ma vie

No One Like U

2009-07-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

After two years of documenting my experiences, thought, and opinions in this blog, I believe that this will be my last journal. I noticed that journals were becoming harder and harder to write as my adventures became less novel to me and then after losing Kate, well…it was just hard to find inspiration like I once did. However, I know that months back, after telling my mom a story about how I held and mothered a pair of preemie-twins who in turn spit up on me, she requested that I write a story on taxi rides and the inevitable escapades that occur when traveling by bush taxi in Benin. However, as I wrote, I realized that riding in a taxi is less of a voyage than it is more of a game—if that makes any sense; therefore, I have broken this journal down Milton Bradley style in hopes that I will be able to better illustrate my point.

Taxi Rides

Objective: Travel from point A to point B alive and with your dignity and sanity in tact.

Materials: (all you need to make it a true adventure)
- 4 bald snow tires never meant to experience the sun-soaked African cement
- Wavering patience - 8 hours to spare
- 1984 Peugeot station wagon

Setup: (things to keep in mind before hitting the road)
- Price: Know your price beforehand; there’s nothing worse than finding out you got played by a taximan.
- Time: Never be in a hurry to get anywhere. Taxi rides take time and rushing the experience will only bring about bad karma.
- Lack of door handles: No door handles, no problem! This allows more room for hip space which equals more clients which equals more profit which buys more cola nuts!
- Passengers: When in doubt, add another. Profits are made by overstuffing taxis, so when possible, four in front, four/five in the middle, and three/four in the back. Still room on top, you say?! The more the merrier!
- Luggage: Think vertically. No room for luggage in the trunk? No problem! Taxis can be stacked in equal ratio to their height.
- Animals: Animals are welcome. Any of God’s majestic creatures from cows to goats to pigs to roosters can easily fit in the trunk or be tied on top.
- Starting the Engine: Starting the care can be difficult and not always require a key. Helpful hint: get the car moving to jump start it—either get out and push or start rolling down a hill (backwards and forwards are acceptable)

Guidelines: (as there are no rules, these are only mere guidelines to keep in mind during travel)
- Peuhl: If you see a Peuhl man, pick him up. He has no luggage, never complains, and is stick thin so he can be strategically placed anywhere.
- Marche Mamas: If you see a Marche Mama, beware. Unlike the Peuhl, she will likely delay you at least half an hour to load and unload baggage. She is rarely traveling to a big city and often takes up two spaces though you’ll receive the blame for not “moving over.”
- Car Problems:
-Flat tire? No problem! Most taxi drivers are so accustomed to break downs that they can fix a flat in under 10 minutes.
-No Speedometer? No problem! There are no speed limits and who cares anyway?!
-No Gas? No problem! Any liquid will suffice until you reach the next bootleg gasoline stand.
-No f*ing idea? No problem! Tomato cans, water, and gris-gris items (e.g. skulls, beads, feathers) are all acceptable under the hood if it keeps the car moving.
- Documentation: Paperwork, schmaperwork. You never have to travel with your documents as long as you can pay the bribe.
- Babies: Feel free to hold any baby you want, just make sure to give the baby back when the mom leaves.
- Companionship: Like referees at a sporting event, making fun of other drivers is an easy way to bond with fellow passengers. Helpful phrases include: “He’s crazy!” “He doesn’t have a head!” and “Did you see that!? Really?”

Multiplayer Play:-
- 2 players: Protect your sanity by sitting together and go for the best seat in the house (front passenger’s side)—you’ve earned it!
- 5 or more players: Well played. Now you can rent out the taxi just for you! The chauffeur will stop when you say stop and go when you say go—sanity remains in tact! Good job!

Closer to Fine

2009-05-06T03:21:00.000-07:00

In recent weeks, while the loss of Kate hasn’t become any more real to me and while I still find myself weakest in my most private moments, I’ve noticed that life has a funny way of moving on whether you’re ready or not. The calendar has now turned to May, and I’ve discovered myself spending more and more time here, there, and everywhere as my service begins its final encore. Camp Success 2009 is steadily gaining steam and with the camp itself taking place during the first week of July, these next two months are sure to be full of careful planning and frantic preparation. With any luck, I hope that this year’s edition of Camp Success will be an even greater achievement than it was last year. For many reasons, this camp has become very personal for me, and I would like to see it reach its full potential. Not only has it felt like the most important project I’ve done thus far in my service, but this year’s camp began as a collaboration and as a union of my girls camp and of Kate’s girls camp. Therefore, more than ever, I feel the weight of this year’s camp on my shoulders; its magnitude is painfully clear. Camp Success 2009 will serve in memoriam of Kate’s dedication and service to the development and equality of females in Benin. In this vain, we have extended the scope of Camp Success to include female students from fifteen secondary schools across the Donga department. The campers will learn about educational opportunities, career development, and reproductive health from sessions facilitated by upstanding female community leaders. These women role models will serve as our Camp Mama and Camp Tantis and will further assist the girls in cultivating strong goal-setting, decision making, and leadership skills as well as developing a greater self-confidence. As in the years previous, the aim of this camp is to educate, motivate, and reward high-achieving female students. I have faith that if our goal is met, we will honor the memory of Kate in one of the best ways possible—by carrying on her work.
In other projects making progress, the manual work on my basketball court has finally drawn to a close thus giving myself, along with two other coaches from the community, the opportunity to have begun working with a boy’s team and a girl’s team three times a week. I’ve been watching this baby grow and grow and grow for a long time now, so it’s been very rewarding on a personal level to finally start practicing and training. The work is very much “petit a petit” as these kids have literally never touched a basketball before, but as of week two, everyone is still very much motivated to learn and get better, so as long as the attitude is there, the skills will follow. In reality, one of the difficult aspects for me has been learning a whole new French schema for basketball. As it is an American sport, much of the main vocabulary remains the same, “dribble, pass, rebound,” but try explaining, for example, how to shoot the basketball—for me, it’s always been BEEF (Balance, Elbow, Eyes, Follow through), when you follow through it’s like “reaching into a cookie jar,” goose neck, etc.—none of these concepts translate, on any level, into French. Truth be told, even the most basic concepts are difficult for me to explain as well; quite simply because I, honestly, don’t think that I’ve ever had to teach someone how to dribble. I’ve taught crossover dribble, spin dribble, speed dribble, hesitation dribble, pound dribble, in-and-out dribble, around-the-back dribble but I don’t think I’ve ever had to start at step one. Most American kids have had some introduction to a bouncing ball before they begin learning basketball, so the concept and the basic fundamentals are already there. These girls and boys are literally blank slates and any athletic adventure they’ve had has been with a ball at their feet—certainly never bouncing or dribbling. In this sense, coaching beginner’s basketball in Benin has been “petit a petit” for me, too.
In terms of immediate gratification, the best thing happening to me at the moment is the culmination of my teaching career here in Manigri. While the current teacher strikes are liable to delay the final exams, the sun is shining and I can see the light! In less than a week, I will have taught my final class (fingers crossed) and in less than two weeks I will have graded my final papers (fingers crossed, again). While my teaching experience has been many things to me, and while I have certainly learned more than I can even begin to express at this moment, I cannot deny that the prospect of never having to design a lesson plan around the present perfect tense again, does not intrigue me in the slightest. I suppose in my current musings of my experience here, I am most proud of the fact that even in these last few draining weeks, I have still come to class fully prepared and fully eager to make every class my best class—I’m still trying to be better and do better. My hope is that in my passionate attempts to make English class interesting, I have lit a spark under those students who would have otherwise apathetically cruised through the school system. I know that I have several bright and extremely motivated students, and I am confident that with or without me they would have found (and will find) a way to succeed. I guess my real wish is that I somehow in someway, I got to those students who hung around the middle or who have in other ways been ignored by their other professors. I hope that in someway, I was different, even if only for four hours-a-week. And the hardest part for me (and the hardest part about being a teacher) is that I won’t really ever know if I made a genuine difference—I just have to hope. Regardless, I’ll be toasting a “Beninoise” to myself come Thursday night!
The rest of the exciting news in country isn’t really mine to share, but I can certainly dance around it a bit! The good news is that two of my best friends in country have been accepted to extend for a third year of teaching in China. The bad news is that they will be leaving in less than a month marking them as the first batch of PSL 20ers to officially COS (close of service), and leaving me more alone than before here in Benin. Truthfully, I’m very happy that I get to share in the excitement, because it’s going to be an amazing opportunity for the both of them, and I’m hoping that if I play my cards right, I could find myself making a visit to the land of noodles and pandas in the near future! Talks from other volunteers have surfaced as well of people extending in all kinds of interesting, new and exotic places in addition to plenty of plans being made for COS trips and post Peace Corps life. I should mention that a fair number of those plans include what his/her first meal back in the States will be—ah yes, the land of ample goodness and fat. At this moment, I, myself, would want to go straight American—a greasy Quarter Pounder with cheese, a side of French fries (with ketchup and mayonnaise, please), and then maybe topped all off with a Dairy Queen blizzard or even caramel Moolatte…yummm. With all the planning and leaving and now, first goodbyes, I find I can’t but help get a little nostalgic. In fact, to mark my time here, I’ve started working on a “Peace Corps by the numbers” list—here is what I have so far:

350 approximate number of students taught

60 number of times I’ve played “Cross of Flowers”

59 number of original volunteers in PSL 20

35 number of current volunteers in PSL 20

22 books read

21 months of living in Benin

10 most impressive number of grown adults smashed into a 5-passenger car

7 pounds gained in Benin

6 people in village who can properly pronounce my name

5 new countries visited

4 number of “Oh My God” diseases or injuries I’ve had

2 number of times I’ve seriously considered going home

World Spins Madly On

2009-04-30T09:43:00.000-07:00

When I started this journal, my intention was to focus on my Peace Corps experience; I vowed to keep all the personal details out of it. However, I think I would be remiss if I did not say something of the events that have passed as of late.

Written March 28th.

I remember one time Kate asked me to describe her in one word. I told her that I would think about it and get back to her. Kate, my answer is this, there is absolutely no one word to describe you. Twenty-nine is the best I can do.

Sincere. Kind. Radiant. Brilliant. Sweet. Gorgeous. Understanding. Peaceful. Friend.

Passionate. Motivated. Unfaltering. Strong. Smiley. Intoxicating. Comfortable. Patient. Donga Woman.

Trust-worthy. Shining. Happy. Petite. Centered. Grounded. Honest. Joyous. Undeniably Kate.

I imagine that it’s taken me until now to write something about Kate because I, in some way, think that if I will it to be so, I can just undo all the events of the past two weeks—rewinding life to a time when I could hear her laughing and see her smiling. The truth of the matter is that I still can’t really comprehend how someone so full of life and love and beauty could have possibly left us here alone. And so, I am forced to believe in the righteousness of the world. I’m forced to believe that Kate isn’t truly gone. I forced to believe that because we knew Kate, even if only for the briefest of moments, we will live life a little better and love a little harder and see beauty more often because we were touched by her—and in this sense, Kate is never gone.

I miss you.

Apologize

2009-03-08T07:29:00.000-07:00

“Do you have Jack Bauer's address?”

This is the question that one my neighbors asked me. I guess that the national television station has been playing episodes of 24 every Tuesday night, and he's been watching and has become quite a fan Jack Bauer—episodes of 24 also explain why everyone is terrified of an assassination plot against Barack Obama. Anyway, I felt like if I told him that Jack Bauer wasn't real it would be like telling a little kid that Santa Claus didn't exist. Instead of crushing his hopes, I just told him I didn't have the address because Jack Bauer wasn't a personal friend of mine, but that I would ask around regardless. This still seemed to be less than satisfactory; so please, if anyone is a personal friend of Jack Bauer and could give me his mailing address, that would make one little kid very happy.

In the way of actual events, I just returned from a vacation to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso to see the African Film Festival “FESPACO.” It takes place every year, but is only held in Ouagadougou every odd year, so I'm thrilled that the timing worked out for me to travel. I went with a fellow female TEFL volunteer from down south and besides all the wonderful sights and sounds of the trip, it was interesting for me to make my first trip without a male. Actually, I shouldn't say first. Earlier in the week, myself and several other female volunteers did a day trip into Togo for lunch and shopping—it's the life of the rich and famous here in Peace Corps. My experience crossing the border into Togo and my experience at the Film Festival would lead me to conclude that without another alpha male around to “regulate” the situation, most Beninese men (or Togolese) feel obliged to behave as despicable as they can. While crossing the border, we had to marry ourselves off to the military men at the border just to get across and then we were slipped the dreadful dirty finger as we entered our taxi—all of this goes without a word from us, of course, because in this instance the men definitely held the power (most literally in form of guns strapped to their backs). While in Burkina, I think that myself and my fellow traveler could have made a pretty penny if we were given money every time some guy tried to get our attention with “Ma cherie” “Mes filles” “Bebe” “Jolie Fille” “Ma blanche” or “Belle fille.” Lesson learned: When traveling in a group of only females, assume that every single guy is out to take advantage of you in whatever way possible, and therefore, always be on your guard. This last part, always be on your guard, would have been more exhausting if I had not already spent the last twenty months of my life living in Benin and perfecting the art of “being on my guard.” Thus, it would seem that no amount of “Pretty Baby”'s could ruin my time in Ouagadougou.

Visiting Ouagadougou itself is wonderful, but visiting Ouagadougou in February during FESPACO is the stuff that dreams of made of (all relatively speaking of course). Our time in Ouagadougou was brief—only four full days and only one actual full day of films, but in the short period, we saw five full lengths features and just over a half dozen short films covering everything from the apartheid in South Africa to female genital mutilation in West Africa to an entire film highlighting female artists in Africa. In addition, we soaked up the festival atmosphere by attending the opening ceremony (think pint-sized Olympics), dining on fresh strawberries and dates, sipping on cold beverages under giant tents while live music played and meat sizzled on the grill, shopping in seemingly endless rows of artisan booths carry everything from welded metal figurines to hand-dyed fabric to homemade jewelry—all of this hailing from just about every country in West Africa. Truly, this was an amazing experiencing and I would be happy to one day find myself back in Ouagadougou eating strawberries, seeing African films and getting hit on by Nigerian men.

After all the fun and excitement, it's always a nice slap of reality to go back to school where I have kids constantly picking their noses in desperate attempts to find the answer, boys zoning out in class as they become mesmerized by their newly developed muscles, and an administration that threatens to beat and fail kids who can't afford to pay their school tuition.

Actually on a lighter note, as I walk to school, I've been reminded of late, by the students whizzing past me with a fleeting and breathless “Good Morning, Teacher,” of my brother and me trying to catch the bus on cold Michigan mornings. My Mom would calmly sit by the living room window reading a book or watching some good morning TV show and keep watch while my brother and I frantically ran around the house trying to gather all of our stuff last minute. A loud, “BUUUS!,” bellowed from our mom would indicate to us that big yellow beauty had pulled up onto our street and consequently, gave us approximately thirty seconds to grab our things and dash out the door and across the lawn to the neighbor's driveway where the bus stopped. Rarely did we ever make it on time and on more than one occasion the poor bus would have to patiently wait for my brother and I as we trekked through the snow with big gym bags, instrument cases, backpacks, and posters in tote. I suppose it may be no surprise with this method of catching the bus that it also wasn't unusual for my mom to make a special trip to school just to drop of my permission slip or my essay or my basketball shoes or whatever the particular forgotten item happened to be. Thank goodness for Moms.

2009-02-23T05:17:00.000-08:00

I realize that this is a tad unusual, but a few weeks back I received an email from an organization asking me to post something on this journal. After personally checking out their website, I feel that this a good organization doing good things for kids, and so I've agreed to post their information here as a type of advertisement. The basic scoop is that they are a non-profit organization called Fresh Air Fund working out of New York and are looking for college-aged men and women to work their 2009 summer camp. In addition, they are always looking for summer homes to host a child. I realize this is quite brief and vague, but if this sounds like something interesting to you, here is a social media news release which explains in greater detail: fresh air fund

As for an actual post, I promise I'm working on something--something where the first line is, "Do you have Jack Bauer's address?"

Look For Me As You Go By

2009-01-14T03:43:00.000-08:00

This is the story of the mouse that wouldn't die.

In total, I (along with my mouse-catching guru, Alex) have killed 20 mice in the past two weeks. Nineteen of the deaths have been quick, as they should be—a rapid snapping of the neck and the mouse feels relatively little pain. One of those deaths, however, is a painful and tragic tale of a mouse who refused to go step into the light. His tale is a tale I will tell now...in his honor.

I first heard the snap of the trap in the morning right before I was getting ready to go to school. Thinking nothing of it, I went to school, promising myself to check the trap when I returned home. Two hours later, I get out my headlamp and walk innocently into the kitchen ready to dispose of another peanut-butter loving mouse. Instead of finding a neatly killed mouse frozen by rigormortis, I find an empty trap on my kitchen counter top and a barely breathing, little mouse on my cement floor, surrounded in his own blood after both eyes exploded following the apparent impact of falling from ceiling to counter top to floor. Horrified by the sight, it's now me who is the frozen one. I can't move or think of a solution on how to rectify the situation in front of me. After several minutes, I conclude that it's been at least two hours since he's been like this and that he probably doesn't have much longer to live the way he's bleeding, so I'll just leave him and let him die in peace. As it turns out, his survival of the fall was only the first of many miraculous escapes from death because when I walked back into the kitchen an hour later, not only was he still alive, but now he was slowly and cautiously walking around my floor. “Okay. Okay. I'll just put another trap down. He'll have a good last meal of peanut butter, and we'll get this thing over with,” I think to myself as I put down another loaded mouse trap. The mouse, however, had different plans—plans of survival. He knew! The little guy knew! As soon as he sniffed the peanut butter that second time he walked straight away from it. My mouse-catching guru never told me what to do in this situation. Figuring that there wasn't really anything I could do to make it better, and knowing that I didn't want a blind mouse running around my house, I decide to scoop up the little guy in a bag and let good old Mother Nature take care of things outside. So, after gently relocating him in a nice grassy spot behind my house, I walk back, sit down, and call it a day...except it wasn't over; it so wasn't over at all. Two hours later when I go back to take a shower, what do I see but a little mouse, his face covered in blood, cowering in fear against my back wall. Somehow he managed to make his way out of the brush and through my shower drain just to end right back up where he started. It's at this point that I start to feel like some sort of terrible serial killer where my victims keep trying to get away but no matter what turns they take, they just end right back up in my murderous hands. It's also at this point that I start to feel so badly for this little mouse, and I start to feel a sense of admiration for his strength to have survived through some much...well, torture...up to this point. He is truly a survivor by any definition. However, the fact that he's a clear survivor isn't working in my favor, and I know that somehow I have to put an end to this little guy's life or he's just going to suffer. As before, I bring the loaded mouse trap to my back area and hope that maybe this time he'll take the bait, and end it all. But, just like the first time, he conscientiously steers clear of it. And so, I watch him. I just watch him for a good half hour as he bravely navigates the foreign land with only his nose as his compass. I sit there and admire him and wish that I didn't have to kill him. I sit there and wish that he had never gotten caught up in my stupid mouse hunt. I feel complete compassion for this little, surviving-against-the-odds mouse. I respect that even when he can't see any light at the end of the tunnel (literally in his case), he just keeps going because his instinct to survive, to live, is so strong. I start to think that this little guy is some sort of great metaphor for life: that no matter how rough things get sometimes, we've got to keep going, we've got to keep moving because there's always hope, there's always a light, even if it's so dark sometimes we can't see it. And, instead of thinking how I can end the mouse's life, I go back into the house and start looking around to see if there is a way I can help him survive. *Snap*. Not ten seconds into my brainstorming did I hear it. I turned on the spot, walked back out, and sure enough, there was my little inspirational mouse dead by the snap of my trap. I'm not sure if he finally got hungry and lost his caution, if he just accidentally wandered upon it as the loss of his senses undoubtedly began to fail, or if this was some sort of mouse suicide. Nevertheless, I was strangely overwhelmed with emotions from happiness to sadness. I hope that he is in mousey heaven now. I hope that I never have to deal with another tale like this. I hope that people understand the gamut of emotions that got all tied up with this little mouse. I hope that people don't think I'm too crazy.

Anyway, that is the story of the mouse that wouldn't die. The End.

Chinese Translation

2009-01-14T03:41:00.000-08:00

Full of hope and promise, full of new beginnings and fresh ideas, full of awakening and inspiration. I love the New Year. I love that once every 365 days we get the chance to wipe the slate clean and start again. I love the prospect of learning new things, righting wrongs of the past year, and in turn, bettering myself as a person. With that being said, 2008 was, undeniably, one hell of a year and certainly ended with a bang, so 2009...well “Qui Vivra Verra”

The year of 2008 was capped off in spectacular fashion with a trip to Dogon country in Mali. Stretching for miles, a 300-meter escarpment rises up into the sun laying the base for hours of breath-taking views while hiking into the small villages nestled into the side of the cliff and through the Dogon communities who make their home at the base or on top of the escarpment. Like a fresh coast of paint, I felt like my time in Dogon re-energized me and cleansed me as I turned my head towards the new year.

The trip began with surprising effortlessness. We left Benin with not much of an itinerary, with not much of a plan, all we really knew was our intended destination and yet, without much hesitation from one taxi switch to another we suddenly found ourselves at our intended destination, in a random hotel in the center Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso and talking to a random Peace Corps volunteer who was leaving that very night to go back to the States. He recommended a delicious Lebanese restaurant within walking distance of our hotel and off we went with dreams of falafel. Our walk took us down the main strip of Ouagadougou and what a beautiful sight it was. Seemingly built with a little more foresight than the crowded streets of Cotonou, Benin, Ouagadougou was lit up with Christmas lights stretched out over large canopies covering outdoor terraces of one restaurant after another. The usual vendors walked the streets selling everything from flashlights and phone credit to the more seasonal items like inflatable Santas and tacky garlands, but something about the large sidewalks, holiday lit streets, multiple-story buildings, and outdoor eateries, I was reminded of home.

We actually spent the next day in Ouagadougou as well, as part cautionary measure to make sure our feet were under us before we began our Mali adventure and as part of an indulgence into our curiosities of what other West African cities are like. While we did do our fair share of exploring and buying—bumper stickers to place on our helmets (myself, a Zinedine Zidane sticker and Alex, a sexy lady sticker) and Jesus salami (it was on sale at Christmas...go figure)—a large majority of our time was spent just relaxing on the balcony of our hotel with a beer in hand as we watched the hustle and bustle of the city on the street below—an equally interesting way to absorb the energy of the city, in my opinion.

The next day was just another day of travel and overshadowed immensely by the following day which began with a horse cart ride into the mouth of Dogon country. We had met our guide the night before and after a immediate connection with him (more so on the part of Alex for whom all African men have hearts in their eyes) I could tell that we were going to have a fantastic and intimate Dogon experience—relatively speaking. The Rough Guide to West Africa reads, “[Dogon] can be swarming with travelers, especially over Christmas.” As we descended our horse cart, we began perfectly aware of this fact, immediately joining hiking teams with another group of fifteen or so Dutch and German tourists. This would be indicative of the rest of our time in Dogon—constantly sharing sleeping camps, restaurants, and trails with other eager voyagers. The influx of tourist only strengthened the paradox that I came to see Dogon as—a place desperate to hold on to the foundation of their culture; the language, the art, the traditions and yet, a place forced to adapt to the ever-changing environment around them. A westernized environment that damages the traditionalism but that creates a stable economy on which the Dogon people can continue.

The following day, Christmas Eve, climaxed after a day of hiking with a elegant night sky where the stars twinkled like diamonds above us—a view we were only privy to because of the bold decision to sleep outside under the sky. I watched for hours as Orion's belt moved steadily across the sky and no, not because of the beauty of it, but because it was so absolutely freezing with the blowing night wind that it took me several hours for my body to finally give up and fall asleep. Despite the allure of the sparkling night sky, that would be the last night that we decided to sleep under the stars as sleep tends to trump all; nevertheless, a Christmas Eve to remember.

Christmas day was, perhaps appropriately, the most beautiful day of hiking. Our path to the top of the escarpment took us across the cliff side and into tiny coves where lush greenery covered the rocky terrain. Views only an artist could imagine were plentiful and as we hiked and awed over the scenery, donkeys continually gave us accusing stares as if we were wrongfully intruding on their little paradise (come to think of it, I would probably stare accusingly, too, if tourists were treading all over my green fields). The night of the 25th we joyfully merged groups with two other fellow Peace Corps Benin volunteers and seven other Peace Corps Burkina Faso volunteers; together we watched the sun set through the dusty December air after which we happily toasted one another with several rounds of local millet beer.“God Bless Us, Everyone.”

The following morning, our large conglomeration of a group took off a steady pace hoping to make it back down the cliff side in time to see the annual Christmas celebration marked with traditional dancing and dress. Another beautiful hike down the escarpment was only slightly marred by the formation of a couple nasty blisters on my feet in addition to the embarrassingly painful problem of an allergic reaction to a “toilet paper” leaf in the bush. Nevertheless, we reached our destination before noon and after a brief lunch and repos we were back out and ushered into bleacher-esque seating to watch the festival take place. Again, in accordance to the very nature of Dogon country, the ceremony was wonderful but a bit odd. It was a tradition, no doubt, started ages ago by the ancestors of the Dogon people and yet, at present, I couldn't help feel like the age old traditions of yesteryear had been somewhat altered so as to please all the foreigners hoping to videotape a piece of ancient history. Additionally, it seemed apparent to me that most of the Westerners who were happy to sit back and respectfully watch from a distance were the ones being pushed forward through the crowds of on-looking villagers while the eagerest eyes in the crowd, those of the Dogon children, were the ones being continually pushed further and further back from the excitement of the activities. Is there a point when sharing your culture becomes harmful if you start to lose sight of where your customs came from and if you start to push away all those wide-eyed children who will grow to carry on such customs? I don't think there can be an easy answer to that question.

The final day of hiking was only a half day and after a brief moment of “Where the hell are we?” (our guide's apprentice got us lost on the escarpment) we were back down where we started and looking back over our shoulders at Dogon country as we headed out just as we came in, on a horse cart. That night we finally laid our tired heads down at a hooker-friendly, filth-friendly, overcharging hotel near the border of Burkina Faso.

If getting to Dogon country was one of the easiest and most pleasant travel experiences I have ever had in West Africa, trying to get out was unfortunately it's antithesis. After buying tickets the night before and being ensured an early morning taxi ride back into Burkina Faso, it wasn't until after about six hours of waiting that we actually left...and not with the company from whom we had purchased the tickets. We were the thankful recipients of some very kind Italian travelers who stopped when they saw Alex waving them down on the side of the road and agreed to take us all the way to Ouagadougou. After bonding during the nine or ten hour trip to Ouagadougou—most intimately when one of the guys fell asleep on my shoulder—we met up later that night for dinner and drinks. God Bless Italians who turned around what could have been a very bad day of traveling into a very interesting and pleasant one.

Because of our late arrival into Ouagadougou the night before, we decided to sleep in the next day and make a late departure out of the city in our return to Benin. This decision, while good at the time, was probably not that great in retrospect when we would be losing an hour in time difference between Burkina and Benin and when we weren't really accounting for all the unexpected travel variables that you suddenly have when moving around in a developing country...like bandits at night. Whether a little Christmas kindness from the man in the red suit or just a couple of twenty-something idealists having dumb luck on their side, we made it back to Benin just after 11 o'clock at night exhausted, hungry, and happy to be back in a country we can call home. The following days were spent unwinding and relaxing and not-so-ceremoniously celebrating the transition into a new year.

Carly (cleaning dishes): Oh, hey. It's 12:05. Happy New Year!
Alex (setting mouse traps): Oh, yeah. So it is. Guess it's 2009. Happy New Year.

And so, 2009. I hope that it will be full of new adventures and new stories. I promise that I will be equally excited to open my mind to the unknown and that in doing so I will only broaden my own narrow horizons. I will begin this year with the idea that nothing is impossible or unattainable and will do my best to live 2009 as a better me. My wish for 2009 is that in my final months here in Benin I will find a way to leave behind as much inspiration as I have gained over the past year.

Happy New Year!

Hey Jealousy

2008-12-19T05:19:00.001-08:00

Let me try to paint a picture.

It is the twelfth of December. I am sitting on my foam cushions listening to the sounds of a child getting beaten by her mother. The child is screaming for the abuse to stop but her mother isn't listening to her in her blinding fit of rage—the child will later emerge from the house with a huge black eye. Outside the sun is shining on the dry and dusty earth. Normally, the nights and mornings reach a cooler temperature in the low 70s, but at this time during mid-day, the sun's rays are at full force and the only people outside my door who dare brave the heat are the barely clothed children who run and play with their holiday toys—old tires, balloons, and recycled cans. To mask the sound of tears and pain from my neighbor, I begin to play my Christmas music mix. The first song on the list is “Please Come Home for Christmas” and it seems so out of place in this moment that it almost cruelly plays upon my ears. I begin to feel certain emotions that I can only describe as dangerous when felt in a place so far from home: loneliness, confusion, anger, a yearning for home and family. Though I realize these emotions have no place in my heart, I let them start to seep in and the tears start to form. And then, at this moment of fragileness and vulnerability, Otis Redding starts to play “Merry Christmas, Baby” and the barely clothed children who are gathered so close to my door run over and start to dance in a way so comical that I can't help but smile and try to purge myself of the negative emotions.

This snapshot of life in Manigri isn't unlike many December days that I have here. It's why I have such a difficult time imagining a blustery snow storm and family members gathered happily together. It's why everyday is a mixture self-pity, that I'm alone in a strange world missing my family and friends, followed by a moment of self-realization, that I'm surrounded by love and family of a different sort.

I remember feeling similar emotions around the holidays last year. The holidays are the hardest time to accept the differences of a world so foreign from the one you once knew. It's hard to force yourself to let go of old family traditions and accept that this year new traditions are going to be made. The truth of the matter is that even with every smile and laugh the holiday spirit brings me in Manigri, I smile a little brighter knowing that next year I can return to my more familiar holiday traditions of snow and family and trivial pursuit. And so, as I said last year to my family, I will say it again, “Somebody sing something!”

Happy Together

2008-12-19T05:17:00.000-08:00

Previously on this blog: The next installment of my journal will be brought to you by two hired guest writers: my parents...I figured that it would be both interesting and considerably more informative for my parents to be the ones to narrate the tales of their adventure in Benin.

