My host papa, sister's friend, me, and sister Carole

The woman who taught me French for the first four weeks, Leonie. An inspiration.

Wooo! Volunteers!!!

Atop Hotel Dona in Porto-Novo. Kim, Me, Erika, Miranda, Sarah and Tracie

All of us singers singing the Swearin-In song during the ceremony

View of the sunset from atop a hotel in Porto Novo where we partied a few nights ago Four of us from RCH, sitting together before swearing in. It's customary for everyone in a given sector to wear the same tissue.

View of Porto-Novo from the same rooftop

And another one. Was going a little crazy from the awesome vantage point.

Top of hotel Dona.

All of us after getting messy playing football. This is the soccer field at the school where TEFL and SED trained.

Being silly at a bar near Songhai. I think the American flag on my helmet says it all here...

My host parents. This is the picture I took of them and framed as a parting gift.

9/27/09

It’s been a week of parties and goodbyes, with everyone feeling like we’ve known each other for years and no one wanting to face the impending separation. It has loomed over us like a storm cloud (after reading Tom Robbins I’m too ashamed to even attempt a simile more creative than this) and us without umbrellas. The goodbyes are awkward, because although we know they are temporary, in the relative spectrum of the emotional life of a volunteer, they are permanent; two months has felt like a lifetime, and the next three will mimic eternity. The nature of the coming move to post remains a source of great mystery and expectation. Change and assimilation thereto have become the norms but we’ve braved them together; this is the first time in my life, however, that I will make such a major move alone. For self assurance, /I continue to remind myself that not only do I get to actively choose my reaction to novel cultural stimuli (I’ve decided to enjoy moving to village instead of fearing it), but THIS HAS BEEN DONE BEFORE and this experience, while on a micro level is new to me, on a macro level is completed thousands of times a year by volunteers in dozens of countries. I’m also comforted by the fact that there is no shortage of work to be done here; dormancy is a huge concern for many volunteers but my NGO has about a billion projects going right now so upon continuation of my French studies, I will become involved by increasing degrees. I can’t wait!
Last night we all met at Java Promo to eat, drink and say goodbye. There were hugs, someone cried, and we all headed home for our second-to or last night’s stay at our host families’. I gave presents to my family and thanked them for their hospitality. For maman and papa I had a picture of them, which I had taken before a huge fete when they were dressed to the nines, printed and put it in a frame which I had, because I haven’t seen a place yet to buy them here so figured they were kind of a novelty. Everyone seemed quite pleased, myself included, and we stayed up past midnight talking.
When I entered my room and got settled into bed, no sooner did I close my eyes then the miniature tick, click, squeak-chirp-tick of a Tiny Thing living in my room unsettled me. Going straight to the source of the sound (I have become exceptionally skilled at zeroing in on things using only their ticks and clicks), I unveiled behind my large lockbox what appeared to be a bat in the inadequate lighting. I ran back to the living room to call papa in to help-- he hesitated, it being entirely inappropriate for him to be in my room, especially with me in there too, but I believe the urgency in my request sufficiently prompted him. “Oh, il y a un cafard,” he grumbled upon discerning that the Thing was not a bat but in fact the granddaddy of all cockroaches. Together, voices low and adrenaline high, we pursued Grandpa Roach around the room, over and under furniture and ending on the wall by my bed with a resounding smack rendered by papa with my flipflop. “Qu’est-ce que tu va faire au village quand il y a un cafard?” he asked me, laughing, and truth, I didn’t know what I planned to do during such an encounter with a roach at my new home. I could have sarcastically responded that I planned on not leaving food out on the counters all night long, but sarcasm and biting criticisms are not part of the Beninese dialect or my manners so I shrugged. Back in my room, a baby cockroach scampered out from under a suitcase and realizing that this was my opportunity to start small, I took it. I triumphantly paraded into the living room with my flipflop and beaming, showed papa, who nodded his approval. Thus, it begins. Actually, there is a pretty big one wriggling on its back under my couch right now, and my anti-suffering ethic is torn between the struggling roach and my foundering will to kill it. If I sound cruel, it’s because I live in Benin; I must write for the anti-cafard audience or write nothing at all.
The conatant cries of “yovo” on the street have taken on a life of their own in my mind. Originally, missionaries taught the children the song: “Yovo yovo, bonsoir! Ca va bien? Merci!” in order to foster communication and to encourage the children to use manners; however, it has evolved into something of a taunt, and the word “yovo” which can mean “stranger” or “white” has become the subject of almost every song I ever knew. For example, “yovo yovo yovo, I made you out of clay, yovo yovo yovo, with yovo I shall play” and “happy yovo to you, happy yovo to youuuuu, happy yovo dear yovooo…” and so on. It’s taking over my mind. At least in village I’ll see the same people all the time and I can teach them my name or at least to call me madame instead.
Tomorrow morning, I will go pick my up keys from the AFAP office in Porto-Novo, then move into my new home in a taxi rented by Peace Corps (though AFAP offered to move me in their truck, which I regretfully had to decline). I have a mattress, two gas cans and stove, two suitcases, two backpacks and a few plastic grocery sacks full of couscous, flour, vitamins, spices and stale granola bars. Plus two snickers bars I bought at the supermarche. I’m saving them in case of a meltdown. It is actually very comforting to be moving without all the usual hoopla, and I know that whatever I need here, I will be able to find. Not whatever I want, but that which I need, I will have. This is one of the reasons I joined Peace Corps: it’s the little things here that make one’s world go round. For example, I bought a fan yesterday!!! It is mighty, metallic and majestic. I slept with it aimed at my legs last night and temporarily forgot the stale, slimy, stagnant air I have been swimming through in my sleep for the past nine weeks. I can’t believe what a difference the fan has made in my motivation, my happiness, my outlook on life. I even styled my hair with it this morning, and though the humidity sapped it as soon as I stepped into the sun, it was a wonderful five minutes during which I felt like the American me who had some control over her appearance. The little things are HUGE here.
Next post will have pics of my house. Stay tuned! Knowing that I have a family who cares enough to read this is keeping me going here, so thank you for your support and warm energy-- I can feel it all the way over here (or it could be the equator under my feet) and I love you!

