Back at It

A quickly passing August started with readjusting to village life and planning for year two! The farm’s irrigation system is almost finished, so there will be much gardening and harvesting ahead. Back-to-school season is only a month away, and a week-long environmental camp in the city of Parakou gave me some great insight into lesson plans and potential activities for my village – hand washing stations, crafts with recycled materials, latrine use campaigns… I’m looking forward to improving on last year’s projects, as well as the introduction of a few others.

My Amour et Vie team worked hard the last couple of months to survey the community about its health awareness. We hosted a kick-off ceremony for the target groups and authorities from our region. True to Benin, no one showed up at the invited time (2 PM), but by the end, there were over 100 guests to watch the peer educators’ skit and hear about the team’s goals to raise awareness and improve the health of our community members.

The community gathers for an Amour et Vie kick off ceremony

Mid-August brought personal projects: recording some of the many guitar songs I’ve been inspired to write during my time here and helping paint a mural on the side of my house! It’s about time it started to feel like a home…

The artist and his finished product!

The month will end with a formation for my women’s group about tomato conservation and home-canning, just in time for the September surplus!

While Peace Corps life is unhurried and often unscheduled, I think I’ve established a good pace for the year ahead, and these days it seems there’s always something on the calendar, including a few vacations to look forward to: West Africa road trip in November, family visits for Christmas, and a spring break birthday adventure.

New pictures of Environmental Camp, the Amour et Vie kick-off ceremony, and the mural process can be seen here.

No News Blues

 

Peace Corps assures the friends and families of volunteers that “no news is good news,” so I make no apologies for my lack of blog posts the past couple of months. The truth in my case however, is that it seems that “no news” is in fact, no news… but I realize that the life I’ve grown accustomed to here is still not at all resembling of the norm state-side, so I will try harder to get back to my monthly updates! Here are a few recaps of the memorable happenings of June and July.

June 1, World Tree Day, I got a group together to plant 50 trees at our local health center. Moringa, known as the “Miracle Tree,” is the focus of many of my activities related to food security. Though realistically it is comparable to other legumes, the whole tree can be used for various products from sauce with the leaves to soap with the seed oil. My group of Moringa enthusiasts would like to advocate its nutritional and medicinal properties to those in village who have limited resources and access to healthy foods and Western medicine, so we’re hoping for a nice little plantation by next spring. One problem – no materials or money to build a fence, and Moringa is essentially goat candy. The trees are pretty resilient and continue to grow despite their regular de-leafing, so fingers crossed…

Moringa morning. From left to right: Health Center Guardian, Innocent (my supervisor's son), Roland (intern at my farm), Gregoire (see more below!), Michelle, John (fellow PCV), Sylvestre (English teacher, and PCV enthusiast)

Gregoire, the Beninese man to the left of me in the picture above has become my champion work partner #1! He sought me out my first week in village, not for the shady reasons I’ve often associated with some Beninese men, but because he truly envisions a better future for Benin and the environment. He works for the mayor’s office as a community counselor, giving informational sessions in rural villages about child nutrition, diarrheal disease, and malaria. He has become a reliable contact for many of my projects in village, from my monthly nutritional seminars for preschool Mamans, to my new Amour et Vie team!  As I mentioned in a previous post, “Amour et Vie” (Love and Life) is a program run by Peace Corps, Population Services International, USAID, and other development organizations that trains a community counselor (Gregoire’s role) and two high school-aged “peer educators” to conduct informational sessions twice monthly for a target group, predominately concerning family planning, sexual health, malaria, and diarrheal disease. My team attended a training last week, and we are preparing a kick-off ceremony for mid August!