And so now you have it: The fabled account of what really happened during their two week visit in Benin as brought to you by my lovely guest writer Judith A. Johnson

I dreamed of Africa every night for about two weeks after our return. It was usually some variation of being in a strange place or trouble with transportation. What the dreams lacked was the excitement of waking up and knowing that today I would see something I had never seen before; surprises waited at every turn. . Every day in Africa I woke to a new adventure. We were in the capable hands of Carly and her well laid plans and so I felt no danger, although I may have been a bit naïve about that aspect.
The skeleton of our plan was for Mark, Carly and I to fly to Paris, meet Nate flying from New York and then all of us fly to Cotonou in Benin. We were there Wed. night through Sunday morning then we left for Manigri, Carly’s post. We stayed there for 3 days and were off to Natitingou, the workstation for her area. From there we went east to Parakou on Friday, another workstation, and on to Camate on Saturday and a hike in the collines (hills). Sunday and Monday found us on the ocean beach in Grand Popo for Carly’s holiday rest, which we all gladly shared. Tuesday and Wednesday we returned to Cotonou and the Hotel du Lac, went shopping and on a tour of the stilt village upriver.
In between all the simple words above is the trip of a lifetime. We have been home about 2 months now and have told lots of stories and shown a lot of pictures about the trip and tried to convey “what it was like” and probably done a fairly good job but it’s like playing a game on a simulator, nothing will really match actually being there. All senses were on overload. While you read the rest, imagine that you are dripping wet with sweat the entire time, unable to understand the language, and that you are living in the 1700’s, albeit with cars and motorbikes available to some, and throw in some electricity once in awhile. Oh, and cell phones. You may cook your food over a small fire outside a mud hut thatched with grass, grind your food on rocks, haul water from a well and poop in a hole in the ground, but most likely you can call a friend on your cell phone.
After barely meeting up with Nate in Paris (he had the departure day wrong and almost missed his flight!) we flew into Cotonou, arriving just as daylight faded. Amid the chaos of the luggage claim we found all of our bags, including the ones with food for Carly and muled goods for other volunteers. Interesting enough, all luggage was checked against claim tags before one could leave the area- a more secure arrangement than in any other airport I’ve been in. Benin.
Aside from all else being new to us, we also met Alex for the first time. We already knew we liked him, I think our only fear was that we would seem like idiots to him. Whether we did or didn’t, we were in his hands getting us on the hotel shuttle and out and we got better acquainted over dinner that night. It was all good.
First impressions: Alex- couldn’t be better. We love him. Cotonou/Africa: exotic, chaotic, humanity everywhere, sidewalks lined with vendors, streets filled with motorcycles and the sound of their engines and exhaust, and it is hot! We are in a hotel with AC and dine on the veranda overlooking the river/lake, which is beautiful at night. Our meal is not too daring or foreign, we are doing well. But it becomes very clear that Carly and Alex are our link to any communication in Benin and we will be very dependent on their skills. We are strangers in a strange land. And water brothers. (Obscure but apt reference to popular 60’s book of the same name)
Thursday we breakfasted on fresh avocado sandwiches, made right outside the hotel door, fuel for the long walk through Cotonou to the Peace Corps office. It was to be our last long walk in town as we picked up our motorcycle helmets and became officially mobile. The walk was good, though, we saw that the river was not quite as beautiful in the daylight, and there were more vendors and more zemis and more pollution than at night. Women of all ages had stuff for sale in baskets carried on their heads and by stuff I mean live chickens, dried fish, underwear, phone cards, oranges, pineapples, food of undetermined origin and stuff I don’t know what it was. We passed through an indoor market, Marche Ganhie, and it was jammed with more goods alive, dead and wall-to-wall. It reminded me of the market scenes in Blade Runner. Another obscure reference.
At the Peace Corps office we met many of the volunteers whose blogs we have been following; it was like meeting movie stars. We know so much about so many of them, or at least know what they look like and it was great to meet face to face. We had lunch in one of their favorite nearby restaurants, which by American standards was like a, well, there is nothing like it here. Open air, limited menu, I don’t recall silverware, language barrier, but somehow we ordered great food and chalked another one up.
Our first zemi ride was to pick up our custom made outfits for the swear-in ceremony and 40th Anniversary celebration of the Peace Corps in Benin. Nate and I quickly decided that riding zemis was one the best parts of the trip and also the most dangerous. There are no traffic laws, few signals or signage; everyone is on their own. We share the streets with large cargo haulers, oil tankers, cars and thousands of other zemis, not to mention pedestrians.
Abel’s tailor shop- we were dropped off near an alley, and walked to large metal gates behind which were the ruins of a large house. (Actually, it was probably a building in progress, but it was gray and black brick and no progress has been made in a long time). The gate squeaked open and we followed a narrow passageway to a small shop in the back and under a tin roof, with uneven pavers on the floor, maybe 2 electric bare bulbs was Abel, working on a treadle sewing machine on our outfits. Our ‘meme tissue’ outfits were spectacular and fit perfectly. We, along with all the TEFL PCVs, will be wearing magenta tissue and it will be an impressive sight.
We belatedly celebrated Alex’s birthday, or at least that was the excuse to eat at a nice restaurant, at the Berlin, a deceptively nice place. Deceptive in that we were thinking, this is really nice, the rest of Benin can’t be so bad, this is food we recognize.
Our first taxi ride, with 7 of us plus the driver, proved atypical for us, typical for most of the rest of Beninese. We listened to another PCV playing sax at a local nightclub, and then took advantage of the great pool at the Hotel du Lac with its high dive.
The swear-in ceremony marked the 40th Anniversary of the Peace Corps in Benin and was held at probably the largest assembly building in Benin, the Palais du Congree. It was very modern, though strangely low in bathroom facilities, large stage, plush seating, good sound system, video/TV cameras everywhere and the proceedings were appropriate for the occasion, lots of speeches, in French or local languages, music and singing. A big celebration attended by the Peace Corp Director of Africa and representatives of the President of Benin. A craft fair of sorts was set up outside the venue, but rainstorms put a damper on shopping, and it was an odd mix of stuff for the occasion. A reception later in the day at the same place, an assortment of African hors d’ oeuvres devoured by the PCVs and guests and a glimpse of what strange offerings were to come.
Our meme tissues earned us an appearance on the news that night, and we were heralded walking in the Cotonou streets as we explored the rest of the day. Seems nothing could brighten a rainy day quite like giant white people in the meme tissue parading around.
Much of the adventure of Benin revolves around transportation. Riding double on a zemi at night, flooded roads, paved and unpaved, dodging the rest of the traffic, dodging police 3x because riding double is frowned upon in the city, separated from the rest of the party, speeding- I am so grateful I was with Alex for this one, but it was still scary scary.
Our taxi ride to Ouidah gave us another perspective of Benin. We rented the whole taxi, even the “empty” two spaces, still cramped by our standards. Miles and miles and miles of roadside stands selling all that there was to offer, heavy traffic, pedestrians, bad bad roads, periodic stops of the taxi at police checkpoints which were intimidating, though I don’t think we had much to fear, filling the tank from whiskey bottles of gas at roadside “stations”, using whatever side of the road had the least potholes. The cabs are midsize cars with few working accessories, beaters by any standard, with a Beninese flag on the dash. The drivers honk warnings at pedestrians which means they honk almost constantly for the many hours it takes to get anywhere. Radios or tape players are barely functional at best.
More to come......

Wildflowers

2008-10-31T09:07:00.000-07:00

Madame Kalamazoo is back!

School started last week, and I couldn't have asked for a better first day. Not only was it great to see all of the professors again back from vacation, but it was a good feeling to stride across the school grounds while having all of my former students greeting me with smiles and polite little bows. My first class seemed effortless and fun as it was composed of mainly former students who already knew my classroom expectations and mannerisms. In the afternoon, my second class, though all new students, went equally as well with their scared and young little faces lingering on every word I said. As I left the grounds that day, I truly felt as though L'annee scolaire 2008-2009 was going to be the year of Mme. Kalamazoo.

Leaving in good spirits, I felt that I could easily handle “eating amongst the people” for dinner that night; therefore, I stopped my bicycle about a quarter mile down the road from the school to join the locals in some delicious sugary porridge. Not only was I given a heaping portion with a fried plantain to accompany my tastebuds, but as I went to pay for my meal, I was told that this one was “on the house.” Truly feeling as though the Gods were on my side that day, I took off with an air of total contentment.

Arriving at my next destination, I was chatting it up with my friend about the rising prices of flour and onions when a familiar face walked by and to my great surprise causally invited me to play soccer with him. Quite sure that he was joking and didn't really expect me to show up, I figured that I would surprise him and actually go show off my tremendous soccer skill. And so, as I said goodbye to my friend, I took off in the direction of home and the soccer field. When I reached the field, I found it was a dismal turnout—myself, a couple of young children, and my familiar faced inviter. Nevertheless, I cheerily found a soccer ball and started kicking it around with one of the older kids. He was more interested in juggling and actual soccer skill, while I just kept focusing on not making a complete fool of myself. The minutes passed and soon the dismal turnout rose to a sizable crowd of oohing and awing children I felt that only Christiano Ronalda himself could have conjured. I played for the crowd until I saw that I needed to quickly make a graceful exit lest I was to actually participate in a soccer match and ruin the magic of the moment.

Accordingly, I left the soccer field and just as I was thinking that my day couldn't get any better, this particular white girl from Kalamazoo, Michigan was invited to play bouielle (bocce ball) by what I perceive to be the Elks club of Manigri. It had been a fairly secret personal goal of mine to be invited to bocce by this well-renowned and established men's club—I just never dreamed that it would happen this soon or at all. They allowed me to toss a couple of balls before I graciously made my exit. While I was naturally disappointed with my first attempts, on the fourth toss, I landed the ball only a thumbs-nail length away from the intended target allowing me to talk as much trash as I wanted until one of the other gentlemen knocked my ball away. Bowing out after my trash talk, I finally returned to my house in such good spirits that I couldn't believe the town of Manigri itself was responsible for such happiness. After completing my exercise routine and taking a shower, I decided to wash down the day with a cold beer because gosh-darn, I earned it. Much to my amusement, my “well-earned beer” was one of the worst skunked beers my senses had ever experienced. I'm talking the squinting of the eye and a shiver that followed every reluctant swallow. However, as bad as the beer was, it was not enough to damper my high spirits as I drank and happily detested every last drop that marked Mme. Kalamazoo's wonderful return to Manigri.

**Intermission—Carly's opinion on Jim and Pam of “The Office”—And yes, she realizes that these are fictional characters, but her mother and cousin asked her opinion and so she feels that she is obliged to give it. I understand why Jim and Pam couldn't get together in the last episode, but I hope that they don't continue to rely on just the tension between the two characters to keep the show alive. My fear is that Pam is going to take the internship (or fellowship or adult education course) in New York and that she is going to leave Jim questioning his commitment towards her especially because she already spent 8 years in an engagement with Roy and won't want to stay in another equally commitment-phobic relationship. Thus, she is going to meet some charming New Yorker who, though quite Jim, is at least ready to commit to her long-term. I think it's undeniable that Jim and Pam will eventually end up together, it's just a matter of how long they drag it out for the “sake of the show.”**

Naturally, the glory of the first day quickly faded away as my classes progressively became less interesting and my students became less polite; the excitement of seeing the teachers and having something to do everyday diminished as it tends to do, and by the end of the first week, I was already looking forward to going away over the weekend. My little weekend excursion found me in a nearby village on the road to Togo, surrounded by many friends, and full of anticipation for the coming Saturday morning when we were to hop the border and attend a local whipping fete. As I can't recall the last American whipping fete that I attended, I will briefly explain. A whipping fete is a coming-of-age ceremony for young boys in the village. Each quartier (neighborhood) gathers up their young warriors and equips them with various traditional garb—more or less elaborate ornaments depending on the number of years the boy has participated in the ceremony. As a means of giving the young warriors more courage, young men who have already been initiated into society cross-dress using their sisters' clothing—because they look more feminine, it is said to make the young boys feel more masculine. After the young warriors and young cross-dressing men have gathered, individual neighborhood battles take place before all the neighborhoods congregate and fight each other. The rules of the battles seemed to change based on locality and familiarity, but essentially, I gathered that every challenge took place between two boys of the same level. There was only one or more referees to officiate and make sure things never got uncivilized or out of hand. From here, the rules seemed to be a little fuzzy—I thought that each person got three attempts to attack the other person, but I'm honestly don't really have a clue. Whatever happened when the drums stopped playing and the boys were allowed to attack each other was just (if I may dip into my bag of thesaurus words) insane, absurd, peculiar, strange, eccentric, bizarre, fantastic, outrageous, imprudent, and wild—it was unlike anything I had ever seen. At some point after a particularly solid blow, both participating neighborhoods would come sweeping in to carry off their warrior either for delivering the blow like a man or for taking the blow like a man. We saw one ceremony in a small Togo village and another the next morning in a small Beninese village where a volunteer currently resides. The experience was by far one of the most interesting things I have seen since being in Benin.

Of course, my wonderful experience at the whipping fete would not be complete with out two of the stranger taxi rides I have ever had—and that's really saying something. First taxi ride was on the was into town. After packing the taxi full to it's usual overcrowded capacity we were on our way. Not five minutes down the road, the taxi driver turns to me and this is the conversation that followed (roughly translated):
-White girl!
-That's me. What's up?
-White girl! Be careful!
-Be careful? Why?
-That door doesn't work and this road is really bumpy.
-The door doesn't work?
-Yeah! If we hit a bump, the door will open and look at how bumpy the road is! White Girl!
-So I am going to fall out?
-Yeah! White Girl!
-Super.

Thus, for the rest of the hour long taxi ride, I found myself clinging to the door, which did not open despite the many bumps we hit. The second taxi ride occurred on the the way out of village where the clown car-esque-ness of the Beninese taxi was pushed to a whole new limit. I've experienced quite a few overcrowded taxis, but this...this was something special. We had nine people smashed into a small two door vehicle that would have surely fit no more than five people in the States. It was so crowded in fact that we were actually breaking the Beninese law of how many people are allowed in a taxi (they stop at eight). Our complete disregard of the law went unnoticed until the last 2km of our journey when we were pulled over by a policeman who demanded that we get out of the car then took out our driver and slammed him against the frame of the car. At this point, I was traveling with some other volunteers, so together we chatted up the locals until our driver begged pardon and we were allowed to continue on our merry way.

Tonight, Tonight

2008-10-23T03:43:00.000-07:00

The next installment of my journal will be brought to you by two hired guest writers: my parents. In an act of genius and laziness (this seems to be a theme of mine: work smarter not harder), I figured that it would be both interesting and considerably more informative for my parents to be the ones to narrate the tales of their adventure in Benin. It would be unfair to say that I do not have an equally interesting perspective on the matter, but it is perfectly just to admit that it was not I who kept a journal during the trip detailing each day's events and meals—including side commentary from even my brother who could also provide an assuredly interesting journal as well. I suppose what it comes down to is that for me, the whole of the trip, much like my girls camp, was spent frantically scrambling behind the scenes to make sure that everyone else was having what turned out to be a fabulous vacation. While I undoubtedly enjoyed having my family with me and showing them the “Highlight Tour of Benin,” I was nearly equally stressed out about finding taxis for the next day of travel or finding hotels accommodating enough for the night or praying the weather would cooperate or translating French or hoping the no one would get sick or just making sure everyone was generally happy—I felt like I had to be on top of everything at all times otherwise, I was sure that the worst would come and ruin what expectations had built up to be the “trip of a lifetime.” Whether by chance or fate or goodwill, however, everything did work out as I had planned and sometimes even better than planned. Sometimes, my only regret regarding the trip is that I frequently felt like I had to be so aware of everything surrounding the trip that I forgot to be present in the moment with my family. However, I know that in the end, I showed my family things they never would have seen and that I gave them the opportunity to eat things they never would have tried and I had them experience things they never would have imagined, and for that, I like to give myself a pat on the back and a “job well done.”

Since the end of my parents adventure in Benin, I have had good deal of time to relax and prepare mentally for the start of a new school year. Recently, I received a clean bill of health from the Peace Corps medical office during my mid-service checkup—they revealed that most significant change regarding my health was my twelve pound weight gain since the start of my service. This, of course, just reiterated what I already knew and adds a certain justification to all of the town people of Manigri who feel it is perfectly kind and normal to let me know that I've gotten fatter—again. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, I admit that it's better to be healthy and gaining weight rather than sick with some intestinal parasite and fighting to keep any weight on at all. All the same, I have started an exercise program with the hopes that I can at least curve or plateau the weight gain this coming year. Besides my twelve pound baby of fat, my joys have been rather small, but significant nonetheless. First, I finished the seventh and final Harry Potter allowing me to feel as though I am now some way more a part of the American pop culture as well as more savvy for future battles of Trivial Pursuit. After Harry, I finally got around to setting up my World Space radio which allows me to feel connected to the outside world in a whole new way. I now have, with the click of a button, access to NPR and Fox Sports radio and the top 40 countdown. In fact, just last night, the final presidential debate took place and while I didn't listen to it at three in the morning Benin time, I caught all the summaries and sound clips today during lunch. Continuing along the lines of my technology successes, I discovered that I had acquired but never watched Season four of “The Office.” This was, of course, immediately rectified and I now can intelligently brief anyone on my opinion of Jim and Pam. Finally, I have actually been back to school, received my schedule, written my hours on the classroom boards, and plan to start right up this coming Monday. This year is bound to be just as interesting as the last, but I hope that I can act more like the old pro as opposed to the wide-eyed rookie. The school has actually given me the same grade levels to teach as I taught last year thus giving me the opportunity to improve upon my lessons from last year and hopefully make me a more effective teacher—the truth will be revealed throughout the year.

In all seriousness, I am feeling happier and more at peace than I have felt in a very long time since arriving in Benin. Perhaps, I have finally struck a balance between feeling involved and accepted in the community of Manigri while still feeling strongly attached to the world I left behind in the US. I believe that the start of school and the return of many happy and familiar faces as reminded me of all the kindness living in Manigri. Not to mention, my excitement surrounding the possibility of several upcoming projects including the building of a basketball court and the planning of camp success part deux. On the other hand, my recent trip home coupled with my family's visit and now my World Space radio are what are allowing my heart to fill with love and familiarity of a place not so far away.

I nearly forgot to add that amongst my accomplishments of the recent weeks, I saw and destroyed my first scorpion. It was a gray, two-inch little monster who tried to sneak up on me last night—I squished him with my trusty wooden block. Currently, he remains frozen in death on my back porch as a message of warning to any of his relatives who might think it would be cool to come disturb me in my home.

Like Dylan in the Movies

2008-10-01T04:14:00.000-07:00

In the past nine weeks I have organized and put on a girls camp, I have traveled down south to work and answer hundreds of questions from eager new stagaires in training, I have flown back to the the good ol' US of A and seen family and friends that I hadn't seen in over a year, and I have returned to the golden land of Benin and traveled around in rented taxis with my family showing them the sights, sounds, and tastes of Benin. It has been, as you might expect, I bit of a whirlwind. Today, I have put boiled water from the pot into a smaller jug to be placed in my non-working refrigerator. Life has slowed down just a little. Now, rather methodically, I am going to attempt to recall all the events of the past nine weeks in any detail I can muster. I'll start at the beginning with the girls' camp and work as diligently as possible towards the present. It's might be a long one, so buckle your seatbelt.

I'll begin by saying the the girls' camp was a major success and that I'm really quite proud it. Out of all the things that I have done this far in my service, the girls' camp has been, by far, my most rewarding experience; partly because it was the fruits of my labor and partly because I felt like I was actually making a difference in the lives of the girls who participated, which was one of the big reasons why I joined Peace Corps in the first place. The camp (Camp Success--naturally) was designed as a week long girls’ empowerment camp where top female students from six different secondary schools were invited to participate. The purpose of the camp was to promote gender equality and women’s education in Benin. During the camp, the girls participated in a variety of activities designed to enhance and teach life skills as well as address issues in the environment, girls’ education, child trafficking, HIV/AIDS, and sexual education. On the surface, the camp looked polished and great, but behind the scenes, things were a little less perfect, a little less organized, some might say it was chaos; hence, why I can say that while being one the best weeks of my service, it was also one of the most stressful. Anyway, the following gives a brief description of what took place each day during the camp (I wrote this for a project report following the camp, and quite frankly I'm feeling too lazy to change it, so I apologize if it seems a tad stilted):

Day One: On the first day of the girls’ summer camp, the top female students from the commune of Bassila arrived in Bassila at 3PM at the Maison des Jeunes, where directors, professors, and local representatives from the government had been invited for the opening ceremony. At approximately 5 PM, the official opening ceremony took place with words from the PCVs who were present as well as from the president of NGO-RADD. This was a great opportunity for the girls to begin to get to know each other as they taught each other a song indicative of the spirit of the camp.
Following the opening ceremony, the students were shuttled by bus over to the village of Manigri (8km away) to the house at which they would stay for the week long camp. Once all the girls had settled into their new living arrangements, the PCV and the president of NGO-RADD spoke briefly on the program for the upcoming week. After this short information session, the girls and the camp facilitators enjoyed dinner together before the day ended around 10 PM.

Day Two: In the morning of the second day, the girls awoke and showered and ate breakfast at the house before heading out together led by three PCVs. Forming three long lines, the girls and the PCVs marched all the way through the village of Manigri singing and chanting songs about women’s empowerment along the way. On the opposite end of Manigri, the group arrived at the Borne Fonden educational center. All the girls were divided into four teams and spent the late morning participating in a sports rotation with basketball, football (soccer), jump roping, high jump, limbo, and other various team building activities. As a special guest, Camp Success welcomed the captain of the women’s national basketball team in Benin. She led the basketball station along with her older brother while the other stations were led by PCVs and other facilitators working the camp.
Lunch followed the morning of sports and in the afternoon, two of the four teams were shuttled to Bassila while the remaining two teams stayed at the house. The two teams in Bassila partook in an internet formation led by a PCV. This PCV instructed the girls how to do scholarly research using Wikipedia French and Google. Additionally, the PCV helped each girl to setup her own email account through Yahoo. For the girls who remained at the house, they were led by three PCVs in a confidence building art project in which the girls had to write positive self-attributes about each letter of her name.
Rejoining after their separate afternoon sessions, the girls had an information session on how to make a good decisions based on a step by step process. During this session, each team was given a scenario of a difficult situation that they would later have to present as a skit.
Finally, the girls gathered together one last time to eat dinner after which they divided back into their groups to begin preparing their skits. The day ended around 10 PM.

NB: It should be noted that because I am absolutely incapable of controlling myself when a competitive opportunity arises, that I decided to jump in and play goalie for the girls during penalty kick practice at the soccer station during our sport day. Not only did I decide to play goalie, but I decided to be the best damn goalie I could be and therefore was diving all over the place (and also uniting the rallying chant of “Carly, Carly Carly” from all the little kids watching). I, however, did not foresee that being the best damn goalie would result in several bad scratches and not being able to move properly or without pain for the next month because of being so sore. Love that competitive spirit.

Day Three: In the morning of the third day, everyone awoke very early for breakfast and showers before leaving the house to travel to visit the scared monkey forest in the neighboring village of Kikélé. The small field trip was both fun and educational for the girls as they were able to see glimpses of the monkeys who inhabit the forest while the hired guide explained about the forest protection program that had been initiated a couple years ago.
After the trip to Kikélé, the girls, once again, divided into teams. For a second time, two of the four teams returned to the house and two of the fours teams went to Bassila to participate in the PCV led internet formation. The teams had switched places so that the teams who partook in the first internet formation were now making their art project and vice versa. All the teams later convened at the house for lunch and a little bit of rest before the afternoon activities.
In the afternoon, all of the girls went to CEG Manigri for an informational session with an invited guest speaker on how to maintain and protect the environment. With the morning’s trip to Kikélé still fresh in each girl’s mind, they were able to ask intelligent questions while learning even more about the environment in which they live. Following the speaker, the girls were given several hours to begin practicing and honing their team skits which were to be presented the next night.
After skit preparation, everyone returned back to the house for dinner and a little fun with the PCVs who had been working hard to fill up enough water balloons for a small tournament between the teams. The night ended around 10PM with lots of laughs.

Day Four: The fourth day of the camp was set aside as a sexual education day. The girls awoke in the early morning to eat breakfast and shower before everyone gathered around to play a game to introduce questions about HIV/AIDS. Played much like the game “hot potato,” a blown up condom was passed around until the music stopped at which point the holder of the condom had to pop the balloon and read a true or false question concerning HIV/AIDS. This activity nicely prepared the girls for their morning speakers from a NGO based in Parakou called Victory Way. The guest speakers covered nearly every issue regarding girls education from simply encouraging the girls to stay in school to talking about heavier topics such as sexual harassment in the school system and child trafficking. The morning really energized the girls and everyone returned back to the house for lunch with a new feeling of confidence and control over their education.
After lunch, the girls returned to CEG Manigri for an animation with an invited guest speaker who was a midwife working for the hospital in Manigri. She was very spirited and knowledgeable and was a great source of information for the girls. Once again, working side by side with the PCVs, a wide variety of topics were covered ranging from HIV/AIDS to a woman’s menstrual cycle.
Following the question and answer session with the midwife, everyone returned back to the house where each team presented their skit in front of a panel of PCV judges. Every skit was incredibly well done and it was evident that each team had worked very hard on each of their presentations. Dinner was served after all the performances and the day ended around 10PM.

Day Five: In the morning of the fifth day, the girls awoke early once again for breakfast and showers before loading into two mini buses for a field trip to the department capital of Djougou. All of the girls happily chanted and sang during the long trip and much positive attention was gathered from the near by villages as we drove through. Finally arriving at our destination around noon, we unloaded and ate lunch.
After lunch, we were treated to a tour of the Centre de Tissage where we saw women hand making all different types of woven fabric (using cotton hand picked and hand spun in Benin). The tour was led by the founder of the center and later, she spoke intimately with the girls about how she began her business from the ground up--she was a great example for the girls of a real Beninese businesswoman. Next, she took us outside the Centre de Tissage and gave us all a tour of other various local artisans in the city of Djougou. All and all, we were able to see and speak with four different head artisans who each had a different hand crafted specialty: spoons and bowls made with silver, jewelry made with silver, shoes and bags made with leather, and lamps and boxes using cow hide and horns. For many of the girls, this was their first time visiting a large city of Benin; therefore, it was a very eye-opening experience. All the girls were very enthusiastic throughout the day.
Returning from the trip to Djougou, the girls arrived back at the house and had a few hours to pack and clean before we all gathered around again to walk to a local night club that had been rented out just for the girls’ camp. At the night club, we ate dinner and danced and celebrated the week’s achievements until late into the night. We walked back together and ended our night around midnight.

Day Six: In the morning of the last day, the girls were able to have a more relaxed morning with just one session led by the PCVs. The PCVs covered several topics that the girls had raised questions on following the discussions of the fourth day such as family planning and condom use. Following the PCV led conversation, the girls packed all their belongings and prepared for their departure after the closing ceremony.
The closing ceremony took place in the late morning. It was relatively short but was highlighted by several speakers from the community and the giving of prizes to the all of the girls and to those girls who were selected for their extra hard work and passion during the week. Additionally, the girls entertained onlookers with one last camp song. After the closing ceremony, we all walked back to the house to take several camp photos before we all said our goodbyes.

BAM. That was the camp in a nutshell. I continue on in my report, but I think that the overall picture as been painted, and as I said, that was all the stuff on the surface, the boring stuff. The drama behind the scenes is really infinitely more intriguing in my opinion. So, while there were what felt like a million different things stressing me out that week, I will try to highlight the real medal winners.

First, the “Camp Mama.” The camp mama, in theory, is a woman who is there with 100% energy and enthusiasm 100% of the time, leading the girls, motivating the girls, helping myself and my homologue with getting the girls where they need to be—the camp mama is supposed to be a woman who is of high standing in the community and who has selflessly given up a week of her time to encourage the next generation of women leaders. This was how it worked last year, this is how I anticipated it working this year as we decided to choose the same woman to take over the reigns of Camp Mama. However, one small, crying, peeing, mama's milk-loving, thing had changed from last year to this year—Mama was now an actual Mama and only decided to let me know that this was going to be a problem the day we started the camp. Essentially, the events that dominoed after this mama confession were this: she would no longer be able to spend the night with the girls because she couldn't leave her son (that left me to spend the night so that I was suddenly spending all my nights at a fifty girl slumber party and energizing my tired body with about four hours of sleep each night while still trying to play hostess back at my house where several PCVs were staying during the camp), she would no longer be available to attend all the planned activities (that left my male partner on the project to lead all the information sessions instead of a smart Beninese woman, and it resulted in our mama miraculously choosing to come to all of the “fun” sessions mostly to participate rather than lead—she took Internet time at the cyber and made her own name poem during the art session after pawning off her baby onto one of the girls), and finally, she would expect the same amount of payment for her time even though the camp was half as long and she barely did half the work (that left me to sadly inform her that she would only be receiving half of the payment she received last year for her time, which left an angry Beninese woman and her angry husband sitting in front of me on my sofa and vowing never to work with me again). Awesome.

Second, invited officials seemed to care less that we were having a girls camp which isn't exactly helpful when you are trying to rally the support of the entire community around you. No one showed up to the opening ceremony and basically, no one really should up to the closing ceremony either, which is disappointing for me, but especially for the girls who worked so hard all week, and I think expected to at least get some recognition from the mayor. Granted, much of this particular difficulty can be equated to the fact that the national exam for Benin was moved to the week of the camp and thus, many of the high officials were called away to do work for the exam, but still, come on boys.

Third, one of the tiniest and quietest girls in the camp fell ill with some mysterious and painful illness that another PCV and I later deducted to what we believe was something similar to rheumatoid arthritis. She was screaming in pain most of the nights keeping up the other girls and crying during the day when she wanted to (but could not) participate in the tour of Djougou—she also refused to go back home. Finally, during the last night of the camp, she was moaning in pain so loudly that none of her roommates could sleep, so I scooped her up and fireman carried her to my house where she spent the night with the other PCV who was working the camp. In the morning, while the other girls were still showering and figuring out what happened during the night, I made the executive decision to send her home with one of her friends(she had to go with one of her friends so that in case she spasmed on the motorcycle ride home, her friend, who was tied to her, would be there to comfort her and keep her on the bike). Honestly, I had exhausted my knowledge and patience of how to treat her, and I figured that it was time for mom to intervene and take care of her daughter.

Finally, I was dealing with nearly fifty teenage girls living in the same house—enough said.

Again, however, despite all the chaos behind the scenes and despite my complete mental and physical exhaustion by the end of the camp, I would (and will) absolutely, whole-heartedly, do the camp again because never before has anything during my Peace Corps experience so unexpectedly and so significantly touched me.