WOOHOO

I officially swore in today as a PEace Corps Volunteer! Thus begin two years of service to Benin, provided my body and mind will it. : ) It's a great day. Celebrated with good friends and thai food. Tonight we are all drinking beer and sleeping on a friend's roof.. will be a wonderful night to remember.

Spent the last week drinking too much beer and falling asleep in my sister's bed (in a room I have never entered before) and being horrified, only to find the next day that my family thought it was hilarious. Apparently I underestimated the Beninese appreciation of a good fete.

ALso played a game of "two hand touch" football and had more fun that I have since arriving here. UGh now we're going back to porto novo so no pics this time. Bye!

In Due Time

The view from the van on the way back to Cotonou

Erika snapped a candid shot of me immediately after being attacked by a wave

Kimberly and Ryan (for Kimberly's mom, since I know she reads this- hi Kimberly's mom!)

Detailed view of the carvings on the monument

The Port of No Return monument on the beach at Ouidah

A large tree in the sacred forest

A statue of a voodoo god which also happened to be suffering from an awesome infestation of some kind of small fly...

Remains of a house in the sacred forest

The name of the new language I'm inventing (see below)

Trying not to be eaten by a cheetah at the gate to the sacred forest

I passed my test!!!!! In practical application, this means I can fool an interviewer into believing that I can use 5 different tenses and comprehend well; in reality, it means I practiced a lot and still don't function very well on the street. They don't really even speak French here; they speak Beninese. TOTALLY different.

The view from where I lay outside in between classes at school

We tried Sodabi for the first time right after our language exams... not as bad as I'd thought! Sadly, it didn't have the same effect on me that it had on Lou....