I am happy with my team and excited for the work we will do, but it was a lengthy process putting the team together. The boy peer educator was found immediately with no problems, but we went through 4 girls before finding one whose parents gave permission or didn’t request that their daughter be paid for the work. In one shocking and disappointing circumstance, a chosen girl showed up at my door with her uncle. While her single mother and older brother gave enthusiastic permission, her uncle refused. In a confusing, language-translated conversation, he explained that she was too young (“only 18”) to travel to a weeklong training, and that going out into the community to teach people things will bring “gris-gris” (voodoo curses) upon her, or people would expect money or favors if she tried to teach them things. I explained that it was a safe and important opportunity for a young girl, especially because she hopes to be a nurse. He was adamant however, and I felt powerlessly unable to defend this girl’s opportunity. The next morning, her maman approached me and asked that I not be angry with them for refusing her daughter’s participation in the program. She consoled me, “If her father was still alive, he was a school director, or if it were her other uncle who is a doctor, she would have been allowed,” she said. “But since he is the uncle who lives in village, his permission is necessary, even though he is wrong.” I assured her that I understand respecting an elder’s wish, but I also asked her why they let him have the final say, if they know that he was wrong. A simple, “what-kind-of-a-dumb-question-is-that?” response: “Because he is a man and I am a woman, so I must respect him.” That was such a hard thing to hear, and such a hard realization to let go of, that they can know he is uneducated and wrong, yet still be content in letting him make their decisions – certainly one aspect of this culture with which I struggle to empathize. I assured the mother that I was not angry, only sad for her daughter, and I promised to let the girl know if another opportunity comes up.

The cultural frustrations and slow days made for a restless June. While I hit my year-in-country mark, it seemed like more of a reminder that there’s a whole year and some change to go… So the getaways of July were much appreciated:

The first week was spent in Porto Novo at Camp GLOW (“Girls Leading Our World”), an amazing opportunity for young village girls to spend the week learning about how to be healthy, happy leaders. Like my Camp AGBASSA, it was so inspiring to see the confidence and knowledge gained by middle-school girls over one week.

From there, I was off for a 1½ week vacation to Morocco! Morocco was full of adventures like paved roads, air conditioning, hot running water, cold potable water, beds comparable to clouds, and rooms with rose petals sprinkled delicately, welcoming me to relaxation and luxury. It was ten days of over-eating, over-sleeping, over-bathing, and indescribable comfort. It re-sparked my travel bug, and got me thinking about post Peace Corps possibilities. While vacation was refreshing and very much appreciated, it’s hard to get back to nights of interrupted sleep and mornings of 4 am roosters.

But here I am, back in Benin, and heading to the next thing: this week, Camp BRO (“Boys Respecting Others”). Another week of learning and confidence building, though I imagine this one will have less singing and screaming than girls’ camp.

I look forward to the calm 2 weeks I will spend in village after July (mid August brings Environmental Camp, the final wrap-up to the summer vacation period), to reconnect with my colleagues, to get back to my projects, and to hang out with my Geo cat. 

This lengthy update is all the more reason for more frequent posts, so I’ll be sure to get back at it in August. I’m missing you all and your luxurious amenities!

Amoebas and Mangos

Last week I checked off another “rite-of-passage” from my list of inevitable unpleasantries in the life of a West African PCV (or perhaps a West African in general). Among them: transportation accidents, stepping in feces, getting splashed as a mama gracefully throws out her basin of dirty water, and as you may have guessed, parasites. Yes, I am now the official owner of three amoebas all in one gut! I admit I feel a little proud... And also frequently nauseous, fatigued, and lacking in appetite, which is why my doctor instructed me to poop in a cup in the first place – a glamorous life we lead here. No worries, it’s nothing that taking some strong meds and paying better attention to food and water can’t fix.

Despite the dip in health, it’s been a fun month for projects, as we are in the short window of mango season here. These juicy delicious fruits are cheap and plentiful from April to June, so I took full advantage to eat, bake, boil, and brew these babies. What made the menu this month? Mango bread, mango curry, mango jam, mango wine… keeping my eyes open for more recipes before the season’s up!

The new month brings more gardening and tree planting, so not much is new there. The year-in-country mark is fast approaching, and they say the second round flies by. Didn’t the first?

Mango Jammin'!

April Chaleur brings May Showers

The stress-to-success of last month’s girls’ camp was followed by several stints of comfort in the city. I celebrated my birthday with friends in Cotonou, attended a week-long In-Service-Training with the other PCVs in Porto Novo, and shortly thereafter got to return to Cotonou with two girls from my village for a “Take Our Daughters to Work” program. Now, it’s back to village life for the next two months, where I need to put in some valuable face-time, and get my next projects up and running!