Next stop, Porto Novo, Benin, where instead of fifty teenage Beninese girls, I got to work with fourteen knowledge hungry stagaires preparing for their own Peace Corps journey. Inevitably, there was a bit of stress involved in this particular job as well as I was presented as being some “almighty and all-knowing” Peace Corps volunteer when, in fact, I am still learning new things everyday. Naturally, I do know some things after being here a year, and I feel that I was able to ease some tension and answer some questions, but I found that I hardest part for me was not just giving away all the answers. A huge part of Peace Corps, in my opinion, is self discovery and learning how to find the solution without having the answer just laid out in front of you. So, many times my answer to questions was one that didn't entirely give away the answer, but led the stagaire to figure out the answer on their own—I hope that this was not too frustrating for some of the stagaires. The truly great part for me working stage (and the reason that I applied to work it in the first place) was that it gave me a real sense of satisfaction realizing that dispite the continual learning process, I really have come a long way since the beginning. One year ago, that was me asking all the questions and looking around all googlely-eyed. As a matter of fact, even though I rarely give myself the credit, I have come a long way and being in Porto Novo allowed me to look back on my accomplishments so far. Really, the four weeks that I was down there passed by rather quickly and uneventful as the real excitement was right ahead of me—seeing my family and friends and then coming back to Benin with my family. I was excited and nervous and could not think about anything else in the days leading up to getting on the plane to fly back to the States. So nervous was I in fact, that I got the doctor's to give me some Dramamine to knock me out on the ride to Paris because I thought that I might be ill otherwise. (wow...that was a lot of rambling...let's be honest, my favorite part of working stage was playing scrabble with the other PCVs and "borrowing" the projector to blow up movies and tv shows on the "big screen")

Home sweet home. The plane ride wasn't bad at all and before I knew it, I was back on my homeland. I went through all the necessary custom check points (the customs guard was a little confused that I had been abroad for a year and only had a backpack with me, but I after I explained that I was planning on going back, he sent me through and didn't give me any trouble) and before I knew it I was looking at my dad giving a little jump of joy and my mom turning the corner first to give me a hug. Over a year had gone by since I had seen them last and yet, there I was giving them hugs—it was a very surreal feeling. As a matter of fact, the entire trip was very surreal and nearly impossible to explain to anyone. The best I could seem to come up with was that feeling of going back to a place like college or high school—some place that you once knew really well—and everything is still the same, but yet it all feels different to you for some inexplicable reason and then you realize that the difference is you; you are the one who has changed. And it wasn't even that drastic or that significant of a change (I'm not that profound), it was just that it didn't feel like it did before I left (not that I ever expected it to or hoped it would stay exactly the same). Like I said, it was hard for me to explain what it felt like to be back, and it clearly hasn't gotten much easier as I still can't seem to put the words on paper to describe the emotions of feeling lost in a familiar world.

The most wonderful thing about my trip home was that I got to do absolutely everything that I had wanted to do and see (almost) everyone that I wanted to see. I can happily say that for the last handful of weeks of my life, the Gods have been smiling down upon me and been kindly looking after me. The first few days of my trip were spent visiting family, first my mother's side and then my father's side—it was like a handing of the baton in a relay race the way they came and went. It was absolutely fantastic to see everybody and I still can't believe that everyone was able to make it around to Kalamazoo. Between the hugs and family loving we got in plenty of funny stories and jabs, plenty of lawn games, and plenty of questioning me about monkeys (seriously). After family had said their goodbyes, my friend, Ryan, took a train in from Ann Arbor to hangout for a couple nights. I had a bonfire with his family and mine the first night first roasting salmon on the grill and then toasting marshmallows by the fire. The next morning, he treated me to homemade blueberry pancakes, a treat that I never was privy to before Benin, leading me to believe that I need to go and live in far of places more often just so I can come back and be spoiled by friends and family. Later that day, we went to the new Batman movie before he also had to say goodbye and get back to his real life. It wasn't long, however, before I was distracted again by going to the zoo the next day to see some African wildlife (the best stuff is in Michigan) and then meeting up with my best friend to see the new X-Files movie—not, of course, before kicking some serious parental butt in mini-golf. I'm kind of a legend. The next day was spent riding horses in the morning and then getting some nice clouds at the beach with two other foxy ladies. My mom and I showed off just how stubborn we were by going into the freezing water and then rewarded ourselves with some Dairy Queen afterwards. The next morning, EARLY the next morning, I headed off in my lovely, little, loyal Ford Focus (how's that for a good alliteration), Rosa, to Sandusky, Ohio to meet college friends at good old Cedar Point. Five us made it to the park and then two more joined the crowd after the day was done. Being at Cedar Point made me realize two things: first, just how much I love and miss my friends from college and secondly, that I am either getting too old for roller coasters or really need to change my diet because I kept blacking out on them. Hmm. As an old standby, my favorite ride had to be the bumper cars—simple, classic, and fun. Like I said, after the amusement park, our coaster group met up with two others and we went to a nearby bar which took us back to our nearby hotel. We then stayed up like a group full of girls, fresh out of college, who haven't seen each other in a year—talking about and gossiping about all the things that I carefully leave out of this blog and about all the things that they seem to leave out of their emails as well. It was a perfect night with some long lost friends. From Ohio, I returned back to Kalamazoo only to go straight to a party later that night...a party for adults...a party I was crashing...a party that was really weird to be attending...a party where I took a shot with my high school basketball coach....yeah. The next day was spent having lunch with my best friend and then returning to my house for some serious bocce ball action and pool afterwards—a very well spent afternoon. A bit tearfully, I packed up all my things that night to prepare for a drive and a baseball game in Detroit the next day—we would be flying out of Detroit, so that meant that we would also being staying the night in Detroit, which meant that my nights were numbered in Kalamazoo. The following morning, my family and I caravaned with my best friend to DEE-TROIT were we sat and enjoyed four hours of baseball and hot dogs and peanuts and pretzels with cheese. The day concluded my most wonderful and awesome trip back to the States. Not only was I lucky enough to be able to do everything that I wanted to do—bocce ball, washers, bonfire, Bell's beer garden, the zoo, mini-golf, movies in the theater, horses, beach, swimming pool, roller coasters, baseball game—but I was able to eat everything I wanted to eat—chinese, mexican, indian, american—and I was able to see everyone I wanted to see—both sides of the family, high school friends, college friends, and all my neighbors who might as well be family. It was a perfect trip home and the adventure was only about to get more exciting as I was flying out the next day with my mom and dad to go meet my brother in Paris who was flying out of New York. That last night in the States I enjoyed my fluffy king size bed and warm shower with good water pressure, I enjoyed eating a Subway turkey sandwich with all the unnecessary Subway mayonnaise while watching a movie in bed. Certainly, part of me didn't want to go back to Benin, but the other, stronger part of me, knew that I still had a job to finish and that all in good time I would be back and enjoying the comforts of the States.

And so, off we went in the airplane, my mom, my dad, and I. Soon enough we were in Paris and after a small maze we found our terminal and we found the fourth member of our party. My brother had been waiting about an hour for us to arrive, but we found the fact that he had arrived had been a bit of a miracle itself as he had almost missed his plane—thinking that he departed the next day and not the day of (thank goodness for all of my dad's panicky and perhaps annoying messages). Anyway, with that being in the past and with my brother and my dad negotiating their way into exit row seating for more leg room, we were off to start our African adventure.

American Baby

2008-06-27T11:51:00.001-07:00

Friday morning. Normally it’s my laziest day of the week; today, however, I got work to do. As matter of fact, I should be at the school right now attending an end of the semester school meeting to decide the student’s conduct grades but seeing as I only found out about it 10 minutes ago by accident, I am boycotting the meeting (which is surely going to be dull) and pleading ignorance if I get accused of not going.

As a reminder to those of you who are reading this, meetings in Benin are not just like ordinary everyday run-of-the-mill meetings. Meetings in Benin are a chance for everyone and anyone to get up and get on his soap box and make a speech of this and that. Meetings in Benin are loosely structured and have no time limit. Meetings in Benin are all in French (or the occasional slip of local language) that is too fast for me to understand. Meetings in Benin are utterly boring and pointless. Meetings in Benin can take anywhere from two to seven hours. Thus, this is way I am not going and do not feel bad about not going to this particular meeting (that I wasn’t told about).

Instead I am going to enjoy just a slice of my lazy morning before I have to get on the back of a moto and zip around the commune of Bassila trying to gather up names for my girls summer camp. Today, really, will be quite satisfactory if I am able to get everything done; however, the frustrating part of it all is that everything that I am going to do today was already supposed to have been done. It because of an extremely absent minded and lackadaisical counterpart that we are now behind. He doesn’t really seem to understand that in order to have a girls summer camp you actually need girls to be in attendance. Truthfully, I think he means well and is possibly trying as hard as he can, he’s just one of those guys that likes to take on a lot of projects but then has no real way of organizing his time or priorities and so he just sort of flies by the seat of his pants leaving those of us who do have schedules (me) completely dumbfounded and irritated when he shows up 2 or 3 hours late (if he shows up at all). Through all of these frustrations, though, I am still hoping that the camp is going to turn out okay. They did it last year and it seemed to be a success and they are doing camps all over Benin which have been successes in the past and are doing well this year, so I don’t want to drop the ball on this one. It seems like so many things have gone wrong throughout the planning of it, that it wasn’t meant to be at all, but I can only hope that those were just little bumps along the way to test me. Our program for the camp is a good mixture between things I want to do like sports and bonding activities and learning about the internet and a trip to see monkeys to things that are important for the girls to do like listening to speakers talk about sexual harassment in schools, child trafficking, and female sexuality and going to Djougou to see and to talk to a woman who has started her own very successful business. I’ve put a lot of hard work into this camp and I would hate to see it fall through. One thing is for sure--I will be really happy to have this camp done and over with so that I can look forward to the rest of the summer which is building up to be amazing.

First, we have all the new volunteers coming in which everyone could not be more excited about. We are all happy to see new faces and have a new wave of fresh energy coming into Benin. The year mark is just about when volunteers start to become a little stagnant and at that point its great to be refreshed by people who are just beginning their own adventures--we are once again reminded of the excitement and the novelty of being in a new country. We are also reminded about how far we have come already and how truly short the rest of our service is. After the new volunteers arrive and begin their training, I was selected to work part of their training, so I will be able to be around during several critical weeks of the new volunteers service where they find out their posts and go on post visits, where they begin model school and get their first real taste of what they’ll be doing, and where several of them will be going through all those same mind-exploding frustrations I had of learning a new language. I am excited to be there during all of this and I hope that I can be a resource and an outlet to help the new volunteers. One of the great things about Peace Corps is that we truly are a family, and it’s quite and honor to be part of the introduction into that family for all the new volunteers. Finally, after my four weeks of working stage, I will be getting on a plane and heading back home for approximately a week and a half before I take my parents and my brother hostage and we all return to Benin for a little tour of what I call home over here. As you see, even though I am just finishing up with end of the year meetings and end of the year grades, before I know it, summer will be over and I will starting the next school term. Nevertheless, better to be having fun and see the time fly by then to be banging my head against a wall all summer because of boredom. First things first, though, I have to get this camp out of the way--then I can let my hair down a little bit (figuratively speaking, of course, because actually letting my hair down doesn’t really happen here as there is almost nothing I hate more than the feeling of having my own hair sweaty and matted and stuck down against the back of my neck). Anyway, off to take a bucket shower and to try to wash some of the non-deodorant stink off of my body. I also have to make breakfast which is going to require a little bit of creativity on my part. I have no eggs, no bread, no pasta, no butter, no oatmeal, and not a lot of gas left in my gas tank. I do, however, have a little bit of powdered milk left and I am going to see if that is enough to whip up one of my pudding packets. Nothing better than to start off your day with a little chocolate pudding I always say--it is “calci-yum”--so at least I got that going for me--which is nice.

Thunder Road

2008-06-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

Journals are always hardest to type when so much as happened that you don’t really know where to begin. Such is the case with myself at the current moment. I think last time I sat down at my computer to actually put together something intellectual was around mid-may. My most exciting adventure in that time as been a trip to Ghana, but I certainly have other interesting tales to tell as well. Therefore, let us begin with the “end” of school.

Although the “end” of my school year is not technically until the end of this month, for all sanity purposes, I am done teaching. Due to my previously planned vacation, I actually wrapped up a years worth of forgotten information the week before I left for Ghana. For my last week of teaching, I decided two things were true: my students needed some serious revision and I didn’t want to teach. Therefore, with these two seemingly contrasting ideas I came up with a rather ingenious plan--open book quizzes. Going through all of my lesson plans from the year and exercise books alike, I devised two ridiculously hard and long quizzes that my students were allowed to do in groups and with their notes. Without knowing it, they were reviewing everything that I had taught them over the year and all I had to do was sit back and make sure that no one cheated by talking to another group. Mission accomplished.

Besides my clear brilliance, my other end of school year story is about a girl named Bev-ly who shocked and surprised me in the most unusual of ways. She was one of the students throughout the entire year who always showed up to class but never seemed particularly interested in learning English nor was she ever particularly amused by my in classroom antics. It seemed as though she was really only in my class because she had no other place to be; it seemed as though she was just ready to ride it out until the end of the year. However, on our last day together, after I announced that this would be the last class and all the other students had joyfully filed out of the classroom, there sat Bev-ly with her arms folded on her desk, head down. As I walked over to her, it became clear that my initial instinct was wrong--I thought she had fallen asleep--it was clear that someone else was happening, something strange, she was crying. Two other students were standing in the doorway so I asked them why Bev-ly was crying, and they told me something that shocked me even further--they told me that she was crying because of me, because she was sad that I was going away. Having to stop myself from laughing, I assured her that I was coming back next year and that with any luck I would be her teacher in the next grade, too. She seemed unconvinced and I was still unconvinced that she was crying about me--I thought that surely something else had happened to make her behave like this. Anyway, after several minutes of my reassurances, she lifted up her head and said she was okay to walk home, so off we went in our separate paths. The surprises did not stop there, however. For the following three nights until my departure to Ghana I was presented at my door with two huge mangoes. Each night the mangoes were delivered by other students with the message, “These are from Bev-ly.” Very strange. Very strange indeed. Did she really have that strong of an emotional attachment to me? Was she just trying to earn some brownie points before the final grades were decided? Could it have been just a simple act of kindness? Whatever the case, it was quite an interesting way to end my first year of teaching.

After the “end” of school, I traveled down to Cotonou for a few days for the Peer Support Network (PSN) training of which I was accepted into despite my lack of PAL experience at Mattawan High School. The training lasted two days and was rather uneventful although informative. In spite of the incredibly warm and friendly atmosphere, I still became rather embarrassed during a group bonding exercise when I became the only one who didn’t step forward to the statement “Step forward if you like your post.” Even to this moment, I can’t really say why I didn’t step forward even though my body was compelled to do so. It’s not that I don’t like my post, because there are a lot of things and people here that make Manigri really special to me, I suppose that it’s more of a matter of constant rollercoaster of ups and downs at post that make me question my likeability towards the place. I mean how can I dislike a place where I have an old man push me through a pile of mud because I got stuck halfway through on my bike--but how can I also like a place where I have developed an “antisocial” route for days when I just cannot force myself to take the main route through village because of the harassment? I hope that near the end of my service I will find answers, but I have a deeper feeling that I will continue to struggle with my mixed emotions about Manigri well after I have returned home.

Ramming up against the end of the PSN training was the beginning of my trip to Ghana. Together with a fellow volunteer, Alex, we left the morning of the 6th of June. Failing to procure tickets early enough for a direct bus line that drives straight from Cotonou, Benin to Accra, Ghana; we were forced to go to the taxi station and wait for a taxi driving to the Togo-Ghana border. Finding the taxi was the easy part but securing the taxi was the surprisingly hard part. You see, we found a taxi right away, but it wasn’t full so we had to wait (waiting for a taxi to fill can take anywhere from seconds to hours). It wasn’t long after sitting down that Alex remembered that we were going to buy cashews to bring to our respective host families that we would be staying with in Ghana. As no new fellow passengers seemed to be in sight, I volunteered to go out and look for some cashews. Making a long story short, the light drizzle the started when I began my search quickly became much more and as all the stands moved inside out of the rain, I was obliged to walk 25 minutes across town to a supermarket. When I arrived at the supermarket wet and tired, I got a panicked phone call from Alex asking where I am and saying the taxi is ready to go…immediately. Now, frazzled and wet and tired, I grab the cashews and take off running in the rain back to the taxi station. Sadly enough, I arrive just in time to see the taxi pulling out of its parking spot and out onto the road with only ONE passenger inside--he had apparently rented the entire taxi for himself. For lack of any other emotional response at the moment, I started quietly crying and went over to sit on a bench alone while the rain continued to mock me. My state of being must have looked quite pathetic indeed as the taxi drivers began to frantically organize another taxi for Alex and I. Alex, who was clearly frustrated as well, was able to negotiate a really good price and before we knew it, we were off to Ghana in our very own, completely rented out taxi--cashews in hand.

Arriving into Ghana was a fairly smooth process, stressful, but easy enough. We had some hiccups when we arrived at the Togo-Ghana border. First, there was some asshole (excuse me) of a guy who grabbed my arm as I was passing the border line while saying, “Hey there pretty lady,”--this is just so unbelievably inappropriate I don‘t know where to begin. Perhaps the only amusing part of the situation is that caught up in a flurry of anger and forgetting how to speak English, the first words out of my mouth were, “No touch!” Alex was walking in front of me at the time and straightened the guy out big time after I told him what happened. Thus, I learned my first Ghanaian lesson, men in Ghana are also idiots--at least I know some things don’t change across borders. The second encountered hiccup was at the actual Ghanaian border crossing. There was some guard there who was asking to see our WHO medical cards. Confused and disoriented because we were sure that we didn’t need them to cross borders we told the official that we didn’t have them. He asked what we were going to do and then proceeded to suggest that we give him one dollar each as a compromise. Only after we regained our senses did we realize that we just got bamboozled and that we were victims of total corruption. The Ghanaian officials tried this again with us as we crossed back into Togo, but we were much wiser the second time around and asked for a receipt and for the official’s name and number so that we could contact the Peace Corps office in Ghana with our little WHO card problem. They said that there was no receipt and that we should just remember to bring our cards next time and for us to have a nice day. Alex was quite happy that we were not fooled a second time--a small victory for foreign travelers everywhere. Our third and final bump was that we, very foolishly, let some guy carry my bag across from Togo into Ghana. We thought that he was an owner of a taxi and that we would just hop in his car and head to Accra. After realizing that this was clearly not the case, it was already too late--he was just some Togolese man trying to earn a cheap buck off stupid white travelers. We got away without giving him too much, but it was still frustrating to have committed such a rookie mistake. Nevertheless with these several incidents behind us, we were finally off to Accra and off to an amazing week of adventures.

Without going into too much detail, as I have honestly forgotten every little last part, I will attempt to do my best to summarize from here on out the good and the bad of our Ghanaian adventure.

To begin our journey, we started in Accra. I can only say that words will fail me here if I try to describe how shockingly different it was from Cotonou, Benin, let only our respective villages in Benin. It is a city that if it continues moving in a positive direction, if it does not fall to corruption, if it can develop a better infrastructure for its booming economy, it will be able to become a model and a capital for all of West Africa maybe even all of Africa in many years time. Our time in Accra, though the lengthiest stay on our voyage, seemed to fly by rather quickly. We spent our few days there walking around the city, eating cheeseburgers, pizzas, and ice cream, going to the Accra mall, spending a day at the beach, and visiting a couple museums. One particular highlight was that we were lucky enough to stay with an amazing host family; there were not only kind and insightful, but they, too, served us magnificent cuisine. Alex was excited to learn that the eldest brother of the family had dual citizenship in Ghana and England and thus Alex and he were able to talk government and policy and a great deal of other things which sailed straight over my head. I was more entertained by continually hilarious football commentary that was being provided by the father of the family in addition to his incredibly contagious laugh. There were a great host family, and they certainly made our introduction to Accra and to Ghana much easier.

From Accra, we headed down to Cape Coast. It was from this location that we visited Kakum National Park and Cape Coast castle. A real highlight for me was at Kakum were Alex and I walked along a 350 meter long canopy walk. Sure it was a little tourist and there wasn’t really any wildlife to be seen from our vantage point, but it was still really beautiful to be amongst nature and amongst the trees--there was something very serene about looking around and seeing nothing but a vast landscape of green. The castle of Cape Coast was also very interesting, we were a little pressed for time so we opted out of the tour and instead took our own little jaunt around the huge stone structure. In all reality, the real highlight of Cape Coast was the beachside reasturant located next to the castle. Smartly sticking to the Chef’s specialties, Alex dined on steak and real mashed potatoes smothered in a mushroom gravy sauce one night and pancakes stuffed with fresh mangoes, papayas, and apples covered in syrup the next morning--all while enjoying a nice costal ocean breeze.

Heading out of the south and into the central region, we took a bus to Kumasi (using the same bus line that not a day later crashed into a semi truck on the way to Accra killing 21 people-yikes). Getting into Kumasi was the easy part, getting in touch with our second host family was the hard part. However, several phone calls down the phone tree later, everything was worked out and as exhausted as we were at the end of the day, Alex and I couldn’t help but smile when we heard that we were being driven to the “guest house.” What would traveling in Africa be without a little adventure anyway. The next day was busy as we were ushered around Kumasi by our host brother. He took using to two fantastic museums and down into the huge central market of Kumasi. Alex and I were hoping to do some shopping for kente cloth and other fabric but it was quickly clear to us that by doing so we were asking for a headache for greater than whatever satisfaction we would gain by finding our cloth--the place was just too big. Instead, we were taken to the black market money exchange section where we were able to get a really good exchange rate on our Beninese CFA into Ghanaian CD. We returned home in the afternoon after our jaunt into the market and were able to catch the two EuroCup football matches of the day. Unfortunately, we had to leave the next day, but not before meeting the mother of the family we were staying with in Kumasi. She was an incredibly kind and generous woman and though our encounter was brief, she stocked Alex and I with loads of fruit for the road ahead (one pineapple, four apples, three oranges, and 10 bananas). We left Kumasi heading north for Tamale, once again we were grateful to have had the opportunity to have stayed with such an amazing and generous host family.

Our stay in Tamale was brief and rather unmemorable. It was mainly a stopping point before heading west to Mole National Park. We were unfortunate enough to trust an outdated traveler’s guide and stayed at a place that had overrated rooms and overpriced food. It was, however, a place to lay our heads and we headed out the next day to, perhaps the coolest place during our entire trip, Mole Park. The trip west started a bit rocky when Alex and I learned that there were no available rooms at the park hotel--we had assumed that because it was no longer the tourist season that it wasn’t necessary to call ahead. Kicking ourselves, we got on the bus, and came across the good fortune of running into two Peace Corps Ghana volunteers who currently had a friend in the park who assured us that there were plenty of rooms left and that the receptionist always tells “late callers” that there are no more rooms available--I suppose as a tactic to make sure there always are rooms available for the people who arrive late at night and who haven’t planned ahead--like us. Arriving well into nighttime, we got our room and headed not straight to bed, but back to the bar to have a chat with the Ghanaian volunteers--it’s always interesting to hear about Peace Corps posts outside of your own country. A few drinks later and we all decided it was past our bedtime; especially considering that the best tour of the park was a walking tour leaving early the next morning. The tour was fantastic and well worth the three dollars in total it cost for Alex and I to go. At first we weren’t seeing much expect for a couple of male deer sparing with each other, but then, after a little over an hour and a half of walking, we came across a water hole with about 5 or 6 elephants cooling off inside the pond. They later emerged and we followed them over to an open grassy field. I don’t blame my dad at all for choosing the elephant as his favorite animal, they were truly beautiful giants--very cool to see them up close like that with no zoo fence standing in the way. At one point we must have gotten too close because one of the elephants started casually walking towards using with his ears flapping--this was apparently his way of telling that we were crowding his personal space because our two guides (both who were equipped with rifles) told our group to back up. Needless to say, our group quickly and happily obliged. Our morning tour was followed by a lazy afternoon at the pool and an early 4am departure the next day. At the pool, Alex and I were a little overwhelmed by a group of American school kids who were being a bit rowdy. We first agreed that they probably had no idea how amazing of an opportunity to swim in the pool was and that secondly, it was just plain strange for us to be around so many westerners in the first place. All the social skills we once possessed-gone.

Nearing the end of our adventure, we took the Mole bus east out of the park and continued east right into Togo. Along the way we met some more Ghanaian volunteers who were really helpful about getting us pointed in the right direction to get out of Tamale and into Togo. Interestingly enough, all four Peace Corps Ghana volunteers that we met were guys. I guess that they have more along the lines of a 50/50 female to male ratio in Ghana as opposed to our about 70/30 ratio. It was a really long day of travel which surprised me, as the road itself was not long, but we had to switch taxis a lot, which always lengthens the journey, and the roads weren‘t in fantastic condition either. Once again tried and hungry, Alex and I were ready for our final hotel. Our spirits were definitely lifted when we arrived at the hotel--the guidebook did not lead us astray this time. It was a gorgeous place and they were even kind enough to give us a discount on the room because we were Peace Corps volunteers. After a much needed shower, (seriously, you know it‘s bad when you are either sweating dirt or when you think that you have gotten a day during the day but then that tan mysteriously washes off in the shower) Alex and I, for the last time, dined on some gourmet cuisine: French onion soup, steak in an herb butter sauce, and pork with a mushroom and onion sauce--quite delicious after a full day of bush taxis. We hoped to wake up on our last day and take an early morning dip in the pool, however, we were a little disappointed to wake up to rain and clouds instead--this did allow us to be lazy and take off after without feeling rushed to do so, so really not so bad in the end.

And that, I’m afraid, is where our adventures ended. Alex and I took a taxi to Djougou together were we spilt ways. Each of us had a frustrating enough time getting home and while he was off to do a Malaria bike tour in the Alibori region of Benin, I returned to a whole lot of nothing. After all the excitement of the past two weeks, it was strange to sit back down on my couch and look around to no American to talk to, no where to go, no electricity to amuse myself, no running water, and no more someone else preparing all of my food. It was just me, myself, and I back together again.

***

The initial boredom of being alone with my thoughts is starting to wear off. My electricity is back on, so I’ve been able to watch my newly purchased television series and I’ve been able to focus my boredom into productively freaking out and planning my up-coming girls summer camp. Additionally, with the final exams taking place during my absence, I now have all the papers to grade. My most amusing and dumbfounding response to a question so far is that with a multiple choice between a) 2 years b) 4 years and c) 10 years, one student chose the answer d) years. I guess he apparently thought that it was a trick question--just makes me go “hmm…” Anyway, with that I think I have typed about all my brain can handle at the moment. I hope the time in between now in the next journal won’t be quite as long. Cheers.

Other highlights and lowlights include: finding and eating Ghanaian made and manufactured Kingsbite chocolate, getting hit on by men while trying to swim in the ocean thus ruining any and all fun, returning home to Manigri to find my cat not only alive but that he had killed another mouse in my absence, gorging on salt & vinegar and sour cream & onion Pringles, being constantly ripped off my Accra taxis because we don’t know the price, having bacon for the first time in 11 months, wearing awesome rubber boats on the Mole park tour and then later finding out that they were also awesome at giving blisters, both of us having diarrhea at one point or another during the vacation, sweating dirt, free bars or soap and hot showers, spilling a massive blob of ketchup on my newly washed shirt, eating FanYogo Strawberry and FanChoco (which I swear is more chocolately than the FanChoco available in Benin), not being harassed all the time for being white, being harassed for being a woman, realizing I deleted photos of my neighbors frying and eating GIANT grasshoppers, finishing the third Harry Potter book (I finally gave in to the Harry mania), 80s power ballads playing overhead on our way to Mole National Park, sleeping in King size beds, finding out the “Chocolate House” is not a place to find chocolate but rather just a brown building, having the chance to following the EuroCup games on TV, having breakfast delivered to our room in Togo and then finding out that it wasn’t actually for us, getting to hold a bazooka, and finally, the worst thing to have happened on the trip is that my deodorant broke the second to last day, so now I have to sit alone in my house smelling like all of my students that make me crinkle my nose on a daily basis.

Stay Up Late

2008-05-24T02:42:00.000-07:00

Hillary Clinton is my neighbor.

In a chain of several bizarre behaviors, the three year old girl who lives next to me has, for reasons unbeknown to me, taken to calling herself Hillary Clinton. I think O’bama has got himself some serious competition.

Among these strange events, I participated in the Borgou AIDS bike ride not to long ago and had a fantastic experience. Myself along with nineteen other volunteers took off on a Friday morning and finally reached our destination on a beautiful Tuesday afternoon--a total of 179 kilometers was biked in those days. Along the way we stopped in fourteen different villages and gave HIV/AIDS sensibilations; we spoke in French while Beninese Volunteer Corps biked with us and translated into local language. Perhaps one of the “coolest” villages we went to was one in which neither the young girls or young boys had ever seen a condom. Whether or not we elicited any sort of behavior change with those kids it was pretty hard to tell, but at least we opened their eyes a little to show them that if they wanted to be protected, there are methods available. The bike ride itself was just spectacular and gorgeous which helped to take away from the significant pains that were happening down in the buttocks region of my body. Throughout the trip I was made much to aware of the fact that I was merely a figment of the athlete I once was. It also didn’t help that my bike was so busted by previous village accidents that I was limited to three gears the entire time--all part of the fun I suppose. Additionally, in a semi-related tone, during the bike trip, I ate the best Beninese cuisine I have ever had--great sauces, hearty portions, and plenty of protein for all. Even with the derriere pains, it was a really great time and a wonderful chance for me to see a beautiful side of the country--not to mention that I was able to do volunteer work with lots of friends by my side. Not too shabby.

In other volunteer news, I started a correspondence club with a group “9th grade” Beninese students and “8th grade” American students (I believe I already mentioned this actually). Anyway, we finally sent off the letters, and I think that it was a really great success. The day before we sent that letters, I had some of the kids read their letters and some of my favorite quotes are as follows: “My mom just left my dad because she found out that he has two other wives;” “My like to play football and I want to learn basketball, but I do not have the opportunity (this came from a female student);” “I get up everyday at 5:00 to do chores and study before school;” and “…my favorite sport is Frisbee.” These kids are just so dynamic and smart and great that it was nice for me to see. I think that as a teacher in the Peace Corps, it’s easy for me to get jaded and think that nobody wants to learn English and that I’m just here to serve my two years and then go back home. It’s easy for me to label every student as a lazy trouble-making kid who wants to cause the white, young, female teacher problems. However, I feel like this club renewed my spirit a little bit or at least gave me a good whack on the head to open my eyes back up to realize that there are good kids in the school system. In fact, just the other day, I was giving a quiz and one of the kids had torn up little slips of paper which he scattered all over his desk--on each slip of paper, he had written the words “I love you.” I think that’s just about cute enough to warm any cynical heart.

Plans for this summer are piling up fast in contrast to the painful slow ending of school. While original plans had the end of school scheduled for May 16th, it has now been postponed indefinitely--our fate rests in the hands of the Minister of Education who is going to tell us when to end. Naturally, the school extension is due primarily to the lengthy teacher strikes of which I did not participate in--naturally. The good news is that the new extension is pushing right up against my previously approved summer vacation plans, so with the thumbs up of my director who says to me, “You already did all the work,” I will be leaving for vacation on the 6th of June to take a little tour around Ghana. I will be in great company during the trip, I will be excited to be in a country where I understand the language, I will be staying with host families provided my former medical residents of my dad, and I will be missing the last painful weeks of school--it should be a fantastic trip.