9-18-09

Big news: I passed my final French interview with flying colors!!! I had only to reach intermediate-mid to be sworn-in, but I reached intermediate-high!! My facilitator was so happy, he kissed my hand. Having a rather large brewski immediately preceeding the interview could only have helped matters. Passing the exam was a personal goal I had set for myself and I did devote a lot of energy (if not time) to improving my speaking; comprehension still leaves much to be desired. I can proudly report that I may, quite possibly, know more French than anyone in my village because the local language there is Goun, not French, and I needed a translator for all communication while I was there. The bright side is, possibly soon I will be able to understand my translator when he translates from the Goun into French. In due time.
This morning I will begin to learn Goun. Then, on September 26th, armed with a weeks worth of classes, I will descend upon my village with a pitiful pittance of vocabulary with which to buy groceries and supplies, not to mention greeting strangers and getting to know my neighbors. Or teaching lessons on health, having clothes made, or traveling. The grammar rules of Goun, I have heard, are completely nuts and it is much harder to learn than French. I can’t possibly imagine. We’ll see how much I’ve picked up after two years. In due time.
This morning, we are giving sensibilizations to grade school kids on various health topics. My group of five volunteers will present on diarrhea, specifically the causes, preventions and treatments thereof. We are focusing mainly on hand washing and using oral rehydration soluntion (ORS), and will be teaching them to make their own ORS in case their parents can’t afford it. I’m a little self-conscious today: still bloated from my second (or ninth? who’s counting) bout with giardia, my contact lenses which arrived -finally!- from the states didn’t fit so I’m back in my glasses and I’m pmsing which means it’s connects-the-dots-on-Kara’s-face time again. If I can’t pass off this googly-eyed zit I call my face as an authority on all matters health related, I’ll resort to plan B and just sing to them. They love that. Mission accomplished.
The contacts lenses: they are the wrong fit or something. I know this because mid-day yesterday I began to notice things were quite foggy in the eye with the new lens in it. By the time I took them out last night, I felt like I was in living in a cloud (which is not entirely untrue with the humidity here) but the problem wasn’t corrected upon removal of the lens. For the next hour, every time I looked directly at a light it appeared surrounded by circular rainbows and clouds. It sounds pretty, but I assure you, it wasn’t. So mom used her entire birthday literally saving my life making phone calls to the eye doctor and to my uncle whose friend is an optometrist and such things as that. Of course, it cleared up on its own, as these things often do, but it was a nice change to feel dependent upon someone whose help I actually want instead of strangers and host families. I’m so over that. Bring it on, Djigbe!

9/18/09

Went searching for a newer, stronger brand of vice today after my first Goun lesson, which was 360 minutes of information rolled into twenty. Okay, it wasn’t as bad as I want you to believe, but doesn’t my compulsion toward a victim complex indicate the severity of my situation? After the exhilaration of soaring past yesterday’s French exam, my newfound linguistic wings were brutally bludgeoned by an obscure West-African tonal tongue and I’m still smarting from it. The mournful reality of starting the entire process again has come as a shock to my system and has not fully sunk in. My discouragement at humankind’s crippling dependency on verbal communication grows evermore as I consider that there are over 170 trillion local dialects in Benin. Actually, there are about sixty; Djigbe is three miles from francophone Porto-Novo, a mere bike’s ride, but French is seldom spoken in village. I have decided to create a language of my own in which facial expression is the only component and conveying meaning is as simple as an eyebrow twitch or the voluntary dimpling of one’s cheek. We have, what? about a zillion facial muscles? Certainly there are enough of them that the near infinite combinations of their flexing would produce sufficient variation for vocabulary. Thus sequenced use of the vocabulary would form sentences and would spare homo sapeins the pain of using traditional universal sign language (for those of us who are too lazy to employ our hands for this purpose) or of --GOD FORBID-- trying to learn a West African tonal language. The forehead would be used for expressing tense, eyes for emotion, lips for wrapping up the nouns. Ears could handle pronouns, cheeks adjectives and eyebrows onomatopoeia. A surprising fringe benefit is that through all of the smiling, twitching, winking and furrowing, we would utilize our facial muscles to a degree in which we would all become tighter, firmer and smoother in those areas of the visage where beauty lies, thus eliminating the need for botox or other such measures taken against the inevitability of time. If you’re only as old as you feel, we’d all live forever. An aesthetically pleasing populace is essential to the success of any newly contrived language, to be sure, as beauty inspires jealousy or admiration and hence mimicry. Once my language has been sufficiently propagated that native speakers will want to recount the fabulousness of its inventor, those in the know will make the very face I did while conceptualizing it, and this expression will assume the portrayal of both my name and the official name of the language in reference. The names of the speakers will be inherent in the faces they are born with and will be more unique and descriptive than any spoken name ever could, as those of us who never forget a face already know, and reference to an individual will be made through wildly entertaining attempts to scrunch, twist, stretch and contort one’s face into that of the subject of conversation. Vocalization will be reserved for only those utterances which are instinctive and reflexive, such as laughter, yawning and sobbing; these will resound from preserved vocal chords with such purity and beauty that those with exhausted, worn-out larynxes may not possess the ability or integrity to attune to such frequencies. I am attaching a picture of the name by which said language shall henceforth be referred, and invite you to join me in my quest for a revolutionary new linguistic order. I now commence falling asleep to dream in pictures of things to come. Goodnight!

