct. 25th the 14 of us who arrived the night before left in a van to go to a neighboring village. Tired and a bit groggy (we were ready by 6am) we arrived and were soon carried off to pass the time at the King’s home. It was said that he was well into his nineties, had several wives and dozens of children (I don’t really believe he could have been in his nineties… maybe, or maybe he just felt that old; without birth certificates no one really knows). We were given choc, a local beer made from millet; drinking at 8 am is actually a common occurrence in country.

At the sounds of drums we parted from “his majesty” and went to a small opening where the men were arriving from the different corners of the village, each wearing a specific attire to represent their allegiances as well as their year in participation: first, second, third or completed. The men of all ages, even the 5 year olds, formed a revolving circle around the drums. Their feet were wrapped in a type of bangle that contained small beads which produced a rattle when their feet hit the ground with force. The stomping fell into the rhythm of the drums, controlled, without rushing as they concentrated on their contests to come. Surrounding them were the retirees: fathers, older brothers, uncles… there to give support and guidance; they also happened to be dressed in drag looking better than most women could in a mini-skirt.

Once enough people had gathered the whipping began. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. It was heard all over. The drums stopped and the men dueled with whoever was closest to them, a sort of musical chairs. Each gave two flicks of the whip while their opponent protected themselves with a make shift shield that was really a long stick with a handle at the middle. This could only suffice a bit and the blood became to seep from define lines of where the whip had cut into the flesh of the arm or back. The opponent was then given their chance of two whips. Crack, crack. The supporters sometimes had to step in to prevent a continuation of frapping when the contestants would get caught up in the moment. The drums would start up again and the men would fall into their circle, each time it grew larger as more arrived.

This was just the warm up. From there we followed the mob to the soccer field. It became difficult to see with the whole village there and everyone trying to get a glimpse. Women supported their brothers, boyfriends and sons. Little boys eyed them and stood just a bit taller, anticipating their day to come. Here at the arena only two at a time dueled and this was more of a presentation for the King and other elders. Crack, crack. I could only see with my ears, but that was enough. Crack, crack. It didn’t last long, maybe until 10; but I’m sure the fete-ing lasted the duration of the day.

We returned back to Kate’s house and awaited the festivities to come on Sunday. So we passed the time with a bit of Cranium and just enjoyed each other’s company catching up from the last time we saw one another. That night the boys began getting ready by making trips to all the houses. We would hear them coming from the distance, chanting in a way that represented the mood for this fete, almost with a dreadful ring, perhaps it was just my imagination for I couldn’t understand any of what was being said. Some just chanted “l’argent, l’argent” or “money, money” but we gave them candy. This lasted for hours. It was after 10pm and most had gone to bed and the chanting had died down a bit. A few of us were left on the terrace setting up our beds; outside is the best place to sleep to feel the coolness that comes with the setting of the sun. All settled in, (trying not to worry about scorpions after we just killed one) and already drifting into sleep I could hear chanted. Louder and louder it came. They were really close to the house I knew, but it wasn’t until Megan exclaimed something that I sat up. The gate was hinged closed; but that didn’t create any type of hesitation. I was taken aback to see a line of teenage boys in costume chanted and stomping their feet up on the terrace. It was almost scary. We had to shoo them back off the porch and give them candy before they would depart. Luckily we slept afterwards without any more visitors, neither boys nor scorpions. The whole night resembled a version of Halloween and it just so happened that Halloween wasn’t that far away.
Again we arose early. Grabbed some power bars donated by Lindsey who was finishing up her service and headed down the road. We waited for the men to arrive. After some time, they began to approach from one end with the rising sun at their back. In front of us they joined the others who gave from the opposite end and veered off into an overgrown patch, trampling the weeds and creating an opening. It turned into one big free for all. There was no order. Just the snapping and cracking of whips. They still maintained the two hit rule, but that was one of the few similarities than the day before.

Down the road was another mob of people that we joined. There was no set place for combaters or observers, so we were continuously changing our position trying to avoid getting in the way. But with this we could also get better views. At one point I watched a younger boy in a spar with a much older, intense man (probably late teens, early twenties). The elder didn’t block the boy’s hits (I also noticed the whip was changed to one with less power) but he sure did give it back. The younger blocked himself well, but I was memorized by this teaching moment between, what I like to believe, bothers.

Each battle was finished by the retired men, probably family members, they grabbed the tips of the whips and promenaded the contenders around until meeting up with someone else to challenge. It was a horde of half dressed men either in drag or loin clothes, multitudes of whips, cheering women and more baby powder than… well I’m not sure what but the white dusting on black skin gave an effect to the scenery .

From there we gathered at an arena where the battles would be presented in front of the King. Being Kate’s home we were given front row seats. I only regret not getting a video at this great opportunity. Being up close without a rumble of people I had the ultimate experience. Crack, crack went the whips. Muscles rippled as the men both took and received the forceful strikes of the whip without a slightest wince when the sharpness cut through the unprotected skin creating a dark red strip that would without a doubt leave a scar.

Again like the day before, it didn’t last long and we soon went to the King’s house. There we drank chouc again. But this time a whip was given to Heidi and Rut who each took turns flicking their arms to hit the shield of the opponent, giving the villagers a little spectacle in return. I was surprised when the whip was handed off to me and eager at the chance as well. Crack, crack. I didn’t hold back knowing that my inexperience was something the man in front of me could handle. It was exhilarating. I could fully understand how one could receive a hit and not cringe, so much adrenaline the pain wouldn’t start until the day after. No worries, I didn’t receive any hits in return. It wasn’t that I was a wimp; I just didn’t have a shield.

We bid our farewells and thanks to the King and shortly took off in different directions to our villages or towns around Benin. The cultural weekend was definitely a highlight and I’m glad I had the chance undergo this experience.

On the Other Side of Togo

2008-12-05T07:18:00.000-08:00

Wow, I can’t believe it’s already December and I have yet written about… well anything lately. I will try to bring you up to date with what’s been going on with me here in Benin. I’ll start with my trip to Ghana….

While I was in Porto Norvo as a trainee for the new volunteers this past summer, I randomly struck up a conversation with Emily who was also working and getting ready to COS (Close of Service). We got on the topic of her COS trip and after a while it was decided that I would join her and Adrienne on the beginning of their trip, I would go to Ghana with them.

