It's actually the end of week 5, but I'm skipping ahead optimistically. Wednesday night I awakened to something tickling my neck at one a.m.... I surfaced from my dream just long enough to pluck it off and set it next to my pillow. I began to drift off again when I jolted awake, realizing something unusual had just taken place and having just enough night vision to make out a dark shape moving on the white sheet next to my pillow. I darted from the bed, flicked on the light, and observed the most horrifying sight imaginable: a giant, shiny, clicking cockroach, writhing and kicking at the air RIGHT WHERE MY FACE HAD JUST BEEN. Words can't describe the adrenaline rush of going from stage 4 sleep to a near death experience. I sat at my desk trembling and listening to the thus of my heart in my face as I contemplated my next move. If I tried to grab it too softly, it would escape me and scuttle away. If I grab too forcefully, I will be able to feel it and it might grow fangs and bite me... or worse. I compromised and settles on dousing it with DEET. I yanked back the mosquito net and sprayed it in the face, and the guilt was all-consuming, but it had to be done. The beast hissed and kicked but didn't die. Now time was of the essence because I was aware of its suffering, but I stood in distress and hesitation, each second feeling like eternity. I decided to try my failed tactic again. I sprayed for ten seconds but it still writhed. Panicking, I grabbed my TP and pulled off a hefty bunch. I ran back to the bed, made a swift motion which essentially amounted to punching the bug, then picked it up and stared at it. The kicking legs pled for mercy but all I heard in my mind was "Survive... survive" over and over. Under my breath I muttered "survive," and slowly reached up with the other hand. With one final **CRACK** I split the body of my nemesis into halves. His suffering ended; mine did not. Rapidly and with shaky hands I dropped his lifeless body into sa small black sack, ran through the house, and plopped it by the fornt door. I sprinted back to my bedroom but found no sactuary. My bed, now a stranger to me, mocked my heavy eyes as I sat and wondered what to do with the adrenaline still raging through me. Then the rabbits in the hutches outside began to kick and fight, trying to chew their way out of their prisons. No doubt they were being devoured by mosquitos as I was being devoured by my weakness. Sitting in my room, unable to go to bed but unable to stay awake, terrified to make a decision and suffering along with the rabbits outside... this was my lowest moment so far.
BUT: my french is improving. My friendships are solidifying. I got some fun clothes made and decorated my moto helmet. I'm learning a lot and in another week and a half I will spend five days alone at my post. I couldn't be more excited or nervous. It's the exact same anticipation I experienced before coming here but now I know I can survive it. I have daily spiritual catharses and feel closer to complete than in a long time. I realized that for me, suffering and pleasure are equally valuable in terms of the intensity of the experience, and that often I learn more from the former. However, suffering is relative and I also realize that I know nothing of it on a grand scale.
So much to report, so little time to blog about it. I'll probably just keep using this as an outlet for learning to tell stories and save the details for my journal. Love you all. If there is anything specific you want to know, write or call me! I've only received one letter since arriving here, and am not sure where they are lurking, but it would be great to get more!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Personal Reflections on Technical Visit to Bante
Just got back from a visit to Bante, a village about 200 km North-Northwest of Porto Novo (250 km drive, though, due to having to take a major detour south through Cotonou because it is really the only highway in Benin). Four of us from the RCH program headed up there on Wednesday morning and returned Saturday afternoon. We visited a volunteer in her 50’s who does RCH work up there in conjunction with the local health center. As part of the “technical” aspect of our technical visit we zemmed out to a nearby village, Banon, and observed/helped with a baby weighing and immunization session there.
This was my first taste of true village life in rural Africa. Upon arriving (I was first), I was offered a chair and there I sat while the worker from the health center went to find his counterpart in village. Children, adults, animals even, gathered in a large circle with myself perched in its radius repeating “bonjour” as I made eye contact or, rather, tried. It seems the children are shyer than elsewhere and uncomfortable with being singled out like that so I put on my sunglasses and sat for almost twenty minutes, a one woman show with no lines and an unlimited supply of self-conscious smiles. At one point a scraggy dog approached me, sniffing the ground near my feet, to which a woman promptly responded with a painful war cry, kicking off her sandal in a blur and walloping the dog on the hindquarter before I had even a thought of acting to prevent it. I mumbled “that’s uncomfortable” to myself as a meager attempt at humor/consolation but nothing doing. I failed to comprehend her reasons for beating a half-starved mange-ridden dog because I remain a culturally insensitive American with one month‘s history in Benin to work with. The difficulty, now, lies in attempting to reconcile my (painfully) deeply ingrained beliefs about the treatment of animals and children with the often seemingly opposite beliefs about said treatment held by the Beninese. I am going to have to understand and accept that there are everyday occurrences over which I have no control, but acceptance in Banon became much harder as my visit to unfolded.