9/20/09

I traveled to Ouidah, a former slave port, yesterday with the other stagiaires. We broke into groups and toured a nearby sacred forest where voodoo ceremonies are held: the higher the status of the participant, the farther into the forest they may go. As a bunch of American kids, we of course were only allowed to see the museum part but it was nonetheless interesting. We then toured the fort area where slaves were held between capture and export. We saw actual pieces of chain used to bind them together. We learned how tightly they were packed onto the ships and how before being sent away, extreme measures were taken to psychologically damage and confuse them because an America-bound slave with a sense of African identity would be no good to anyone. At night, the women were made to sleep on their backs and men on their stomachs, to allow slave captains to rape them with greater ease. The logic of the captains escapes me; by engaging in sex with the captives weren’t they acknowledging them as human? HOW DID ANYBODY EVER JUSTIFY THIS? There was a large museum with much space devoted to visual depictions of the lives of slaves. I found it stirring and left feeling entirely depressed, guilty, and mad at Europe.
Afterward, we went to the beach. There is a large monument there called the Port of No Return, where slaves used to pass to board the ships. The side facing back toward land is called the Port of Return, where slaves were said to pass back into their homeland as spirits after dying in other countries. The monument seemed to be a huge tourist site, as there were busses and vendors everywhere.
We were able to walk down to the beach and dip our feet into the ocean but the current here precludes one from swimming. Apparently the riptide will have you 100 meters out before you can say “Hey, why aren’t there any lifeguards in Benin?” The whole beach slants at a dramatic angle toward the waves that batter it, sloping downward and pulling everything toward it. I felt a strange gravitational pull toward the waves that was entrancing and frightening, and wondered how many people have drowned here. The waves were of a different nature than those of tranquil, lazy beaches I have been to in the past. I stood where I thought only my feet would get wet but ended up being violently splashed all the way up my skirt. I rode the two hours home sopping wet and smiling.
The ride home was a sandy road that ran right along the beach all the way back to Cotonou. We saw palm plantations, a place for camping, tiny fishing boats out on the water and small villages build from thatch right on the beach eliciting cries of “I want to work in THAT village!!!” from all of us. I hadn’t ever seen an ocean culture that wasn’t based on tourism and found it fascinating. Upon returning home, I drank bad beer with good friends and marveled at my luck over having been handed an opportunity like this.
In one week I will be living in my village and everything will change.

A picture I took at the orphanage in Game, near Sakete. The birds were so pretty and were obviously a couple, as they did everything together.

<---Where they make palm oil; a river used for fishing/bathing/whatever

A view of AFAP grounds; my work partners from the agency. My homologues are Jean, to the far left, and Gbewa (Bay-wuh) in the solid blue. I work most closely with Gbwea, but Jean lives in Djigbe so that might change. Marie, my supervisor and founder of AFAP, is on the far right. She is AWESOME. They all are.

A view of Djigbe and the lagoon beyond; the girls who greeted me at AFAP HQs; another view of Djigbe.

Marche! Market day. They have a market in my village every other day. When I learn the basics in Goun, which will hopefully be soon (!), I'll do most of my basic shopping there. At the bottom are Erika and I, seriously serious about our shades.

9/6/09

Highlights of my week:

-Sitting outside at the bar with Erika and suggesting we play a game of “Buy Whatever Walks by Next” after seeing a boy walk buy with several planks of wood on his head. The game was a risk because people sell all kinds of things on the street and I really didn’t want to have to explain to my maman why I was arriving home with a goat since I don’t eat meat, a baby’s dress since there are no kids in the family, or an Akon VCD when I am so clearly un-hip. Erika, however, boldly agreed, and the game was on. I volunteered to go first and lucked out; I purchased a small sack of tomatoes from a group of pre-adolescent boys who (I’m pretty sure) implied that I was drunk. Erika also was lucky. The next vendor to pass by was selling bananas. I emphasize our luck because the next boy we saw had a huge platter of what appeared to be boulders piled high atop his head. I was not and am not in the market for a new boulder.

