Porn + Politics = Ready for a Vacation

While Peace Corps predicts the first three months in site to be the loneliest and most challenging, I fared pretty well with the “integration period.” Now, as life in Benin becomes more routine and less exotic, I think I’m hitting a 7^th-month slump… Here’s a 2-days-in-the-life story from last week to exhibit how some days, I’m pushed right up to the edge.

I’m working on some grant applications for my upcoming girls’ camp, so I needed to print some paperwork. Finding the appropriate technology to do so in village is often difficult, but after asking around all morning, I located two equipped boutiques. I waited a half hour at the first one, while the dinosaur of a computer tried to recognize my USB key. After no luck, I took my key and headed to option #2…

Upon arrival, the owner of the shop greeted me by saying “What do you want? If you’re just here to say hello, I don’t want that. What did you bring me?” Despite the rudeness of this greeting (which is extremely out of character for the Beninese, who are generally very welcoming and hospitable), the part that bugged me most was the last question: “What did you bring me?” I’ve recently decided this to be my least favorite phrase here in Benin, trumping even “give me money,” “are you married?” and the yovo song. Being my father’s daughter (and therefore an enthusiastic proponent of quality customer service!), I was tempted to say “screw you, jackass!” and walk away. But also being in  village, with limited printing options and a reputation to uphold as a Peace Corps volunteer, I forced myself to say “I have brought you good health... And I want to print something.” The first answer is a generally accepted response to the question-from-hell, but peoples’ faces still fall like they don’t believe the yovo doesn’t have money or presents for them. Whatever.

I waited another long while before my USB came up, only to see that attempt #1 had in fact recognized my USB after all… at least enough to corrupt all the old files and replace them with porn. My virus ridden key was polluted with folders entitled “dirty,” “XXX,” and “Porn!!!” warranting many odd looks from the already judgmental proprietor. And it didn’t help that the folder I kept trying / failing to open was entitled “Girls” – as in girls’ camp, girls’ club, etc. A sense of humor and an appreciation for the ironic are all too important in this life I’m living... So I admitted defeat and trudged home, only to be accosted by the village drunkard, who followed me half way home repeating “What do you have for me? Give me something. Yovo, yovo, why don’t you want to give me a present? You are selfish...”

Day two, I headed out early for a 9 AM meeting with the mayor. At 1:15, he showed up. This is, unfortunately, typical for the Beninese, though I suppose I expected the Mayor’s office to run differently? When he did finally get there, he spent the majority of our meeting scolding me for having lived in his commune for so long and not yet having stopped by to greet him (even though “stopping by” is a half hour, 1000 CFA zem ride away – far and expensive by village standards). As if he would have had time for me! Not only was he 4 hours late for a scheduled meeting, the meeting itself was a circus… People kept coming in and out of his office, asking questions, pushing their own agendas, or just saying “I heard you had a yovo in your office and wanted to greet her…”­­ He also received over 20 calls and texts, answering them all in my presence (again, not out of character for Benin). I calmly but sternly asked him if this was typical of a professional workplace in Benin. His response: “There’s no problem! I’m listening to you!” all the while looking at his phone. Interactions like that make me feel like two years will never be enough to contribute to the development of Benin, let alone finish a sentence with the mayor.

Icing on the cake that day: when I got home, my zem driver raised the price upon arrival (one always agrees on the price and destination before getting on the zem! Raising the price once you get there is NOT ok, and Beninese people won’t put up with that – when it happens, it’s plain and clear prejudice). He said “you’re white; you can give me more than that.” I told him how bad that was of him to do, but he continued to bother me. I was so fed up and tired from the bullshit of the day that I forfeited my principles, tossed him an extra 200 CFA, and walked away. He called after me: “My dear, are you married?”