We began to weigh babies when all of the paperwork was in order and the mothers were gathered round, waiting. A couple of hours into it, during the immunizing, I looked over and saw a girl of maybe seven or eight holding the tiniest, frailest baby I have ever seen. I said to my friend that the baby looked severely malnourished, but he replied “Its head is cone shaped from being born. It’s still less than three weeks old.”
“Nah, something about her proportions just looks intuitively wrong,“ I replied unconvincingly. True, her overall size would have indicated a newborn, but her face. She had but a tiny patch of hair on her head, a soft black triangle at the tip of her forehead, and the skin of her scalp and face was loose. Her eyes were wide open, big, round and shiny and looking everywhere with intent, not the way the puffy new lids of a three week-old house straying, wandering new eyes. She knew how to use her eyes, had had plenty of practice. They were sunken though, and as seemed to be common practice in Banon, ash or some other form of eye makeup had been applied around her lids, adding to the effect not of vitality but of sickness, weakness. My eyes moved from the wrinkles on her face and scalp to her limbs. Her arms were thin and limp. She laced and unlaced her fingers in tactile exploration over her puffy, swollen tummy. Her little legs appeared bowed from shin to ankle, either due to a vitamin deficiency or from not having enough meat on her bones. Her feet were crossed. The girl holding her looked at her lovingly and bounced her as though she were a Cabbage Patch doll, then smiled at me, no doubt having taken interest in my unwavering gaze at the little life in her arms. We were both fascinated by the baby girl, each for entirely different reasons.
I learned shortly that the baby girl is five months old. She weighs three kilos, or 6.6 lbs. We have learned in classes that it is highly unlikely that a baby this malnourished can be saved, . I plotted her growth on the chart: indeed, very deep into the “red.” Soon, she will die. I was in Banon Friday morning; she may even be dead now. I do not know, and never will.
Why, right? Why why why why why. Ask it as many times as you like and I’ll give you the same answer: money. Her mother is neither wicked nor evil (I realize in hindsight; picturing her as villainess provided me an outlet for my outrage and helplessness while in Banon). She has another baby and several other children to care for. I learn through translation, for she does not speak French but only Cha, the local language, that the baby will nurse but will not gain weight. This means she is most likely infected with a parasite or other disease preventing her from growing properly, and her mother states she does not have the money to travel the 10km to Bante (which costs about 500CFA, or $1 USD) and have her baby seen at hospital, which would cost more. I want to tell her that a funeral is going to cost more, but I know the baby cannot be saved by me, and I don’t have the words or power within me to change this situation.
Frustration? Doesn’t come close. Helplessness? Closer. Utter exasperation at the system and terror of the insignificance of my role within it? Closer still. I don’t speak French yet. I can get around and survive, but I’m not about to enter into an argument with a mother I don’t know about her economic circumstances and the impact on her family’s health, even is she did understand French. The conflict in me… SAY SOMETHING! THIS BABY IS GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON’T! Beaten out by It wouldn’t matter if you spoke Cha. It wouldn’t matter if you handed her the cash to have her baby treated. The girl would most likely die anyway, I can’t make it right. I can’t fix this. And it isn’t my job to. I am here to teach mothers about the importance of breastfeeding and slow weaning, proper nutrition for themselves while they are pregnant and breastfeeding, utilizing a variety of foods for a well-rounded family diet, hygiene and sanitation, etc. Prevention. Yes, I will catch babies who may be slipping toward the dreaded yellow line on the growth chart, will discuss with their mothers how to bring them back up to the center of the green “safe” zone, but No. I am not a miracle worker and I can’t save a dying baby. If I can accept this, I will have more success in ensuring the health and safety of babies and mothers at my post and the surrounding communities, but if I assume personal responsibility for each of them, I will become overwhelmed and fail. All I can do is provide education, tools and resources to help people take care of themselves. I cannot do it for them and I must promise myself I will not chase the impossible, lofty goals so many of us imagine upon signing on to a job like this.