In the medical arena of things, I am finally getting over a nasty bout of ringworm. Pretty sure ole Jaguar gave me that lovely gift. However, the ringworm was the reason for me being in the pharmacy that was the inspiration of my previous journal, so I suppose that it was truly a gift after all. I also seem to be getting over a recent fascination with insomnia. For a couple weeks there, I was unable to get more than 2 or 3 hours of sleep each night. Not sure what triggered that, but it sure was fun--and by fun I mean not fun at all.

In sad news, my postmate has officially left me. There are now 106 kilometers between me and the next volunteer. Yikes. I believe that her change of mind sets our stage at a steady 1/3 departure rate. Ridiculous. Emma actually had very good reasons for leaving, but that still doesn’t make it any less sad and disappointing for me. Her and I had a good relationship and a good understanding with each other. She made life a whole lot easier for me, and I hope that in some small way I was able to make her time her more enjoyable as well. We were a good match. Anyway, now I can only hope that she will get replaced by someone from the next stage who is just as cool (and as just a good of chef).

Bed is calling. Goodnight to all. Love.

*Two days later*
As this post reads out rather dully to me, I would like to leave everyone with a trivia question: What do the musical artists Akon, Aqua, Celine Dion, and Cher all have in common?

Answer: They are absolutely adored by the people of Benin. Oh yes. Good music never dies.

Humor of the Situation

2008-04-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

*Parent Advisory*

It has come to my attention, as I was reading back on my journals, that I have been far too mature lately. Therefore, let us all take a moment to act like middle school boys and enjoy this next brief installment of my life in Africa.

The story begins that I needed to go to the Pharmacy to pick up some cream for this weird dry patch of skin on my bicep (actually, how I got to this point is another story within itself). Anyway, I enter the pharmacy and place my order. As the pharmacist looks around the shelves for my cream, I too, take the opportunity to look around at all the products. Suddenly, there is one product that catches my eye and starts to make me giggle rather inappropriately. On the top shelf, there are boxes of tampons and maxi pads with the brand name “Vagina.” I continue to giggle because, if my memory serves me right, “vagina” is the not only the English word but also Spanish and Portugese for vagina. Thus, in my middle school boy brain, I am imagining how funny it is that you can walk into a pharmacy and say, “Hello. I would like the vagina on the top shelf, please.” And with that, I am terribly sorry for those of you who are reading this journal and are now just realizing that I am not a stunning intellect but rather just an immature kid living out her life in Africa.

John Henry

2008-04-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

I was just imagining how that back in the States I used to keep track of the days in my head by thinking about what television shows were on that night (yes this is sad but true). Now, I keep track of the days by what classes I have, by what days I can play basketball, and by what day the market is during the week. It seems that my priorities have shifted just a little bit. Although, that it not go unnoticed that within the Peace Corps Volunteer culture, there is a serious subculture devoted to getting the latest movies and television shows--all the best bootleg in the business.

Today’s Wednesday night finds me returning back to my house all sweaty and belly full. Wednesday is one of the nights that I can go play basketball and because these nights place me on the other side of the town, I am able to indulge in the tasteful delights of my salad lady. She’s a little expensive, but well worth the splurge for such special occasions. Playing basketball, as always, put me a good mood and I figured that instead of doing something “productive” that I would type a journal instead. Not to mention that the Grand Opening of the cyber in Bassila is tomorrow and quite frankly, I don’t want to go to the grand opening empty handed technologically. Another noted success of today is that I held my first Correspondence Club meeting. I had 23 kids show up, and I think that it went really well. We all introduced ourselves with a little game and then we moved on to great “name illustrations” where everyone wrote their name and then choose three adjectives that best described his/her personality (this was all done artistically, of course--I told them to make it pretty). My example was “Carly: intelligent, strong, beautiful.” I was trying to get everyone (especially the girls who were present) to think positively about his/herself. I also want to send these in the letters that they will eventually write back to the States. From there, we moved on to what they can write in a letter. It took awhile to get them going, but once they realized they could speak “franglais” things picked up a little. We finished with brainstorming all the things that you could put in a letter to make it more interesting to Americans: soda/beer labels, scraps of tissue, drawings, photos, etc. I felt really happy with the way things went, and I hope that I can keep most of the kids coming back (though I realize that the end of the school year is quickly approaching).

This weekend looks to be just has busy as I will heading up to Djougou to watch the Sports Competition Extravaganza or whatever they’ve taken to calling it. I just know that there will be several kids from Manigri competing and several more from Bassila (including a boys and girls basketball team) who will also compete. I, naturally, want to go and cheer on the squads being sure to wear my CEG Manigri attire. I might go so far as to body paint as well, but I haven’t decided quite yet.

Internet tomorrow will actually being exciting for another reason other than the obvious pleasure I receive from posting in order to keep everyone who is intently reading this oh-so-interesting blog up to date with my latest adventures. You see, in my meandering across the world wide web, I ran across several people who already know that they will be coming to Benin in July 2008, and I am curious to see if this number has expanded from last time. It’s really cool to see that things are coming around full circle. In addition it’s nice to put faces and names to the empty slots on a piece of paper sitting in the directors office. I’m very excited to meet all the newcomers and hear all their stories and ease all their worries and let them know that despite everything, it somehow all works out in the end. There was a motto supplied by one of the women who worked our initial staging in Philadelphia that has stuck with me all this time: “This, too, shall pass.” Meaning, good or bad, everything will pass with time. So, enjoy the good and ignore the bad because the bad is just a temporary bump in the way of something really great around the corner. That stupid, little simple motto has kept me going--that and I whole lot of Bruce Springsteen. Actually, I’ve been thinking about writing Bruce a fan mail letter; I figure that he might actually read it if it’s postmarked Benin, West Africa. I can’t decide if that would be a little obsessive, however. Gotta love the Boss, though.

*WARNING: This next rambling is truly long and is most likely uninteresting to anyone who did not change my diapers; however, if you decide to proceed, know that you were fairly warned*

Last night brought the first really hard rain in a long time; last night also brought my worst nights sleep since being in country. I crashed early at about 10 o’clock, but couldn’t seem to fall asleep because of a throbbing headache and the simple fact that is was just too stinking hot--every position I tired to make myself comfortable was met by more sweat in a different body crevice. Finally, I decided that if I listened to a little bit of French on the radio, it would help ease me to sleep. Bingo. 10 minutes of French , and I was out like a light. However, I was awoken about an hour later by the rain punishing my tin roof; I was afraid things were going to cave in on me. Not to be stopped, I grabbed an ear plug and rolled over. Not thirty minutes later, I woke up to the splashing of dirt and rain on my face. It seems that not only was my fan pulling in cold air, it was also pulling in every element from outside as well. Thus, finding the left side of my bed to be also covered in this delightful muddy mixture, I flopped over to the right side, turned over and went back to sleep. Shortly thereafter, I woke up again, this time not to rain, but to my own filthy sweat covering my body. It seemed that the tenacity of the rain had cut the power and therefore, I was officially fan-less. Determined that I was so sleepy it didn’t matter, I tired to roll over and pretend that I was wasn’t totally drenched in sweat, mud, and rain water. One hour of tossing and turning and grumbling to myself later, I decided that the living room would be cooler because there is better airflow there, and with that, I moved my sleepy self to the couch. That genius plan lasted ten minutes before I realized that it was still freaking hot and that if I was going to make the effort to move that I might as well move outside where it’s much colder. So, seeming like a good plan at the time, I got up again and set up my cot outside (it should be noted that the cot is made of cement bags). Wrapping myself in a sheet and collapsing on the cot it’s not twenty minutes before I realize the combination of my sweat and the cement bags is causing me to actually stick to the cot. So, once again, I get up and grab a sheet from the bedroom as well as my mosquito net figuring that the next step in my uncomfortable night will be getting stung by a scorpion or something horrendous. Twenty minutes of setup later, I’m back bed. This time, as I try to fall asleep I am only aware of one terrible truth: it is freakin freezing outside. All this time I wanted cold, and now I can literally not fall asleep because it’s too cold, too cold. After my one hour stubborn fit, I get up again and go to the bedroom to grab pants, a shirt, my fleece and another sheet. Finally settling down again for the umpteenth time, I curl into a ball and try my luck at finally falling asleep. Half an hour later, I am awakened again by the wonderfully cheerful cock-a-doodle-dooing of the roosters. At this point it is 5:30 in the morning, and I sit up to hear the running of my fan once again. Fed up with the cold and just wanting to get an hour of good sleep before I have to wake up for school, I run back to my bed and curl up in my covers. Finally drifting off to sleep after thirty minutes a hear a knock, knock, knock on my metal door. I ignore it. I hear it again. I ignore it again. I hear someone come to my bedroom window, “Bonjour! I need my phone.” My little neighbors who I kindly charged their phone for last night decided that 6:15 in the morning was a good time to stop by and get it. With only fifteen minutes left to sleep before I had to get up, perhaps it is obvious to state that I did not fall back asleep. And that was night. I arrived at school terribly giddy and I think that my students seem to appreciate my manic energy. Everybody hates an 8 a.m.

Lovely Day

2008-04-14T05:56:00.000-07:00

And the sky opened up and God shown down and he said, "Thou shall have internet." And the people rejoiced and wept tears of happiness for no longer would they have to bear the burden of isolation. Now they, too, would have the gift of communication.

Internet has arrived in Bassila! I should be able to have internet access at least once a week and, therefore, if I can force myself to be a little more diligent about blog writing, I should be able to keep this little baby of mine growing and flourishing. Very exciting.

Just a Girl

2008-04-14T05:35:00.000-07:00

As I was getting ready to sit down and enjoy the freedom of my Friday morning, I heard a knock on my door. Wondering who it was, as I had not scheduled any appointments with anyone, I sleepily got out of bed and wandered to the front door. Bucket in tow, it was my mason who was apparently equipped and ready to begin repairing my door for the…seventh time now I believe. In fact, I think that part of me will be sad to see my door saga end; it has provided me with quite a bit of amusement over the time. Anyway, that is where we are. I am sitting on my couch, fan gently blowing, typing away on my computer while some trusty worker attempts to attempt the impossible--fixing my door. Luckily, it appears that he only has to worry about the top section of my doors and will not to take out the entire framework like two men have done in the past. Oh sweet memories.

One hour later and it looks like he has finished his work. Doesn’t look half bad I must say; perhaps he really is the one. We chatted the whole time about America. He was (and still is) under the firm impression that there are no black people in the United States, that there are no poor people in the United States, and that if you come to America everything will be better in a matter of months. While I don’t like to make a habit of talking badly about the Land of Opportunity, when people take up this viewpoint, as so many Beninese do, I find the best way to change their opinion is to insist that life is better in Benin. That in Benin, people may not have a lot of money, but that people are still happy with their life as opposed to America where the more money people have, the more things they seem to want. Despite, however, this rather genius argument, he still refused to believe that people lived on the streets (especially white people living on the streets) and that even one black person owned soil in the States. I’m just a compulsive liar I suppose. With that issue clearly a moot point, we started talking, naturally, about how great John was (the volunteer I replaced in Manigri). As my mason went on and on about John this and John that, my insecurities about my own volunteer work began to rise and rise until finally I interrupted him and blurted, “And me? What about me? I’m nice too, right?” He, in turn, responded with the most honest and upfront Beninese answer. He told me that I was indeed nice and that I seemed like a good teacher at the school but that people couldn’t be friends with me because I am a woman. Point blank, just like that. I am a woman. And then on he went talking about John again. While I wanted to push the subject further, I decided to let it rest as is. I really wasn’t interested in having a friendship with this guy, and I think that despite my longings for more friendships here, he has a point. I don’t think that he meant it in a demeaning or hurtful way, I think that it is just one of the, perhaps, stunted aspects about life in Benin. Men and women cannot be friends for several reasons, the main one being that if the two are friends, they should be sleeping together, and if they’re not, it will be assumed to be that way anyway and well, I don’t know too many girls who want to be known as the girl who gets around. Regardless, even with all my reasoning, I still feel a taken aback by his comment. Is it true that no matter how great of a volunteer I am that I will never be talked about in the way that John is simply because I’m a woman? The intellectual side of me reasons that it because of the fact that I am a woman that I have the opportunity to do more than John ever could. That I have the opportunity to influence the lives of other women, the lives of young girls. That I have the opportunity to be really revolutionary. However, the emotional side of me still thinks how unsatisfactory my Peace Corps experience has the opportunity to be if all my efforts to integrate fail based solely on my chromosomal makeup. Something to ponder indeed.

All “I am Woman, hear me roar” issues aside, these past few weeks have been perfectly chaotic. To start, I was chosen to work the next round of stage (the training period for all the new volunteers), so at the end of March I traveled down to Cotonou for a several day long discussion on what activities should be in the program for the new stagaires. For us TEFL volunteers, the work finished early as the vast majority of our program is taken up by big blocks of model school. Thus, most of this time was spent talking to other volunteers, eating free food and deciding who and for what reasons will be working each particular week of the stage training--It was decided that I will be working from July 21st until August 18th, so start clearing those calendars for the end of August for my grand summer visit back to the States--I’m already fantasizing about what I want my first meal to be. Immediately following the stage training, my time in Cotonou was extended as it marked the period for the annual All-Volunteer Conference (All-Vol). In general, All-Vol is set in place for two main reasons: to discuss important bureaucratic issues with all the volunteers present and to allow a break to jaded second-year volunteers who may be losing ambition as they near the end of their service. I, however, enjoyed All-Vol for one reason: Hotel du Lac. For three days Peace Corps allows us to stay in absolute luxury. I’m talking air conditioning, free food, hot showers, mini fridges, king size beds, internet in the rooms, severely overpriced drinks, and best of all, a swimming pool. We were living the dream. In fact, Alex and I extended our dream stay just for one more night as we were just not quite able to pry ourselves away from such amenities so soon. It was quite the slice of paradise in this Peace Corps life. Additionally, the events of all All-Vol were highlighted by several events for our Gender and Development (GAD) group. The first night, we had a talent show and male auction, and the second night was the silent auction and the GAD dinner or, perhaps, more aptly named the Peace Corps prom. The first night, though I made many bids on many fine gentlemen offering moonlight serenades and five-star self-prepared cuisine, it was Alex for whom I finally put down the big bucks. The second night, feeling the full guilt of spending too much money on something I already get for free (although it all goes to a good cause), I vowed not to spend anymore money. That notion was quickly thrown aside upon viewing a basket of mashed potatoes--I mean, honestly, it’s mashed potatoes, how was I supposed to resist? How was I also to resist bidding on a several beautiful (clean) t-shirts, a basket of baked goods, a wooden statue, a digital camera, and several other small auction items. Clearly, I just embody the notion of good will and could, therefore, not deny myself from helping a good cause. Luckily, there were other do-gooders as well and my winnings were limited to the mashed potatoes and two t-shirts. The rest of prom was quite wonderful, too, except that I had apparently purchased a one-way ticket on the lame train as I could barely keep my eyes open past midnight and thus retired early to bed. This prom event also marked the first time that I had worn makeup in country. Actually, I use the term makeup quite lightly. I had on mascara and eyeliner with a bit a blush, that’s it. Yet, seeing myself for the first time with something on my face besides chapstick, I felt very much like a drag queen (a good-looking drag queen, naturally).
After All-Vol and after our one night layover at Hotel du Lac, Alex returned with me to Manigri and laid low for a couple days. Which, brings me to the events that have just occurred.
Also interrupting my lazy journal writing Friday morning, my ceiling fixing man arrived about 30 minutes ago. Kindly chatting me up, we were having decent conversation, when he stops me and says that he saw me with a stranger last Saturday (that would be Alex). I told him that that was Alex and that Alex is my husband hoping the old marriage tactic would give him cause to drop the subject and to drop the thought of ever hitting on me again. Not the case. He follows up my husband statement with something along the lines of, “If I had known that, I would have started a war with him, because with him next to you, there leaves no room for a man like me.” Rolling my eyes, I question him saying that shouldn’t it be the woman’s right to chose a man and rolling his eyes right back at me, he laughs and says, “American woman.” Awesome.
Anyway, Alex left last Saturday morning and I was left in Manigri alone--without air conditioning, free food, hot showers, mini fridges, king size beds, internet in my room, severely overpriced drinks, a swimming pool, and best of all, friends all around. As a cruel “twisting of the knife,” my first day alone, I was also left without my 24-hour power. I believe it was fate’s way of slapping me across the face and reminding me that I did, in fact, sign up for Peace Corps and not Hotel du Lac.
Currently, I’m back in the swing of things, teaching and eating my daily dose of pate. This past week I had one of my most successful 5eme classes in a long time with the incorporation of the almighty Venn Diagram. And I’m not kidding when I say that the kids loved it. There are so many things that are lacking in the educational system here, one of which is the ability for students to critical analyze and then categorize their findings and ideas. Enter the Venn Diagram. I loved that it worked so brilliantly and will definitely search for ways to use it in my remaining lessons (six more weeks to go-yikes). My kitten and I are in a learning period with each other right now. I forgot how playful kittens can be and thus much of my annoyance with the little guy is spawning from periods where he decides my leg will be the next target for his hunting practice, or when he decides that he should wake me up to sharpen his nails on my bed post at 3a.m., or when he decides that the dirt in his litter box would be better suited outside the box, etc. Still, I have high hopes that he will become the ferocious killer kitty I want him to be. Already, combining our forces, we have killed two ginormous unidentified bugs. Actually, I kill them and he eats them, but it’s that taste for bloodshed that I like to see in my untamable wild kitty beast. And though I’m not quite settled on a name yet, I am thinking that he shall be named Jaguar with Jag for short. Everyone here just calls him moose, which I’m okay with, too. Anyway, with a better door and fixed ceiling, I think that about brings me to the end of this journal and while the strawberry clouds are now gone, the “mango rains” have come, and it’s now officially mango season. So, I am off to market to find some mangoes to eat until I’m sticky and stuffed to the brim. Love and Hugs.

Only Happy When It Rains

2008-03-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

As fair warning, this is a long one. And, I was going to go back and look for spelling errors or semantical errors, but, quite frankly, I'm just too lazy. So enjoy as is.

Another milestone has been reached. This coming Sunday marks six months of being at post; half a year of living in Manigri. Crazy. Sometimes the days here feel like they just crawl by, but when you take a step back and realize that half a year has gone by, well, I guess things just don’t seem so slow then. As a consequence of time moving at light speed, the second and third devoirs have come and gone, officially making me ¾ of the way done with the school year. Crazy encore. And in the realm of crazy, on the way down to Cotonou this past weekend, I saw rain. While this is seemingly unimportant, this wonderful sight marked my first time seeing rain since October. Crazy Crazy.

Among these celebratory milestones, I wanted to write about one of the better days that I have had in country, which just so happened to be Valentine’s Day. I have to preface this day by saying that the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day had been rather “painful” and highly unsuccessful in the teaching sense as all the other professors where on strike forcing me into “hop-along” teaching mode where I would have about 8-15 students for each class and thus forced to review or teach mini lessons in hopes that the other students would get the message that I wasn’t striking and start coming to school like their peers. Anyway, on this particular day, the number of the students was not any different, but the result of the lesson was fantastically different.

So. It was Valentine’s Day. A Thursday. The Thursday before a one week vacation, the Thursday I was traveling to see a friend living a good 8 hour trip away, the Thursday that I just wanted to get over and done with so I could get away for a bit--with this mindset, I went to school thinking, “Just do what you have to do, get it over with and get out of there.” Always a good way to approach volunteer work I find. Anyway, n with the story…skipping ahead a bit. In the middle of my first class (my 5eme) I was stuck on a teaching point; I couldn’t get the kids to understand “the best.” I didn’t want to use French so I was frantically searching my brain for a good example or a good way to explain it. Finally, I thought, “ah! I’ve got it.” I asked them if they knew Angelique Kidjo (a famous singer from Benin). A couple kids did and I went with it. I said, “Do you sing? Are you good at singing? Does Angelique Kidjo sing? Is she good? Okay! She is the best singer!” Nothing but blank stares right back at me…hmmm. Try again. So I started thinking, what is the one thing that every person in Benin knows, that every person in Benin likes and understands…football. Who is the best footballer? Ronaldino. Bingo. So again I went on my question extravaganza. “Do you play football? Are you good at football? Do you know Ronaldino? Is he good at football? That’s right! He is the best footballer!” A pause and then in unison the students nodded their heads and said, “Ohhh. I understand!” Though a small success to say the least it was a nice moment to know that I had thought on my feet and in doing so was able to get through to this group of students. Continuing on, after about an hour of that lesson, I decided to do a cultural exchange activity and have the students create Valentine’s Day cards with me. Step by step I led them through it, they loved it and I even got some Valentine’s Day cards addressed to me. It was such a good success with my students that decided to repeat the activity with my younger kids the next hour especially since I ended up only having nine of them show. So yada, yada, yada, I finish the Valentines with my 6eme kids. They also loved it and even got into the spirit of things by adding “baby” to the end of all their phrases: “I love you, baby” “Kiss me, baby” “You’re pretty, baby.” Naturally, this just made me laugh; I mean you can‘t get mad at a little kid when he says “Kiss me, baby“ even if it is inappropriate. Anyway, we finished in about 45 minutes, I had no students and thus didn’t want to teach, there was no one really at the school, and I wanted to get going on my voyage so I told the kids that they could go. However, as we were all walking off the school grounds, my director comes running up to me. He proceeds to tell me that there are some young, German filmmakers here (this is a whole other story) and they would like to film my classroom just for 5 minutes or so. I say that that’s fine and have them film me while I go over the date with my class. With the Germans speaking German and English with a little French and my students speaking French and Nagot with very very little English, their interaction was brief and simple. They filmed, they left. However, as they were walking out, three of my students ran up to me and asked me if they could give their Valentine’s Day cards to the Germans. I told them that they could of course do that and out they ran like bullets. Without so much as a word, my students handed over their homemade Valentine’s reading “I love you, baby” to these young Germans. It was such an unbelievable great moment for me. The Germans were so happy and my students were just beaming with delight. The Germans turned to me and said, “I didn’t think that anyone knew about this Holiday here; we thought that we would miss Valentine’s Day. Thank you so much. ” So, although it wasn’t an important grammar point or so new and exciting vocabulary lesson, I felt as though I had really accomplished one of the more important goals of Peace Corps which is to be an ambassador of good will and to facilitate various cultural exchanges. It was a good moment. Not to mention that after that I was able to smile knowing that I was off of teaching for a whole week! Yahtzee.

Story Time!

Lately there have been these trees that grow some strange fruit that can kill you if eaten with milk but with that not being of any real importance to me, the truly great thing is that they have, in my opinion, the distinct smell of strawberries. So, every time I come home from school a get to ride for about through a giant strawberry cloud. The only bad consequence of this is that while the smell is there, there are no actual strawberries to be eaten.

This story is entitled “when bad French makes things funny.” So at one of the end of semester meetings for all the professors, we have to get together and discuss conduct grades for all the students. Essentially we all get together and on a scale of 1-20 (20 being the best) we go around and state what we think the ceiling grade should be for the entire grade level. Because I only have 6eme and 5eme classes I zone out after we finish deciding the grades for these two levels; every now and then I pop my brain back into the conversation only long enough to realize that I don’t care what’s going on or I just don’t know what’s going on. Anyway, after about 4 hours, I can tell that the meeting is winding until someone brings up this story about a 3eme kid who was caught twice saying that he was going to hit the director (like the school principal--he’s sorta a big deal) for taking away his cell phone during class; obviously this is a big no-no but also kind of funny if you step back and think about it--at least to me it’s funny. Anyway, I hear them launch into this story and before you know it, I’ve zoned out again. Tuning back into the conversation a good half hour later, I hear them start shouting out numbers again. At this point I am genuinely confused because they have already gone through and discussed and voted on all of the conduct grades for all the grade levels. This is clearly for something else but I can’t figure out what, and the numbers are all over the place: 25, 10, 15, etc. Almost every professor votes and then they turn to me and ask me what I think. I tell them I honestly have no idea what’s happening, they all laugh, and we continue on with the meeting. In my head I was thinking that I should have just said 25 to bring up the average of what every they are voting on; I should have tried to help the students by giving a little cushion. So with all the teachers numbers they add together and find the average: 17.8; they decide to round up to 20. “Well that was nice, I think.” Meeting ends and I go on my merry way. Later that night, however, I was hanging out with another professor and I decide to ask him out of curiosity what everyone was voting on there at the end of the meeting. I told them that I understood what the kid at said and that there was some school ceremony starting tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock but that I didn’t understand what all the numbers were for. Turns out, as he explains to me, the numbers were to vote on how many “beatings” or wooden paddle smacks on the ass we were going to give this kid as punishment in front of the entire school tomorrow at 8 o’clock. I immediately flashback and think how grateful I am that I didn’t shout out 25 and how crazy it is (to me) that they rounded the number of beating up. Anyway, so the public beating did take place the next morning taking a whole hour to finish up properly. It was such a fiasco and so dramatized that I ended up thinking it was all quite amusing. They started off by telling all the classes their ceiling grade for discipline and then they said, “But there were two students in particular who got our eye during the meeting.” Then they had the two guilty students come out and kneel with their arms extended and then essentially plead their case to the faculty as to why they were innocent and didn’t deserve what they very well knew was coming to them. They, of course, didn’t when their case and were forced to lie down on their stomachs on top of a desk while one of the professors gave them 20 paddle smacks each. It was very fraternity-esqe. I guess because I felt so powerless to change what was happening or do anything at all that my body reacted in the only way I felt “safe” to express emotion and that was by laughing at it. Even now when I re-tell the story I can see how awful it must seem and how awful it really is, but without laughter, well, I don’t know what I would do. There’s some really good Kurt Vonnegut quote about laughter and tears and how both are a result of pain and frustration but that he prefers to laugh because there is less cleaning up to do afterwards. I don’t know exactly…someone look it up.

I got new cushions finally for my couch. I asked for two colors only black and green. I said that I wanted more of a solid print. What he brought can best be described as “Americans perception of what African tissue is like.” It does have green and black in there, but it also have white and orange and red and blue and it’s all really well mixed in a nice checker like plaid pattern. They are truly unique and I have lovely welcomed them into my oh-so-eclectic home.

The other week at marche I was wondering through seeing all the same old things that I didn’t want to buy when something very cute caught my eye. There scurrying along was the cutest little kitten. I immediately snatched him up and starting doing the whole “American” baby-talk thing. Some woman close to me said, “Oh. Did you want to buy him?” Without really a pause I responded with a yes. You see, this moment had just come on the heals of me “losing” my cell phone and thus not being able to communicate with people for a week and a half now and therefore leaving me feeling a little lonely and needy AND the other night I had just gone to battle with the most giant and ugly looking spider I have seen since being in county. To give you some idea of the size, when I first saw this thing run across the floor out of the good ol’ peripheral vision, I thought that it was either a lizard or a mouse…not a freaking mammoth spider. Anyway, the idea of a cuddly, mouse/lizard/spider attacking kitten didn’t seem like such a bad idea. So I said yes. She tells me that she isn’t the owner of the kitten but that we can take a short walk to where the owner lives. Sure I say and on we go. Meanwhile this once cute kitten as gotten all squirmy-wormy on me, but he still so cute, so I continue. When we arrive at the place the woman introduces me and then tells me that the kitten I’m holding is not for sale, that it belongs to the old woman, but that there are more kittens inside. As I walk into the house there are three little kittens all of whom are running around crazy and jumping around, I’m starting to rethink the whole “a kitten would be a great idea” thing when the mama cat gets up and there I see a cute little all-black kitten just sleeping there next to his mama. I scoop him up and hold him to my face. He’s purring and I’m falling in love, but I tell him “I don’t know if I want to buy you.” And that’s when it happens, the little guy winks at me. And for those of you who know me and know my thing with winking, this is a clear sign that I need to take this little bugger home with me. Thus, while skipping many of the unimportant details, I now have a permanent house guest living with me. He’s still quite tiny and I’m hoping he can hang in there with my through the kitten years as it is sad but true that a lot of cats die here, but if he can grow up to be my little protector, I will be quite pleased.

Thanks to mom I was able to have a cultural exchange bonfire night where my postmate and I made s’mores for all my neighbors. We had to have the mallows shipped in (that’s where mom came into play) and then we had to be creative with the chocolate and the graham crackers, but it was all good and the kids really liked them. One adult said that we should start selling them on the side of the street. I feel that would be a valid secondary project. Anyway, it was fun and made me miss all the bonfires back home. All in due time though.

All tired from typing. Sure you’re tired from reading. Happy trails to you, until we meet again.

Cross My Heart

2008-02-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

It appears that as with any journal that I keep, I tend to start off writing like a storm; writing everyday to capture my thoughts and capture my exact emotions of every moment and then, for no apparent reason, my writing stops; it tapers off, gradually but steadily. Thus, after nearly a month and a half of not writing anything, it appears that I am now significantly behind in my obligations of maintaining this blog so that you, the people, might have some idea of what I am (or perhaps your family members) are up to over here on this side of the pond. Regardless, here I go again, ready to type and retell some of my more memorable moments of these wintery months.

First, for us teachers, the big first devoir as come and gone. For us newbies, it was our first real chance to judge whether or not we are making a difference or doing a good job. Though, I found that when my students do well, I am the first to congratulate myself and pat myself on the back and when my students do poorly I just shake my head and say that it must be the educational system--couldn’t possibly be my teaching! Haha. I found that the hardest part of grading the exams was keeping myself from not giving out points for funny answers. More specifically, not giving out points to students who wrote sentences sounding like the great and wise Yoda. “Go to Paris Rachidath did” or “Eighteen desks there are” and so on and so forth. Very tempting to not only give full credit but to give extra points for being so clever. Sadly, I refrained. Now, just on the heals of “Winter break” it seems that schools around Benin are prepping to hold the second devoir. Ironic simply because most of the schools around Benin have also not held class since “Winter break” due to an ongoing strike and a teaching formation. Whether I be grateful or frustrated, I’m not sure, but my school has not mentioned anything about the second devoirs yet. It is the censeur’s job to prepare the testing schedule and I’m not exactly sure what my censeur does except for sit around and make me laugh with his ridiculous rants. Anyway, I will be ready for the next devoirs whenever they do happen to roll around, and maybe this time I will give points to humorous or ironic answers.