Aside from the many culture clashes I’ve been having lately, this is also the longest period of time I have ever gone without seeing kin… Thankfully, the ‘rents are on their way! Starting tonight, I will be taking a 12 day vacation to show Benin to my parents. I’m hoping their visit will give me a break from routine and some fresh eyes to appreciate the good things about Benin once again. The agenda includes a visit to my village, a tour of Pendjari Wildlife Park, and a marathon in Parakou. This will be a lot of new territory for me as well, so I’ll be sure to update about our adventures in the coming weeks! 

Voodoo Fête

January 10 is a national holiday to celebrate traditional religions of Benin – namely, Vodun. I joined two of my close-mates and a HCN (“Host Country National”) for the festivities at a nearby mayor’s office. The HCN is affectionately known by several volunteers in my region as “The Voodoo Man.” Voodoo Man is one of those awesome HCNs who made friends with a PCV once and now says “hey, you’re a foreigner, and there’s some cool stuff in this country – let me share it with you, for nothing in return but your company!” I love it when I meet people like this, and I have had some of my best culture-sharing adventures here with them. Voodoo Man is a priest and authority figure of a regional vodun cult. He often invites PCVs to witness ceremonies, and many volunteers have gone to him to receive scarification – a common body modification practice in Benin, like tattooing, that denotes your heritage and has spiritual (or souvenir-ical) significance.

When I arrived, I found my party with 3^rd row seats on stage! From there, we sat among the Voodoo Man’s colleagues and important kings from the region, and we got to witness all sorts of costumes, dancing, and music!

  

Like most clothing in Benin, the costumes of these voodoo spirits and traditional medicine man were incredibly colorful and elaborate!

 

 

These haystack looking things are called “Zangbetos.” They are spirits, and their apprentices will dismantle them to prove there is nobody underneath, just a talisman or animal of some sort.

When someone performs for you, dancing or drumming, it’s custom to place money on their forehead. These guys made bank today.

               

Holidays and Harmattan

I spent December 24^th – 27^th at the beach in Grand Popo (the beach town was named by Portuguese explorers and means “Giant Poop.” But really it’s a very beautiful place…). Several volunteers met up to take a few days to finally act like tourists. We stayed at hotel Lion Bar, self-proclaimed “Happy Reggae Place Forever.” The hotel was essentially a tikki bar, next to which we pitched tents on the beach. Perfect way to spend my non-Christmas feeling Christmas!

  

"Happy Reggae Place Forever"

Breakfast view. Corona commercial?

When I returned to village, the following week was all about preparing for what Beninese consider to be the real holiday of the season – the new year! On the eve of the 31^st, the singing and drumming started, and children dressed up, covering their body head-to-toe in clothing, complete with homemade masks. Kids went door to door with their tam-tams, dancing in return for candy or money. Beninese Halloween! (But way cooler, because kids dance and sing and play drums incredibly well here, which is far more impressive than saying “trick or treat” from under some WalMart mask). I passed out Girl Scout cookies (shout out thank you to Uncle Tom for the care package!!!) and sat outside with my concession family until midnight, when everyone cheered with Beninoise (beer) and Sodabi (local moonshine), yelling “Alleluia! 2013!” We turned on Beninese music videos, most of them about Jesus, and Maman and Tannyi (aunt) prayed passionately for health and prosperity and many other things I didn’t understand, as usual. But I was glad to be included.

In Benin, the grand celebrations take place on New Year’s Day. I woke up early, ready to witness some partying, but the village was quiet and empty… Finally, I was told everyone was busy preparing a feast, and I too should be cooking my meal to share! My close-mate (volunteer who lives closest), Zoe, came over and we scraped together some mac and cheese (my go-to when people expect me to share American food with them) and curried couscous with lentils… In the afternoon, we came together with our international feast in front of us. New Years day is like Halloween for adults, as neighbors circulate to taste each other’s food and share drinks. We agreed to start with the Americans’ contributions, and Zoe and I were entertained by my Beninese friends and neighbors, chatting curiously amongst themselves and straining to finish their plates of bizarre-tasting food. When it was time for the Beninese portion of the meal, however, it became clear that it was no easier for us: I was teary-eyed and sniffling from the spicy sauce, and Zoe was picking out pieces of fish from her pâte... We all laughed about it and congratulated each other on the meal. Culture exchange: success. Afterward, I followed tradition and made the rounds to visit my farm friends and host family, sharing in the Beninese cuisine and drinks.