To get ready for the trip all I needed to do was get VISAs for Togo and Ghana, and luckily it didn’t take more than 2 hassle free days. Before leaving I had to work the last week of the training which ended with the newbies Swearing In as volunteers and a celebration for the 40th Anniversary of Peace Corps Benin. Adrienne and Emily accompanied me the last night of working stage (the training) and we took off early the next morning.

The taxi picked us up at the house we were staying in, not a usual occurrence. The taxi was also a very nice, very new BMW; the only BMW I have every sat in actually and we were the only ones in it besides the driver. This is not the norm of travelling. Usually the 4 door sedans are packed with 4-6 adults in the back (that doesn’t include children) and 4 in the front including the driver (one time there were five- all adults). If you’re having trouble imagining this, there is someone who shares the driver’s seat an d straddles the stick shift, a seat I absolute refuse to sit in (it’s not for the ladies). Doors only open from either the inside or the outside, never both. Window knobs have been taken off to squeeze in more people and therefore a tool is needed to roll them down, if available. It’s normal that the car needs to be pushed, forward or backwards in order to start and sometimes a 2 hour ride can turn into almost 4 with multiple stops to let people out or pick others up. So this spacious BMW with only the three of us was a nice way to start our vacation.

Travelling from Benin’s capital to the Togo/Ghana boarder only took a few hours, Togo is not very big. After crossing the border we took a tro-tro, a van/ minibus which tend to be reasonably spacious, took us into Accra. Arriving in Accra was like being back in the states. There were highways, billboards, cars not being held up by duck tap, designated places for trash, I could keep going. It’s was amazing the contrast of development from Benin, which I had just left only a few hours ago, to Ghana; a country leading the way to development in West Africa.
So what does one do when arriving into a city that resembles America? Eat of course! We headed straight for the Sports Bar “Champs.” Just your typical sports bar, flat screen TV showing the latest in sports, pitchers of beer and pool tables, it wasn’t surprising the other customers were either tourists or expats. The menu was overwhelming at first, more than my normal choices of pâte, yam pile or rice. Even writing this entry 3 months later I still remembered everything I ate on the trip… kind of pathetic I know.

In Accra we went to the Artisan Market where we saw most of the same crafts found in Benin, fabricated for tourists but interesting no less. We even meet someone from Burkina and shared a few words in French, something that made his day, enough in fact to give us petite cadeaux. Adrienne hooked us up with a drummer, Liman, who at first seemed a pest, but she gave him a chance and luckily so because he gave the three of us a drumming lesson. I love to drum! The rhythm comes easy to me and I could get lost in the beat. At one point he told me that I hit the drum like I would my boyfriend who cheated on me. He got that right.

That night we met up with some other Benin volunteers who also happened to be in Accra to celebrate Adrienne’s birthday. It was decided to go for pizza. I can get lost describing the food, but you have to understand going a year with real cheese only on occasion, less than once a month, you’ll remember when you get it again. I had a pizza with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, etc. We topped the evening off with ice cream, yum!

The next day we headed out to Cape Coast. We soon found out that with the nice highways, pickpocketers come as a package deal. In Benin I haven’t had any problems with pickpocketers, normally I give the driver my bag, he puts it in the back and I don’t have to think about it again. In Accra, people were all over us, so much that locals took it upon themselves to look after us, one actually rode the few hours with my bag on top of her lap. It was sweet and amusing, I had taken precautions already with my bag to avoid such problems, but sometimes you can’t refuse help.

After our first night in Cape Coast we met an incredible woman from Washington State, Kathryn Roe. She lives in Cape Coast for 6-8 months out of the year helping students with school contributions in order to graduate with a high school diploma. The time she spends in the states is to raise awareness and get people to sponsor students. She has more students than sponsors, an easy thing to occur when so many are in need. You should check out her website, www.nas.com/africa, she is one of the few expats that understands the reality in making a contribution to the lives here, most people just give money to build a school or orphanage not thinking of the need or someone to run it afterwards, a concept that makes me bang my head every time I’m asked for money, presents, a ticket to the United States, etc. Kathryn is no stranger and understands the workings inside and out, giving her time above all else to provide the opportunity to deserving students in order to have a chance at an education.

Meeting Kathryn was definitely a highlight. Not only is she inspiring, she gave advice as to what we should see in the area and had us over for meals more than once, in which we would get into a conversations that were hard to cease. So in Cape Coast we went to the Kakum National Park and walk along the canopy walkways. Not sure how high up they we were or even what purpose they served, but they were very very high and luckily none of us were afraid of heights. We also visited the slave castles where the Portuguese and eventually the British had captured/ bought slaves and packed them like sardines into rooms for months on end with food given once a month in order to continue their dreaded lives. Women were picked out like animals in order to serve the wants of the European governor whose chamber was above their dungeon. Standing in the room where the women were kept, the only light shines from the door window, I looked around me and even though this castle has been abandoned centuries ago, I had the feeling that the walls and floors were still soiled with the blood, sweat, urine, feces and tears of the poor souls entrapped there. I’m not usually a sentimental person (as my friends know I don’t normally cry in movies) but I felt the presence there and I can’t begin to understand what human being could put another through such terrors.

Our time in Cape Coast was brief and I would love to go back for a longer duration. Take some drumming or traditional dance lessons, go to the neighboring towns for traditional ceremonies; who knows?

Next on our stop was Kumasi. We stayed at the Peace Corps Workstation at a time where Ghanaian Volunteers were also making use of the place to stay. One of them took us out to her village 3 hours away. Because of the distance we only stayed there for a night. It was nice to see the similarities between PC Benin and Ghana as well as the differences. Her village was more like Benin than what we saw in Accra, no electricity, running water, etc. Yet the houses, being a Habit for Humanity community, were set up in resemblance to the suburbs. People had lawns and property was finely distinguished between neighbors. Also a side note: Ghanaians in this area hang up their clean underwear to dry outside; this past year my underwear has been hung up on my mosquito net for it is not okay in Benin to let them dry outside.