Second, the LEGEND is back! Haha. Not really. The truth of it is that I finally got myself back out on the basketball court, not to play a game or anything, but just to shoot around a little bit. There is a dirt court in Manigri, that is way on the other side of town, but the hoops are that bad, and it’s a fairly easy bike ride. Anyway, I’ve gone twice now and think that I’m going to continue to try to go shoot every Wednesday night. The first time that I went was the best. I rode up on my bike wearing a dress and pull out my basketball and pump. First thing that goes wrong is that my pump is broken, so I have to hold the pump to block up the hole while another guy does the work and twenty children are staring at the white girl who wants to play basketball alone (people think it‘s strange to just “shoot around”). The basketball finally gets inflated and I step out onto the court I start shooting. About thirty seconds in, the children’s giggles about a white girl in a dress playing basketball alone turn to silence as I started making basket after basket. It was pretty funny. Then there was some older guy who decided that he wanted to shoot around with me, so he goes and gets a basketball. He gets onto the court and launches up some two-handed rocket that bricks off the backboard, and now the children are laughing at him, but he continues to fire off one shot after another--being an African male it appeared that he had no sense of embarrassment or shame. Anyway, one of the kids get the idea in his head that he is going to count off our made baskets. Shortly, all the other kids have joined in “5-0, 6-0, 7-0.” Every time the guy misses one they giggle and say, “ohh.” Finally he makes one and all the kids cheer, “10-1.” We continue. “16-1, 17-1.” He makes another basket and the kids cheer again, “22-2.” When it got to be “28-2” the kids stopped counting, but it was definitely pretty humorous. He just kept shooting the whole time, too. Not a care in the world, and I guess that’s what basketball should be, a simple distraction from any other real world problems. The first time I was there I actually had to stop shooting after the kids who were rebounding for me started beating each other up (knees to the goods down below, slapping each other, tripping) to get the ball to me. All in the spirit of competition though I suppose. Pretty fun though, and I good way to get my face out into the community a little more often and in a way that I am comfortable with. I might even try to get the director of my school to come and shoot with as he has told me that he would like to learn how to play.

Not too much more big and exciting stuff has been happening. I’m afraid that these wintery months have slowed down the adventures for me. On the little news bulletin, I got the walls in my house painted. They were once a dismal and depressing gray cement and now the are a bright and brilliant white. I also got the tapestries in and the map of Benin in my house framed and hung so that my living room looks like a proper place and not some college dorm room that I lived in before. Makes it seems more homey (and the white walls will inspire me to keep things clean. Also, had another VAC (Volunteer Action Committee) meeting up in Natitingou for all the volunteers in the Attacora-Donga region. This gathering also happened to overlap with the six month anniversary of us newbies being in country. Pretty crazy. Pretty cool. I think that the six month anniversary of being at post will be equally if not more exciting. Six months though. That’s half a year! Crazy. Anyway, at the VAC meeting all of us volunteers went out together for a nice dinner, and we decided to go to an old friend’s restaurant (an old friend who always gives us free liquor ever if we refuse--even though we can’t really refuse anyway as it is very rude to do so). It was a good night. A late night, but a good night. Between being out late and then not being comfortable while sleeping and then having to get up at 6:00 to catch the bus down to Bassila, I think I got in a good hour of sleep or so. Needless to say that after the night of partying and not sleeping at all, and then traveling to Bassila in the early morning to work on my secondary project I was relieved and very happy to finally be back in my house relaxing and listening to music. I was actually dozing off when I heard a knock at my door. “Surely just someone coming to saluer me,” I thought, “I’ll make this quick.” Turns out that it was the friend of one of my teacher friends who was coming to get me to inform me that there was a traditional fete (voodoo fete) going on in front of the mayor’s office and he was coming to get me so that I could go and take photos (in addition to just watching the celebration). So after scrambling around the house, I grab my things and head out the door. I get to the place and all I see are eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes all turning at me. Great. Just great. But I decide to play it cool and act normal and wait until my teacher friend could come and rescue me from my own awkwardness. He comes shortly, and he guides me into a better photo taking position. As we wait there nothing really seems to be happening, until I hear some singing start and I look to see two men on these giant bamboo crutches come slinking out of the trees wearing masks and bobbing to the music. It was quite spectacular looking. Needless to say, I whip out the camera at this point. Snap. One photo. Snap. Two photos. Snap. Three photos. “Oh Cool! He’s really close now!” Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. “What the?” Click, click, click. Lo and behold, I had run out of batteries. Just as I’m finally getting to see a fete and a pretty cool fete at that, my camera has to run out of batteries. Something. There’s always got to be something. At least I had the experience of watching the dancing go down, and I should really count my blessings that I wasn’t forced to give money and that I wasn’t forced to join into the dancing. Although, at one point, I did take a really cute baby and start doing a little dancing with her. That was fun; dancing with babies is better than dancing alone.

Speaking of dancing with babies. I’ve been going at it solo for the past four weeks as my postmate has been MIA. She was riding her bike on the main road of Bassila and some out-of-control sixteen year old on a moto comes up behind her and rams into the back of her bike (I wasn’t there when it happened, but this is the story that I have pieced together from multiple sources). She, of course, took a tumble and had to be taken down to the Cotonou office to be taken care of--sprained ankle, stitches on the other foot, and multiple road rashes. She will be back in a couple days, and I am excited for her return if not for the soul purpose of speaking English to someone once a week. When I went up to VAC, one of the quotes was, “You haven’t been around other Americans in awhile, have you?” Haha. Nope. No I haven’t.

Anyway, that might bring us to the end of my tales for the moment. Cross my heart I’ll do better next time.

This Year’s Love

2008-02-18T02:20:00.000-08:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2008!!! As is the Beninese way, I wish everyone Love, Happiness, Good Health for You and Your Family, Wealth, and Prosperity for this New Year. Best Wishes.

(Wanted to make the title of this journal Will 2k but changed my mind last second; still, give Will 2k a listen. I think you’ll find that it still holds that same charm even after 8 years. God Bless Will Smith)

True Blue

2008-01-03T09:11:00.000-08:00

I don’t even know how the conversation even started really, but I just had the most interesting conversation about racism in the United States and Europe with another professor and the surveillent at my school the other day. I believe it started when the other professor was talking about his plans to visit Canada in about 5 years. It was at this point that the surveillent butted in and said that he could never live in Canada (or the United States or Europe) because everyone over there was a racist. I think I actually might have started laughing, but can’t remember. Anyway, we proceeded to get into a conversation where I was trying to explain that while there are still some very naïve and ignorant people in the United States, the vast majority of people are warm and very accepting of people from different backgrounds and different races. I also brought up the point that while I understood that it was not meant in a malicious or harmful connotation, to call somebody, “white person” is considered very rude in the United States and that some one would never come up to you and say, “hey, black person, can you show me where the school is?” That they would use sir or ma’m. That was a totally invalid point in their eyes though so I didn’t get far. Unfortunately the entire conversation took place in French so I was often stumbling over my words and if I paused for even a second to recall some vocabulary, someone interrupted me, and I was forced to sit and wait and listening. There were asking me if I had ever heard of slavery and Malcolm X. I said that yes I had heard of them and I fully accept that there are some dark places in America’s history but that Africa cannot claim to have a history free of problems either. I told them to look at all the war and blood that has been shed already, but they shrugged that off as an invalid point. So, I said surely that I am an example of an American who is not racist and if I exist then there must be other people like me. Then, my surveillent turns to me and asks me if I had to make a choice right now between going back to America or staying and living in Africa, which one would I choose. I told him that without a doubt I would return to America. He says, “See. You are racist. If you liked Africans you would stay here.” A little furious that I had just been called a racist by the man whose school I am trying to help, I tried to explain that to come here, I left behind my family and friends and that I left behind my entire life. He says, “Just fly them over here.” I explain that it’s not that easy for one, and that number two, another big reason for me to return to the States is that it is much easier for a woman to live there. Scoffing, he asks me in what regard it is easier for a woman. So I start listing off example after example and finally say that above all, it is easier for a woman to get an education and find a good job. (Speaking of which, I just found out that one of my students is pregnant…*big sigh*…there goes one…makes me feel like I failed her in some capacity; she can‘t be more than fifteen). So he asks me what I would like to become in the United States that it would be hard to do here. I say that I want to become a doctor (lying a little bit…sorry Dad…hope that didn’t get you excited). He, naturally, laughs at me, so I ask him what is the best job that a woman in Benin can hope to get. Nearly at the same time, the other professor and the surveillent say, “Female President.” I was a little taken aback, but happy and said that I was to stay in Benin and become President. That really got that laughing as it was not only preposterous, but that I had also misunderstood what they said. The didn’t say that I could become a female president, they said that I could become the WIFE of the President. Awesome. So I started busting into my best female empowerment speech, but I’m pretty sure that there were just laughing at me while I ranting on and on. Anyway, that was how my Thursday afternoon was spent. It was clear that there was no changing there minds at that point, so hopefully they will see after my two years, that I (and the majority or Americans) are not racist and that women deserve better than to be treated as the personal servants of men.

On a completely different note and random note. I got new doors installed in my house and they look great! Now I only have to paint my walls and fix my ceiling and get some cushions on my “couches”, and I think that I will be on my way to feeling like I live in an actual house and not some cement shack in Africa (though it IS a very nice cement shack in Africa). The best part about the doors is that they smell of fresh wood which reminds me of the saw chips that we use for the horses in the barn which reminds me of home! And it that same light, the other day when I was having tutoring with my homologue, I was totally distracted as his wife prepared their son for school. She was dressing him and cleaning him and with whatever product she was cleaning him with, I couldn’t shake that I recognized the smell but couldn’t place where it was from. Finally, I realized that it smelled exactly like the fly spray that we roll-on in the horses ears. Thus, twice within one week I was reminded of being back home again in ole Kentucky (or Michigan as the case may be).

And I guess that’s about it for now. Life has been pretty bland as of lately. School is winding down and kids are getting excited about celebrating the holidays. They, of course, want to know what I am giving them as their Christmas presents. “Nothing,” I smile and say not deterring them one bit from asking again and again and again. I am excited because my friend will be joining me for a few days before we head up to Natitingou to not only TEFL stuff but celebrate the holidays with the TEFL family. As it always is with the gang, it should be a lot of fun. Love and Warmth (really) from Manigri

Santa Got Lost in Texas

2008-01-03T09:09:00.000-08:00

So it is either perfectly fitting or cruelly ironic that the only three Christmas songs that I seem to have put on my computer before leaving are “Feliz Navidad,” “Mamacita Donde Esta Santa Claus.” and (best of all) “Brown Christmas.” A brown Christmas is right. Everything is all dried up here; it hasn’t rained in months and things are so dusty that I often carry a handkerchief with me just to cover my mouth as I walk up and down the streets. Nevertheless, there is a certain buzz about Christmas here that makes it feel like it really is that time of year. Nice because I feel like my head is finally coming to grips that it is no longer July, but a little sad as I am realizing that I have never not been home for Christmas, and I will, for the first time in my adult life, be missing out on all of the usual family traditions that really make Christmas the holiday it is. As I can not claim to be much of a religious person, Christmas for me, has really at the heart of it, always been about being with family and celebrating the gift of family. As the line goes in my favorite Christmas movie (A Muppets Christmas Carol), “It’s true wherever you find love, it feels like Christmas.” And isn’t that the gift of family? Unconditional love. That’s why we have family, so you know that no matter what horrible hand you have been dealt in life, you can always fall back on this one group of people who has been there for you and will continue to be there for you. And thus, an ocean away from my family on this particular Christmas, it will be very interesting to see how my holiday is spent. I am sure that many of my thoughts will be preoccupied with the particular happenings of my own family traditions as the day passes by like seemingly most other days here. And so, with that said, I say to my family, “Somebody sing something!”

Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

2008-01-03T09:05:00.000-08:00

The big week of the PSW (Personal Strategy Workshop) has come and gone and life has resumed as usual in Manigri. I feel very much settled in at my post--for the most part--I would still like to fix my doors, my ceiling, and my walls--but things are good. The PSW was a great little reunion with everybody. It was dampered only by the fact that I got sick the second day there with some sort of bizarre African cold that I seem to keep getting--fever, chills, sore throat, headache, body aches--the whole nine yards. I spent the whole week living from dose to dose of medicine. I didn’t bring any medication with me, so whenever I did get my hands on something, I felt great, but if I wasn’t medicated, I was definitely down for the count. By the end of the week, however, I was feeling better and I had taken enough medicine to be back in form for the 80s dance party that we had planned to hold way back in Stage. The deal was that we all had to dress in the best 80s clothes that we could find in our markets. I found that “dress like the 80s” quickly became “dress as stupid as you can“…which I guess isn’t that big of a jump as my dad pointed out. Anyway, it was quite fun, and I felt like that was as close as we had come thus far to all of us being in our natural element. We were all relaxed, the initial pretenses of feeling like you have to be kind to everyone and impress everyone had worn off, I think that we have all become more of ourselves in our time here and because of all those things I feel that we were even more comfortable with being with each other. Not to mention that it is apparently known throughout Peace Corps that the TEFL stage this year (that being us) is strangely friendly with each other. Like we actually really like each other--this of course not being the norm of the previous stage groups. We’re just a big happy family, what can I say? Actually, I will say that this has been one of those rare occasions were we have just the right amount and perfect blend of each personality. We are able to be ourselves without imposing on someone else’s beliefs or traits. Growing up with a sports background I am well aware how even just one person on a team (or in a group, in this case) can tip the scales and off-set that harmonious balance that everyone wants.

A part from the PSW, I find life to be slowing down--not in a bad sense, just in the sense that I feel more comfortable staying at post and I don’t have the same urges to travel all the time. I must say, though, that doesn’t stop strange things from happening to me. For instance, the other night, as I am sitting in my living room typing an exam, my little neighbor girl comes running into my house screaming with excitement, “Tata! Tata! Come look. There is a little cat outside!” I was, of course, excited. The other day I had seen my neighbors playing with a little black kitten, and thus, I assumed that my neighbors had purchased this kitten and it was romping around outside. So, I drop what I’m doing and I walk outside. “Where is the little cat?” I ask. My little neighbor girl smiles happily and points. I follow the direction of her finger only to see that there in the moonlight with it’s throat slit open and blood on the ground beside it was another giant bush rat. Not exactly the cute little kitten that I was hoping to see. Jumping back and covering my mouth, I go back into my house and sit back down deciding next time my neighbor says that there is a little cat outside, I will make sure to ask her what the little cat looks like. Stupid giant bush rats.

And thus, speaking of bloody and gross things, that reminds of Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving occurred just before our PSW, and I traveled up to Natitingou to be with the crowd there. The dinner itself, was absolutely amazing and the only thing that I was missing from my Thanksgiving dinners back home were my Grandma’s dinner rolls. The bloody and gross part comes in when I decided that if I were going to be a non-vegetarian my whole life, I might as well actually know how to prepare a turkey, and thus Carly volunteered herself to be on the killing, plucking, gutting, and grilling committee. Step one, involved catching all of the turkeys, chickens, and hens (or pheasants or guinea fowl or whatever they are). This was, by far, the most humorous step of the process as three of us ran around the PCV house trying to corner the birds. We would get them into a corner, crouch, and then slowly creep in, hands ready to capture. The first chicken came right at me, so I put my hands down, touched one feather, let out sort of a terrified moan, and retreated. “Run away, run away” (Monty Python, anyone) I was much more prepared for the second chicken and am proud to say that I did catch that one on my second go around. I won’t divulge too many details about the next three steps (the killing, the plucking, and the gutting) only to say that it was one of the most disgusting things I have done since becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer and yet, it didn’t seem that bad or that strange at the time. The worst part was when my parents called and I had to put my hand in a plastic bag so as to not get Turkey blood and guts on my phone. I have standards, you know.

That’s all for now. Time for a little nap. Hopefully, I will have more time this coming week (it is my exam week, so no lesson planning for me!), and I will be able to write at least one or two more journals before Christmas. Love and Happy Holidays. Carly

Newz Reel

2007-11-23T10:51:00.000-08:00

Well I knew that I would have another story to tell between when I typed the last journal and when I was able to post it. In fact, I have two short stories, both involving rats. In the first story, I had just returned home from school, so I pulled my bike around to the front of my concession to say hello to mama and everyone else. We go through the usual “saluer” motions. “How are you, How was school, etc.” I am just about to go on my merry little way when I glance down and procede to do a double/triple/quadruaple take with what I see. It is the LARGEST, most disgusting looking rat I have ever seen. Turns out that it’s not just any rat, it’s an African Bush Rat! Joy. And I’m talking that this thing was the same size as a large cat. It was that big. And guess what?! That’s whats for dinner!!! Needless to say I opted out of eating Bush Rat. Apparently it has a nice strong taste though. Aye.
The second story involves me cleaning/putting things away in my kitchen and deciding for whatever reason to rearrange some things on top of my cupboard. I pull out two cake pans, and “Aye! What is that?! Is that a giant slug?! No. Oh, nothing just residue. NOPE. Definitely something. Definitely something. It just moved!!” Turns out that I had a litter of newly born rats on my top shelf. There were about 7 of them and couldn’t have been more than two days old. No hair, eyes not open. It went from disgusting, to cute, to sad knowing that they couldn’t very well stay there and that I was going to essentially have to kill them. So I got my dustpan and scooped them up (they were squeaking when I did this--kind of sad) and I gently placed them outside in the weeds. I’m sure that they have already starved to death or more likely, been eaten. Poor little guys. Not to mention, that I have noticed that the tenant that I have living in my ceiling has been considerably more active which leads me to believe that Mom lives upstairs and she has been trying to get back down to take care of her babies. Sorry, Mom. You picked a really bad place lay your darlings down. Anyway, I think that I’ve had enough of rats for a little while and yet, maybe I’ll try catching a Bush Rat and eating that for Thanksgiving! With Pate! It would be like the African version of Turkey and Mashed Potatoes! Yummy Yummy!

Sledgehammer

2007-11-23T10:49:00.000-08:00

I do believe it’s about that time again where I write an incredibly long blog update to make up for the past three weeks that I have not been able to have internet access, so here goes. *crack my fingers*
So after Dassa, I thought that things would slow down a little bit. I was now officially a Peace Corps volunteer, and I knew that I had been traveling quite a bit which is not only quite exhausting but also quite costly, so I thought that I would just sort of hibernate for awhile until I absolutely had to leave again. However, it seems that either reasons appeared before me or I created reasons, but either way the traveling didn’t stop and I do believe that I have seen a great deal of this country in just my first couple months here at post. And as I mentioned in my last post, despite the hassles that accompany traveling in Benin, the country itself is so beautiful that I hold the opinion that it’s always worth it to make the trip. Anyway, rather than recount all the happenings of each voyage—Gogonou and Cotonou-- (mostly because I have by now forgotten the details) I would rather just share some of the more exciting happenings of my day-to-day (as well as the trips).
These stories are in no particular order, just the way the I am remembering them at the current moment.
First, this past Monday, I was surprised and excited to learn that the German ambassador was coming to Manigri to plant some trees. I didn’t know then and I still don’t really know why Manigri was the town to be, but I was excited nonetheless (as was the school). So after classes end in the afternoon, all the students and all the professors gather around to make preparations to greet the ambassador. All the students lined the road that leads to the school and all the professors stood around looking important while really doing nothing at all. It was actually really fun to watch and it became a very endearing moment in my heart for the school—the place always seems so hard, so cold, and it was nice to seem so life for once, some excitement among everyone, some smiles on the faces of the students and the professors. Several of the professors even took to walking up and down the street waving and grinning like idiots pretending that they were the main attraction in their own private parade. It was quite humorous. So after some period of waiting there is a stir in the crowd and *trumpets sound* here comes the German ambassador. I am surprised to see that he is wearing khakis and a polo shirt and that of all things, he is white! I keep forgetting that other white people exist! Anyway, he does his ambassador thing and walks around the school with his entourage and then comes over to the “courtyard” and plants a tree. *The crowd cheers, he clasps his hands together and does a victory shake on either side of his head* Then, he leaves. Just as quickly as he came, he was gone. And just before he got into his car, he looked at me and says, “Du courage.” Thanks, Monsieur Ambassador. So he left and there were still two more trees to plant, so I said that I would gladly help with one and so down I went in my skirt and started digging in the dirt with my hands. Now, I am proud to say that I officially have a tree planted by me in my honor at the CEG Manigri. And let’s be honest, it’s pretty much the coolest and best looking tree that I have ever seen. It could definitely beat up the Ambassador’s tree…if trees could fight. The follow up to this story is that later that week I was talking to my students about the event and it turns out that everyone thought that the Ambassador was my dad just because he was white and tall. They were very surprised to learn that he wasn’t and that on top of it all that I didn’t speak any German. I’m just full of surprises.
Ok. Second is that Monday, my postmate Emma came over because she was feeling down because she had just said goodbye to her boy toy and she knew that I was feeling down because I had just said goodbye to Erin, so she decided that we needed a girls night. So, together we made a pizza (half pineapple, half mushroom) and watched a movie on my computer. An uneventful night but a fun night; almost felt like we were back in the States…almost. The next morning I didn’t have class until 3:00, so we decided that we needed a morning project. Hair braiding was the answer that we came up with or going to get our hair tressed as it is called here. So down we went in the village to find a good place, which wasn’t too hard considering that there a million bazillion hair places. Anyway, we find a good place and sit down. It took about two or three hours to finish us and in the process I experienced some of the worst pain ever, but I think it was worth it. I now look like a thug from Detroit or a least somebody who should be playing sports at all times. If nothing else, I made some new friends in town and it was a good excuse to just sit and talk to people for a couple hours. Even with the pain, I think that I would do it again. Thug 4 life.
Alright. Third. I mentioned that I went to Cotonou and I mentioned that I was sad because I had just said goodbye to Erin…let me elaborate. Erin, the volunteer who was in Djougou, my closest TEFL postmate, my language buddy all throughout stage, and the funniest and most down-to-earth person in TEFL, was unfortunately plagued by an old Achilles injury from the states throughout her time here and she had to be medically separated from Peace Corps. Really horrible and unfortunate news, so the girls in the Natitingou region (myself included) decided to make a trip down to Cotonou to say goodbye to our girl before she had to go. At first I had hesitations about going just because it is expensive to get to Cotonou and then it is really expensive in Cotonou, but I am so, so glad that I went. The tone of the weekend was pretty bittersweet, but I like to believe that we sent Erin off with lots of good memories. The first night we went to a high-end Indian food restaurant and then found a bar close to our hotel where we hung out until the late hours of the night. Then the next day, we met up for lunch at some place where apparently a hamburger platter means that you want two hamburgers and were apparently Carly is the only one who didn’t know this rule and where Carly decided to eat the two hamburgers and fries anyway(with a little help) because she was so happy to see meat but where she immediately regretted the decision to eat that much afterwards. After the hamburger binge, we went to the American ambassador’s house were she opens it up Saturday for Americans to come and swim in her pool (It was amazing! I was like a little kid in that I could not, for the life of me, stop giggling or smiling—I love pools in Africa…). After swimming we went to Festival de Glace which is the only place in Benin where you can get real ice cream. One word: Fantastic. Unfortunately, after that is when we had to hurry back to the Bureau so that Erin could get ready and leave for the airport. We TEFL girls were crying like babies and it’s only because Erin is going to missed so much. She is one of the people that you meet and immediately know that you are going to like this person. She puts forth no front about who she is or who she’s not. She just is, and she is great. The Nati region is going to be hurting without her. Anyway, glad I made the trip. Glad I got to say goodbye. Glad that goodbye included Indian food, hamburgers, a pool, and ice cream and not just tears.
Let’s see. Fourth. Not much to tell, but my trip to Gogonou a couple of weekends ago was amazing. It was a quite a hike to get out there and to get back, but totally worth every second. I was supposed to take a taxi directly from Manigri to Parakou and I had told my taxi driver (well not MY taxi driver, but a taxi driver) this a week in advance and then I came back the night before I was going to leave to remind him that I would need a taxi the next day. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course” he reassured me. Except, a Beninese promise is no promise at all and the next day when I went to jump in my taxi, he wasn’t ready and I discovered after about an hour of waiting that I was going nowhere fast with this guy. So I told him in a huff, “Fine. I’ll just take a zemidjan to Parakou.” He laughs at me and says, “Fine. You do that.” “Fine. I will.” 'I will' meant that I had just agreed to take a nearly 2 hour zemidjan ride (4,000CFA). Stubbornly, however, I didn’t back down, and some nice guy who saw that I was angry helped me find a zemi driver who was willing to make the trek with me. It ended up being pretty pleasant…well, not bad. We only broke down once and the driver fixed the problem within five minutes which is good because we were in the middle of nowhere with no help in site. And then, when we arrived at the destination the driver actually stayed with me until I found a taxi the rest of the way to Parakou. I told him that he could go, but he insisted that he should stay until I was safely on my way. I thought that that was a very kind gesture. On the way back, the voyage from Gogonou to Parakou took way longer than I would have ever imagined, so I ended up staying the night in the Parakou workstation which just so happened to be the old PCVL ‘s (Peace Corps Volunteer Leader) last night in town (she had been a PCV for THREE years!) so there was a free and amazing dinner on her to celebrate the evening. So that was lucky and nice, not to mention that there were several SED volunteers who were staying at the workstation en route to their early service conference, so I got to see a bunch of unexpected faces and catch up on all the gossip. Gotta love Peace Corps gossip. Nothing stays buried for very long.
Fifth. This past Wednesday, I was in Bassila for the market and I was headed to the post office to check my mailbox (WHICH, by the way, I got three packages from my parents and one package from MARIA.G.33!!! thank you so much!!!), but I was headed there on Emma’s bike. She was feeling a bit under the weather, so I was making the trip into by myself and to save some time I took her bike because I didn’t have mine as I had zemied there in the morning. Little did I know that her bike has significantly better brakes than mine. Anyway, I was pedaling along and “voila” I see a bunch of my colleagues from work. I want to stop and say hello to them as it is very rude not to do so, I put on the brakes and “weeeeee….” The bike stops quite abruptly, I stumble along with the bike for a few awkward steps, and “weeeee…” I go flying over the handlebars onto the pavement. After a moment of shock, I start laughing as all my colleagues come running over to help me up saying “doucement, doucement doucement” (*doucement means quietly or softly, I believe, in proper French, but here it is used as be careful, watch out, get out of my way, attention, etc.—anything really). I was pretty much as embarrassed as could be, so I just wanted to get out of there, so I said I was fine, but I definitely banged up my shoulder, ribs, got a couple little scrapes on my elbow and foot, two little bruises and one really big bruise on my inner thigh, BUT all worth it just to say hello. My mom said that I should have just popped up and said, “Welp. Bonjour” and then taken off without another word. Haha, that would have been great. So good to know that I am also no less accident prone in Africa. I guess I’m even surprised that something like this hasn’t happened earlier. That’s got to count as some sort of mini accomplishment.
Sixth. (I hope these are reading a bit like short stories or something). I went to Bassila, again, this past weekend to check out the basketball team/basketball court. I am thinking about building a court at CEG Manigri and I wanted to scope things out. So, I made the trip in the morning—the teams have to practice early in the morning or late at night because otherwise it’s just too unbearably hot to do anything. Anyway, I got there, and I was a little late, so the practice was already underway, but I jumped in and started doing the best that I could to teach the kids how to do a layup. I didn’t want to coach too much because I didn’t really know the French vocabulary for basketball (turns out it is pretty much the same thing), and I didn’t want to step on the coach’s toes, so I just did a little bit. He was really really happy to have me there though, and after practice was done, he had me give a little speech about who I was and why basketball was so important to me. Interesting to say the least. I returned later that day as well to observe some more of the older kids playing. When I returned, there was basketball, volleyball, and handball all going on at the same time. Totally intimidated, I walked in like I owned the place. Like I was the coolest and best thing to ever happen to Bassila. Either my strut was on or rumor had spread or both, but all the kids seemed to take to me (even the older kids), and they were asking me if I played in college and all sorts of other stuff. It was pretty funny, really. I just told them that back home I’m pretty much a legend. Haha, not really. Actually, after my interaction with all the kids, I turned to Emma and told her that now there is no way I can ever play basketball with these kids because no matter how well I play, I will never be able to live up to whatever image that they have created in their mind. I might as well just let them dream. Let them think that I really am a legend.
Finally, I think. This weekend will take me to Parakou (well after Thanksgiving up in Natitingou) for an entire week as part of an in-service training for us first year TEFL people, and I am SO EXCITED. I cannot wait to see everybody and hear stories about life and about teaching. It will be a lot of technical stuff that I won’t really want to listen to, I’m sure, but that’s okay. I am just too excited to care, and I’m sure that I will be too happy to care, so in the long run it doesn’t matter. Plus, it’s a whole week off of teaching, that’s a good enough reason for me, too!
Okay, so I think that that just about wraps up my thoughts for now. I’m sure I will think of something later, but this should be enough reading to get everyone started! I hope that for those of you still in college that you took this journal as an opportunity to procrastinate studying for some big exam or preparing for some ridiculous IS meeting (you really should try to keep on schedule, but to be honest if you don’t have exactly everything for some meeting, they don’t really care, just so long as you turn in everything at the end). For those of you not in college, I hope that this journal and other volunteer’s journals continue to serve as a hopefully pleasant distraction from life in the States. I think that most of us find our lives here to be quite bizarre at times and it’s great that we live in the age of technology so that we are able to share at least some of what we are experiencing here with everyone back home. I will say that for all of you in the “parent’s group” I have been traveling all around Benin lately (as you now know), and I pleased to say that everyone is doing quite well or at least finding good strategies to cope with the bumps and hiccups along the way. So no worries. We are surviving and we are figuring out this adventure together. Welp. I suppose that’s enough. Hello and Goodbye from Manigri.

James Francis

2007-11-01T03:30:00.000-07:00

So I have a surprise day of internet here in Kandi workstation, and so I just wanted to send out a little hello from me to you.

In my travels up here, I have notice 3 truths about traveling in Benin. They are as follows:
1. Wherever you go, no matter how small the village, there will be a soccer field.
2. Wherever you go, no matter how small the village, the church will be the nicest building.
3. Whenever you travel, there will be one moment that just absolutely takes your breath away with how beautiful the scenery is.

Well that's all for now. Just a little howdy-do. Love and Hugs!