New Years Day with the concession family

But the fête didn’t stop there! January 2 is meant for resting, finishing leftovers, visiting the people you didn’t quite get to, and one final evening dance party, which was my favorite part to see! Most of Houeda gathered in the public space outside my concession to watch men with tam-tams and cowbells. At the beginning of the ceremony, prayers were chanted, and the instruments and money jar were doused with sodabi and gin, as per tradition. Children were then allowed to come in the circle and show their dance moves. Adults later got in on the fun, and respected men danced with bull tails in hand, apparently a practice started by ancient kings of Benin. When a dancer performs well, it is custom to put coins on their forehead, which they then contribute to the musicians’ money jar. The party continued until midnight, and guns were fired to officially end the fête. People kept feting on and off until January 10, vodun day, a national day to recognize traditional religions - blog post on that coming up! The next party season is Easter, and I hear Pentecost is wild, so stay tuned.

Now it’s back to work for the village and me… Though the first “meeting” of the secondary school science teachers was actually an extension of the fête. Several of them are helping me get my environmental club started, so they invited me to dine and drink with them. I was the only woman among 15 men – Benin needs more women in science! Good thing my girls’ club officially started this week (over 100 girls signed up!), and planning for the girls’ camp is underway.

In other news, Harmattan is here. This means it is the dry, windy season. The afternoons are scorching, but it can actually get down to about 70 degrees F in the morning and evening with a nice breeze that rolls through, which is ideal for Michigan blood, but the Beninese are freezing their butts off. I’m still romping around in my sandals and t-shirts, while they’ve busted out the second hand ski jackets and wrapped themselves in multiple layers of tissue (fabric), and I’ve even seen socks! But I’ve been taking advantage of the cool mornings to train for the marathon (less than a month to go!) and expand my garden, since eating that which I’ve grown has been so rewarding. I’m thrilled I get to eat a few salads a week now, and my neighbors are even starting to take an interest in crop diversification and nutrition when they see what see what sort of fresh goodies I bring home from the farm! Also this week, I was able to hop on and host a bike tour of volunteers who are crossing the country (http://bikebenin.blogspot.com/) – great idea and super fun, so I’m looking into setting up a tour of my own, later on this year. More pictures are finally up here! 

I made  grew this. Yum.

Where Did December Go?

Earlier this month, I attended a 10 day in-service training in Parakou, a big city in the north of Benin. It was my first trip out of the south and it took 9 hours in a 20-passenger van. It should have only taken 6, if not for the constant stops whenever anyone saw some snacks they wanted to buy on the side of the road... I have never eaten so much on a road trip, but every time someone bought something they made sure the yovo got to “gout et voir” (taste and see!). It was amazing to see how much the landscape changed along the way, and once I got there, the differences in local languages and even culture made me feel like I’d travelled to another country!

Even though the strangers I travelled with were kind enough to keep me well fed along the way, I experienced one of my most discouraging moments so far while in the van. I had been keeping a sachet noir full of trash from the trip that I intended to dispose of properly. These infamous black plastic bags litter Benin, and refusing them when you make a purchase generally requires putting up a fight and climbing onto the soap box. When the chauffer spotted it, he snatched it up and threw it out the window, despite my protests. Most of the other passengers didn’t notice, as they too had been throwing their wrappers and bottles out the window along the way... He laughed in my face and spoke to me in Gun, saying he didn’t care about dirtying Benin, as long as his van stayed clean. I tried to stay calm and unemotional, explaining to him how I am an environmental volunteer, brought to Benin because some people do care about keeping their country healthy. My work partner jumped in to defend me, and told him I could easily go back to my own country, a land of recycling bins and reusable bags, but I choose to be here because I believe change is possible. His response: “You should get married. Then your opinions will change.” Two weeks later, I’m still not sure how I should have responded to that. All I did was look out the window at the passing piles of trash and try not to yell at him.