Here’s what I’ll be up to, “work”-wise, the next couple months:

• At the farm: we’re breeding our bunnies, growing a tree nursery, building some compost piles, replanting our garden for the rainy season (finally!), and soon will be installing an irrigation system (take that, dry season 2014!)

• At the school: the girls’ club continues, the environmental club flounders, and apparently I’m in love with Peace Corps camps… July brings Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) and Camp BRO (Boys Respecting Others), and August brings Environmental Camp. I’ll bring some students and help lead sessions during those three weeks.

• In the community: The farm and I are hosting a community tree planting event on June 1^st, World Tree Day! My homologue and I are also planning a series of information sessions for mothers about nutrition, malaria, and hygiene. Similarly, another work partner and I are starting an “Amour et Vie” (Love and Life) team, a program run by Population Services International, that trains community members and two high school-aged “peer educators” to conduct informational sessions for youth, predominately concerning family planning and sexual health.

As Peace Corps Benin prepares for the new batch of volunteers, I realize that I am now in the thick of my service. That’s an intimidating thought, as I sometimes feel so very lost and wonder “now what?”… . It’s undeniable that many people who join the Peace Corps hold a desire to change the world, or maybe even save it. However unrealistic I knew that was, I had to see for myself that real change will take time, much more than two years and one foreigner (in fact, forget the foreigners. I’ve developed opinions on development, folks!). Anyhow, tangible accomplishments in that direction are few and far between. So what’s next? I can also admit that joining the Peace Corps was, for me, a selfish venture for self-discovery and self-improvement, with hopes that the rest of the advantages will follow. I suppose it’s time to grow, to hold myself to the challenges of independence and initiative for which I came here. While I try to figure all that out, I’ll leave you with some humorous anecdotes of village life:

• I was working alone on the farm one morning, thinking far away while engrossed in building raised garden beds. One of the high school boys who works on the farm with me, Evariste, came home for his lunch break. He stood watching me for a while, and then asked: Mishu, who are you going to burry there? I looked up, confused, and then realized that in my intense effort to “raise” a garden bed, I had actually just dug myself into a sizeable hole... So we planted a tree there instead :)

• Another boy from the farm, Rodrigue, is struggling with his English class. After his last exam, he came home and wrote down for me all the words that he didn’t understand. It was a long list, meaning his exam was probably half blank when he turned it in, but he was surprisingly chipper. When I asked him why he was so pleased: Because I knew that even if I didn’t know the words there during the test, I had a big dictionary at home, and her name is Michelle! 

• Upon my entering a weekly women’s group meeting, all the mamans snickered and chattered in Wemε. One finally explained to me: Yovo, when you walk, your butt bounces! I laughed it off and blushed a bit, but I’m somewhat used to comments about (or even the feeling up of) my body by now, from older women. But they didn’t stop there: Yes! Look at that! Yovo, this is very good. A young woman’s butt must bounce when she walks. Right, left, right, left… They proceeded to stand, clapping and dancing, while chanting “à la gauche, à la droit, à la gauche, à la droit!” To the left, to the right, to the left, to the right! It didn’t stop until I obliged them in standing up and dancing with them, in celebration of my own bouncy booty.

So while bouts of homesickness and frustration do come, I'm still learning, having fun, and even getting some work done! It's been a fast but long ten months.

Camp AGBASSA

So it was totally happening, and then it probably wouldn’t happen, and then it definitely wasn’t going to happen. After that, it was maybe going to happen, and then it happened... Camp AGBASSA was a slow, painful planning process, amounting to a quick, fun three days and nights.

When funding for the girls’ camp fell through, I admitted my fault to the camp planning committee (really just me and Marie-Elise, and then later her visiting French friend, Monique). I asked to try again later in the year when we were more prepared and eligible for Peace Corps aid, but the Beninese optimism that “it will happen” and “someone will help us,” (that’s another blog post for another time) was somehow irresistible to us all. So there we were, 24 hours before the camp, with 30 middle-school-aged girls invited, and not a dollar to our cause…

Normally, Peace Corps gives a community camp 4 years to become financially independent, weaning them from an initial 75% aid, to moral support. Alas, a fully community funded, first-edition, five day overnight camp was slightly stupid and atrociously ambitious.  But Marie-Elise is a go-getter, and I’ve perfected my go-with-the-flow attitude here, and so we managed to scrape by for three days & nights on donations of mosquito nets and sleeping mats, sacs of corn or rice or onions, and again, the French friend. Only 18 of the girls showed up, but so did only half the number of desired counselors, so it did somehow all work out. Eventually, though often after-the-fact, the donations and acknowledgements of the solicited community participants did finally roll in; we received 20 sleeping mats after one night had already passed and a sac of rice and several monetary donations on the last day of camp – better late than never.