Footloose

2007-11-01T03:20:00.000-07:00

Last night I returned from Dassa and was going to type a journal but decided that I was just too tired and would rather go straight to bed. So, after a lovely night’s sleep with my fan and earplugs (I was able to sleep in until 7:00!), and after a fantastic breakfast of oatmeal and toast with Peanut Butter and an orange, here I am, ready to type away. So. Dassa.
The best news by far from my trip to Dassa was that I passed my French interview. Hurray! I needed to reach Intermediate High and I got Advanced Low-she said I was closer to Advanced Mid, but that I just needed to be more confident, so whatever, I succeeded! My other “language failure buddies” got Inter High and Advanced Mid, so we all passed and we were all happy. The Country Director (CD) was even there to swear us in and everything. It was all very cheesy, but I am one of the few people who actually has pictures from the swearing-in ceremony as cameras were not allowed inside the original ceremony, and the CD, because I think knew that this was supposed to be a special day for us, took us out to lunch and she even baked a cake for us…with sprinkles! It was very nice in a “I still feel a little bit like a failure for being here in the first place” type of way. Regardless, I passed, we all passed, and now that’s one less huge stressor that I have to worry about. The monkey is off my back, the dark cloud is no longer looming over my shoulder, the pink elephant has left the room…choose whatever phrase you would like to have (it is like a choose your own adventure story!).
Other than the language, the trip to Dassa was overall pretty great. Emma and I arrived in Dassa sometime in the afternoon. We arrived at the taxi gare and were immediately swarmed by people, but it was all in a days work as we were soon picked up in a 5-day old car by the CD’s personal chauffeur. That’s how I like to roll. He made us even put on our seatbelts—I haven’t worn a seatbelt since being in country, so even that was strange (and not because I don’t want to—DAD—but because they simply just don’t exist in the taxis). So we were personally chauffeured to Emily Faber’s house (another volunteer…also another CSD major) where we were to spend the night. We were greeted by the CD and her daughter and our language interviewer (which I didn’t know at the time). Anyway, they left and we got settled into Emily’s house. Turns out that Emma and I would have to sleep on the floor (I did bring my thermarest, thank God, but it still turned out to be one of the hottest, stickiest, and most uncomfortable nights sleeps I had had since being in country…and all right before this huge, huge interview. I think I was a little nervous too, which didn’t help). Anyway, that night we ventured out and got some delicious yam pelee and actually got to use the internet, which was a surprise and really nice. Got to finally read some of your nice emails or facebook messages; it was all really good for my moral. Someday, I will get around to responding. I always feel funny when I go to the cybers because undoubtedly at some point I will be laughing out loud and so hard that I will have to cover my mouth with my hand to contain myself, so keep the stories coming. I love hearing news from back home. Anyway, we went back, went to bed, woke up, ate breakfast, got picked up chauffeur style again, and headed out to Camate where the other “language failure” (Debra) lives and works. This is where we were to have our interviews. So, yada yada yada, we all passed and we were sworn-in. The real story is that Camate is one of the most gorgeous places that I have seen in Benin so far. The collines are just breath-taking and the place that we were at reminded me of what I imagine a Zen garden to be like. It was all so beautiful and by far the most at peace that I have been since being in Benin. Debra actually works at the place and her job is to promote tourism there by taking visitors up hiking into the collines. What a great job, what a great place. The owner even gave us free drinks to help us celebrate our swearing-in. After this, we headed to a hotel in Dassa where the CD bought our lunch and served us the cake she made. The real story behind the hotel, and why the hotel was so cool, is that in the back, they had an ostrich farm, so we got to go out and see the ostriches. My most intelligent observation is that, “They are huge!” But, seriously, they are huge, and they are so exotic. It really is the closest thing to looking at what a dinosaur would have been like. They were amazing. Naturally, the whole interviewing, swearing-in, and eating took longer than Peace Corps anticipated, so very shortly after lunch Emma and I had to rush out to catch a taxi to make it home in time. Now, the taxi ride home. Emma and I were in giddy moods, because we both passed, so we decided to have some fun. Thus, here is the taxi story.
First, whenever we would make a stop (because taxi stops are quite frequent) we would make sure to get out and have some sort of interaction with the locals. It usually meant us dancing on the side of the road and trying to get everyone to join in after which we would all burst out into laughter, or us chasing after little kids who were calling us yovo and watching them run away in fear, or just simply buying some local produce (since you know that I can always put away an orange or two—did I already talk about my obsession with oranges and how I eat like 5 a day? If not, I do. I love them). Second, at one point, this really old woman had gotten into the car and despite her not speaking any French or any bit of the local languages that we knew, we managed to make friends with her, too. Of course, we got her dancing in the back of the car with Emma and me, and then we she got off, she was 100CFA short. The taxi cab driver started hassling her and giving her a hard time, so Emma just paid the 100CFA for her (which is like nothing), but she was really, really grateful. So that was nice. At our next stop, as I was sitting in the taxi waiting for Emma to return from buying more oranges, I spied a man walking down the street wearing the coolest shirt. It was for some female president in Thailand or something and it had her picture on the front doing a “Uncle Sam” type pose. I decided that I needed to have that shirt. So, when Emma got back I told her about the shirt, and she decided that I needed to have that shirt, too. So, with a little encouragement from Emma, I got out of the taxi and went running after this guy with the shirt. I finally caught up to him inside a little store and explained the situation—That I liked his shirt and that I wanted his shirt and that I would pay for him to give me his shirt. He was confused. I explained again, and several of the other people in the room translated my message into local language. He was still confused. He said that there were other shirts in the market and that I could buy one there. I said, “No. I want that shirt. How much?” Finally, he says, “1000CFA.” I say, “Okay. Do you have change for 5000CFA?” He becomes confused again and decides that he doesn’t want to really give me his shirt, so the people in the store start hassling him for me and asking him if he’s crazy, that he should just give me the shirt, etc. It was really funny, but pretty clear that he wasn’t going to give it to me so I say, “Don’t worry about it. Next time.” So I leave, empty handed, and return to the taxi to tell Emma the story. The taxi driver gets in the car, and we get ready to leave, sad that I didn’t get my shirt. But, instead of going forward in the taxi, the driver just backs up, and we proceed to wait even longer at which point I have my second run-in with my t-shirt man. This is Emma’s first time actually seeing the shirt and upon her seeing it, too, she decides that I do truly need that shirt (it was that spectacular). So we call the guy over and again with an entire cast of onlookers Emma and I try to get this guy to give me his shirt. After discoutering the price again, he finally says, “If I give you my shirt what will I wear?” THAT’S what this guy was concerned about! I wanted to be say, “Look! You are a man in Africa. You can wear whatever you want! You can do whatever you want! It doesn’t matter!” But I didn’t. I just laughed at him and how vain he was for an African man. He suggested that I give him my shirt in exchange. I immediately said okay, and I think this surprised him as he started backpedaling even more after this. Anyway, long story short. We did leave empty-handed, but everyone around was really mad at this guy for not giving me his shirt, which I thought was pretty funny. But that is my new goal. Next time I see a shirt I want, I will buy it directly off someone’s back. It will be done.
The rest of the taxi ride was fairly uneventful except that we got back way past dark, which was not our plan at all, so I had to take a zemi in the dark to Manigri which is not really something that I prefer to do. Not to mention that it is more expensive. But the strangest thing about the whole trip is that when Emma and I arrived back in Bassila and we saw the signs for “Bassila” and “Manigri,” both of us felt like we were coming home. So, I guess that despite all the ups and downs of this adventure so far, I do feel like I have a home. I do feel like I am starting to belong somewhere.
I forgot to also mention that I did get the dirty finger again on the taxi ride home. Grrrrr. It was right before the old woman got in the car, so even though I was really, really furious, dancing with her made me feel much better. Sometimes you just gotta dance. (And ain’t that the truth)
Cheers from Manigri. Carly

2007-10-20T13:07:00.000-07:00

Alright. So if you want some reading material, you got it! Sorry for the delay in posting. It looks like I will be able to access reliable cyber about once a month or so in Natitingou. Hope you enjoy the new posts. I am doing well and love love love love reading everyone`s emails. Keep sending them and down below in one of the emails lies my new mailing address. Love you and miss you. Carly

Get me through December

2007-10-20T13:05:00.000-07:00

It is 7:30 in the morning, and I am sitting here in the Natitingou workstation. It just so happens that I have a pretty good internal body alarm (I feel like Kramer saying that), but I now tend to wake up at 6:30 without any problems and then I have a really hard time falling back asleep. So, as I write this, everyone else is comfortably tucked away in their beds sleeping the morning away. I can’t sleep, so I thought that I would write a little journal while I have some time to kill.

Yesterday marked the day of the regional VAC meeting, so most of the PCVs in the Attacora-Donga region got together to talk about various administrative stuff. The meeting itself lasted only an hour and thus the real point of this weekend was to have an excuse for us newbies to get out of post and to have a reunion of sorts. So far, it’s been great—a much needed distraction from the daily grind. Last night, we (about 10 of us—new and old volunteers alike) went out to some buvette/restaurant and got some beverages and delicious steak and fries. The dinner was absolutely amazing and worth every penny; a far cry from the pasta that I have been preparing for myself every night. At the buvette we just gossiped and gossiped. People like me, who are little more isolated, tend to be out of the loop, so I was excited to hear all the stories of Peace Corps Benin. It’s funny, because I never really considered myself I big gossiper in the United States; in fact, I considered it a little unhealthy, but here, man, what I wouldn’t do for a good piece of information. It’s like it is my way to connect back to American culture in a strange, strange way. Anyway, at the buvette, the owner actually knew the older PCVs, just because a year ago, Natitingou is where the SED (small enterprise development) volunteers had there stage, and I guess that his way of showing that he really appreciates us volunteers is to give us free Sodabe. Now, Sodabe is this liquor in Benin that is essential like drinking rubbing alcohol. We are not recommended to drink it because it’s so strong that it can have some really bizarre side effects. I guess that it’s rumored to have a proof of like 160-170. Who knows if that’s actually true or not, though. Anyway, sure enough, after we put in our meal orders he comes out to say that he is going to go search for some Sodabe. Great. Out of sight, out of mind, I finish my meal and forget all about the Sodabe. But, oh no. At around 10 o’clock, back comes the owner with two full bottles of this stuff. The SED volunteers that were with us were excited to drink just because it had been awhile (and it seems like there good be something exciting, something macho about drinking this stuff), me, while not so much excited, but I figure that I will have one little taste just to say that I did it. So everyone “cheers” and then everyone drinks. I have to say that the rumors are true. It was the most disgusting tasting “alcohol” I have ever experienced. It burned all the way down (it did open your sinuses, though), and tasted really awful. The catch was that I guess that it’s rude not to finish the two bottles, so while the rest of us sat there and abstained, just the owner and another volunteer proceeded to finish the two bottles over the course of about 3 hours. Us girls were only slightly annoyed just because we wanted to get back to the house to talk about more “important things.” We did get back—and I must say after the worst zemidjan ride I have had since I’ve been in Benin, it was like he was trying to race all the other zems, I was pretty angry when I got off—however, and watched a movie and then talked some more until about 4 in the morning. Also, at about 3, I whipped out my M&Ms and Peanut Butter, and we ate PB on spoons with M&Ms mixed in (yes, it was amazing; yes, I had two packages waiting here for me; and Boston!!! I received your letter—fantastic—keep spreading as many straight out fabricated stories as you can about how good I was; when I return, I want everyone to be like, “ohhh, there she is.”) It was so great. I feel like my social void as been temporarily restored. This morning, we are planning on going shopping and buying all the little things that you can’t find in our villages as well as going to the cyber, going to the bank, etc. I’ll be spending another night here with the girls (it is Erin, Miriam, Kate, Megan, and myself by the way) and then leaving early the next morning to make it down to Bassila/Manigri with plenty of day left. Natitingou is really great, really gorgeous. One of the great things about having a dictator for so many years is that he poured a lot of the government’s money into making his home town and surrounding drive/area really beautiful, and that place just happens to be Natitingou. There is something also about being in a bigger city that entices me. I like not feeling like I have to “saluer” everyone (and I do saluer everyone in Manigri—it can get pretty old), I like being able to find everything I want in the immediate vicinity, I like knowing that travel around and out and about is not a hassle. There are just definite perks about being in the big city.

Anyway, it sounds like most people are doing pretty great and adjusting really well. It sounds like I am actually having probably the toughest time out of everyone—everyone in this region (I know that’s probably not very comforting to hear, just being honest). I have the most isolated village and the furthest distance between myself and another volunteer (although it’s really not that far), though I really, really love my postmate and get along with her fantastically, she talks about how she knows that she is going to ET (early terminate) and so that is hard knowing that there is a lot of uncertainty there and that she’s not exactly my strong rock. I have the whole French situation—my interview is next week; everyone pray to God, cross your fingers, hold your breath, whatever it takes to help me pass this interview. And it sounds like that although everyone has had really horrible men interactions, that I have had some of the most bizarre and most inappropriate (with the dirty finger and with the conversation after my first day of 5eme). Everything here in Benin passes though, so I just have to remember that “this too shall pass.” It has been interesting hearing stories of teaching, stories of village, stories of sickness, stories life. One of the more fun projects that is underway is that Megan (along with Phoebe and Jordan) is planning a national spelling bee. I really want to try to get Manigri involved, but I will definitely have to work out the logistics with my administration. I could definitely see that not fly with my administration. Okay, well people are starting to stir a little bit, so I am going to go back to being social, but know that I am hanging in there despite things being a little bumpy at times and that I am still happy to be here despite missing everyone like crazy all the time. I’m already thinking about when I can plan a trip back to the states. I would love to do like a whirlwind tour to New York, Kalamazoo, and then, of course, I Cedar Point trip in Ohio. I know that Stage for next year will be coming in earlier (like around July 5th or so) just because of the start of the school year being moved up, so I was thinking about traveling back sometime in August as I would love to be here for the newbies arrival and I would love to work some part of stage to help the kids who will be in similar predicaments as myself. Anyway, just put that in your mental pot and stir it around for a little bit. Possible return voyage in August of 2008. Alright. Cheers from Natitingou. Wishing everyone the best. Lots of Love. Carly

P.S. Today is the 3 month anniversary for us arriving in Benin. THAT is really strange to think about. And, it is strange to think that Halloween is coming up in the US. If I don’t get to post again before than, Happy Halloween (and feel free to send me candy corn or extra candy bars if you feel so inclined!—aka Mom and Dad feel free to send me candy corn or extra candy bars if you feel so inclined).

We Shall Overcome

2007-10-20T13:04:00.000-07:00

Reporting from Manigri. Three weeks down and counting. School technically “started” this week and that was a truly interesting experience. It was like the gun went off to start the race and half the runners weren’t there and the people that were ready tripped at the starting line and if anybody did stumble along they went crashing into the first hurdle. Keeping up with all the obstacles definitely kept me busy though. My most truly interesting experience happened after the first day of classes. I had two hours with my 5eme kids, but there were only 9 of them in a class of about 50, so we just went over rules and where I’m from and who I am and then we still had about a half hour left, so I said that that was all for today and we just sort of sat there and looked at each other until another one of the teachers wandered into my classroom and started talking to me, which is where the interestingness began. He started asking me where my husband lived and why he wasn’t with me, why I was living alone. I covered using another one of the volunteers as my scapegoat and explained that we are both volunteers, so we can’t live together and that I enjoy living alone. I could tell right away that he was trying to see if he could “get to know me better.” He then proceeded to tell me that he really wanted to know more about white women because he really wanted to marry a white woman one day. In the process of our conversation he asked me if I was allowed to have a “deuxieme bureau” (essentially a second husband) just like the African women. I had to explain that in the United States, we believe in one man and one woman, no extra (though that’s not even true 100% of the time). He became very disappointed, but actually dropped trying to hit on me, so that was nice and moved on to ask me about homosexuality because he said that he had heard of it, but didn’t understand how it was possible. “Possible to love someone of the same sex?” I asked. “No, possible to receive sexual satisfaction from someone of the same sex.” He says. “Oh.” I say. Seriously, how am I supposed to explain that to someone with a limited English vocabulary and me with a limited French vocabulary? I did think, however, that it was good that he at least wanted to know about homosexuality. Here, if two men are found to be together they are sentenced to death, so at least he was asking. With this mentality, I did me best to explain the ways of sexual intercourse without being too graphic (because keep in mind that my students were still sitting in the classroom, and I have no idea at this point how much English they really know). He seemed quite confused about two men, but seemed to understand two women together. He even said, “Oh. That makes sense. I can understand that.” So from a completely homophobic African man, lesbianism got the thumbs up. Quite amusing. I had to be careful and explain further though after I was done, because I could tell that he then thought that all Americans and all Europeans were gay. Everyone just loves everyone! After this, he moved back to asking me more about white women. He was so curious, like we are this exotic species (and I guess we are quite different and strange to him, but it was still amusing in my brain). I tried to explain the concept of dating to him, but it was such a foreign concept that we didn’t make any progress. It’s hard to explain to someone who is now 40 or so how to approach a woman. The relationships here between men and women are like everyone is in early elementary. They just don’t interact with each other, and if they do, it can be assumed that they are sleeping together, and even then, there is very, very little interaction between a “husband” and “wife.” I tried to explain that women like to be taken to restaurants or movies or the beach. He thought that this meant that these were good places to pick up women. I tried to explain that women like to have nice conversations about the day. He thought that this meant that he should talk about love and ask for permission to sleep with her. I tried to explain that if a woman kisses a man, that doesn’t mean that she wants to sleep with him. He thought that meant that white women kiss men all the time and that this really was her invitation to say that it was okay to come to her bedroom. As you can see, between both of our limited language skills and his preconceived concepts of male/female relationships, we weren’t getting very far. The conversation even got fairly graphic at points when I discovered that one of the reasons that he wanted to marry a white woman was because he had heard from a professor that white women are better in bed (and he added that he was also very good in bed—that he liked many positions—remember that I literally just met this man). I wanted to slap him right there, but restrained. For all of the uncomfortableness surrounding the conversation though, it was a “good” one to have. He has stopped hitting on me, and if I can open his eyes just a little bit to the fact that women deserve to be treated as equals, then that’s good. I kept saying the American and European women are very difficult and very complicated and that we like to be superior to men. I hope I got through to him in some capacity.
Otherwise, these last two weeks have been full of typical Peace Corps ups and downs. I’ve had a couple days (on separate occasions) where I’ve spiked a fever of 102 or so, and let me say that Africa is not a good place to have a fever. It is hot enough as it is, fever plus African heat equals no good. I had a humorous run in with a Canadian my second week. I was in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard someone knocking on my door. I came into the living room and there was my neighbor standing with a young, white girl. I sort of did a double take and immediately started searching my brain about how I should know this person. I thought, “She’s white. I must know her somehow.” Turns out that she is her for about four months helping my neighbors set up a private school in Manigri. She’s also working in some of the neighboring towns, so I probably won’t see her at all, but it was funny that I felt like I should really know her only because she was white. I must say, though, that when I told her that I was from Michigan, she said that she didn’t travel very much and that she didn’t know where that was. What?! You are Canadian and you don’t know where Michigan is?!? We’re buddies. We’re neighbors. We’re amigos. I, of course, forgave her though because she’s Canadian and you just can’t stay mad at those Canucks; they’re too nice.
Things are better than they were that first week. Things are still not great, but things are better; I’m slowly starting to figure out the ways of Manigri, and I’m starting to get busy with school finally beginning. Also, I’m getting to know my neighbors better. I really like my immediate neighbors, and I hope that I can get to know them better in these next two years. They seem really well-traveled (I’m not sure if they are; I know that the wife as been to Canada—she knows snow!), they are clearly trying to improve the schools (they are the ones starting the private school—the husband is the surviellent and the wife is the censeur—a woman in a position of power! ), they’ve cooked for me, they’ve let me use their school for cell phone reception (and they said to take all the time I needed), their children are adorable and they aren’t afraid of me (the other day we were playing some silly game where they would give me their candy wrappers, and I would pretend that I was keeping them but them eventually give them back, they just laughed and laughed—it was really cute. Eventually, they started hiding the wrappers in the front of their underwear before they gave it to me; even that was funny), the father is one of the few men in this country who hasn’t tried to hit on me, and as far as I can tell, they didn’t know John, so I don’t have to be compared against him (as he was quite apparently a super volunteer).
I’m definitely still missing everyone quite a bit, and as I figure out this little adventure of mine, I’m keeping everyone in my thoughts.

We Shall Overcome

2007-10-20T13:02:00.000-07:00

The Battle of Who Could Care Less

2007-10-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

Important or highly unimportant things that I forgot to write about in my last journal that was too freakin’ long. Sorry about that. I’ve had more than enough time to just sit and think about things, so I’ve had a lot on my mind as of late. Not to mention that this has been a week unlike anything I’ve experienced. Anyway, on to the important and unimportant forgotten quelques choses.
First something. After much thought and reflection, I decided that it was time to declare a full-blown, dirty war against the cockroaches living in my kitchen. The first battle took place on Wednesday when I sprayed the whole room down from head to toe. I had on a sweet bandanna and all over my mouth so as to cleverly avoid inhaling the insecticide myself. I must have killed at least 50 of them and took a surprising amount of pleasure doing so. These things are so huge and so disgusting. And let me say that never in my life have I been more paranoid or felt more like things were crawling all over me than when I was cleaning that kitchen. I think that as of right now, I am winning the battle. I keep finding little dead ones in random places—the living room, my bedroom—they’ll just show up, belly up, and I’ll happily sweep them outside. Next, I have to take on the inhabitants in my bedroom. That is sure to be a much bigger war as they really enjoy hanging out in my room, but I feel more prepared after the battle in the kitchen. I know their ways. (Lindsey—War of the Copraphages!?)
Second something (this is where things become not so important). I am currently sporting a really fantastic Birkenstock sandal tan. If that doesn’t scream Peace Corps material, I don’t know what does—maybe a Chaco or Teva sandal tan. My toes are pretty much the only part of me that is still tan, though. It’s slightly amusing. I have a watch tan and a sandal tan and then the rest of me is just normal Carly white. I’m dubbing it the “Peace Corps tan.”
Third something. I don’t really have a third something. That’s how incredibly unproductive this post really was. I only have two somethings, and only one of them is really that interesting to read. On that note, I am sorry if I have just wasted any of your time reading this blog entry. In two years, I will do my very best to make it up to you.
And yet!...I thought of something else just now! Nobody here can say Carly. Not even close. Not for the life of them. The “R” sound is totally foreign and then to have almost blend into the “L”…forget about it. So, in everyone’s best attempt, it seems that I am going by some version of Carolyn now. Sometimes I forget to answer when they call me that though. They probably think I’m a real brick.

Northbound 35

2007-10-20T12:59:00.000-07:00

One week down in Manigri! One long, long week down in Manigri. Where to even begin telling the events that have passed in this last week. I guess I’ll start at the beginning of things (that’s usually a good place to begin) and then go from there. The first great thing that happened was that on Tuesday Emma (my postmate in Bassila) arrived. My director (the director of my school, and the man who is essentially held responsible by Peace Corps for my well being) came over to report that she had arrived and because he knew that I was really anticipating her arrival, he brought a zemidjan with him and put me on a zemidjan right away and zipped me off to Bassila. The ride, by the way, from Manigri to Bassila is a gorgeous forest path that really gives you your “African moment.” I hope that I don’t ever get bored of that view. Anyway, when I arrived, Emma was actually out at the market, so I had to wait a little bit, and then I could only spend about an hour with her after she arrived as I had to hurry back because I thought that my new metal doors would be arriving that night. Regardless, it was a much needed hour of seeing a familiar face and speaking English! That night we made plans to meet up the next day to go to Bassila big market and to cook spaghetti Wednesday night. Also, earlier in the week, I had made plans with my homologue (my counterpart…I help him, he helps me) to have French tutoring on Thursday and Saturday. By Tuesday night, I was so thrilled to have plans that I wrote stuff on the calendar just because I could. Who would have thunk it that I would be so excited to have plans! Before Peace Corps I had never worn a watch, and I lived day-by-day, not really caring what the plan was for the next day. Peace Corps is turning me into a “Type A” personality! I’d better be careful. Anyway, I digress, as usual. Wednesday was great and tackling the market is always so fun. I bought some corn flour among other small things, so that I could make some pancakes in the upcoming mornings. Which I did, by the way, and they were delicious, ah thank you. Emma and I made spaghetti that night, too, and it was so good. I’m really starting to eat pretty well here. Emma is a great cook, and we’ve had fun figuring out recipes. So far, spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, biscuits with eggs (all of course adapted a bit with the availabilty of items in Benin). It’s fun to go through the cookbook that they gave us and discover all the things that you can actually cook here. I will, however, be curious to see how much meat I eat in the next two years. Emma is a vegetarian, and I have to be honest when I say that eating the meat here doesn’t interest me too much. You can certainly get it, but you have to cook it so thoroughly that by the time it’s actually edible, you are looking at one tough and chewy hunk of meat. Yum. On Thursday I had my tutoring and spent most of the rest of that day rediscovering the fact that I can actually read books. I finished Kurt Vonnegut’s last book, and I started The Catcher in the Rye as it is one of the “classics” that I never did read. I did a lot of staring at the wall that day, too. I try to get out as much as I can, but it so easy to be recluse here. I must be careful that I don’t fall into a huge mind slump because of that. Friday, I went to the market again in Manigri, didn’t buy anything, though I wish now that I had bought more oranges. I love oranges. My sister and I did go ask the guy about my doors though as they had still not arrived. He promised to bring them by later that day, which he did. However, I assumed that that meant that he would also install them. Not the case. He literally just dropped them off, so now I have three doors just chilling in my house. They should be installed on Tuesday. Should be. On Saturday I had tutoring again, and I actually decided that it would be fun to stay the night in Bassila, so after tutoring I pedaled to Bassila and spent the rest of the afternoon there. In fact, I’m just fresh back from my voyage there. I’m very sweaty. On the pervious note, of French tutoring, I can tell that learning French is going to be really difficult. I’m not really vibing with my new French tutor, and I can tell that a lot of the work is going to need to be done on my own, and I also find it frustrating that even when I make an effort to go outside, everyone is speaking the local language and my opportunities to speak French are very limited, if any. I will need to put forth a lot of effort. Enough of my little uninteresting schedule though. Here are my “big” observations so far.
*You may need to take a mental break here…I’m a little long-winded today*
First, Emma is great, and I am so glad that she is my postmate. She and I have a strange number of things in common, and if she can stick it out with me, I know that we will have some good times together. Her story is pretty interesting, too. After college, she moved to Cambodia and spent a year living there on her own, working in a health clinic. I hope I got that right. Now I can’t remember. Anyway, when she moved back, she decided that she need a little bit of a break, so she has spent the last three years living in a Zen Center in New York. Because of that experience, she has this amazing calming personality. She says that it was tough for her at first because meeting everyone was such a change and overwhelming experience coming from a Zen Center. I can’t even imagine what that was like for her. So now, the silence, the isolation, she is much more in her environment. And yet, she is still able to connect with me as she is facing the same struggles with learning the language and dealing with the African men, etc. We are a good match. Plus, she is a great cook and she makes a really great Earl Grey tea.
Second observation. Human beings are made to adapt, but human beings are not meant to be isolated. We all need to be loved (I guess that includes all living things, too, and I can explain). It’s funny to me now that what I thought that what I would miss most about the U.S. would be a flushing toilet, a working shower, running water, and all the amenities that make life “easier.” What I really truly miss, what is really driving me crazy, is not being able to communicate with people. There something powerful to be said about feeling like you belong somewhere. That you belong to a group of people. Maybe over time I will find a way to adapt to this environment, and I will be able to have a connection with the people here, but for the moment all my “close” relationships here have been only on a very superficial level. I need language. My body can adapt to using a latrine and bucket showers alike, but so far my mind has not been able to adapt to the mental isolation. It’s undescrible really how utterly alone you can feel at times. Furthermore, why I say that all living things need to be loved is that Emma has a cat that she acquired from her family, and when it was living with it’s “African” family it was this meager-looking, scared thing. It would never approach another human. It pretty much hide in the corner all day. But, after just two days with living with Emma and being nurtured and paid attention to, the little thing is a whole new kitten. He will curl up next to you, and you should hear him purr. He’s just so happy. We all need love. I am convinced that we are meant to depend on each other for help.
Third, I have come to the slightly unfortunate conclusion that all men here are pigs. They are so arrogant and awful and pretty much anytime you talk to a man you are left with this disgusting taste in your mouth. Of course, there are exceptions, but very few so far. I can tell that this will be a very hard thing for me to adjust to during my time here. Being my idealist self, I want to believe that all people are good. That all people deserve a chance. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be in Peace Corps if I didn’t believe that. But, here, here it’s different. Men will jump into conversations of marriage and children without any transition or without even knowing you. As a woman, you are nothing to them. You are nothing but a bearer of children. I don’t think I even considered myself a feminist before coming here, but now I have such strong feelings about the subject. I hate that in all the religions here (and around the world) that women are considered “dirty.” That men are considered to be the superior sex, and that women here don’t see anything wrong with that, or that they can do anything about that. I will say that instead of just being frustrated about it all the time though, I am sure going to do my best to give these women a glimpse of what else is out there. That there are options available. That you don’t have to sleep with the teacher to do well in school. That you don’t have to answer to a man if you aren’t interested. These poor women need a voice. I hope that I can at least empower one girl to see differently by the time I leave. I definitely have an uphill battle ahead of me.
Finally, I can tell that these first few months are going to be hard. Really hard. I’m hoping that once school begins, I’ll be too busy to think about anything and that time will fly by, but for the moment there is so much time to sit and think; time just crawls by during those moments. After the first day of school, though, it’s two weeks until our VAC (Volunteer Action Committee) meeting where all the regions get together to “complain,” essentially. So I will get to see a few people then. A week after that, I travel down to Cotonou for another language interview, so I’ll get to see another few people then. And then, four weeks after that is the TEFL IST (In-Service Training). That lasts a whole week and all of TEFL gets together for that, so it will be a really fun little reunion for all of us. It’s so strange to think that I have only been apart from people for one week. It seems so much longer. At home, I go weeks without talking to my best friends (you know!), and here I am dying that I can’t talk to anyone after one week. Maybe it’s because I don’t even have the option to talk to people, maybe it’s because I just need the American interaction, maybe it’s just because I want to know how other people are doing during this stressful time, I don’t know. Whatever it is, I really miss all the other volunteers. It has been a whole new experience without them. A whole new change of pace. I know (I hope) that it will get better though. Each day is already getting a little bit better. Du courage!
I almost forgot!!! I have a new address:

Carly Loehrke
Corps de la Paix American
B.P. 45
Bassila, Benin
Afrique de l’Ouest

Last thing, living in Lokossa I had pretty good access to internet, but now my access is going to be really limited, so if you want to communicate with me, snail mail is probably going to be the best way to go from now on. I will probably check my email once a month, so still feel free to write me (and feel free to write as much as you want) but just don’t expect a quick response. The keyboards are impossible. Oh, and remember to write “Par Avion” and “Air Mail” on the letters, and say a little prayer or something to hope it arrives!