I am focusing on the fact that my witnessing a phenomenon doesn’t cause it to happen. It is a reality external of my observation of it. I take, if not solace, than a degree of relief in this knowledge. What I haven’t figured out yet is the extent to which my observation obliges me to act. I am drawn into to everything I see, but isn’t it almost egomaniacal to think that I must be a part of it? The ethics of my position here continue to evade me, but I have plenty of time to figure out and really could go on forever in knots. Maybe Shane can help me untie them when next I see him.
The rest of our visit to Bante was nice. I learned what has been causing my diarrhea: Dr. Lomo called from the PCMO office to say there was Giardia in my stool sample. Went to pharmacy and she prescribed Tinidazole over the phone. Took 4 tabs that night, and with the one-dose blast to the system, I am pleased to report that the Giardians have either died or moved on, no longer finding my upper bowel a cozy habitat for their swimming, leaping and churning. I don’t miss them, but nonetheless I have a notion that if they fail to visit in the near future, one of their close cousins will come to call.
In the meantime, I continue to sort out Life In Africa. It’s new to me, you know.
This was my first taste of true village life in rural Africa. Upon arriving (I was first), I was offered a chair and there I sat while the worker from the health center went to find his counterpart in village. Children, adults, animals even, gathered in a large circle with myself perched in its radius repeating “bonjour” as I made eye contact or, rather, tried. It seems the children are shyer than elsewhere and uncomfortable with being singled out like that so I put on my sunglasses and sat for almost twenty minutes, a one woman show with no lines and an unlimited supply of self-conscious smiles. At one point a scraggy dog approached me, sniffing the ground near my feet, to which a woman promptly responded with a painful war cry, kicking off her sandal in a blur and walloping the dog on the hindquarter before I had even a thought of acting to prevent it. I mumbled “that’s uncomfortable” to myself as a meager attempt at humor/consolation but nothing doing. I failed to comprehend her reasons for beating a half-starved mange-ridden dog because I remain a culturally insensitive American with one month‘s history in Benin to work with. The difficulty, now, lies in attempting to reconcile my (painfully) deeply ingrained beliefs about the treatment of animals and children with the often seemingly opposite beliefs about said treatment held by the Beninese. I am going to have to understand and accept that there are everyday occurrences over which I have no control, but acceptance in Banon became much harder as my visit to unfolded.
We began to weigh babies when all of the paperwork was in order and the mothers were gathered round, waiting. A couple of hours into it, during the immunizing, I looked over and saw a girl of maybe seven or eight holding the tiniest, frailest baby I have ever seen. I said to my friend that the baby looked severely malnourished, but he replied “Its head is cone shaped from being born. It’s still less than three weeks old.”
“Nah, something about her proportions just looks intuitively wrong,“ I replied unconvincingly. True, her overall size would have indicated a newborn, but her face. She had but a tiny patch of hair on her head, a soft black triangle at the tip of her forehead, and the skin of her scalp and face was loose. Her eyes were wide open, big, round and shiny and looking everywhere with intent, not the way the puffy new lids of a three week-old house straying, wandering new eyes. She knew how to use her eyes, had had plenty of practice. They were sunken though, and as seemed to be common practice in Banon, ash or some other form of eye makeup had been applied around her lids, adding to the effect not of vitality but of sickness, weakness. My eyes moved from the wrinkles on her face and scalp to her limbs. Her arms were thin and limp. She laced and unlaced her fingers in tactile exploration over her puffy, swollen tummy. Her little legs appeared bowed from shin to ankle, either due to a vitamin deficiency or from not having enough meat on her bones. Her feet were crossed. The girl holding her looked at her lovingly and bounced her as though she were a Cabbage Patch doll, then smiled at me, no doubt having taken interest in my unwavering gaze at the little life in her arms. We were both fascinated by the baby girl, each for entirely different reasons.
I learned shortly that the baby girl is five months old. She weighs three kilos, or 6.6 lbs. We have learned in classes that it is highly unlikely that a baby this malnourished can be saved, . I plotted her growth on the chart: indeed, very deep into the “red.” Soon, she will die. I was in Banon Friday morning; she may even be dead now. I do not know, and never will.