After the hustle bustle of in-service training, it was a stark change to get back to village life: slow days, long weeks, and an empty stomach (we had been fed non-stop all week. Glorious things like cheese and bread and salads!). It is nice to be back though, and it really does feel like home here now. December is party month here in Benin, and all my neighbors are preparing for Christmas, the New Year, and also wrapping up any lose ends with funerals… Funerals are the large occasion among the Beninese, and quite a bit of time and money is put into preparing the music, feast, and logistics for a gathering of everyone who ever knew your deceased loved one. Because of my travels and the constant Fête-ing (Fête = party) in village, work has slowed down and my past month has felt rather unproductive... Lucky for me, the world didn’t end, and I get another chance at change in 2013!

There's a Snake in my Douche!

First thing’s first: “douche” is the French word for shower / bathroom area.

A couple weeks ago, I wandered into my douche to find a long, skinny, green snake relaxing in the corner, causing me to forget I had to pee and run out of the house for help. I know the majority of snakes in Benin are not poisonous, but I don’t know exactly which ones are, so I’d rather not take chances… My 17 year old concession sister, Gloria, and my 10 year old concession brother, Cedric, came to help me. Cedric tried to squish it with a stick, but it escaped and slithered over the wall into the brush, while Gloria assured me that the snake was very bad… Most Beninese are terrified of all snakes, not only because of venomous bites but for superstitious reasons as well. I was just happy to have it out of my house, but ten minutes later, Uncle showed up with a coup coup (machete), ready to snake hunt. I tried to tell him it was not necessary, but eventually I followed cautiously behind as he stalked through the brush and whistled a tune to “draw out the serpent.” Lucky for the snake, and much to my nature-respecting relief, we did not find him… Today, Google tells me the snake I encountered was not poisonous. But once again, it was a fun cultural experience to see the Beninese reaction to a snake, and comforting that so many people came to help me, despite their own fears.

Halloween Sucks, Obama Wins, and I’m 2 Months Down

Halloweener

I knew Halloween would bring nostalgia for all things American, because nowhere else in the world can people dress up like idiots and eat their weight in high fructose corn syrup, and have a damn good time doing it. So I decided to be proactive and attack Peace Corps goal number 2 by sharing culture. I was lacking in decorations, a costume, or fun size candy bars, but I invited my farm friends over to my house for an “America party.” The party was planned for 4 PM since I go to bed early here (it’s dark by 7 o’clock and the only safe place to hang out after dark in malaria-ville is under my mosquito net, so why not just call it a day?).

By 3:55 I had Michael Jackson, Akon, and Celine Dion (Beninese favorites when we’re on the subject of American music) queued up on my iPod, a giant pot of mac and cheese, and a pitcher of Kool-Aid ready to go. Four hours later, when everyone finally showed up, my eyes were red from crying about getting stood up in my vulnerable, homesick state. And it was past my bed time. 

But my friends were ready to party, and they had even partially understood what I was trying to explain about wearing costumes… They were all in plain clothes but introduced themselves as “Barack Obama, Bob Marley, and Martin Luther King Jr.” If that wasn’t entertaining enough, they all also put tape on their nostrils to look like a nose piercing à la Michelle. This should have made me laugh, but I was too grumpy. I had to explain to them why I had been crying, so I said that I was homesick for my friends and culture, and how showing up 4 hours late to a party in my culture means that they don’t want to come, don’t care about me, etc. 

No one got it. They were all shocked and confused at my sadness and proceeded to lecture me about how in Benin, people never show up on time, no one actually parties until it’s dark, the host should never prepare food until people actually get there, and adults are not allowed to cry unless a child dies. So much for me sharing MY culture…

On days like that, it feels like I will never get a grip on Benin, that I will never be understood here, and that I should forfeit all efforts at a social life and bury myself in work or limit myself only to the PC community. But the way I’ve been thinking about it lately, the people on the farm are becoming like family – even if we don’t understand each other, they support me and I learn a lot from them. And in the end we did eat cold mac and cheese and dance the Thriller.