On our way back to Kumasi, we stopped and got what was said to be the best pizza in Ghana. I couldn’t argue. The fresh veggies and mozzarella cheese won me over. Kumasi was a headache trying to get around. We went to an Ashanti Kingdom museum to see the artifacts of the Ashanti Kings who are known for their gold. But we couldn’t find the sword in the stone, really there is a sword stuck in a stone that is said will bring upon bad luck to whoever removes it. This is so strongly believed that they built a hospital around it instead of removing it. We also became adventurous and went to the market which is said to be the largest of West Africa. The hassle and bustle was enough after spending only an hour we bought some batiks made in the area and headed back to the workstation.

The next day I took the trip back to Accra by myself while Adrienne and Emily continued their trip around West Africa. You could guess what I did once I got back to Accra… yup I ate! More specifically hamburgers, ice cream and coffee, yummy! I also met some English girls staying in the hostel with me so I joined them for dinner and listened as they reminisced about their past 6 weeks living in Ghana and how much they were looking forward to going home.

On my way back to Benin I was not as lucky to get into another BMW. Instead in Lomé I was greeted with the typical taxi and the typical wait for it to fill up with passengers. During the wait women came up to the car selling everything you could imagine and the women waiting with me just kept buying for the sole sake that the items were cheaper. I even took part buying clothes for my 1 year old neighbor. It was a bonding moment as well as a true cultural experience seeing the three of us, all from different countries with different languages and all sharing in the joys of shopping, a true trait among women.

My 12 day trip to Ghana was a nice experience that has only expanded my taste for travelling. I’ve already set my calendar for my Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger trip…

What Am I Up To?

2008-09-06T06:24:00.001-07:00

I’m sure there are quite a few of you who are curious as to the work I have been doing lately. I have been here a year and it might be assumed that I am well established in the work that I will be doing for the duration of my service. Well not exactly. At least it hasn’t been without its challenges.
My main goal/objective/work (whatever you want to name it) is to teach health topics such as the importance of proper hand washing, when and how long to breast feed, etc. with the women in the village. And usually volunteers partnered with a health centers already have an audience with women who come to baby weighings, but my health center didn’t have baby weighings when I came. We didn’t even have a baby scale until I found one last month when I went to the Ministry of Health. Before we weighed the mothers as they held the babies and subtracted their weight- not very accurate. Also women forget or don’t have the time or just don’t want to come unless I hand out cadeaux (presents). The bouille demonstration I did was during a baby weighing and that was slightly successful because women spread the word there was going to be free food (well it’s the same in any country, people always come to free food). Since then, they realized bouille was not a monthly thing and numbers have dwindled.
So to overcome this I started a project my supervisor had mentioned during one of our in-service trainings called Care Groups. What is it? Well to start I surveyed the village and I did this with Etienne (an apprentice at the health center and my very own translator). We mapped out all the houses of women with children ages 0-5 and pregnant women. This was not an easy task considering women spend most of their days in the fields, voyage frequently and are referred to by several names (Maman Raima is also Maman Amidath, la femme de le major, and Pascaline- it’s a bit confusing). With the names and maps we grouped the Mamas in 10s based on where they lived. Each group selected a Leader Mom who then meets with me and Etienne once a month to learn a health topic. Between meetings the Leader Moms make household visits to each mother in her group, sharing the information she learned. She also takes notes if there are problems or questions and gives oral reports during the next session with me.
So far Etienne and I have only met twice with the Leader Moms, once to go over their roles, responsibilities and the objectives of the project and the second to discuss proper hand washing and diarrhea. This was accompanied by a hand washing demonstration and we made an oral rehydration salt drink that is given to children with diarrhea. I have a good vibe from the Leader Moms and can’t wait to get back to see the project evolve. (Currently I am working with the new volunteers during their training. It has also been an interested experience. I noticed how far I and the other volunteers have come since when we first arrived in Benin.)
So that’s what I have been spending my time doing. It’s been a great way to get to know each member in the village and names have been becoming a little less confusing because now I know that Maman Raima is Maman Amidath, as well as Maman Worou, la femme de le major, Pascaline and Rissikatou, also someone who makes a great peanut sauce with igname pilé.

My Friend Mireille

2008-09-06T06:18:00.000-07:00

Well it’s been a while since my last entry. I’ve made attempts several times to write but never managed to come up with something I thought worthy of its own entry. So I figured I would compile a few events focusing on my friend Mireille. I met her at the health center. She’s a midwife who received her training through an apprenticeship and gained her skills through the many deliveries that have taken place at the health center over the past few years. Watching her work is amazing. This woman of 23 years only reaches my shoulders in height and perhaps weighs 100lbs. She knows her way around the delivery room. With no other presence in the room she manages to deliver the baby, cut the cord, in some cases provoke a silent newborn to begin crying, clean, weigh, dress the newborn, deliver the afterbirth and aid the mother to recovery- not a simple task. This petite young woman is at ease and confident in the delivery room.

Mireille lived at the health center with her sister, Parfaite. Their schedule revolved around school and patients coming into the health center. Most often you would find Parfaite studying or Mireille tending to a patient; sometimes a woman in delivery would come in and if I was around I would be invited to watch. (There are rules against volunteers getting involved with any blood contact, so I’m only permitted to watch.) Mireille takes complete responsibility for her younger sister, provides meals, school supplies and whereas in other families the younger siblings would be responsible for all household chores, they split the tasks allowing Parfaite to take advantage of free time to study. I admire both of them and naturally I was pleased when my homologue selected her to join me for a seminar way back in April.

So we travelled together to Lokossa to attend a nutritional recuperation seminar. For 3 days we listened to a representative from DC explain the objectives and execution of this specific strategy (all in French mind you). During the seminar I watched Mireille, the youngest and least experienced of the counterparts, gain confidence and break out of her shell. We would spend our free time together on the hunt for some dinner or just chatting in her room (she gave me some history of the health center before I got there); this is when our relationship expanding outside of the health center realm. When we returned back to village I would spend more time with Mireille and Parfaite at the health center and I was accepted into their niche often joining them for lunch or dinners if I was around the health center, which was practically every day. We would also be accompanied by Jazz and Phillipe, two other strangers to the village who were drawn to Mireille and Parfaite by their hospitality and because they were of the same ethnicity.