Why, right? Why why why why why. Ask it as many times as you like and I’ll give you the same answer: money. Her mother is neither wicked nor evil (I realize in hindsight; picturing her as villainess provided me an outlet for my outrage and helplessness while in Banon). She has another baby and several other children to care for. I learn through translation, for she does not speak French but only Cha, the local language, that the baby will nurse but will not gain weight. This means she is most likely infected with a parasite or other disease preventing her from growing properly, and her mother states she does not have the money to travel the 10km to Bante (which costs about 500CFA, or $1 USD) and have her baby seen at hospital, which would cost more. I want to tell her that a funeral is going to cost more, but I know the baby cannot be saved by me, and I don’t have the words or power within me to change this situation.
Frustration? Doesn’t come close. Helplessness? Closer. Utter exasperation at the system and terror of the insignificance of my role within it? Closer still. I don’t speak French yet. I can get around and survive, but I’m not about to enter into an argument with a mother I don’t know about her economic circumstances and the impact on her family’s health, even is she did understand French. The conflict in me… SAY SOMETHING! THIS BABY IS GOING TO DIE IF YOU DON’T! Beaten out by It wouldn’t matter if you spoke Cha. It wouldn’t matter if you handed her the cash to have her baby treated. The girl would most likely die anyway, I can’t make it right. I can’t fix this. And it isn’t my job to. I am here to teach mothers about the importance of breastfeeding and slow weaning, proper nutrition for themselves while they are pregnant and breastfeeding, utilizing a variety of foods for a well-rounded family diet, hygiene and sanitation, etc. Prevention. Yes, I will catch babies who may be slipping toward the dreaded yellow line on the growth chart, will discuss with their mothers how to bring them back up to the center of the green “safe” zone, but No. I am not a miracle worker and I can’t save a dying baby. If I can accept this, I will have more success in ensuring the health and safety of babies and mothers at my post and the surrounding communities, but if I assume personal responsibility for each of them, I will become overwhelmed and fail. All I can do is provide education, tools and resources to help people take care of themselves. I cannot do it for them and I must promise myself I will not chase the impossible, lofty goals so many of us imagine upon signing on to a job like this.
I am focusing on the fact that my witnessing a phenomenon doesn’t cause it to happen. It is a reality external of my observation of it. I take, if not solace, than a degree of relief in this knowledge. What I haven’t figured out yet is the extent to which my observation obliges me to act. I am drawn into to everything I see, but isn’t it almost egomaniacal to think that I must be a part of it? The ethics of my position here continue to evade me, but I have plenty of time to figure out and really could go on forever in knots. Maybe Shane can help me untie them when next I see him.
The rest of our visit to Bante was nice. I learned what has been causing my diarrhea: Dr. Lomo called from the PCMO office to say there was Giardia in my stool sample. Went to pharmacy and she prescribed Tinidazole over the phone. Took 4 tabs that night, and with the one-dose blast to the system, I am pleased to report that the Giardians have either died or moved on, no longer finding my upper bowel a cozy habitat for their swimming, leaping and churning. I don’t miss them, but nonetheless I have a notion that if they fail to visit in the near future, one of their close cousins will come to call.
In the meantime, I continue to sort out Life In Africa. It’s new to me, you know.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Today- Weighing Babies!!
Today was awesome! I got my “hands” dirty (by which I mean feet, because a baby peed on them). The RCH trainees went to Vikon, a village quite near my own future village of Djigbe, and weighed babies! It was really fun. Hectic, but the moms were way into it there so it was encouraging to see. Some of them were so fat they were almost too big to fit into the sling! It’s funny cause we plot their weights on a growth chart for each baby so the mom can see the month-by-month trajectory for her child’s growth for the first three years, and it’s supposed to facilitate a discussion about malnourishment or just praise that the mother is doing well, but some of the babies were beyond the “healthy weight” category. There must have been about 75 mothers and babies there. We split into two groups of 7 volunteers and weighed all of them. Then one of our facilitators asked for a spokesperson to speak to the chief of the village on behalf of our group so I got up and thanked him for allowing us to come into his village and learn about babies’ health.. I also said something in Goun, not sure what but a PCV whispered it to me beforehand, so when I said it they all laughed including the chief. Must have been a good thing. It was a really enriching experience. I came home and Carole and I went to the Yovo store, la Championne or something like that. It was nice- I got 6 rolls of TP (thank god for buying in bulk), some weird marmalade to try (it’s delicious), some soap and a pack of cigarettes, just cause. We then stopped at a family friend’s home and they gave us a cold beer which was amazing. Now I’m at the cyber café and quite sad because although the speed of the internet is good todits of americana. e lots of good ones to share! I’ll try them on Facebook and see if that works. Miss you all and love you!