-Almost losing the African Gamble (due to my ongoing giardiasis-yay!) while sitting at the cyber café in Songhai, running to the bathroom, and simultaneously discovering a large tear in the seat of my pants. I put this in the highlights section because of the way that I handled it: I finished my online tasks, sat at the bar and lamented/laughed about my horrible misfortune with good friends, rode my bike home, changed, and went back out. I’m becoming unwittingly talented at going with the “flow.” Hah. Sorry. This one I could have written about in “gross” detail, and it would have really “cracked” you up, however the “butt” of my jokes are usually only funny once in a full “moon,” and poop isn’t really that “funny” anyway.

All characters in the following section are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or places is purely coincidental and I apologize in advance if this be the case.

- Seeing my good friend Lou, who is tiny (about 60 bs) and Asian (meaning zero tolerance for alcohol) take four shots of sodabi, which is pretty much the Beninese version of moonshine. After violently lip-syncing some 90’s love ballads into his empty bottle of Beninoise beer, he danced in circles like a fiend to “I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world…” much to the amusement of host country nationals, who looked on with a mixture of curiosity and pity. After being officially cut off, he began feverishly hugging everyone oblivious enough to land in his path, danced with a small brave child, and toppled precariously about the room before we collectively decided that it was time for the night to draw to a close. Louis is now famous throughout the tri-country region for his ridiculous impersonations of a sober, functioning person when we now know the party monster lurking inside him, waiting patiently for its next opportunity to shine. (We love you, Lou).

-Playing Buy Whatever Walks by Next again, this time in another part of town where accessories tend to walk by more frequently than consumables. Erika ended up with a pair of Prada sunglasses for about $1. I purchased a belt which I will never wear for about $2. Good fun arguing over prices and again, taking the risk of buying a live cow or chicken (I would of course be purchasing its freedom, for the record).

9/10/09

Site visit is in full effect. Yesterday I was picked up at Songhai by my homologues, Jean and Gbewa, and the director of AFAP, the NGO I will be working for. At the AFAP (Association Foi a la Providence, or Association for Faith in Providence) office in Porto-Novo, they had hung printed signs along the walls and in the conference room welcoming me. I was flattered and overwhelmed. We sat down for a conference with the secretary, treasurer, director (who is called Marie and just might be the most enthusiastic, spunky, confident woman I have met) and my homologues. A homologue, by the way, is pretty much just a work partner. In this case, they also act as cultural guides and translators.
We discussed, over soy bignets, fried bananas and baobab juice, the many objectives and activities of the NGO and the role I will be playing. At least, I surmised this from the fact that I was present and was being treated as a guest of honor. In reality, I understood only a small fraction of what was being said and consequently did a lot of smiling and nodding. I do know that the NGO has animatrices in every village who conduct lessons with the residents. It starts with baby weighing. If a baby is the right weight, you talk with the mother about what she is doing and encourage her to keep doing it. If the baby is malnourished, or underweight, the mother is invited to a cooking demonstration to learn how to enrich her family’s foods with nutrient and protein dense supplements like soy and moringa. I’m quite thrilled that part of my job includes pointing out to people the economy of substituting meat with soy.
The lessons also consist of family planning discussions, specifically encouraging mothers to wait at least 2-3 years between children so that her body can recover, she can attend to her current infant properly, the family has time to save money and develop a birth plan for the next child, and resources/responsibilities are more evenly spread throughout the family. I’m very excited to being work but will have at least a couple more months of French tutoring and practice before I attempt this.
After the conference, I went to Hozin with Jean and Gbewa to meet my host family (famille d’accueil) for the evening. They were very hospitable and we had a little meeting in one of the houses for them to welcome me and for me to thank them. My room was up on a second level and I had an amazing view of the market and lagoon beyond. We went to meet the chief of the village and I kind of choked. It’s hard to speak through a translator when you know neither of the languages he speaks! Afterward we returned to my temporary room. Once alone, I immediately commenced sleeping due to exhaustion from overstimulation. I awoke to a man who I believe was trying to tell me he lived in the same house, but I wasn’t sure and told him so. He seemed upset when he left and I sat in my room and bawled, telling myself “I’m not cut out for this. I can’t do it. I’m too sensitive to the rejection I’m going to face on a daily basis for all my obvious differences here.” I called friends, got it out of my system, and made myself leave the house.
It felt good to walk in my village, even just the short distance to my host family’s home, and greet people. It boosted my confidence enough to get me through the day. Overnight, I had no idea where to go to the bathroom… THAT proved interesting. If you want the hilarious story, you have to call me.
Today, we went around to the different villages of Hozin. Hozin is actually comprised of six small villages (Hozin, Lake, Djigbe, Tokpa, Akpame, and Hondji), all quite close together. I’ll be able to bike to each of them. We met the animatrices and visited the the health centers. We went to the AFAP office in Djigbe and the orphanage next door called Tomorrow’s Children (they take in victims of child trafficking). We visited families and friends and workers and neighbors and in my memory is it all a whirlwind. In Hondji I was met with singing and dancing by about eighty women. When they finished, I introduced myself and spoke a little about the work we will do together, as well as thanked them for their hospitality. Gbewa was translating for me, thankfully, because I don’t speak Goun yet. I think I was well received, but it’s hard to tell
We spent about 8 hours going from place to place. We went to the house I will live in: it has a large living room and two bedrooms. There is no running water but there is a pipe right outside and I think others in my concession might have plumbing. There is a private latrine, which is nice. I asked if I could paint it and received permission; the living room is a cerulean color and the bedrooms are dark green. I think I need light, airy colors to reflect the sunlight and make it feel less hot! Lou has agreed to help paint. Meg, the volunteer who lived there before, has graciously left plates, Tupperware, spices, mats, buckets, silverware and other essentials. THANK YOU MEG!! She’s also coming to visit in two weeks when I officially move in.
Eventually I ended up back at my regular host family’s in Porto-Novo and here I am. Tomorrow we are going to the seige, or seat, of AFAP in a nearby village called Sakete (Saw-keh-tee). I’m utterly exhausted, completely terrified, and almost fulfilled. When I move in, find my niche, get into the village groove and learn a little local language I’ll be good to go. Looking forward to my yoga mat-- Thanks Dad and Jackie!!!!! I’ll put pics of my house up when I get the chance to take them; felt a little awkward asking to do so the first time I saw it. Taking pics is not the same here, symbolically, as it is in the US. K bye.