Things were going great. I found a best friend in village that I would spend most of my time with and who was guiding me along some of the unknowns is village. I would be entertained by Jazz and Parfaite asking questions as they prepared to take their exam at the end of the year and if they were to pass they both would leave to complete the second cycle of high school that is not offered in our village. Parfaite and Jazz did pass their exams they we among the few who did. So I was preparing for Parfaite to leave but then I was informed Mireille would also be leaving. Tired of being waken up at all hours of the day to receive a patient and being told "no" every time she asked for a pay raise, she took it upon herself to leave in search of better pay for her long hours.

She parted when I was out of town. Luckily we had a petite fête before I left to celebrate the end of Parfaite and Jazz’s school year. My first day back was difficult, actually it was miserable. My best friend was gone, I almost felt like I was starting over again. However in reality I was more integrated into my community than I thought and quickly remembered all the other friends I have in village and who I greatly enjoy being in their presence. Mireille now works for a health center far north of the country and I’m unsure of how it’s working for her even though she calls and says all is well and I hope it is. Parfaite is staying the summ

er with her parents and plans on moving in with her brother to complete the next cycle of school. The two of them have made a lasting impression in my service so far and I can’t wait to visit them in their new locations.

Bouille

2008-05-21T13:35:00.000-07:00

As I was walking around village I came across a mother, Delphine, who I see at our monthly baby weighing sessions. She was in the middle of bathing her eldest, a 5 year old standing in a basin of water, when she stopped me. Her arms were still covered in suds as she beckoned me over, wanting me to see that she was getting the ingredients ready to make the enriched bouille, or porridge, that I had demonstrated the week before.

In preparation for the cooking demonstration I went around collecting the ingredients needed. The tasks involved me going to the neighboring town with one of the apprentices, Gaston, on their market day. The market was so vibrate, by no means large, only larger than my own, therefore having a bit more of a selection. Women were perched under trees or where ever they could find shade to sell their produce; tomatoes that we can’t find in my village, palm oil a deep color of red, and various other goods. When buying the corn, millet, peanuts, and soybeans needed, women would fill the basins until a pyramid is formed and anything added falls off the sides. And as always there is the joy of discuteing or bargaining for prices. Gaston, being a man and never having to purchase food at the market, helped by finding a female relative nearby to discuté for us.

After purchasing the necessities we had to grill them before the demonstration, nothing here is a simple task. So the mid wife of the health center, Mireille, helped me grill. We got all set up when a woman in labor came in. But that didn’t stop Mireille. She helped me grill while checking up her patient and halfway through she left to deliver the baby, talk about multi tasking.

The ingredients were bought, grilled, mixed and taken to the mill; we were ready. When the scheduled baby weighing day arrived, we waited for about 2 hours, only 3 women came. Not being enough to make a pot of bouille we sent the mothers away with a task; bring back other mothers. The next day after waiting about an hour, in other words on time, a wave of two dozen mothers came with their babies strapped to their backs.

Merielle and I weighed the babies. With no proper scale, Mamas mount an adult scale holding their baby, then give me their baby and we calculate the weight of the baby. (I love weighing babies this way, they’re usually sleeping and so cute! However it’s very inaccurate, but I’m working on getting a proper one.) Then we let the mothers to making the bouille. Two left to fetch water, a few started the fire, and when the fire was started and the water arrived, that’s when we discovered it, a hole in the cauldron. Yikes! So much for being prepared. Immediately heads turned towards Maman Chabelle, a regular who makes large quantities of food to sell and therefore had a cauldron large enough.

With an intact cauldron the rest of the session went well. Mothers had a chance to socialize a bit, take a break from their normal routine of going to the fields. I revised some of the topics that we previously mentioned and explained what the preparation went into making the bouille. They all turned their noses when I mentioned soybeans, even though their nutritious, they had a bad rep for a bitter taste. Luckily, we had sugar.

Babies got fed, Mamas ate too and the left overs were partitioned. Free food is always a favorite no matter what the culture. Overall the session was a success, and the session the following week went well too; but I can’t help to wonder if the Mamas listened or if they took away the importance of proper nutrition for their children or if they just left with free food. I’m sure it was that way for many. So when I saw Delphine preparing the bouille I was touched, she became an instant favorite. I even shrugged the fact that her twins who are only 4 months should be breastfed exclusively until 6 months, at least they were getting an enriched bouille.

Safari Benin Style

2008-05-20T03:13:00.000-07:00

Back around March, right after my last entry, I went on a little safari with 6 other volunteers. We hired a guide to drive us through Park Penjari, we sat four people on the roof while three others sat in the SUV. Our guide made it the responsibility of those sitting on the roof to be on the look out for animals, of course that’s what we were doing, but after some time would pass and we wouldn’t have spotting anything he would open the driver door and stand up to get a better look. Yes the car was still in motion, yes we were a little frightening sitting on top of a SUV notorious for rolling over while our driver had one foot stretched to reach the gas peddle (and he would occasionally hit the accelerator), one hand on the steeling wheel and the rest of his body hanging out the door. He would even turn to speak to us, leaving his eyes off of the winding and bending dirt road. Over all it made for a good time.

We spent the repos or breaks between noon and 3 and the nights at the hotel located in the park. Most of the people who come are French tourist so the personnel laughed as we crammed all 7 of us into a room with one double bed and looked with puzzlement as we ate our packed lunches and dinners- something the guides would do, not the guests.

By the end of the second day we had seen plenty of baboons, deer, antelope, hippos, but we were still on the search for elephants and lions (there are no giraffes in Benin, oh well). Then, unexpectedly while at a watering hole we heard an elephant in the distance, so we rushed back into the car and drove out like madmen. There was a family, about 3 big elephants and 3 babies. Sitting on top of the SUV our presence made the elephants defensive and protective of their young. And when the engine made a noise to move forward the elephant made a charge at us, stopping maybe 20 yards away making her intentions aware. So we sat in idle watching the family graze and wonder, each foot step taken was leisurely, never leaving us out of their sight until they were well enough away.

The next morning, our anxieties had dwindled a bit, being satisfied with the elephant sighting that it took a second or two to recognize the two lions that we before us as we drove. They’re much bigger than I was expecting, but being startled then soon dispersed into the forage before getting a good picture. Our guide blamed us for making too much noise when we spotted them, even though it was him who screamed “where?”