P.S. If you are dying to send me something, items on my wish list include: face wash (anything that exfoliates- don't care how cheap!), candy, pens, a ped-egg or some kind of foot file, a loofah (seriously- this one's important as I can't seem to wash the dirt completely off, ever), and other little bits of Americana. Or just call me... that's on my wish list, too : )
Yesterday-- my post!!!
The pics are of my bedroom, the front of our house, the front courtyard/gate, and two more of my room. Also, the map of the southern half of Benin shows the location of my post. And, there's one of Lou dancing in a village near there. Yesterday, I found out where my post will be!! I will be living in Hozin, about 10 km north of Porto-Novo. This means that I will be very close to my host family, which Maman is extremely excited about (she’s already talking about me coming for Christmas) as well as many other things, like the huge Ouando market where I can buy all kinds of vegetables and even some imported things, like apples and nutella! I will be living in Djigbe, a village of roughly 2,800 people (not to be confused with all the other places in Benin called Djigbe; this one isn’t on the map but is located within the arrondissment of Hozin, approx. 10,000 people). The major languages spoken there are Nagot and Goun. My host family speaks Goun, so maybe I can get some training! I will be working with an NGO called Association Foi a la Providence (Association for Faith in Providence), or AFAP for short. AFAP currently works in 24 villages and they also have a hostel in Porto-Novo which I can use anytime I want to come work here. AFAP will be paying my rent and I will report to them for project ideas, etc. My main job duties will be health and nutrition education, HIV/AIDS education, cooking demonstrations, nutritional recuperation, hygiene and sanitation, soy and moringa activities and installation of gardens.
The NGO has its main center near where I will be living. They are very active in health education and training women in breastfeeding and nutrition. They also have extensive infrastructure, including an orphanage, a health center, a training center, and a 4x4. They have several health workers that work in surrounding villages and all of them sleep at the center. I will be most likely be assisting with and/or conducting baby weighings once a month in each village surrounding me and there are about 55 babies at each weighing. AFAP is also very involved in soybean education and production. I will be learning how to make soy cheese and teaching mothers how to make it as a nutritious protein supplement for their children! I am so excited about this and can’t wait to get started.
I have electricity and cell phone coverage in my village. My house has two bedrooms and a living room. I am replacing a volunteer who was there for a year then transferred to Cotonou to help with projects there, so I will have access to her knowledge as well. I’m sure she will be a vital resource to me during the upcoming time of transition. I have heard from people who stayed with her, “Ooh! You have such a nice house!” so I feel very lucky about my post. In terms of work, proximity to fresh produce, proximity to my good friend Lou (he’s within bike riding distance!!!) and getting to live in a village while having access to a city, t really is just exactly what I wanted. I am so excited and can’t believe I have 6 more weeks to go until I get there! If only I absorbed French as easily as the technical training…
Home life is good here. Things are going smoothly. There was a cockroach in my room the other night and we did battle… did you know that they fly? Well, the ones here do. They are loud as hell and utterly terrifying, so by “did battle,” I mean that I hid under my mosquito net while it dive-bombed at my face and hissed and buzzed angrily. Clearly, it was out for blood. I managed to find a chance to sneak over and open my bedroom door, while it was across the room rummaging noisily through my things, but when it returned it hesitated then went BEHIND the door. Lodged between the door and my wall, the entomological frenzy increased until it sounded like a war was being waged between a jackhammer and a dying hyena. I put earplugs in when I stopped trembling and eventually my heart rate slowed to a pace which allowed me to drift off (at least, until I woke up an hour later to run to the toilet for the thirteenth time that day and yes, I kept track). I awoke in the morning to find my opponent belly up, having died from exhaustion. I realized that in the states, this is something I would have felt bad about, a needless death which I could have prevented by catching it and taking it outside. Here in Africa, it was one of my first major triumphs. Falling asleep while knowingly in the company of a raging, bloodthirsty beast, while surely not the most difficult obstacle this far, but nonetheless I was able to tell myself “I WILL become accustomed to this.” It’s all about first steps right now.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Big Day Tomorrow!