It was all so Beninese: nothing ran as scheduled and no one came on time; nothing was practiced or prepared ahead of time; the most money was spent on a decorative banner and certificates of completion; adults didn’t freak out when kids were “unsupervised” or got sick, and kids entertained themselves and didn’t want to go home. Many sessions were replicas of the Beninese education system – a series of lectures in which kids don’t ask and aren’t asked questions, rather they repeat or write on the board whatever the teacher said. But I did my best to make it less like school and create a safe space to talk about all the things a young girl needs some guidance on, from goals and obstacles to relationships and health, and hopefully the girls did leave with something they didn’t have before (besides a misprinted T-shirt with some Caucasian newlyweds’ faces on the front, one of Monique’s contributions – we took what we could get).

And even though it really was a po-dunk version of a camp (nowhere near my days at Sherman Lake, or St. Mary’s, or Walden – or maybe not even Mrs. Wolf’s preschool art camp…) it was an opportunity that some girls wouldn’t have had: to take a break and do some reflection and hopefully gain some knowledge and confidence. The name of the camp, AGBASSA, means “within me” (though that’s a twice removed translation, Wemε à French à English, so the sense isn’t quite the same), and on the last day we marched around village, telling the community about what we accomplished this week, and singing about what’s great about being a young girl.

This is the first project I’ve completed in village that feels like a success, like I’ve participated in something lasting and worthwhile. I was so proud of my campers at the end of three days, at how much they seemed to learn and grow and become proud of themselves. But I was even more proud of Marie-Elise and the women’s group that supported the camp. The best part is that I actually did so very little, and I know the camp could (and hopefully will) continue long into the future, without my presence. I’m already looking forward to AGBASSA 2014!

Dormitories for 6em (7th grade) and 5em (8th grade) girls

From misprinted wedding t-shirts, to reprinted camp t-shirts...

 

The women who made the camp possible!

One of the songs the girls sang while marching through the village: "We're going to the ends of the Earth. Camp AGBASSA will never perish!" They also sang about keeping a joyful heart (the meaning of AGBASSA), and maintaining their rights to be safe, innocent, young girls. My favorite part was the chanting: "Young girls - fight! fight! fight! Without women: no nation, no development. Women - they exist too!"

Will Work for Shoes

The other week I spent an afternoon helping my Beninese Maman, Marie-Elise, with some unpacking. Three of her friends from France had sent boxes –  no, trucks full of boxes. Every room was stacked from ceiling to floor with second-hand gifts for schools, orphanages, and Marie Elise’s boutique. For three days, her home was a “Dead Yovo Marché” (the common name for markets where western-style goods and clothes are sold, as one assumes they were all sent from deceased whiteys).

Everything the French outgrew or didn’t want is now in possession of Benin. And frankly, Benin might not even want it either... I spent the day in awe of “stuff.” I recognized many specialized text books, unique kitchen utensils, fancy bath products, and several identical t-shirts with a misprint, as I have probably used several of them at some point back in the states.

I admit to fulfilling the American stereotype as someone who has always had so much stuff, struggled to find a place to put it, and put together many a box for Goodwill or the Salvation Army. While I am ever in favor to reuse and recycle, and such donations are generous and appreciated, I had a hard time seeing the receiving end of such Western consumerism, and it was bizarre to take in the quantity of goods found useless and no longer desirable to the developed world – only 3 people from the developed world, actually.

For many PCVs like me, a small draw for the job was a desire to live simply; this is a romantic yet valid assumption about life in the Peace Corps. However, we often find it hard to resist (furthermore, often gorge ourselves) when offered luxurious items, products of convenience, or foods from the home that we miss. With the opening of each box then, I prepared myself to covet something that was inside, like when I open packages from home, and I was somewhat shocked when I found myself not wanting any of it.