Even as we were about to leave the Park and send some time at the waterfalls that are a bit south, we came across another elephant. I could watch them all day long with their slow motion and their tusks moving every which way. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.

Harmattan to Chaleur

2008-03-19T16:59:00.000-07:00

During the months of December and January the air became a little cooler, it’s called Harmattan. During this season the winds came down from the Sahel of the Sahara Desert. The mornings are hazy; sand ligers in the air while my neighbors sweep the area in front of our house. The villagers would shield themselves from the cold by staying in their homes until they had no choice but to start the morning chores. Babies were dressed in knitted hats, jackets and booties. Others wore sweatshirts, pants under pants, down jackets; one day I noticed Tayé (an apprentice) wearing a jacket made for firefighters- how it got to Benin beats me.

I too felt the chill. There were some nights when I needed to sleep in a sweatshirt and socks. The mornings I would wake up, make a cup of coffee with my French press and crawl back into bed with a book- I loved it! You are probably wondering how cold it actually got, well… my thermometer never fell below 70 o, not cold by our standards but hey, it was at least 20 o cooler than normal.

Too quickly the days grow hotter. Harmattan was coming to an end. The transition to chaleur or the hot, dry season meant an end to mornings drinking hot coffee and a beginning of profuse sweating. Tomatoes have become almost impossible to find and basins are piled up at the pump; women spend hours waiting for water. However, this is also the season for cashews. For the risk of sounding dumb, I never knew cashews grew on trees- huh. They grow on the bottom of a cashew apple, a fruit filled with juices that stains your clothes, but are so delicious!

One day walking around, I was beckoned by one of the men who work at our “gas station,” in other words a little shack where they sells gas and do some moto repairs. The men were in the process of cracking grilled cashews and asked if I wanted to join. Of course I did! So I was offered a tiny stool, handed a wrench, and with minimal explanation I began cracking. It was quite a sight for those passing by to see me, in a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt, sitting with a bunch of men covered in soot around a pile of cashews. I soon learned the secret- eat more than you put in the finished pile, something I was glad to do. After this little pow wow, I was invited to stay and eat bouille (a gruel, porridge like thing made from corn flour and lots of sugar). That afternoon I was just one of the guys.

(My neighbors Dione, top, and Prisca, bottom, grilling and cracking cashews.)

But the glories of eating cashews are not enough to win me over. Lately, I wake up sweating and go to bed sweating. Walking any distance longer than 50 feet and I’m drenched; after cooking I look like I’ve been sitting in a sauna. I stopped using my lantern as much because it gives off extra heat. And for a while, I would lay outside on my porch at night, waiting for my house to cool down a bit before crawling under my mosquito net.

Besides the continuous sweating, constant applying and reapplying of sunblock and the endless desire for something cold to drink in a village where refrigerators are few, I also have new habitants in my home trying to find shade. Spiders, geckos, and crickets I’m used to, even the really big hairy spiders I can deal with, but the scorpion I found behind my bookshelf- eeck! It took three swats with my sandal to kill it. I saved the remains only long enough to show my neighbors. The first thing they said was “ah kāy kāy” (the word for scorpion in Nagot) and that it stings man. Something I was well aware of.

Hopefully the rainy season will creep up as quickly as the chaleur did. Already it’s rained twice, both times only for a few minutes, but it was welcomed.

C'est la Vie

2008-03-03T10:50:00.000-08:00

I've finally started my work at the health center and it has been going well. I talk to pregnant women and mothers of infants about proper nutrition for them and their children. I've learned about a lot of taboos that they have (for example its said that if pregnant women eat eggs they will have a miscarriage) and mothers often do what their told by the elders even if they know its wrong (when one mother’s month old baby was sick she was told by her mother in law that if she didn't give him water it would be her fault he died, so the mom gave him water, probably not clean, even though she new it wasn't the right thing to do). These sessions help me realize that behaviors are much harder to change than giving information and perhaps the moms won't be allowed to make drastic changes now, but I hope that when they become grandmothers they will be less likely to pass along false information concerning the health of their grandchildren. The sessions are translated by one of the apprentices for hardly any of the women who come speak French and sometimes not even the same language so the info has to be translated twice. Sometimes the apprentice takes over which inspires me that he could continue giving the sessions without me present- my ultimate goal.

The sessions also help me become familiar with more faces in the community and I get to see a lot of cute kids that come. Lately I see the same mothers at the market and noticed a higher level of interaction with them. And there are fewer questions as to why I'm here. But getting to know the women can have its toll.

Just this past Monday I had a pregnant mom come to listen to one of my talks. There were few that came that day and she understood French so I was able to have a conversation with her. She was 9 months pregnant with her third; however her previous children have died. So when she came back Wednesday and delivered a 6.5 lbs baby boy (large by Benin standards) she was thrilled. I saw her in the health center glowing and shortly after she took him home. Friday she came back to the health center, her son was pale, but she didn't let on that she was nervous. Later that day, my counterpart, the nurse at the health center, told me haphazardly that the newborn died.

3 pregnancies, 3 deliveries, 3 lives unlived.

I was lead to her house by one of the apprentices later that day to give my regards. I found her there, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face. You would think at a time like this my foreign status wouldn't matter, but no, I was still paid attention to when all the while I just wanted to comfort her. I couldn't understand what the others were saying but it sounded more like blame than support. Needing to get some air and hide my own emotions, I knelt down beside her and gave her a hug, the only gesture I know in times like these, and left. That day I cried in front of my college, something I don't think he knew how to handle.

It shouldn' t be that hard to introduce a new life into this world.