Day 19. Tomorrow, I find out where my post will be. I am terrified, anxious, thrilled and ecstatic. Things are great here and I’m journaling everyday. There are a lot of things I’ve had to de-sentitize to, such as the role of women and the way children are regarded, the treatment of animals and the environmental quality, but not to such an extent that I am traumatized or depressed. Benin keeps me guessing with its limitless surprises. I love the little lizards of every color that inhabit the concrete walls of Porto-Novo. I love the tiny footprints in the sand that tell stories about the children who have played there. I love the freshness of the food and the availability of produce on every street corner. I love the street culture: the people here live OUTSIDE their homes, not in them, and know the names and families of most who pass. I love the collectivist mentality and the communication among neighbors and families. I love the simplicity of the pleasure of doing laundry by hand. I love getting to explore a new city by bicycle. I love the exhilaration of zooming around on the back of a Zemidjan and the knowledge that I can get to where I need to go, alone. I love the support of my fellow PCVTs and knowing that all my “first times” aren’t solely mine. I love that I get to come to the states and visit in nine months and tell you all what it is like to live in Africa.
Some details for now: The yards are sand and must be swept of trash daily. Trash is burned where it lies. My house is made of concrete and is very nice by Beninese standards. We have a well in the yard as our water source. I bathe in a bucket because although we have a shower, it is cold and I like to be able to control the flow of chilly water over my body (I can wash and rinse my hair and body with about two gallons of water). My family raises rabbits and they are kept in a hutch in the backyard. I have crashed my bike three times because I hit sand pits in the road and I fishtail and fall off. People (mostly children) yell “Yovo!” at me everywhere I go, but what a friend told me to say is “On veulent dire ‘Madame,” n’est-ce pas?” which (if I spelled that correctly) means, “We can say ‘Madam,” can’t we?” Apparently it stops them dead in their tracks and they just gape. Implying that someone has bad manners is a major stab here- it’s like insulting their mother. The ‘Madame” phrase isn’t exactly doing that but it’s getting there. One thing a volunteer told me that stood out is that in an argument with a Beninese person, you can just repeat a statement over and over and this is just as valid as arguing a point. He is an environmental action volunteer and the example he used was “We should plant trees.” He was met with some resistance at first (economic resources, mostly) but after and hour or so heard “Wait… you know what we should do? We should plant trees!” I am told that this method is effective in all walks of life, and have found it to be true when haggling with Zem-drivers (since I don’t know French, I just repeat “Cen francs” (sahn-frahn) until they agree and nod the go-ahead for me to board. No point arguing with a yovo who doesn’t understand anyway!
I purchased a bunch of tissue (fabric) at the market on Saturday and took it to a tailor. I’m exci9ted to see how the clothes look. I picked designs from some posters full of photos of dresses and skirts, and will get the clothes in about a week and a half. Must try to stay the same size until then : ) I eat a lot of rice and pate (pronounced pot) with oily sauces. Very yummy food but not easy on the waistline. I think when I cook for myself I will use a lot less oil but I am LOVING having my family cook for me because they actually know how. My dies is essentially vegan except for the bi-daily egg. They gave us multi-vitamins today but they are tiny so I’m not sure how complete they are. Mom’s sending more (thanks mom). I am stuck in my glasses due to tearing my final contact lens (I now have two functional left lenses and no rights. I tried wearing both the lefts- only lasted two seconds). I just realized I use a lot of (parentheses). Wearing glasses while biking in the rain nets some funny looks and an interestingly distorted perspective of the road.
Electricity is on and off, depending on availability and usage. When too many people use too many appliances there are blackouts which vary in size and length. I have lantern and two flashlights in my room, though. We have a flush toilet, too, which rocks. A fellow PCVT told me there was a rat in her toilet this morning. It wasn’t dealt with humanely, but that is simply not a way of thinking here. Maybe I can talk to new friends about this when I get to village and at least introduce the concept. PCVTs have been afflicted by all kinda of things: food poisoning, repeated bike crashes, getting lost, bug caught in the eye, diarrhea, constipation, bitten by a dog, broken teeth (3 of us now), sexual harassment, rashes, fatigue, etc. Fortunately, the Peace Corps gives us tools to deal with ALL of it and the med unit is quite nice (I considered bashing out another tooth so I could spend the night with an air conditioner and take a hot shower in the morning). I haven’t used nearly as much electricity as I thought I would either. I haven’t charged my ipod or used the rechargeable batteries I brought. Many things I brought will not be used until I get to post because I do have such a modern set-up here and my family takes good care of me.