Take me to the River

2007-10-20T12:57:00.000-07:00

Two days down in Manigri. It is definitely a different experience being away from all the other stagaires. I guess I fell into a very comfortable routine without really even realizing it. It was very easy to overlook all the benefits of being surrounded by people who speak your language. Now, well. Never have I ever felt absolutely so isolated and alone. It’s a really horrible feeling most of the time, and it makes me want to just stay in my house and cry. But, I’ve found that when I actually venture outside my own walls is when I feel the best. Today I went to the market with one of my “sisters” and it was so nice. We said hello to everyone, and I do mean everyone, as we walked to and from my house to the market. We met Papa’s younger sister who seems to be part of some women’s housing project; she was living with four other women. None of them spoke a lick of French, and I, of course, being barely able to communicate well in French, do not speak a lick of Nagot (the local language in Manigri). I did find out however that if I should ever become ill while living here, that they would like me to come to them and pay them 150 CFA, so that they can “heal” me. I said okay to be polite but was definitely thinking, “Okay. There is no chance in Hell.” But I didn’t say that because that would be the American way, and I don’t know how to say that in French anyway. Otherwise, I haven’t done too much of anything here except miss everyone a whole ton. I found out that I do not have the same wonderful cell phone coverage that I once had in Lokossa, and that to get cell phone service, I have to walk outside and stand underneath the telephone pole, and even then, the reception is still isn’t that great.
Okay. I have to pause to tell you what just happened to me. Possibly the most terrifying thing in the world. First, let me preface this story by telling you that my house has an infestation of cockroaches and mice. They are everywhere. And, it just so happens that their favorite place in the whole house is my bedroom. And, they really like to come out at night. So, it’s almost 9:00 here, and I’m typing this journal in my bed with all the lights off. I can hear cockroaches scampering all around me, but I’m trying not to be paranoid because I know that I am safely hidden underneath my mosquito net. However, it appears that I have a hole in my mosquito net, because as I am sitting here typing I feel *plop* something lands on my knee. I, of course, flip out and scramble for the lights and find the little booger crawling up my net. I don’t really have any great, ginormous roach killing weapons in my bed with me, so I grab my alarm clock and wait to strike. Finally, *whack* I hit him. But since these are not average size cockroaches, he only falls back onto my bed completely unphased and scampers off. Now, I have no idea where he is, but can only assume that he is somewhere in my sleeping quarters. Rest assure that I will not rest until I know exactly where he ran off to. God I hate cockroaches. That was one thing that I was lucky not to have to deal with during my host family stay. They are officially vile creatures. And, I would think about fumigating my room, but that doesn’t seem like a very good idea for the lungs considering how poor the ventilation is. And, I have to sleep with ear plugs in because I can’t stand the sounds they make when they are scampering about. Ugh.
So, yes. Continuing. I am basically trying not to go crazy here. At first I was thinking that I couldn’t wait until school started because it would give me something to do. Then, today I really enjoyed having time to read and write and go to the market, and I thought that it was a good thing that I didn’t have to start right away. Now, I’m back to thinking that I need something to occupy my time. I can definitely see how hard it must be for the other sectors. With TEFL, we are set up with a great job, and we are immediately welcomed into the community because we already have a position of respect being the English teacher in the community. All the other sectors have to spend months if not their whole first year looking for projects to do. That would be horrible. Also, speaking of other sectors, my post mate who is a SED (Small Enterprise Development) girl didn’t arrive today as she was supposed to. That makes me really nervous as I have already heard rumors of her wanting to ET (early terminate). That would leave me high and dry without another Peace Corps Volunteer for quite awhile, which would really make me sad. Any chance to speak some English to someone now and again is a welcome opportunity, and I was hoping to share my first day feelings with someone. So I hope she shows up. I could use her.
Other than horrible loneliness, things here are going. My one bad story occurred from the first night when I ventured out to get some water because I didn’t have any filtered and boiled water that I could drink, and I could feel myself getting dehydrated. So, naturally, I biked down to the local buvette that I knew John frequented often during his service. I asked if they had any water and they said no (no Sprite or Coke, either, just beer). By this time it had also started to down pour as I had gotten there just in the knick of time, and the owner said that once it stopped raining, he would go down the street and get me some water. “Wow. Great.” I thought. So I sat down inside and waiting for the rain to stop. However, as I sat there, some gentleman came inside and decided to sit down next to me. I immediately got a bad vibe just because I know that Beninese men think that any single woman in a bar is a prostitute, and I, of course, being white am just some hot ticket item to be won. Regardless, I politely engage in conversation thinking that this will be a good way for me to practice my French. At first, it was very innocent, and I thought that maybe my first instinct was wrong, but then it started going sour. He started asking my how many children I had (and was floored when I said zero), whether or not I was married (a said I had a boyfriend in Gogonou, he assumed fiancé, and I went with it), then he asked why my fiancé wasn’t with me (I explained that he was working), then he started saying that he was single with kids and that he was looking for a beautiful mama like myself to take care of the kids and to be his wife. I wasn’t having any of it, so I finally got up and moved away from him thinking that this would slow down his bombardment of questions. It didn’t. Finally after waiting for the rain to stop and talking to this pathetic excuse for a man for about 30 minutes, the server returned with two big bottles of water. I paid and was about to go on my way when the man said that he wanted to shake my hand. I knew exactly what he wanted to do, and I think he felt my hesitation, because he said that it was just to say goodbye. “Fine,” I thought, “I don’t want to be the typical rude American on my first day into town.” So I went to shake his hand. At first, nothing, just strong, regular, I’ll see you around town handshake. But then as I was pulling away. Bam. There it was, just as I had suspected, he slipped me the dirty finger (The dirty finger is when I man rubs his middle finger on your palm as if to say, “I want to have sex with you”). I immediately withdrew and told him, “No. Never.” I should have made a bigger deal, a much bigger deal, about it, but I was just so shocked and offended and overwhelmed that I just wanted to get out of the buvette. I wanted to punch him in the face. And the worst part is that he knew exactly what he did because when the waitress came in, he started shaking his head as if to make sure that I wouldn’t tell her what had just happened. Ugh. When things like that happen, that’s when I wish the most that I had someone here to talk to, someone just to vent to when men are complete, disgusting pigs. Grrr.
But that’s a really bad story. Other than that, the people here have been very kind and bending over backwards to see to it that I am happy. I can tell that I will be happy here; I just know that it will take some getting used to. And maybe some cockroach killing sessions. Love you all. Me

2007-09-19T06:27:00.000-07:00

Hello to EVERYONE!
I’m so glad that this blog has reached a larger audience than just my parents! Thank you for all that even take the time to post a little note on my “wall.“ I truly enjoy reading what everyone has to say. I hope that everyone is doing well, and believe me, for all the Peace Corps parents who are reading this (i.e., Sandy’s mom) your children send their love to you. We are all doing well and keep each other laughing and happy during this experience which can be as difficult as it is rewarding.

I just looked at where I last left off, and saw that it was the dreaded guacamole incident! Actually, nothing really happened. I think that I might have been the only one who got sick at all, and I didn’t even have it that bad. I just had to politely excuse myself from dinner so that I didn’t “shit myself at the table” for lack of better words or tastefulness (sorry). But after I nice visit with the toilet, I was ready to go. The most embarrassing part was that my papa and my little brother, Tommy, actually waited to continue eating until I got back from using the bathroom. So that was a little awkward.

Anyway, today has been a day colored with ups and downs. Some might say that it has been a rollercoaster of a day. It started off well because I passed my English grammar test with flying colors (which is not as easy as it sounds because you have to know weird English rules about identifying tenses and passive voice and indirect speech, etc.). Then, we all received our new Language grades as we had our language interviews on Friday. I thought that I had done much better this time and was excited to see my new grade. Turns out that I did improve to intermediate mid, BUT I need to move up at least four levels from where I started which was novice mid, SO I still need to move up one level before I swear-in. Basically, in the four days before swear-in, I am going to have massive amounts of tutoring and another interview to make sure that I swear-in on time with everyone else. I still will get to go to post no matter what, but it really stinks that I have to “cram” before swearing-in (there are two other people in the same boat as me). Hurray for bringing up the rear. Everything about this was “okay” until people started asking me what I got and then finding out and saying, “oh…are you okay?” The more “are you okays” I got the more emotional I could feel myself getting, and then without warning, the tears starting coming. Not like a rain shower of tears, but enough tears to scare the male facilitators (Crying is “Western” thing, so the Beninese get really uncomfortable around us emotional Americans). Anyway, they sent in a female facilitator and she talked to me in English which was nice, but the more I talked about it, the more I kept tearing up because the more overwhelmed I was becoming. I never was full blown sobbing, but I could feel that I had developed the unattractive red eyes that occur after a good cry. Finally, I just gave up and said that I was fine and that everything was ca va. Really, I knew that I wasn’t going to get anywhere talking about it, and that I needed to just buck-up and move on-yeehaw. So, with that behind me, I ate an amazing avocado sandwich and boarded a bush taxi with everyone and went down to Grand Popo, which is on the ocean and is absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous. Not to mention, all the other sectors were there, so we were able to say our hellos and catch up with each other. After lunch and such, a few of us wandered down the beach and found a little tourist trap where we played beach volleyball for a little while. It was interesting as I would best describe the volleyball as an “inflated rock.” It was pretty much the hardest thing that has ever been slapped by my forearms(not that I slap a lot of things with my forearms), not to mention, the ocean breeze created a fantastic wind with which to increase the already difficult task of maneuvering into the correct position with which to play the volleyball. Regardless, it was good American fun. Then, I noticed that my head was starting to hurt quite a bit. So after we walked back down the beach, I decided just to lay down while some other people played a game of catch phrase, but when I decided to get back up, my head had been blessed with a migraine-hurray! The plan of action included taking drugs, taking sprite, and taking a nap. I felt very anti-social, and I felt like I couldn’t really enjoy the beach to it’s full potential, but oh well. I was still able to watch Sandy and Anna chase the tide in and then run away like 5 year olds screaming and giggling as the tide chased them back up the beach, I was able to laugh as a SED stagaire had to try three times to throw his message in a bottle into the ocean, and I was also still able to just listen and enjoy the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. By the time that we had to leave, I was well on my way to getting rid of my migraine. Things were looking up again. Then, more good news! I found out that we were going to try to have a sleepover at the volunteer’s house! What needs to be understood is that there is a history of our little sleepovers not working because we have always tried to act like adults and ask for permission, and we have always been turned down (BUT, we keep trying because the other sectors never ask, but always have sleepovers). So, this time, we decide that if we don’t ask and just sneak behind the administration, then what they don’t know can’t hurt them. Turns out, the Peace Corps administration must be one step ahead of us because here’s what happened. That night, I asked my mama if I could go to the volunteers house to watch a movie and then spend the night. Mama was totally cool with that, and she just asked what time I would be returning in the morning. Sweet, I thought. Then (dun dun dun) just as I was about to head out, Mama comes running after me saying the Papa is on the phone and that he wants to talk to me. So, I get on the phone, and he asks me if I have a question for him. I tell him the plan and then ask if I can stay over at the volunteer’s house. He yells into the phone, “No, absolutely no.” I wanted to ask why, but judging by his tone, I didn’t think that he wanted to discuss, so I left it as it was. No sleepover for me.

So that was last night--This morning continued my up and down day as I woke up with a fever and feeling sick and achy all over. I took my temperature and I was sporting a solid 101.4--not bad, but not stellar either. Anyway, took some drugs and slept a lot and then headed out to pick up some tissue (fabric) that I had gotten made into some clothes. It looks amazing, and I am so excited to rock it tomorrow. Then, in the last of the ups and downs, my parents were finally able to get through to call me, so I was able to talk to them for about a half hour before my head honcho woman and living coordinator stopped by to talk logistics for the swear-in ceremony, so I had to hang up and tell my parents to call my back in five minutes. Unfortunately, the lines must have been tied up and then never did get through again. Boo.

In other news, everyone is getting really excited about leaving for post. We know that we will all miss each other, but everyone is looking forward to gaining back some of their independence. We (us being the stagaires) talk about this all the time--how we thought that coming to Peace Corps would be this huge test of independence, but that, in reality, all that stage has really taught us to do is to become extremely reliant upon each other. Case and point being that we aren’t even allowed to spend the night--that we need permission to do so even though we are all 22+ year old adults. Just a little silly.

Also, with stage nearing it’s end, we have made TEFL mock awards/superlatives. I believe I was voted most orange (orange referring to my “true color” which further refers to an icebreaker game), best artist (tied with Sandy), and most likely to be bitten by a monkey. Some of the other more honorable categories included first person to have parasites, first person to vomit, first person to shit herself (yeah), first boob grab, and oh how the list goes on. Perhaps one of the funniest stories is behind the first person to “strip” in public. One the girl stagaires, Mae, was riding on the back of a zemi when her skirt got caught in the back tire and-ZIP!-got completely ripped off. The zemi driver stopped immediately, but there was Mae standing in her underwear bearing her white, white legs with everyone staring at her. Luckily, one of the facilitators was going by at the same time, and he was able to pay another mama to let Mae borrow an extra pagne (length of fabric) while she walked by home to change into another skirt. Mae was a trooper about it and able to laugh it off instead of being really embarrassed. But in a country were you get called at and ogled at for just being white, I can only imagine what everyone’s reaction must have been when they saw this white girl just standing there in her underwear with only a few scraps left hanging of what used to be a long beautiful skirt.

Off to dinner with the family. I think I’ll have an early bedtime tonight to try to knock this fever out of the ballpark. Tomorrow begins the first day of the last week! LOVE AND HUGS--ME!

When the Sun Goes Down

2007-09-10T11:13:00.000-07:00

Last journal entry, I wrote that I had much to tell about model school, and now I can’t remember what I was so excited to tell. I guess that’s what happens when you try to put things off for a bit. I’ll just start with what would seem important. Did I already write about model school a little bit? I can’t remember at all. Well, whatever. Repetition is good. Which is actually the first lesson that I learned in model school. The more repetition the better. I started the first two weeks of model school with the 6eme kids. In the U.S., these are like our 5th-7th grade kids. They have never had any English at all. So we are literally building from the ground up with these guys. My lessons have included teaching “good morning, good afternoon, and good evening,” “greetings in general (Hello. My name is…),” “this/that,” “these/those,” and several songs (naturally, because I have such a good singing voice). Several of the stagiares haven’t been enjoying teaching these guys, but I really had a good time with them. They really need a lot of stimulation, and it’s hard because they don’t have any books or supplies or anything really, but it’s like playing “Gestures” for an hour or two. It matches my energy level well. But, after two weeks, we all switched classes, and now I am teaching 4eme, which is like our high school kids, so they have had a couple years of English. I have taught thus far “passive voice,” “health vocabulary,” “If statements,” and “must/must not/have to/don’t have to.” All really, really exciting. So, yeah, while the 4eme kids are a little more serious, the material is just not that fun at all. The classroom sizes are a little over 50 kids in each class, so classroom management is crucial. And as an added bonus, classroom management is more difficult here, typically, because the students are used to getting beat if they miss behave, so they sometimes don’t take Peace Corps volunteers seriously as we are not beating them for falling asleep. In general, though, if you can be proactive and plan stimulating enough lessons that the students don’t get bored, this eliminates half of your behavior problems. As I have observed, it seems that the kids who have given me the most trouble are the smart kids, because they catch on quicker and then get bored and start goofing off. I’ve, thus, mastered several techniques to snap them back in line--I have the token “teacher stare of death,” the embarrassment strategy, the stand right next to him strategy, the just stand in front of the class until they quiet down strategy, and so forth. Mostly, though, I haven’t really had any discipline problems. I think that the kids respect me enough to know that I mean business when I’m up in front of the class. It’s that whole “worst nightmare” or “best friend” presence. I don’t really know where it comes from, but it’s working well for me, so I’m just going to stick with it. Not to mention, that it’s really me just being myself up there; I don’t have to pretend to be a hard-ass when I’m not. *ok and I just swore which reminds me that I have been swearing a lot more here, and I don’t know why except for the fat that I can get away with saying anything and I know that no one around me except the other stagaires will know what I’m even saying; but that‘s a really random side note*

Most of my fun in model school as come through interactions with the other stagaires. We love to joke about all the horrible stuff you could potential teach these kids who know nothing. I am currently teaching with a guy who is going by Mr. Norris as in Chuck Norris. He was teaching negations one day, and his example was. My name is Chuck Norris. I am not Steven Segal. Another girl, Sandy, has been drawing me mini cartoon strips about my teaching lessons which are hilarious. I’m definitely saving them in my journal for future sharing. Pretty much, we are just a bunch of immature people who find the slightest things funny and are sure to tell each other--aka there is usually at least one immature and accidental sexual innuendo during everyone’s lesson. The students don’t understand, but whoever is observing is in the back giggling while frantically drawing a picture. Overall, model school is this super overwhelming stressful ordeal, so it helps to be surrounded by people who are able to knock a lot of that stress off--we have more fun than we should.

*pause for bedtime*

Yahoo. Had a really good nights sleep last night (the first in a long, long time). It rained all night and even into the morning, so that cools everything off and delays the call of the roosters a little bit. It was nice…I got to sleep in until 8:00! Last night marked the second party that us TEFL stagaires have put on at the volunteer house. These little get-togethers are indescribably fun despite the simplicity. For me, and for many of the other girls, it’s one of the few times that we can just be ourselves and not worry about doing something culturally inappropriate (e.g. touching a guy on the shoulder her means that you want to take him to bed with you). Men and women don’t really interact of date here at all; it’s pretty strange to see. This is also why any contact with man on the part of a woman is considered a huge sign. The interesting part is that men hold hands with other men all the time vice versa with women. You would think that the whole country is gay, but that’s not the case as homosexuality “doesn’t exist” in Benin. It is only a European and American “problem.” OH! Which makes me think of a story that just happened the other night. Myself, Sandy, and Alex were all walking home from a buvette, and as we were getting ready to split ways (Alex goes home a different way than Sandy and I), Alex kept asking are you sure you two are okay to go alone; I’ll walk with you if you need me. Sandy and I reassure him that we’re fine, we’re fine (But this is Sandy and me you are talking about, and our luck isn’t the best when we are together). So as we turn the corner, not 5 feet down, we run into some local that wants to practice his English on us. Sandy is nicer than me and starts engaging in conversation--he does seem nice enough. Anyway, he says at one point that he wants to practice his English because he lived in San Francisco for 3 months for his job. I ask him what he does, and he responds, “He sells the cocaine and the…what do you call it…heroin.” I say, without skipping a bit, or without any real emotion, “Wow. Really. That’s a pretty dangerous business.” He agrees and says, “Yah, but it’s work.” True dat, crazy drug man. So THEN, at this point, Alex has come up behind the crazy man, who has proceeded to ask Sandy and me, where our husbands are at, and why we left them behind in the United States. Of course, both of us at the same time reply that we didn’t leave our husbands and that we are both married to Alex, and that he is right there (pointing). Thank goodness polygamy isn’t a huge oddity here, and so our answer seemed acceptable, and he back off--I said that we were late anyway and had to get going. Just another mini-adventure in Africa. Dealing with drug dealers…haha.

Alright. Cooking. Yesterday as part of our cross-cultural integration, we had a “Iron Chef” style cooking competition in teams of 5 or so. So all of us split up and cooked and cooked and cooked. The secret ingredient was pineapple, so our team made Pineapple salad with a homemade vinaigrette, beef and pineapple kabobs, and a ginger pineapple cobbler. One team made a pineapple pizza. It was a good time. Our team was the only team outside in the direct sun, so we were aptly named “Team Sunburn.” Right now, I’m sitting in the volunteers’ house as we are all sitting around eating “fiesta” food to celebrate the birthday of one of our fellow stagaires. I made guacamole, but there was no bleach, so I couldn’t bleach the tomatoes, and now I’m worried that everyone is going to get sick off of my food. That would be no good. But the guacamole did taste really good. Good going down. Bad coming up. Fingers crossed everyone will be fine.

Okay. I’ve reached my journal length limit, so I’m going to take a pause. Miss everyone. To you Fighting Scots, hope the start of school is going well and that open gyms are as lively as ever. I can’t wait to be filled in on the gossip that is Wooster Basketball. Love and Hugs.

Bullet the Blue Sky

2007-09-10T11:11:00.000-07:00

There is no way to say this without it seeming completely obvious to everyone who reads this, but I’ll say it anyway: Africa is unlike any place I have ever been.

Today was one of those days of ups and downs, and at the end of the day when I thought, “What a bad day,” I looked up at the sky and just gasped at how completely gorgeous the night sky was. Without any lights and without any clouds to block the view, it was one of the most beautiful night skies I have ever seen. And that’s the thing about Africa for me. When I am surrounded on a day-to-day basis by the dirt and grim of the city, and when I am bombarded with stress and fatigue from the daily grind of teaching and classes, it is easy for me to forget that about all the beauty that is Africa. Because I really have had some just breath-taking moments, including tonight and the stars. Those are the moments that ooze tranquility; those are the moments that make my mind lucid again.

Anyway, I have much to tell about model school (it is going well; everyone says that I have a great teacher presence and that I am the “fun but firm” teacher; that I can be the students best-friend or the students worst nightmare). The good news as of late is that I new cyber just opened up that has a much faster internet connection (I mean it’s still really slow, but it’s faster). Not to mention that the old cyber we were at had one of the employees steal a bunch of people’s internet codes, so people in our stage had to pay for hours that they didn’t get. It was bad news bears. But really, it’s late and I do have to teach tomorrow, so I’m going to bed. Listening to a little Bruce right now. Bruce in Benin. Doesn’t get much better.

David Duchovny

2007-09-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

I apologize to anyone who has been intently reading my blog as this has been a bad week(s) for posting journals. With the start of “model school,” I have been increasingly more and more busy since I’ve had to prepare for teaching as well as help others prepare and so forth. This in addition to the fact that I have changed language facilitators, and my new teacher likes to give homework. Good because I can always use extra practice, bad because with lesson planning and wanting to unwind a little bit after a full day of classes, I don’t really have the time, thus I have been going to bed at like 11 every night (I wake up at 6:30 everyday, and I know that you’re are thinking, “wow, that’s a lot of sleep,” but really I wake up at least five times a night, and I don’t sleep well at all because it’s so hot even at night-85 degrees in my room right now-so really it’s not that much rest). The point of that rambling is that I am very busy these days. Furthermore, every time that I have tried to use the cyber, the internet either hasn’t been working, it’s been working, but won’t let me load gmail, or it’s been so crowded that I’ve gone and not gotten on any computers. Angry it makes me.

Model school is actually really fun despite all the stress it causes. The kids are so freakin’ cute and yet so annoying. As far as kids go, they are really well behaved. I mean there are like 55 kids in my class and I can totally control them all (it’s not easy, but it can be done-implement teacher stare of death) just because they respect authority. You could never teach 55 American kids, because they aren’t afraid to talk back/do whatever the hell they want. The one annoying thing that these kids do is that instead of raising their hand, they will raise their hand and snap at you or yell, “ici/here.” Imagine 20 kids snapping and yelling, “ici, ici!” It’s just fantastic. But they are cute despite themselves.

Other than being really busy, nothing to much exciting has happened. I’ve found myself falling into a nice routine here despite all the unusualness that surrounds me. I’ve found that I’ve been able to bound with my fellow stagaires really quickly, and I know that I will sincerely miss them at post. I’ve found that our conversations now involve the most ridiculous things and yet, it some how seems completely normal (i.e., I high-fived someone for having a solid stool this morning).
Life is good, it’s still strange, and definitely not quite home yet, but I’m getting there. It’s a slow process.

Love you and Miss you

Got another package (pants, M&Ms-sooo good, Entertainment Weekly)
Got Dad’s letter (#4)

P.S. Dad you had enclosed that super sexy picture of David in your letter, and I had it out as I was reading, and another stagaire came up and said, “Oh my God, I love David Duchovny. I used to watch the X-Files all the time!” It was a really neat coincidence especially because

Blame It On Me

2007-09-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

“I’m a little disappointed that I don’t have more interesting stories to tell. I didn’t really have any adventures.” ~ Me

So on Friday, I departed from Manigri with the help of my director who helped me catch the “Comfort Line” bus, which is actually really nice as it only stops a couple times as opposed to every town like the one I took on the way up to Bassila. As I got on the bus I heard, “Carly!” I looked up and wouldn’t you know it, there was another familiar looking yovo on the bus. It was a fellow stagiare, Kate. I was really happy to see a familiar face, and to now have a travel buddy as I thought that I was going to have to try to make it back to Lokossa by myself. Anyway, I take a seat in the back and Kate later moves back there with me, and we get to chatting for the rest of the bus ride--sharing post visit stories and other juicy gossip. Originally, she was just going to Boicohn, which was my plan, too, but I my director insisted that it would easier to catch a taxi down in Cotonou, so this is what me and Kate decided to do.

So, when we got to Cotonou, the bus makes three stops, and Kate talked to the gentleman next to us who advised us to wait until the last stop and then take a zemi to the taxi gare. Ok. So we wait and get off the bus and are immediately mobbed by two zems. We say that we’re going to the taxi gare, argue our prices and hop on. First strange thing that happens is that we start to head back into town, which I’m pretty sure isn’t the way, but I think oh well, I’ve been to Cotonou once, he must know where he’s going. Second strange thing that happens is that we don’t end up going to the taxi gare. He takes us to some random taxi on the side of the road, most likely his friend that he’s trying to give business. Again, it seems weird, but I figure that it’s at least a taxi, so I hop off and pay my zem-driver at which point the taxi driver immediately takes my backpack and starts to close the back hatch. This is when Kate runs up behind me from where her zem-driver pulled up and starts saying, “no no no.” She noticed something that I didn’t in that the taxi didn’t have an orange license plate (something that ALL registered taxis must have), so this is the third strange thing that happens. The drivers of the taxi get a little mad, but know that Kate is right and as they are arguing, one guy gets “his papers” to show Kate. Somewhat satisfied with at least seeing papers, Kate and I actually get in the back of the taxi. We both figure that if we are together it can’t be that bad. Then as we are sitting there waiting to take off, which is taking way too long, I notice strange thing number four. My door doesn’t open from the inside. We, of course, call over one of the driver’s and ask him about the door. He rolls down the window to show that I could get out that way. That was the finally straw for Kate, and she says that she wants to go, so we ask them to open the door, to which they refuse. Big strange thing number five. Say Kate is yelling at him to open the door and the guy is just standing there refusing to let us out, so I tell Kate to just get out on her side. She does and then we ask them to open the back hatch to let us get our bags out, that we don’t feel good inside there taxi and that we need a real taxi. They, of course, do not like this and starting yelling and definitely refusing to let us get our bags out. Number six .I don’t know enough French to help Kate out, who is doing all of the arguing, so I yell a few words in English, and then decided screw it, if they won’t let us get our bags, I’ll get them. So I go back inside the taxi and start pulling all of our luggage up and over the backseat. I gather it all up and Kate and I just start making as much distance between us and the taxi as possible. They come running after us trying to cause commotion, but we just keep walking. I was definitely a little scared at points, but I figured that we were together and that we were surrounded by other people in the daytime, so we were probably just fine, but it was a little intense. Kate and I kept saying that at least we will know better next time we have to travel through Cotonou, which is going to be pretty often. The conclusion of the story is that some random guy helped us catch a real taxi to Lokossa, and we crammed ourselves into that for a good two hour trip. Those taxi rides are by far the most uncomfortable mode of transportation.

So that was my little adventure. And that was a week ago now. Crazy how time flies.

The last week has been a little different, as we have started “model school.” I am teaching 6eme, which are all the kids who have never had any English ever. We have a class of about 55. They are cute, but can get really obnoxious and rowdy sometimes. And to be honest I don’t blame them, and is really hard to sit on uncomfortable benches for three hours and listen to repetition after repetition of these unfamiliar words. Model school is a good break from the norm, but it is definitely a little more stressful with lesson planning and teaching. Yesterday, our group took a trip down to Ouidah. It was a really somber trip as it was the location for all the slave trade in Benin, so we saw the fort where they kept all the slaves, we saw the market square where they sold all the slaves, we saw the point of no return where they boarded all the slaves onto the ships. All interesting, but all very heavy. On top of that, we found out that four more people are ETing (early termination). It’s really sad whenever somebody leaves let alone four at once. Anyway, time for me to shower before I get breakfast maybe do a little bit of laundry, then hopefully go to the cyber to post this. Basketball today at four! I’m excited. Maybe even some volleyball, too.

LOVE FROM LOKOSSA

Song For You Far Away

2007-09-06T11:43:00.000-07:00

The long overdue post visit post is here! So let’s start from the beginning.

I had to wake up at 4am to get ready and to get out the door in time to meet my director at the hotel. My sisters walked me to the hotel even though I insisted that I knew where it was and how to get there. I’m not sure if they walked me because they didn’t think that I knew where it was or because they didn’t want me to walk alone in the dark. Regardless, I thanked them and then sat and waited for the adventure with several of the other stagaires. After a brief while, myself, Sandy, and Anna along with each of our directors and a driver crammed into a car and headed to Cotonou. The whole time Sandy was expecting the worse to happen to us, just because when her and I are together, strange and interesting things seem to always occur. I like to call them adventures. Anyway, despite being horribly uncomfortable the whole ride, nothing really that bad happened. I thought that our taxi driver was going to kill us a few times, but I’ve discovered that that feeling isn’t really out of the ordinary when you are traveling via bush taxi. For the last minutes of our ride me and Sandy were sitting sideways in sort of a spooning position. Sandy fell asleep on my left shoulder while Anna had already dozed off as her head dropped on my right shoulder. I felt like a mama bear with her little cubs, and it was actually the most comfortable I was the whole ride. Anyway, I digress. Once we got to Cotonou (about 2 hours), Sandy and Anna along with their directors got out of the taxi. My director got out, too, and just as I was going to get out, he told me to stay. That him and I were going to the bus station--which is actually quite confusing in Beninese culture because they say car for bus even though bus is bus or autobus and car is voiture or just car in English which made me think taxi; confusing, n’est pas. So we go to the “bus station” that isn’t so much a station as two buses parked on the side of the road, and we board the bus and head towards the back. We take a seat in the very back row, and we wait. In the meantime, we meet the King of Manigri who invites me to have yam pelée (so good) at his house sometime. Also, during the waiting, I my director was pretty much outside buying snacks the whole time while I just sat there. It was pretty sweet. Not to mention that I have my big camping backpack in between my legs with my big moto helmet on my lap and there is a rear door in the row that I am sitting in, so anytime anyone wants to board the bus I have to do this awkward half-squat maneuver while holding onto all my luggage. I think I would have gotten up for often had I know that fate that awaited me. Which brings me to the trip itself. Let me begin by saying that I made a conscious decision in the morning that I was going to purposely dehydrate myself a little bit so has not to make me have to go to the bathroom really badly on a long voyage. Turns out, great decision. The bus ride up to Bassila ended up taking 10 hours because it was stopping all the time for no apparent reason most of the time (I did take a different bus line on the way back that only makes one stop and that took much less time). Furthermore, during this 10 hour time span (plus all the travel time before that remember), my director would not let me leave my seat for any reason. That meant no bathroom for Carly. I’m sure it was done in a protective manner, but for God’s sake did I have to pee. So, of course, that was the first objective when we finally arrived. Find Carly a bathroom. We found a shower, instead. Good enough, and it marked my official first squat pee in country! Hurray for me! I should return to mention that the bus ride itself was pretty much uneventful. At one point a guy came on with a pet monkey and that was pretty interesting, but other than that it was just a bus full of unique individuals, but not anymore so unique than one would find on a Greyhound.
--Pause for me to retire to my bed; Will continue tomorrow--
And I’m back! Just boiled my nightly pot o’ water for tomorrow and ready to type! Alright, so once I arrived in Bassila and got my bladder issues taken care of, my director and I walked across the street and waited for about 15 minutes while my director got some part for his motorcycle. It was a strange 15 minutes for me. As I sat there, I was overwhelmed with the outsider feeling. It was really the first time I had been completely isolated away from any Americans. I started noticing that I look different, I act different, I speak different, I dress different. Everything about me is different. It is such a weird feeling to have, especially when I have always been able to find someway to connect to people. It was a good introspective (I think that’s the right word) moment for me. Anyway, once my director got his part, we were off to Manigri on his moto. With my sweet motorcycle helmet on and my huge camping backpack on, down we zipped on the road to my new hometown. We ended up arriving late enough that day that all of the activities that were planned for that night were cancelled as it gets dark at 7:30 here, and it is really not that safe for us to travel after dark. Instead, I got to meet my new host family for my visiting days and sit in and make extremely awkward conversation with my host Papa (and I thought that I had some awkward conversations in America-I had no idea). Anyway, I ate dinner yada, yada, yada and went to bed-sharing the bed with one of my host sisters. The next morning I was up and ready to go at 8:00 just like my director said, and I ended up waiting around until 9:30 because my director was apparently working on “Beninese time.” Oh well. The first place we went to was my house. I was so excited to see where I would be living for the next two years, and as it turns out, I only got to see things for like 5 minutes. They literally shuffled me in and shuffled me out. I don’t think they realized how important it is to me, but oh well, I suppose that I will have plenty of time to spend there. However, first impressions of the house is that it is fantastic. It appears as though John packed a backpack and left. He left me all his furniture, all his cooking supplies, a fantastic looking homemade kitchen area, a queen size bed, his clothes (which I will find a creative use for), his books, and lots of other stuff. When you first walk in, there is a giant American flag on the wall to your right. I walked in and thought, “Wow. Okay. I’m home.” John also wrote me a really short note saying that I should feel free to call him or email him should I have any questions. Just from hearsay and my impressions, it seems like John was a really nice guy and made a great impact on the community. He will be a tough act to follow, but happy for that, and I am excited to ask him some questions before I get to post. It should also be noted that I have electricity (hurray), my own private shower and latrine (hurray), and a light to shine on my latrine a night (hurray hurray-hopefully this will deter the cockroaches from crawling around me as I try to take care of business). After that, we went and visited the school and we went into almost every classroom. They all looked the same to me, but my director wanted to show me everything, and after each one he would turn to me and ask me what I thought. I was busting out every French adjective I knew. The school looks good. Bigger than I expected. After that, we proceeded to meet what seemed like everyone in Manigri, and then after that we went back to Bassila to meet everyone there, too.