Long Live the King

2008-03-03T09:31:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago the people of a subdivision of my village A (it is required that we do not post the names of our villages) decided that they too were a village on their own, a village with an approximate population between 400-600 people. I’m not quite sure the need or advantage of having two small villages instead on one; but to the people of A2, it was essential. Of course members of village A were against the decision and forbid anyone from A2 from crossing the border. This dispute lasted a few nights with out me noticing anything until I was told about “la guerre” or the war as it was called. I was in no harm for I am neither considered village A or A2- I am both, but during the trifles some were sent to the hospital with wounds from beatings and one person even lost an eye from a thrown rock.
As with most family disputes la guerre didn’t last long and being their own village, A2 established their own market, a few stalls where people gather to chat, and they elected a King. The King selected comes from a royal blood line and is one of the oldest in the village. He is well respected and highly regarded even though he has little former education and is of the same occupation as most of the villagers. After being chosen he was required to remain at his home for a period of 9 weeks. After his “probation” was concluded there was going to be a three day celebration. As with most celebrations, people purchased “même tissu,” or same fabric and t-shirts that were made with an imprint of the King’s face. So, early on a Friday morning the celebration began, the King left his house and with a train of people following him, he made his way through the village to the newly established market which just happens to be outside my front porch. Noticing the commotion, I left my house to get a better look. Before I knew it I was pushed to the center of the mass of people where the King, dressed in the traditional “bomba” and wearing thick red beaded necklaces, prayed for me as he tapped me with his wand made from an animal’s tail.
The cluster of people soon broke apart as people sang and danced their way back to the King’s home. I too went along and looked back at the remains of the cluster to see people dipping their hands into a mud puddle created by water spilled by the King. It’s “girs-gris” they said or protection from evil. At the King’s home the women and a few men took off their sandals (that is if they were wearing any) sung and danced to the tapping of drums and bowing to the King ever so often. (The proper way to bow is to get into a pushup position and remain there until the King gives permission to rise.) After a while I was in need to wash up and eat something, but was informed to hurry back.
On my way back, the delegate, or elected representative of village A2, spotted me and dragged my by the arm to the King. There I removed my sandals and bowed (not an official bow, but my American attempt) as he prayed for me the second time that day. Afterwards the delegate beckoned for “Chou” a beer made from millet with a bit of sweetness to it. So, not wanted to be rude I took the drink and then I was whisked away by the delegate to go pay our respects to a family who’s “vieux” or old man recently died. There we were giving liquor (have I mentioned this was still before noon), I tried to politely refuse but he wouldn’t accept. So I slowly sipped the glass of liquor hoping he wouldn’t notice if I left the glass full when it was time to go. After this, the delegate was satisfied with my actions and left me to enjoy more of the festivities that day.
On the second day of the celebration, as well as the first, people would unexpectedly break out into singing and dancing while preparing food or waiting at the water pump. That afternoon there was a soccer game in which the players wore shoes that didn’t fit or no shoes at all. The King was the honored guest and made an entrance accompanied by the wise Mamas whom also wore the thick red beaded necklaces. The game ended in a tie and that gave enough cause to celebrate, again. (At the soccer game: kids crowding to get in the picture; drummers)

I was told that the third day was when I should were my outfit that I had made. So wanting to become well integrated I put on the meme tissu and went in search of where I should be. I found my neighbors, Prisca, Blandine and Dione (ages 11 and 12) feasting at the King’s house, but none of the Mamas that I was looking for, so I continued walking. Soon enough I was spotted (quite easily considering I’m the only white person) by the Mamas, the same Mamas from the New Year’s fête. They were in process of preparing the food in honor of the King and directed me to have a seat with the men. I noticed that the men were wearing the outfits from New Years, but I was assured I didn’t have to change because the women would be wearing the King’s tissu. Then the first Mama arrived, she was wearing her New Year’s bomba, almost immediately the response was take Rachelle home so she can change. The gesture was welcomed for it made me feel like an actual member of the “association” as they call us.

So I ended the King’s celebration eating pâte rouge, drinking cold beverages, listening to music, wearing même tissu with the people who have accepted me most into the community. A great way to end any weekend. (Me with Mama- my counterpart's wife, Pascaline, and their daughter, Amidath)

Festivities in Benin

2008-01-05T05:50:00.000-08:00

Well I hope everyone back hope has been enjoying the holidays. Christmas flew by here and besides going to church with the girls next door, nothing special occurred.

New Year's However was a different matter.

At midnight my homologue came to wake me up to wish me good health and prosperity (he did ask before hand if it was okay) and I joined him and his family to welcome the new year. I was given a plate full of spaghetti and sodas that I couldn't refuse before making my way back home to get a little more rest. The next morning at 7 am I went back over to his house to help his wife prepare food for the celebration. I mostly just watched as she and her friends made couscous with macaroni in a spicy tomato sauce and pate rouge with chicken and some other type of meat. Once most of the cooking was done we went back to our homes to wash and get ready for the "fete" at 3pm. There was about a dozen of us: the three apprentices at the health center, the men who work at the gas "station," my homologue's wife, three other Mama's, two guys who hang out at the health center and myself who partook in the festivities. We ate, drank warm sodas and beer, danced, and ate some more.
Around the time the sun was setting, a couple of traditional drummers came by and inevitably the Mamas started singing and dancing. We took off into the village, collecting people as we went creating a large group of women and children singing and dancing as the drums played (there were also people gasping at the fact the white girl was participating). We went to the house of the king where I bowed and was given a name ("Ta ta" or something like that) before heading back through the village. The whole time I had children clung to me, showing me the way to dance and helping me out with the singing. A few of them even invited themselves to come live with me. The whole time I felt more like a part of the community and less like an outsider.

It was by far the best New Years I have had.

Pictures from the top: Apprentices Taye and Gaston behind a Mama, the apprentice Etienne and my homologue's wife all in "meme tissue"; Me with two Mama's, again in meme tissue (I know I look ridiculous smiling when nobody else does); My girls who live next door- from the left Blondine, Prisca, their brother Willy, Dione; the twins who also live next door- Kandayne and Taye (all twins are called that- Kandaynes are born after Tayes)

pictures from benin

2007-12-28T13:48:00.000-08:00

Since Rachelle has limited access to the internet I am posting a few pictures for her. I will post more later when her mother can help me decide what pictures to post. I just recieved these pictures so I have no idea for captions. Rachelle's Dad

Au Village

2007-12-28T09:01:00.000-08:00

I know it's been a while since I wrote an entry; it's not that I don't have Internet access, it's just when I do, I don't know where to begin. A few people have been asking about some details so I'll try to describe things as best as I can (and I'm sure you are aware by now I am a terrible writer, so things might be a little random).

My house is a triplex; I live on one end, the principle of the high school lives in the center and my landlord with his many children lives on the opposite end. It is made out of cement bricks with a tin roof and we each have a little front porch. There is one window in each of my two rooms and until recently (I just painted the front room) it resembled a prison cell. My shower is a cement box located behind my house along with my latrine. I don't have electricity so around 7:00 each night I light my lantern and/or use my head lamp to finish making dinner or open a book to read. I spend most of my time reading.