9/12/09

My NGO’s website, if you’re interested: http://www.afapbenin.org/

Went to the seat of the NGO yesterday in Game, near Sakete, and saw the orphanage, health center, pharmacy etc. A group of girls from the orphanage, which is for victims of child trafficking (HUGE problem here, as people sell their children when they run out of money) sang and danced for us when we arrived. I didn’t understand most of the song but “Bienvenue Dada Kaka” stood out: welcome, big sister Kara. Most of the kids here say “Kaka” because the Rs are difficult. It was quite the welcome and as always I was embarrassed to be honored in such a way. I spent time sitting in front of a women’s group not knowing what to say, then took a tour of the grounds. Gorgeous!! There’s a room there for me in case I want to stay when I’m working. Also saw some ridiculously gruesome pics of what happens when you allow microbes to eat your skin for an extended period of time and someone wants to take a pic just before you become an amputee. I’m paying very close attention to all things cutaneous, needless to say. There is a large acreage covered in trees where the girls collect firewood. It ends in a river where they draw water and catch fish. There was also a cement basin for producing palm oil; not entirely clear on the process as of yet. Deforestation is evident but not staggering in the area. The village is in a hilly, plush, beautifully green area of the countryside about an hour north of Porto Novo. It was gorgeous.
This morning I woke, excited to go pick up my swearing-in dress, and to kill time in order that I might draw out the anticipation, I dawdled, did laundry, took a little nap, talked with the family etc. At noonish, my maman’s sister asked if I wanted to go to her village with her. I said sure, because I thought we were just driving her home in Papa’s car, so I was mildly surprised when we pulled into a funeral and spent eight hours there. I wish I’d had the chance to don something more formal,
On the way home I was contemplating the next two years of my life here, thinking about my work and being excited to commence it, when I noticed the radio was playing an American song. By the way, when the station is coming scratchy, fuzzy or fade-y, they leave it, cause they’re getting receiving station, which is awesome. So Gwen Stefani came on and was puckishly pouting about a perfect world and for some reason I felt oddly comforted by her contrived, bratty voice. I found myself wondering if Gwen Stefani had had this calming effect on me while I lived in America, and decided definitively that no, she hadn’t. So why, then, was I so soothed by it now? Perhaps I have severely underrated sheer familiarity thus far in contemplating what I miss about home. Ah, there it is: I miss hating pop music. I miss having an outlet for my negative energy that doesn’t include myself or my inability to communicate or to integrate effectively yet. Thanks, Gwen, for giving me back that part of myself tonight. I hate your voice and your music. Keep up the good work!