I purchased a cell phone, as well. The number is (229) 96 73 67 40. This is all you need to dial- 229 is the country code. If you do chose to call, I suggest looking into a calling card. I hear they are much cheaper. I miss you all terribly!!! Love you
Some details for now: The yards are sand and must be swept of trash daily. Trash is burned where it lies. My house is made of concrete and is very nice by Beninese standards. We have a well in the yard as our water source. I bathe in a bucket because although we have a shower, it is cold and I like to be able to control the flow of chilly water over my body (I can wash and rinse my hair and body with about two gallons of water). My family raises rabbits and they are kept in a hutch in the backyard. I have crashed my bike three times because I hit sand pits in the road and I fishtail and fall off. People (mostly children) yell “Yovo!” at me everywhere I go, but what a friend told me to say is “On veulent dire ‘Madame,” n’est-ce pas?” which (if I spelled that correctly) means, “We can say ‘Madam,” can’t we?” Apparently it stops them dead in their tracks and they just gape. Implying that someone has bad manners is a major stab here- it’s like insulting their mother. The ‘Madame” phrase isn’t exactly doing that but it’s getting there. One thing a volunteer told me that stood out is that in an argument with a Beninese person, you can just repeat a statement over and over and this is just as valid as arguing a point. He is an environmental action volunteer and the example he used was “We should plant trees.” He was met with some resistance at first (economic resources, mostly) but after and hour or so heard “Wait… you know what we should do? We should plant trees!” I am told that this method is effective in all walks of life, and have found it to be true when haggling with Zem-drivers (since I don’t know French, I just repeat “Cen francs” (sahn-frahn) until they agree and nod the go-ahead for me to board. No point arguing with a yovo who doesn’t understand anyway!
I purchased a bunch of tissue (fabric) at the market on Saturday and took it to a tailor. I’m exci9ted to see how the clothes look. I picked designs from some posters full of photos of dresses and skirts, and will get the clothes in about a week and a half. Must try to stay the same size until then : ) I eat a lot of rice and pate (pronounced pot) with oily sauces. Very yummy food but not easy on the waistline. I think when I cook for myself I will use a lot less oil but I am LOVING having my family cook for me because they actually know how. My dies is essentially vegan except for the bi-daily egg. They gave us multi-vitamins today but they are tiny so I’m not sure how complete they are. Mom’s sending more (thanks mom). I am stuck in my glasses due to tearing my final contact lens (I now have two functional left lenses and no rights. I tried wearing both the lefts- only lasted two seconds). I just realized I use a lot of (parentheses). Wearing glasses while biking in the rain nets some funny looks and an interestingly distorted perspective of the road.
Electricity is on and off, depending on availability and usage. When too many people use too many appliances there are blackouts which vary in size and length. I have lantern and two flashlights in my room, though. We have a flush toilet, too, which rocks. A fellow PCVT told me there was a rat in her toilet this morning. It wasn’t dealt with humanely, but that is simply not a way of thinking here. Maybe I can talk to new friends about this when I get to village and at least introduce the concept. PCVTs have been afflicted by all kinda of things: food poisoning, repeated bike crashes, getting lost, bug caught in the eye, diarrhea, constipation, bitten by a dog, broken teeth (3 of us now), sexual harassment, rashes, fatigue, etc. Fortunately, the Peace Corps gives us tools to deal with ALL of it and the med unit is quite nice (I considered bashing out another tooth so I could spend the night with an air conditioner and take a hot shower in the morning). I haven’t used nearly as much electricity as I thought I would either. I haven’t charged my ipod or used the rechargeable batteries I brought. Many things I brought will not be used until I get to post because I do have such a modern set-up here and my family takes good care of me.
I purchased a cell phone, as well. The number is (229) 96 73 67 40. This is all you need to dial- 229 is the country code. If you do chose to call, I suggest looking into a calling card. I hear they are much cheaper. I miss you all terribly!!! Love you
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
2 weeks in!