My water is bought to me by a women who is expecting a baby and pretty soon. She carries the basin filled with water from the pump (the village's only source of clean water, yet I still have to filter and boil it before I drink it or else I'll get sick) to my house where she tilts her head just so and pours the water into a large garbage can in my front room without spilling it over the edges. She usually comes with her son who is about 3 or4, shy, and a little scared of me; he waits for her by the mango tree in front of my house, he won't come any closer.

My house does not resemble those of my neighbors. Very few homes have front porches, latrines, decent sized windows, etc. A home the size of mine might have a family of 8 or more. Children share 2-3 to a bed (if they have a bed) and 4-6 to a room, they might share a room with their parents (so if one family member is sick with a cold, they all have a cold). Some are made out of mud brinks and few have thatch roofs. The shower boxes are scattered throughout the village and only come up to the person's shoulders, so you can see who's showering if you were to be walking around.

Walking around you would also see the women at work. Carrying water from the pump or well, hand washing laundry (the basin is set on the ground and the women bend at the hip resting one arm on a knee as they scrub the clothes while their strong backs are kept straight- I also wash my clothes this way, however not as gracefully), preparing meals, selling vegetables they brought back from the fields, or working as a tallier with their sewing machines set outside. The women most likely have a baby strapped to their backs (I get nervous when I do this, but the baby's really don't go anywhere) or a toddler alongside them, or both.

On Fridays, the women set up booths at the market. This is where you buy your food, house accessories, fabric to make clothes, etc. Prices are not fixed, so you have to bargain (I am not good at bargaining and usually end up paying a higher price). You can even buy american style clothes which look like they came from the 80s and were once donated to the salvation army. The women in village usually wear a t-shirt of this style with a pagne (translated to loin cloth), faded from years of use, wrapped around their waste. If they are travelling or want to look nice for a celebration, they will either wear a boomba or a model (I'll try to get pictures). Men wear western clothing or the traditional boombas. The more imporant the man the more elaborate his boomba.

The food here consists of starch, starch and more starch served with a thin tomato sauce. Vegetables are hard to come by. There is la pate (pronounced pot) made from corn meal and has the consistency of jello, you eat it with your fingers and dip it into a tomato sauce that is most likely spicy from hot peppers. Yam pile is pounded yams, it reminds me of a thick mash potato. It is also eaten with your fingers and dipped into a sauce, sometimes it is a peanut sauce. (Yam pile with peanut sauce is my favorite here.) You also have your rice serve with beans, I eat rice here with a spoon, but again a lot of people use their fingers. Meat here is tough and hard to chew, and the whole animal is eaten. Just the other day my neighbor's kids were dividing up pieces of a rat, it wasn't skinned, looked like charcoal, and they even ate most of the bones including the head. I'm glad they didn't offer it to me, somethings I'm willing to try (like goat and bushrat which are not so bad), but other things I'm not. They also eat snakes here. (Speaking of snakes I saw a green tree snake that was scared out of it's tree, killed and burned and a cobra. I didn't see the cobra until my homologue reacted by grabbing my arm to pull me away. His response was anti-venom is very expensive.)

Well, that's the highlights of my village. I'll try to write again sooner than later.

Petite a Petite

2007-11-06T05:47:00.000-08:00

Things here have been going well. My day typically consists of alot of reading, entertaining children that stop by and going down to the health center where I sit under a tree with my homologue's wife or some of the boys that work at the health center. I have also started teaching English to a few girls after school. I have no idea what I'm doing, but it gives the girls a chance to hang out and not have to worry about chores. Village is really started to feel like home. It seems like everyday I am learning something new about the village or meeting someone new. I am no longer nervous about walking through the village and the people have really warmed up to me. They love when I try to speak the local language, I only know a few of the saluations and how to say "I am full" when offered food, but it's enough to make them smile.
The villagers wake up early to do their chores before the day begins and the children go to school. Most of the villagers make a living by selling charcoal or other various things. Looking out from my porch you will see many women walking by to sell who knows what carried on top of their heads, a baby strapped on their back, and a toddler walking besides them. They sometimes even come directly to my door to see if I want what they have to offer; quite convient.
Well, I'm not sure what else to say. It's hard to pick and choose what to write about. I'm going to try to post some pictures, but I'm not sure if it will work. I love to hear from people back home. I have alot of free time on my hands and often wonder about how everyone is doing, so try to keep in touch.

In Village

2007-10-01T05:41:00.000-07:00

Last Monday I left my host family and moved to my post, a small village in the department of Collines. Collines translates to hills and on the way here I passes many of the collines which are oddly grouped in 3s or 4s and displaced throughout the region. It*s quite scenic and a change from where I had my training in the south, which is completely flat, yet still beautiful.
When the taxi pulled into my village I was greeted by about a dozen children who seemed to be waiting for me all weekend. They eagerly helped me unload the taxi and move into my house which is set up kinda like a duplex. I have two rooms on the end with no electricity or running water, I also have no privacy for my shower, latrine and kitchen are all outside; I can actually wave to my neighbors as I take a bucket shower. Fortunately, my community has offered to build me a fence and construct a back door (not quite sure how that*s possible considering my walls are cement, but we*ll see how things go).
However, I do have a porch and two gorgeous mango trees out front. I have already spent most my time here sitting on my porch reading or watching the goats, chickens, and pigs search for food. Some of the children randomly stop by, say a word or two, then just stare at me in silence. It sounds awkward, but it*s nice to have the company.
Now that I am in my village, I*m not supposed to start working at the health center for the first three months. It*s supposed to give us time to integrate into the community and assess its needs. I plan on using the time to explore the region see what*s around and find where I can but some food. There is a market in my village, but it only comes on Fridays, even then it has little to offer. I was only able to find tomatoes, onions and pasta when I went. So, I will probably make trips to nearby towns, unfortunately I know I won*t be able to find cheese, chocolate or ice cream.
Settling into my house has also been keeping me busy. I only have two rooms, but I can*t seem to sweep enough in one day; sand comes from no where. I also had to get a couple of bats out my front door. I*m not easily startled by critters, but bats flying around my head was enough to make me cringe. Since then, I had the opening where they came in covered, so hopefully, besides lizards and spiders, I won*t have anymore unwelcome guests.
Overall, I think I*m going to like life in my village. I still have some adjusting to do, such as getting used to the transportation (it took me over two hours to get to the Internet cafe), but that will come with time. Hope all is going well with everyone!