Pictures: Lou and I at the party last night at Java Promo, a "Fancy" restaurant in Benin. I ate what amounted to campbells veg soup on couscous, but it was good; all of us at Java Promo; Hannah drinking a beer and looking so pretty at a bar near our school; my favotire article of clothing I've had made here- a full length modele with huge flowers on it (I don't have a mirror so I set my camera in my windowsill and take autoshots with it when I really want to see what I look like. Usually they are promptly deleted); Erika and I at the same bar; Ragan cutting her birthday cake; Lisa and I with the cake before we surprised Ragan at school; me baking in my family's kitchen; another angle of my moto helmet, my favotire work in progress.

9/1/09

It occurs to me now that I haven’t really provided a breakdown of what it is that I actually do here, for the time being, Six days a week I wake at seven. I immediately tense in case there is a cockroach on me somewhere that I haven’t sensed yet. When the coast is clear, I roll out from under the mosquito net and get started.
I either take a full shower and wash my hair or just take a bucket shower and wash my body. This will change when I get to post and don’t have a shower; then it’ll be buckets every day and hair when I feel like it. I eat a little bread with peanut butter or fruit preserves, and some fresh fruit, and drink a cup of Lipton tea. All these things can be bought here. I walk about two blocks to my school, which is a bunch of one story open buildings, one room deep, arranged in a square around a large courtyard full of palm trees. There is a flush toilet and sink there and some soccer fields. There are latrines too but I usually don’t use them.
I train mostly with other RCH volunteers but the EA (Environmental Action) volunteers train there as well. There are about 25 of us that meet there every day. The other two sectors, TEFL and Small Enterprise/IT volunteers, train together across town. A typical day looks like this: language from 8-10, break 10-10:30 to putter around on the street and buy snacks, technical training from 10:30-12:30, break for lunch til 13:30, language til 15:00, then cross cultural, peer support network, health and safety, or other training from 15:15-16:15. Some days I tutor 1:1 with a facilitator for an hour after class.
Language is amazing (technical language, grammar, vocab etc). I am in a class with two other women and our facilitator is a college professor, as are most of the facilitators. We direct the subjects and methods, to a degree. Classes are tailored specifically to us; this is how Peace Corps accelerates the learning process and I am LOVING it. I wish it didn’t have to end soon but Peace Corps reimburses us for tutoring received at post as well. I am very encouraged when I reflect on how far I’ve come in 5.5 weeks.
Technical training essentially means anything health-related. We take “field-trips” to health centers and healers. Guest speakers from local and national NGOs come and discuss their projects, from social outreach to immunization campaigns. We cover topics such as family planning, HIV/AIDS (though the national prevalence rate here is 1.2%, which is relatively low when compared with Southern Africa, which surpasses 35% in some areas), sexually transmitted infections, nutrition and baby weighing, hygiene and sanitation, disease prevention (malaria and parasites are big issues here), and pregnancy and delivery. I’ve been issued about a zillion books on health topics, which I will have time to read in my first three months at post during which I’m not allowed to travel.
Cross cultural training is varied as well and covers everything from religious ceremonies to etiquette to history to geography. I usually feel more rooted here after these classes, which may be the purpose. We’ve had a few bike trainings where we learn to take them apart, clean them, fix a flat on the road, etc. Basic maintenance.
Every Tuesday all four sectors ride their bikes or zem to a retreat center called “Songhai” and train together. We cover personal health topics most of the morning and administrative stuff in the afternoon. They have a restaurant, a co-op which sells (awesome) fresh organic veggies, a cyber café, a print/copy center and lots more. It’s going to be an excellent resource for me when I live in Hozin and I’m glad I’ll be close. They also make and sell veggie soap there.
During lunch break I usually eat an avocado and onion sandwich, or rice and beans on the street. I have to be careful with the sauce because there are usually fish heads bobbing in it. I go without sauce often but it’s not bad. My diet here is pretty much vegan. Along the street mamans sit with whatever they cooked all morning, and you just walk up to whoever you see sitting on a bench next to a table with food on it. The food is kept in plastic coolers to keep it warm and good vendors cover everything with a sheet to keep flies and bugs out. So you walk up to someone and say “Hello, what do you have?” and they’ll tell you: rice with fish and sauce, egg and spaghetti with soy cheese… that’s about it. I eat a lot of soy cheese. Women walk around with trays of fresh fruit on their heads and you barter for a good price. The pineapples are amazing and they cut them up for you when you buy one. Each costs about $ 0.20 USD. But if you get one that isn’t quite ready, it is too acidic and will burn your tongue.
After school, I usually come home and do laundry, study, or go to a buvette (bar) with friends. I am doing this more often as I consider that training is almost over and solidifying friendships becomes paramount. Today a friend, Lisa, came over and we baked a cake for Ragan, whose birthday is Thursday. We really had to go all out to find the ingredients. There aren’t huge grocery stores here but rather small boutiques and cabines and you have to ask at each one for what you want. So, we rode our bikes all over and would stop in front of houses, walk up to them an ask “do you sell eggs?” or “do you have a sache of sugar?” and most often they can tell you who sells it if they don’t have it. I’m excited at my ability to communicate; my comprehension is improving along with my confidence and willingness to ask for things to be repeated.
Overall, this far in, I’ve found PSL (pre-service learning) to be a very rewarding and empowering experience. I had missed the classroom atmosphere and this brief rendezvous with it is much welcomed. I’m truly impressed by the organization and efforts of the entire PC Benine staff (thought I wish they were better about bringing us our mail!) In a week I’ll be at my post, seeing where I’ll be living for the next two years. Keep me in your thoughts!!!