Dad, you would like it in Africa, because you have to say hello to everyone. Literally everyone. It is considered really rude to pass someone and not at least say hello. If it is someone you know, then you have to go into greater detail. It is the land of friendly hello people. Just your type.

Some highlights of the people I met, where meeting the censeur for my school. He is this little, rotund, jolly man with the most fantastic buckteeth that stick out even when he has his mouth closed. He was so nice and seemed to keep popping up wherever my director and I went. I hope that I enjoy working with him. Also, I met my homologue (which is like my counterpart--the person who I will be working the closest with; he helps me in the community and I help share my ideas and opinions from my perspective). He seems like a really nice guy, and interestingly enough, he is in a wheelchair and yet manages to teach a room full of 50+ students. That is pretty amazing with all things considered. He must really do a great job of classroom management; I would love to sit in on one of his classes. The best part is that he seemed really into helping the girls of the community, which is sadly sort of a rarity amongst Beninese men. So, yeah, I am really excited to work with him.

I feel like I am writing too much. The point is that I met a lot, a lot of people and that everyone seemed really nice. I would say hello in French, they would find out I’m an English teacher and then they would try to say hello in English. I actually had a surprisingly hard time the whole time to get people to speak French to me. And by the time I left Manigri, I was ready to go back. Gaining back some independence is going to be great.

There is more to the story on the return visit, and I will save that for another post. Let’s just say that my famous last words were, “I’m a strangely disappointed that I didn’t have more of an adventure on my post visit.”

LOVE AND MISS EVERYBODY

Got a postcard from Aunt Lucia and Uncle Harry
Got two letters from Mom (2 and 4)
Got a package!

Angel on My Bike

2007-08-14T06:43:00.000-07:00

Departure for Manigri is set for Wednesday! (This is only a three day post visit by the way). We met our Directors today, which is like the head honcho of the school. The guy you want to be happy with you. My guy seems very nice, and I think that he is going to be patient with me, so that’s good. Whoever I get needs to have a lot of patience as a struggle through learning the language. Supposedly, the volunteer that I am replacing had a really, really awful Director for most of his service. Like the guy was really against women, and I guess that he was found to be sleeping with several students (though this isn’t a very uncommon occurrence sadly enough), and I guess that every time John (the volunteer I’m replacing) tried to start an after school program for girls, his Director would find a way to shut it down--so, I’m really glad (obviously) that I don’t have that guy. And I guess that my Director was happy to see that I was a girl, because he thinks that I will have an easier time getting through to the girls, which is hopefully true.

Anyway, enough of the technical talk. I can write more about my post when I actually know more about my post instead of what I know based on hearsay. In more exciting news, a version of bocce exists in Benin! As part of our “cross-cultural training” we had a night of Benin games among them was “bocce.” I was, of course, overly excited and jumped in as soon as I could. Little did I know that I was playing against the national champion of Benin. He definitely put me in my place, BUT he did ask if I had played before, so clearly he recognized that the skill was there. So, despite the fact that I got creamed, I am happy to know that while I had to give some things up in America, at least I can have my “bocce.”

The other exciting thing to know is that something else that I did not leave behind in America is my ability to get lost. Here’s the story. Several of us stagaires decided that we would go visit the Health volunteers in Dogbo (look it up). Dogbo is about an hour bike ride away. Anyway, five of us want to leave a little earlier at 9am to spend more time in Dogbo, and then there were about 5 more who were going to leave at 11am after a yoga session. Needless to say, I am in the early group, and somehow I get nominated to be the fearless leader. So to get to Dogbo, you take one road the whole time; it’s a straight shot, on paved roads, and should take an hour. However, should you choose to take the wrong road out of town, you get to experience a whole new adventure. I am more one for adventures, so you can guess what road I unknowingly took--oh yes. So skip ahead to 12:30, we are in Dogbo and we see the second group arriving. The catch of the story is that we had arrived only 5 minutes earlier. It took us 3 and ½ hours to get to Dogbo! And we went through some crazy terrain, and tiny, tiny villages, and some gorgeous scenery. Would I do it again? Probably not. But I am sort of glad that we got lost, just to have had an adventure along the Africa countryside. And now I definitely know which road to take when riding out of Lokossa. The whole time I just kept having flashbacks of Thanksgiving. Ugh.

C’est tout. LOVE

No Other Way

2007-08-14T06:40:00.000-07:00

1. My finger is healing nicely.
2. I know where I will be spending the next two years of my life!
3. My left-hand is going to get me in trouble.
4. I moved up in my French proficiency!

1. I went most of today without wearing a band-aid! How exciting. You learn very quickly here that you have to celebrate everything--especially the small things, because most of the time it’s really hard, so when something good happens, you celebrate. So, Hurray for no Band-Aid! My fingertip is still quite numb, but in time, I expect that all of the feeling will return. pssh….no big deal

2. Yesterday was the official day that all the post-assignments were announced. So (drum roll) my post is in Manigri! I mostly know nothing about it at all, but here is what I do know. It is located in the Donga region of Benin which is pretty much smack dab in the middle. I am about 7km away from a pretty decent size town, but I think that overall, I will pretty isolated. Realistically, I am pretty close to Togo, too, so I hope to make fairly frequent trips across the boarder just to check things out over on the other side. I know that I will be replacing a male TEFL volunteer who apparently was pretty amazing and is leaving quite the legacy for me to follow. I will have to figure out how I can make my own mark; it will be good for me to have something to strive for. I also know that the volunteer I am replacing was really, really sad to leave and that he even wanted to do a third year, but that it didn’t work out for him because he decided to go to law school instead. But, I also think that that speaks volumes for the town itself--it must be a good place to live. Also, supposedly, this volunteer is leaving me with a really sweet kitchen that he hired a carpenter to build, and that he is also leaving behind a bunch of clothing (for a short male). I will have to figure out how to best use the clothing. I can’t really pass it on to any of the guys in our group because we have a really tall group, so maybe I can utilize it in some other way. Anyway, we visit our posts on Tuesday-Thursday next week, so I will be able to check things out first hand and get a better feel of my place. Right now, I’m just excited to know something even though I mostly know nothing, but something is better than nothing…celebrate everything!

3. So using the left-hand here is a sign of complete disrespect. I knew it was going to be a problem! I try to be good whenever I can, but I totally catch myself slipping up all the time. Try it for a day (I mean try not using or right hand to eat or do anything). I guess that I can use my left-hand as long as I am using a fork, but bread and apples and oranges, plus lots of other stuff liking exchanging money and so forth. It’s just a very hard brain switch to do. Coach Hoff would be happy. Stupid main droite.

4. I am officially a Intermediate Low. WooHoo! (I started at a Novice Intermediate--so I’ve moved up two levels). I’m pretty sure to swear-in that I need to reach a level of Intermediate High. I think, not sure. But it’s exciting to learn that I’m not going down or staying the same, that I’m actually going somewhere, although I feel like I’m reaching my language plateau.

What else…Sunday, a lot of us TEFLers are going to take a bike trip to visit other trainees in Dogbo. It should be a good time and a good excuse to get out of Lokossa. Plus, we can all sit around and discuss where everyone got posted. Yesterday, we went to the house of the volunteers (two current volunteers are always around to help answer and clarify our bazillion questions) and we learned how to make cornbread--it was so delicious. Speaking of food, my cravings for horrible American food are intensifying (the volunteers tell me that they come in waves). I really want a barbeque bacon cheeseburger, or some just horribly delicious Taco Bell, or a big, juicy steak. There is only so many meals of rice with a tomato and onion sauce that I can eat. Tonight, I don’t really know what I ate, but I’m pretty sure that I had boiled potatoes covered in mayonnaise and honey dijion salad dressing--delicious. They love, love mayonnaise and starches here by the way. So good for the body.

Oh! And one more funny story is that yesterday during my language interview, I was supposed to convince rebellious town people that my new idea for a garbage and recycling program was a good one (I had no idea what to say first of all), but I said that garbage is bad for people’s health and that we should gather it all up and put it together than we should all burn it, BUT because I didn’t know that word for burn at the time, I definitely said that we should all smoke it! HAHA. Such a good idea. Why wasn’t I chosen to be in EA?
Oh! And we get our moto helmets tomorrow…finally! So I think that I am going to take a zemi tomorrow at some point just because I can!

Missing Everybody---Love Love Love

Frontier Psychiatrist

2007-08-14T06:39:00.000-07:00

It has officially been one month since my “going-away” party, and it is crazy to think of all that has transpired since that time. A lot. Yikes. I am curious as to how everyone is doing. I have heard from my parents, but everyone else out there, let me know that you’re actually still out there. I won’t be able to respond to everyone (seeing as how the internet to which I have access to about once a week is SUPER slow and also equipped with a French keyboard making typing extremely difficult), but I love reading your emails or posts--so don’t be shy to say hi!

The newest news for me is that on Saturday, during a cooking session, I thought that it would be a good idea to try to slice off the top of my middle finger. Although I was unsuccessfully, I did a pretty good job; it was definitely a valid attempt. You see, I was making yam frites (like French fries) and I was holding the yam in my right hand, cutting with my left and on the first slice through--zip! All the way through to my finger. I knew what I had done immediately and threw down the yam. Pretty shortly after that, one of the guys had gotten me some toilet paper to put on it while I tried to keep the pressure on it. Also at this point, I was sitting down in a chair, and starting to freak out a little bit at the amount of blood I was losing. It was at this point that a facilitator asked me if I needed stitches. I wasn’t sure, so I looked at the wound, saw how deep it was, saw how much blood there was, and immediately started to get light-headed. I said, “I’m getting dizzy” and I meant to follow that with, “I’m going to pass out.” But apparently the second part never came out and out I went--the whole nine yards too. My eyes rolled back, I started to seizure--all for a good 30 seconds or so is what I’m told. Meanwhile, in my brain, I’m flying through the air “Big Lebowski” style, and I actually fly back home, talk to my mom in our kitchen about who knows what, and then tell her I have to go back--this is when I wake up to everyone standing around me staring at me, and after 5 seconds of confusion, I realize that I did, in fact, pass out and utter embarrassment is the only emotion I feel (well that and nausea). Needless to say, I think that I really freaked some people out with my antics. Oops. Conclusion of the story, though, is that after I settled down a bit, I decided that I didn’t REALLY need stitches, and that it could probably heal on it’s own, so that’s what it’s doing, and I think things are going well. I give it a good Dr. Loehrke style cleaning about twice a day, use a band-aid during the day and let it breathe at night, and all signs put to me keeping my middle finger! Hurray!

In other sad news, another one of the volunteers (in Health) decided to leave early due to some medical related reasons. He was definitely an energetic person and really, really fun to be around, and I feel bad that I never really got to do a proper goodbye, but I guess that’s why we should enjoy every moment we’re here, because you never know what’s going to happen.

Other than that, it’s pretty much been the same old same old. Lots of language learning, which I swear is making my English worse. It’s like I can only handle so much language at one time, so as French is sneaking in slowly, my English skills are slowly seeping out. However, my Franglais is quite excellent at the moment. On Thursday this week we are supposed to find out where we will be posted which is obviously quite exciting and nerve-racking, and then next week we go on our post visits, which is sure to be quite the story and quite the wake-up call for pampered little me. No flushing toilets, no running water, no prepared meals, no refrigerator, no one to help translate the French I don’t know, no other stagaires to complain to in the morning, etc. But I’m really excited and ready…I think. Bring on the adventure.

Love Love Love

Getting Better

2007-08-05T02:40:00.000-07:00

I’ve got to admit it’s getting better. Getting better all the time.

Despite the fact that I still have no working vocabulary with which to communicate, I am enjoying every minute of being here in Lokossa. First, because I cannot seem to figure out what my Papa does, I’ve decided that he is the Drug Lord of Lokossa, maybe even all of South Benin. One thing is clear though, he has a lot of money, which, of course, benefits me. The food is great, and perhaps one of the best parts of my day is going to school to brag about all the good stuff my family has been feeding me. Although I must say that one of my favorite meals is breakfast when I simply have powdered milk with sugar in a bowl alongside bread with cheese. It’s simple, but very delicious. I am also beginning to wonder if the other stagaires are only being friends with me so that they can use my bathroom facilities (hmm). Regardless, I love this family. My little brother is still my favorite person in the family. Somehow he has been assigned to eat all his meals with me, which I can’t tell yet if he likes or hates. Anyway, we pretty much eat every meal in silence since I can’t speak French and he can’t speak English, except for at the end after we have both finished our meals we each create a structure of sorts with our leftovers. It’s probably not the politest thing to do (maybe), but it has become our bonding time, so I’ll take it. Yesterday he came into the room with a box, and I asked him what it was. He opened it to reveal that he was keeping a cockroach has a pet. Needless to say, Mama was not very amused especially when Tommy accidentally let the cockroach escape (don’t worry we caught it quickly). Then today, Tommy was wearing this ridiculously goofy red hat. He just cracks me up most of the time. I’m glad to have him as my little brother. And speaking of the excellent food that I have been dining on, I was informed tonight that next Sunday, I am going to help my older sister, Olga, prepare dinner. That could be interesting. I hope that by then I will be able to understand enough that I can follow directions. That, or I will create the worst dinner ever. Maybe I’ll say that I’m full and just make my Papa eat it. I am excited though; I do love to cook.

Anyway, I’m just happy and content to be here. There are definitely rough patches every now again, especially when it comes to language training just because all the new vocabulary and energy to focus can be exhausting (and all the “lower level” learners are going to have to get tutors starting next week for extra language training), but I am still loving the adventure. Love Love Love

PS- Mom, one of my fellow stagaires ate slugs the other day for dinner! (well she didn’t eat them, but they were served to her…yuck!)

Barrytown

2007-08-05T02:37:00.000-07:00

Life in Lokossa is so fun and interesting. I had my first adventure yesterday, when I decided that I would walk alone to the school in the afternoon. Turns out that even though I knew how to get to the school, that’s not where we were supposed to meet. So, as I was walking along the path, a little boy comes running out of his house. I, of course, figure it’s another little kid wanting to say hello to a yovo; however, he precedes to inform me that all the Americans are over there (pointing in the opposite direction I’m going). I ask him, “All the Americans?” Oui. “Do you know where to go?” Oui. Then I stand there and look confused. “All take you.” He says. Hurray! Turns out that he is the little brother of another Peace Corps volunteer and he had walked her to the meeting place earlier. Needless to say, I was very grateful as I would have flipped out a little bit if I had walked to the wrong place. When I did arrive, however, we took a walking tour of Lokossa. Probably most importantly, we found a basketball court that is open all the time. I’m planning on pumping up my basketball and getting all the volunteers to come play on Sunday. I’ve been talking a lot of trash to some people, so I have to make sure that I can back up my game. I should though. I mean I am kind of a legend. : )

Today also marked the first day of language training! I was so happy to begin learning. Hopefully I will start to understand my family better and be able to communicate with them in a more competent way. Right now I’m so glad that I don’t really know what I’m saying, because I think that I would be embarrassed by just how badly I am butchering the language. Ignorance is bliss. I also bought my first items of clothing today. 750 francs each (roughly one dollar and fifty cents). I just bought two “panyas,” which are essentially strips of cloth used for skirts, towels, carrying babies, etc. (anything really). I think they look pretty sweet and this will buy me some more time to try to figure out how to ask my mama to show me how to wash my clothes. My t-shirts could really use a washing. Perhaps tonight I will venture into the washing question. I have to learn at some point, right? Anyway, more language tonight, but right now, the time calls for a shower (or a douche--haha, makes me giggle every time).

Oh! And today some man stopped me on my way to school and was trying to get me to ride on his zemi. I wanted to but figured it was against my better judgment in addition to the fact that I still don’t have a zemi helmet. (I did get my bike today though!) The man was super nice. I told him my French was really bad, and he said that his English was really bad, so we talked about what we could understand then laughed at each and we continued on our separate ways. But just another example of how nice the people here have been to me. Love Love Love

Somewhere Out There

2007-08-05T02:36:00.001-07:00

Wow! Quite a bit has happened since I last wrote…mastering this blog-thing is going to be trickier than anticipated. Anyway. We landed in Cotonou on our first night safe and sound. The flight over was long, but I had a good travel buddy, and so we mostly played games on the screens in front of us or just talked the whole time--it was nice. Let it be known that some intense games of checkers, chess, and connect four were had. After landing, it was quite a mess to get our luggage, but we did and only one bag was left behind in Paris, which, all things considered, isn’t too bad. The best part of the arrival was when we walked through a tunnel of current Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV’s) cheering us on as we herded ourselves through. (I have found that much of the Peace Corps experience is one of Hurry Up and Wait). Buses then took our luggage and ourselves to our destination where we were greeted by more PCV’s ready and willing to help us into our rooms. We quickly dropped our baggage and made our way to the dining hall where there was a short ceremony. The whole thing was fantastic and my mind was swirling the whole time just trying to take in everything--a task that is pretty much impossible.

For the next four days of our Pre-Service Training (PST) we remained pretty busy during the day either getting shots, being debriefed on cross-culture differences, a little bit of language training (along with a language interview…ahhh), or any other informational activity the Peace Corps (PC) could think of for us to do. By far the best part for me was having a walking tour of Cotonou. It was just nice to see things from the ground versus the bus that they were shuttling us back and forth with. I did feel like we were a bit of a Yovo (African word for foreigner meaning “white person) parade, which we probably were. And also, yovo is supposed to be this horribly annoying term--and maybe after two years it will be--but right now I just find it flattering. The people don’t mean it as an insult, there are just excited and curious. Plus, I figure that I have never really had a nickname and “white person” describes me about just as well as anything that I could think of, so why not? Coming in a close second for highlights of PST was the zemidjan (motorcycle) training. We learned how to call the zemi over, how to negotiate a price, and finally how to ride the bad boy (not driving, of course). It was so fun and the zemi drivers are crazy, but somehow you don’t feel that scared to ride--sort of like riding a taxi in NYC. Like, “wow, I would never do that in my car, but they must know what they’re doing.” The zemis will weave in and out of traffic and come inches from cars. It’s fantastic. Total exhilaration. While they kept of busy during the day, the nights were pretty much free for us trainees to unleash and unwind. It was a great time to get to know people better and things even became nauseatingly movie-esque (two people playing guitar with a flute while others danced around and locals hummed to the tune, others playing Frisbee in the distance, others watching and talking while sipping on a beer or enjoying a cigarette, and still others sitting on the hard cement playing cards under the lights). It had hippie written all over it. The best way to describe the first few days was like being at summer camp…in Africa.

Now I find myself living in a small village with my host family (all the other TEFL trainees are around here too). It is nice to be here, but it was strangely difficult to say goodbye for awhile to all the other trainees from other programs. Even though I had only really known them for a few days, they were there for a huge change in my life, and it is interesting how quickly one can bond with people when everyone has similar goals, similar interests, and similar backgrounds. We had a very good crew, too. A lot of dynamic personalities…lots of very funny people. At my host family‘s house, I am still enjoying the lifestyle of Peace Corps light. I have electricity, I have running water (thought it still has to be boiled), I have a shower--with tiled floor!, I have a flushing toilet!, I have a mama to cook me all my meals…I pretty much have it made. It’s quite nice. My next adventure is going to the market tomorrow with my sister to buy some tissue (fabric). That should be interesting. Also, I need to figure out how my family washes their clothes. It seems like such a simple concept, but is very difficult with the language barrier. The language barrier is a little rough--not only because I do not know much of the language, but because West African French is different from French French--the style, the accent, etc. Official language training begins tomorrow and I am excited to begin. My family is very nice, and I really look forward to being able to communicate with them better. I feel very alien right now even though they are so welcoming. Okay. Running out of power. Love Love Love.

PS--Mom I got my letter today! I was the first trainee to receive mail!!!

Long Time Comin'

2007-07-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

Approximately 20 minutes remain until we get on the plane to leave to go to Paris and then to Cotonou, Benin! Lots of excitement is in the air, and I have so much anticipation about what the next 9 weeks of pre-service training and then the rest of the two years will bring. Yesterday brought another day of lots to do highlighted mainly by meeting lots of great, wonderful people. Everyone here is so nice and so easy to talk to about anything, and it's great to have this big of a support system around for something this big. My only complaint so far is that they put me on Doxycycline (a once a day pill) for malaria and one of the side effects is that it increases sensitivity to the sun. Great! As if I didn't already have problems with my skin burning! haha : ) Oh well, I think I'll learn to manage. Anyway. The time is approaching! Love

Happy Birthday

2007-07-17T19:48:00.000-07:00

What a whirlwind of a day! My flights to Philly went quite smoothly, and I arrived to the airport without any trouble; however, once I met up with several other volunteers, things began to unravel a little bit. First, we waited on the wrong side to catch a shuttle to the hotel--not to mention at this point one of the girl's luggage at already been lost/not made it to Philly. Anyway, we were all under the impression that they continually ran a shuttle back and forth. Oops! We were wrong. So we finally figured out that we had to go call for a bus service to come pick us up, but that took way longer than it should have--not to mention that it took forever just to figure that out because everyone kept seeming to tell us the wrong information. Anyway, once we got the bus it was already 2:00 (remember I arrived at the airport at 12:00 and check-in ends at 3:00). We all thought that we would be fine on time except for that there were several other people in the van with us volunteers that caused us to take a very long and scenic path to our hotel. Luckily we were with some very nice locals that gave us an overview of what to see if we had the time. So, we arrive at the hotel at 2:45 and we have to rush through check-in and needless to say we are the last to arrive and have to find a seat amongst tables of people who have already been socailizing for the past days or hours! oy! So we take are seats and begin the 4 hour lecture--which doesn't seem that long until you remember that I have eaten since 4 a.m.! So after lots of lecturing we finally get released at which point I get to check-into my room and meet my roomie (not as cool as ewa!!!!) and finally get some food!!!! Roomie and me headed down and met up with a larger group as we all wandered around until we found a philly cheesesteak place at which point I said, "good enough for me" and headed in. It was delicious and was followed up by some gelatto. fantastic! After that, we all headed back and then my and another girl and two other guys decided to walk around and possibly look for some rechargable batteries/get a drink to toast my birthday. No rechargable batteries were found, but a cute bar was and we got drinks and played some pool. It was a good time and an overall great birthday. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings! Lots of shots to be sure, which, of course, I'm a little excited about with my druggie past and all. Sending out lots of love from Philly!!!

Streets of Philadelphia

2007-07-16T20:24:00.000-07:00

wow!!! The day has almost arrived. I have discovered that I have met it with much anticipation, excitement, and nervousness. I have discovered that saying goodbye to friends and family is incredibly draining despite trying to spread it out over several weeks. I have discovered (as I have told many of you) that I know the most amazing group of people, and it is everyone's unconditional support and encouragement that has made making this transition so easy, and yet it is everyone's love and kindness that will make leaving so very hard because I will miss everyone so much--curse the dualities of life that constantly plaque me! : ) With that said, I am going to try to get a little bit of sleep before the big day (doubtful that I'll get any)

p.s. From now on, for lack of creativity and because it will be a fun game for everyone, I will now title my journal entries with a song that may or may not have anything to do with the actual journal. Regardless, you should figure out the artist and then go listen to that song. For this first one, I decided Bruce was the only person who could truly send me off right : )

one week

2007-07-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

My departure is nearing at an alarming rate and despite feeling like I've really made an effort to be as prepared as possible for leaving, I am beginning to realize just how much I still have to do!! I just know that I'm going to be figuring things out up until the last minute (aka-I'll be cramming everything into my backpack at 4 in the morning on the 17th). Seriously though, how can anyone really prepare for being gone for two years? I don't know if you can--Especially knowing that there is no real way to get it right. There is going to be things that I pack that I never use, and then there is going to be random stuff that I decided to leave behind that I'll wish I'd brought. It's all part of the adventure though, and I'll figure it out--I usually do. Anyway, I'm freaking out a little bit, but I just have to keep telling myself that it will work out somehow.

dreams and goodbyes

2007-07-03T20:59:00.000-07:00

At this point--with approximately 14 days until I leave--I have had 4 nightmares about packing or arriving. Usually I'm on the plane and realize that I have forgotten something, or we are getting ready to leave and I realize that I have packed all the wrong things. The most recent one however has been slightly more disturbing in that before Peace Corps was about to send us away they piled all the volunteers into this locker room and told us to strip down at which point they did the Shawshank spray us off with a fire hose and then douse us in powder. The even stranger part was that as we stood there naked, they said okay, now it's time to say goodbye to friends and family, and in came all our friends and family to say these tearful goodbyes as we awkwardly tried to cover ourselves. The dream went on in a much more not so strange matter except that I couldn't remember any of the volunteers names and so I felt bad. Regardless, it's reassuring to know that I'm not stressed at all about everything...haha. I actually don't feel too nervous still, at least not on a conscious level. : )

The biggest thing to note is that I finally made my trip to Ohio to say goodbye to most of my college buddies. It was a fantastic time and I pretty much held it together until I was driving away after my final goodbye. I'm definitely going to miss those girls. At the same time, I am so excited for this opportunity, and I know that this is exactly what a want and need. Still, it was really really hard to say goodbye--I'm hoping that it will prepare me for saying goodbye to my family and friends from home.

Really Really Real

2007-06-21T20:30:00.000-07:00

Booked my flight to Philly today! It was a big step and a good step. Of course, I took the later of the two flights offered just so that I could sleep in a little bit longer. I feel like quality sleep may be a luxury that I should take advantage of for as long as I can ..even if it's only an hour and a half longer. : ) Regardless, I am very, very excited, and I cannot wait to see what adventures Benin will bring. Also, while I am arranging to leave, my parents are arranging for friends to come visit so that they will not be so lonely and sad in dealing with my absence. Oh parents. Philly t-minus 25 days!!! (26?...soon!!!)

Good Times

2007-06-20T16:41:00.000-07:00

Hurray for good things! Two days ago I received my staging kit (going to Philadelphia--the city of brotherly love!!!), got my social security card stuff faxed into the state and SATO travel offices (we sent an ironically large copy), been spending lots of good time with family and friends, and today I finally took the GRE...yuck, but hurry for being done. Looking through the staging kit was pretty cool. I had a few moments of "oh my god" it's really real--especially when I saw the international itinerary. Truly, very excited and cannot wait for this new adventure to begin. Also, I want to back up a little bit and explain myself. This blog was created mostly for friends and family, but for any other trainees or stagaires or people who wander upon this, my hope is that this blog will be able to serve as a reflection of my thoughts and feelings throughout my service in the Peace Corps. Perhaps, it's self-explanatory, but I don't really know how often I will be able to write, but I do plan to bring my computer, so hopefully I can at least update once a month. Also, for the first three months of my training in Benin, my address will be:

Carly Loehrke, PCT
Corps de la Paix Americain
O1 B.P. 971
Cotonou, Benin
Afrique de l'Ouest (West Africa)

The Peace Corps also recommends that you number all your enevelopes (to make sure I get them all!) as well as writing "Air Mail" and "Par Avion" on the letters.

Lately, it seems that most of my energy as gone towards very mundane things as well as studying for the GRE, but with that out of the way I am ready to look more intensely at the language CD given to me by the Peace Corps. Time to brush up on some French! C'est bon! Also, a couple days ago, I watched the first three sections of a five part movie put together by a return Peace Corps volunteer to Benin in 2004. The video chronicles his journey back to his village as well as tells the story of living in Benin in general. My father bought the DVD off amazon.com the moment he learned that I was going to Benin. Oh dad... The DVD itself is fairly interesting. I suppose that most of it is information or stuff that I would expect to see, so nothing super shocking. Still, fun to watch, and it makes me even more excited to go (which I think is a good sign--I would be worried if I felt the opposite). That's all for now. I will call tomorrow to get my flight information for Philly as I will actually be home for once during office hours! : )

One More Thing

2007-06-14T16:48:00.000-07:00

The offices of SATO travel Peace Corps called me today to inform that the State could not issue me a Peace Corps passport, and that I would need to mail them a legible, enlarged copy of my social security card. GRRR.... It seems as though everytime that I think that I have cleared the last hurdle with Peace Corps, there is something else. I just hope that this doesn't delay my departure at all. Not to mention that I am confused as to what the snag is anyway, considering that I already have a valid and up to date Passport of my own that I sent in with my Peace Corps passport application. I guess that I'll just have to pretend that this is another "test" to see if I am truly ready to serve--it's all a conspiracy theory! Another than that huge snag, I am still really excited for my depature. I am finally starting to make purchases, which means that I am finally starting to think about what I don't have and what I need to have to get by the next two years. That's all for now. Cheers