Finishing training

2007-09-20T11:25:00.000-07:00

The second half of training has flown by. I have been busy with classes as well as travelling around Benin. I am having trouble accepting the fact that it is already the month of September.
Almost a month ago I visited my post, a small village in the middle of the country. During my visit I was introduced to many of the villagers including the king (who I was informed is content with me). I stayed in one of the rooms of the hospital where I will be working. I noticed that not too many people speak French in my village, they speak a local language called Nagot. So the first few months living there should be interesting.
After my post visit, we went to Ouiddah, which is the biggest tourist area of Benin (which is not saying much). There we went to a sacred forest, the python temple, which is just a house full of snakes, and the beach where thousands of slaves were taken from Benin. It was a great way to learn about the history of the country.
This past weekend we went to another beach, but it had a completely different vibe. We went to Grand Po Po and spent the whole day lounging on the beach overlooking the ocean that's too dangerous to swim in.
It hasn't been all fun and games though. These past two months I've been able to improve my French just enough to pass the exam. My host family held a celebration for me with a bottle of champagne and a present. They have truly added to my experience so far.
So, tomorrow I swear in as a volunteer. Yay! and I move to my post on Monday- I was told that it is one of the scariest moments of peace corps service so wish me luck. I miss everyone so much and look forward to your letters and emails.
And Happy Birthday Sara!!!

Life in Benin

2007-08-20T04:28:00.000-07:00

Most days consist of training in language, culture, various technical skills and interacting with my host family who have been extremely welcoming every since they took me back to their house. The house is located in the market, which comes every five days. It has two bedrooms, I sleep in one room and the family sleeps in the other. The kitchen is outside along with the shower, and by shower I mean an area with a bucket filled with refreshingly cold water. My host Papa helps me with my french and how to become accostomed to te local alcohol which reminds me of a cross between tequilla and vodka. My Mama has been teaching me the Beninese way of cooking, they put hot peppers in every dish, handwashing my clothes and running a household. Like all Beninese women, she does everything with a baby strapped on her back and makes it look so easy. The little girl is 16 months old and such a cutie. There is also a neighbor who I absolutly adore; he is two and always has the biggest smile when he sees me and runs to greet me, unlike another neighbor who cries everytime she sees me.
During our free time, myself and the other trainees will get together at a local buvette for something cold to drink, which in a luxury in this heat. The weather has been in the 80s and humid, it is also the rain season. We*ve also biked to the next town to visit other trainees. The bike ride was very scenic, we passed beautiful countrysides covered in green. Last weekend a few of us went to go see hippos. We went out on a very small, somewhat questionable canoe, where a guide pushed us along the shallow lake that was isolated except for a few fishermen who fish naked for luck. We didn*t get too close to the hippos, but even from a distance you can tell their vastness from seeing their eyes poke out of the water. The baby was just waking up as we were about to leave, we were informed that his name means danger. It was a remarkable experience. If anyone comes to visit Ill take you to see the hippos, there*s rumor that another baby is on the way.
Overall, life here is pretty great. I often fall asleep to the sound of the market or rain hitting the tin roof and wake up to drums playing in the distance. Not much to complain about, except for maybe the lack of ice cream.

Arriving in Benin

2007-07-24T03:59:00.000-07:00

I rrived in Cotonou late Friday night after a 7.5 flight to Paris, a 5 hour layover and another 6 hour flight to Benin. We were greeted by many of the current volunteers and were taken to a Church like place where we have been staying. So far it’s been a lot of training and overview of what to expect. I love Benin so far! I had my first French lesson on Sunday and yesterday I learned how to drive a zemidjan (a motorcycle like means of transportation), the training also included how to bargain the price and how to get on with a skirt and without burning yourself on the tailpipe. I also bought a pineapple from a woman who was carrying the platter of them on her head, it was the best pineapple that I have ever had. I will be meeting my host family on Thursday where I will be for the next ~9 weeks; there I will be doing more in depth training for my job and try to enhance my French speaking skills. I’ll try to keep this blog updated but between my slacking and the possibility of having not so great internet, I can’t guarantee anything so feel free to email me or write; my address is:

Rachelle St. Onge, PCV
Corps de la Paix American
01 B.P. 971
Cotonou, Benin
Afrique de l’ Ouest
(West Africa)

On the envelope write Par avion (Air Mail) and number your letters (yes I am expecting letters). I will be able to receive mail from this site for the next two years. Hope all is going well in the States!

A little story by Leah Schultz

2007-07-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

Rachelle squinted as she reached an area of unbroken sunlight. The trees forming a surrounding que as if urging her to stand stage center.
"Everything has purpose," she wispered. The trees rustled like an encouraging crowd. Rachelle squared herself and raised her voice a little louder. "Everything and Everyone has meaning. You just have to find it. I just have to find it. I,.... I have purpose." Her voice dropped to a wisper, again, as the kaleidoscope stilled and the jewels burned bright and clear. So clear.
Rachelle truned towards home. She was purpose in motion. She smiled at that. She was a biochemical reaction. Exergonic, energy liberated. She laughed and now running she saw what she could be. Breath hitched from exertion and joy she stretched towards the possibilities. Rachelle saw her future, bright and clear and she ran towards it.
Rachelle stood quiet and still. Her heart was beset by a sense of temporary, like all of this was just a suspended moment. A hushed pause of beauty before the kaleidoscope of life began to turn once more. Perhaps that's all it was. Plastic jewels trapped in a tube, set aglow by direct sunshine. Rachelle mentally turned away from the thought. She began to walk as if to put physical distance from that hollow vein.
Her dark hair glistted from the sun as she padded from sunshine to shade, sunshine to shade. Walking and thinking. "Everything has purpose," she thought. "Everything a motive, a meaning."
"Temporal thinking is wasteful." She huffed, walking still. "It robbed the thinker of heart and movement."