GObama!

I don’t have great access to news here – no T.V., internet, or newspapers. But on election night, I was able to channel in Radio France International on my cell phone, as well as receive texts from well-informed volunteers. As the news has slowly travelled to village, I’ve received numerous congratulations and jokes about the success of “my husband.” Benin likes Obama!

22 to Go

I think the last two months have flown by. I feel very much at home in my village now, but I still spend most my time meeting people, observing life here, and looking for work opportunities. I meet weekly with a women’s group of gardeners, and this weekend I am starting an English club with some of the neighbor girls. I’ve also been spending a lot of time at the schools: a primary school across the street from my concession, and a CEG (College d’Enseignement General = secondary school) about 7 km away. After the Christmas break, I plan to start environmental clubs at both and a girl’s club at the CEG, as I have been observing that the number of girls in school here drops off throughout secondary school – the ratio of boys to girls is about 10:1 by the time students get to their terminal year and the Bac, the exam that allows them to graduate and attend university. I’m still taking Wemε lessons, tending to my own garden (the cabbage and carrots are on their way!), and learning the ways of the farm. Geo is grossiring, I am not, and all is well!

How to Break Hearts in Benin

In an earlier post, I mentioned how it is the cultural norm for men here to be very forward and persistent when interested in a woman. It is custom for the man to ask the woman out at least three times before she agrees. Just saying “no” means nothing and is even considered a standard part of the courting procedure. If she says yes any earlier, she is considered ­­desperate, easy, and undesirable. Thus, guys don’t give up… Many women deal with such advances on a daily basis, so how does one get rid of an unwanted male suitor in a culturally appropriate manner? Some volunteers have researched the matter, and the necessary process is as follows:

Step 1: Respect your suitor.

The American methods of rejection including ignoring texts/calls, a polite but obvious display of disinterest, or even a frank “’no” are off the table here. The first two won’t work, due to previously mentioned persistence, and the latter is incredibly disrespectful. According to my source, a Beninese couple, disrespecting your suitor can mean your safety is at risk! Not in a violent stalker way, but due to the risk of gris gris, a voodoo curse that your suitor could create to either cause you harm or force you to fall in love with him against your will. (Side note: while the point of this culture-informing entry is not about religion, the mixing of traditional and other religions is widely practiced here, and many religious people also believe in the powers of vodun. The couple who informed me of this is Pentacostal, but still takes gris gris very seriously. Interesting!). So how do you show your suitor you respect him? You meet him in a public place, buy a non-alcoholic beverage for each of you, and calmly explain that you do not wish to date him, incorporating the following steps.

          Step 2: Lie.

Even if you are single and looking, to say you are not interested in this particular suitor will not work. It is disrespectful (danger!) and may encourage further wooing. Therefore, it is necessary to come up with a “more valid” reason that you cannot date this person: “I have a husband,” “I am here to work and not play,” “My bride price is too expensive for you,” etc. To ensure you don’t excite him with a challenge, proceed to step 3.

         Step 3: Give him fear.

Back your lies up with a threat. To complete the above examples: “Said husband will beat you up,” “Peace Corps will send me home if I date you,” “If you continue to pursue me, I will tell the whole town and you will be embarrassed because you can’t afford me,” etc. 

           As far-fetched as some of this may seem, it is not so much the content of what you say, but the way you go about saying it. The cultural protocol is such that even if your lies and threats are unbelievable, he will see that you are doing so in order to politely reject him and spare his feelings.

Interestingly enough, this dating and heart-breaking procedure seems to fit pretty well into what I am learning to be socially acceptable behavior here in Benin, which often includes around many lies and excuses for the sake of preserving someone else’s comfort and self-perception. Sometimes I consider it polite, sometimes two-faced, and often times inefficient... But I suppose it’s not really my judgment to make, as long as I understand my environment and act accordingly. With as much as I’m learning every day, two years might not even be enough for that!