9/5/09

Went out with a bunch of people last night to a "nice" restaurant, maning that it was expensive and they served some American food, like steak. We went for Ragan's birthday and about 30 or 35 people came. It was the most fun I've had since being here. Let off a lot of steam. Monday I will meet my homologue, the person I will be working with most closely at my post. All the homologues from Benin come to Porto Novo for a two day conference with the staff and facilitators of the Peace Corps and to meet the volunteers, and we then leave for our respective posts with our homologues Wednesday morning bright and early. Wed or Thurs would be a great time to call me if you've been thinking of doing so! I'm nervous and excited... hopefully my french will serve me well. I miss you all so much and dream about America most nights. If anyone is feeling motivated or has some extra money lying around, I would do almost anything for a yoga mat. I am desperate... sitting in class all day and drinking beer is making me so soft and all the floors are concrete here so, yeah. I know I'm going to want to do yoga, esp at post. Even a book on yoga would rock my face off! But I think I can actually order that from Amazon... yeah. Rambling. Love you.

Pics

I guess the pics didn't attatch last time but here are a few... my moto helmet which I decorated with sharpies, a rooftop party at another volunteer's host family's place, a dead cockroach in my room (not THE cockroach), and a view of Porto-Novo from a rooftop. Still loving it here. French going slowly. Having lots of dreams about home. Last night I dreamt I had a cavity and so was being med-evacced to the states for ONE DAY to have it filled. I wanted to see everyone and do lots things but there wasn't time. I spent time at mom's and packed some things I wished I'd brought: paper, pens, my favorite blue jeans, a yoga mat, hair and skin products, contact-lens related things, and more that I'm sure I'm forgetting. There was more to it, but suffice it to say I'm missing the states a lot and it's filling my dreams most nights.

Went to visit a traditional healer the other day. Learned that if you eat pork salad with papaya you will be immune to HIV/AIDS. They also had a cure for it that costs 500,000 CFA (about $1000 USD) and takes ten months to work. If you eat the left leg of a partridge while pregnant your child will be immune to Polio. So, you can see what a health worker is up against in terms of advocating for condom use or promoting immunizations for babies. Traditional knowledge is very, very hard to contend with and can only be addressed from the context of Beninese beliefs so I'm going to have to learn a lot more before I even try to change anyone's mind about anything. It was interesting, though, to learn how they use different plants and what they presume to cure with them.

Love you all!