Got my front tooth fixed today. It looks a lot better than I thought it would. I was nervous going in- it wasn't exactly primitive but not what I'm used to in an office setup stateside. But it looks good and feels almost like new (something about my bite is a little funky but probably always will be). Tore a contact lens last night so I'll be in glasses for the rest of the time here. Kind of bummed about that. May ask mom or Dad to send new ones, we'll see. Money means something entirely different now and the idea of a $300 vanity like contacts doesn't seem practical, but on the other hand, glasses SUCK and I don't want to live in them for the entirety of my stay here! Chatted with the APCD for RCH today and she assured me that she'd put me at a post where I can retain my vegetarian lifestyle, that being the primary concern I had (over water, electricity, closeness of postmate, etc) so I feel better knowing that. Not much else to report today- have medical interview and a couple other meetings, then back to Porto Novo for (I hope!) dinner. Did I mention the library here? PCVs leave all their books at the office and people can take what they want. I picked up a Kant one, Shane, so we'll have something to discuss when I see you next : )
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Feels Like Home
Settling in. Day 13. At the moment I'm eating delicious homemade lemon cake with some PCVs at Peace Corps office in Cotonou. Had to come back from Porto Novo because I chipped one of my front teeth on a peanut-cluster thing during lunch today. PCMOs are going to try to get me into the dentist tomorrow- cross your
fingers! Moved in with my host family almost a week ago, but seems both longer and shorter than that. Longer in the sense that it already feels like home and I am settled there, in a manner of speaking, but shorter in the sense that I am still out of sync with the rhythms of the household (for example, they usually eat dinner at 10 p.m., I never know who's going to be home and when, I wake up to Catholic chants on TV) and the language barrier, of course, continues to be an issue. But they speak English! This is both good and bad: I'm able to communicate, but not learning French as quickly as I probably should be.
My manan is a schoolteacher and I'm still not sure what my papa does. I have three sisters and two brothers, ranging from late teens to early twenties. I'm particularly close to the eldest sister. We sit and talk with our English-French dictionaries in hand, and when we can't understand eachother, we pass notes or draw pictures. Mama was going to teach me how to cook "soy cheese with groundnut sauce" tonight but then I ended up having to come here. I have class every day from 8 until about 5. Taking tutoring opportunities beginning this week: 2 or 3 hours of 1:1 time in addition to the 10-12 hours of language instruction we get (small groups- I'm in a class of 5). I have an awesome mountain bike but I don't get to ride it much since our family lives just 2 blocks from the school. It feels so good to be stimulated and challenged again, and it's amazing how many books I'm going to be able to read while I'm here. Already finished a novel and a lot of technical reading. Dad, one's about the Moringa tree, have you heard of it?
There's so much to tell already. Every day is full from beginning to end with learning- it doesn't stop when I leave school, just shifts. Independence day was Saturday. We watcheda military parade on TV and then I went to the hairdresser's with Maman and played with the stylist's baby while Manan had her hair done. I went back with my sis the next day and it was fun- spent several hours there. Ate sugar cane- you chew it and get the sweet stuff out, then spit out the rest. Yum! Tonight we went out for dinner in Cotonou, and I got some falafel- it rocked. We took the Zemijans (motorcycle taxis) and rode double- so three people on each bike. It was totaly exhilirating rushing around at night and since there either aren't traffic laws or there are unenforced traffic laws, you never really know what's going to happen (don't worry thought, it's safe- the Zem drivers don't want to die!) I've been eating better since living with my host family, but for protein one of the staples I eat is hardboiled eggs. I have to mash them up and hide them in things like bread or salads (which are rare but so appreciated) and reward myself with non-egg bites in between the eggy ones. It's not bad though and I'm feeling good energywise.
There are fleeting moments when I miss home with such intensity that I want to sprint toward the airport with whatever's on my back and rush home to Cedar Falls on the next plane. These moments last for mere nanoseconds though and occur only every few days, when a scent, a phrase, or an idea takes me back to my American life and the people who shaped me before I left. Thank you for giving me what I miss. The majority of my time now, however, is full of wonder: "I'm in AFRICA!" is the first thing that crosses my mind in the mornings. I am so thankful to have been given this opportunity and am full to the brim! Every second is a new adventure and I'm utterly exhausted. I love every second of it. More soon. : )
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