At the end of the day, despite my reluctance to desire the many familiar yet rare things in front of me, Marie-Elise did encourage me to take something in exchange for my help. And so, a pair of impractical (and now somewhat symbolic) shoes has found its way into my wardrobe. I wore them that weekend to a formal Peace Corps party, but I imagine they will be left to collect dust and find their way into the “leave / donate in Benin” pile once my time here is up.

I suppose I have yet to reach a genuine conclusion about the feelings I experienced that day and what it meant for me to accept the shoes, but this was clearly one of my first insights as to how the readjustment (just 18 months away, folks) to life in the U.S. will probably be equally as shocking (if not more) than when I came to Benin. I’m only 33% into service, and all my old ways are constantly questioned, just as circumstances I never thought about (i.e. where does all my unwanted stuff end up?) are finding their way into my daily life. It is without doubt that I have changed and will continue to do so, but the question and the challenge remains: to what degree?

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In other general news, here’s a quick update on the work front:

People are starting to better use my free labor, though it’s still a battle. Work was picking up in the schools last month, but I let myself lose some motivation to work there after being too naïve / hopeful that I let myself get involved with people who had ulterior motives in working with me. I am ok but less comfortable working with them, so it's been a challenge to keep motivated and keep my clubs going without the benefit of host country national partners. 

The girls club continues to go well with a group of freshman-aged girls who are learning how to develop their own opinions and gain confidence, and I do feel like I get through to them sometimes. We just did an essay contest for which the winner will get to go to Cotonou for the weekend to shadow a professional woman in the workplace. This is a pretty big deal for kids in my village, with farmers and homemakers for parents, so it does seem good to provide opportunities like that to them.

On the farm, I've got some beautiful green beans! All my cucumbers were attacked by worms, but it's an opportunity to use the garden for a demonstration on natural insecticides, so that's coming up. I'm also working on a grant to get them an irrigation system, because there's a whole lot of fertile land, though not enough man power or rain to utilize it all.

My women's group is learning all about tree planting and how to use a tree called “Moringa” to improve their agricultural and nutritional practice. My newly-formed men's co op is learning how to cooperate, and soon I'll be starting nutrition seminars with preschool mamans. So it's coming together, slowly but surely, but there’s still a long way to go. For now, I do the best I can, and appreciate the love and support from home.

Geo's Big Night Out

The other night I was ready for bed, so I went out back to bring Geo inside. He usually spends the evenings outside in my small yard, catching lizards and licking off my dinner dishes. I cooed and tutted and shook his bowl of food, but he was nowhere to be found. I stumbled out into the dark with my flashlight, poked my head around my concession, and nothing… I announced that Geo went out, and my concession brother Cedric took me out to look for him. We romped around the bush, walked into neighboring concessions, and accumulated a small search party of my neighbors, but to no avail.

I was told he’d find his way back eventually and to go home and get some rest – they could see the worry on my face. I waited until I was safely inside to let the tears fall, and I called my loved ones for comfort. I left my screen doors open, placed a bowl of food outside, and tried to sleep. But I could hear my neighbors outside, some of them still calling “Géo! Géo!,” and some of them surely laughing about the ridiculous yovo, making her cat come inside every night.

While my family always had indoor cats while I was growing up, I am all for the freedom to roam. If I had a big open farmland, I’d have no worries about Geo’s being out late at night. But as I lay in my bed, missing the sag of my mosquito net where Geo usually sleeps on top, I thought about all the motos that zip by on the road next to my house, or all the people in village who had commented on how well I feed my cat, while greedily licking their lips (it’s a matter of preference, but yes, some people do eat cat here).

So I gave it one last effort to roam around village, this time the tears flowing freely. Although, I think my tears were somewhat pardoned this time, as many people half-joke that Geo is my baby. They call me Maman Géo and then usually say “But really, Mishu, that’s not good. You need to have real children. Now. In Benin. Before you’re too old.”

It was my first night in village without Geo. And while becoming an autonomous cat owner has been a learning experience that has required many band-aids, Geo has become a big character in my life here – A friend to greet me each time I come back to my lonely home; something to be responsible for; something to share love and food with. I’m not one for cat stories, but he’s got personality.

So I laid there again, missing my friend, and worrying about what could happen to him. I cried myself into one of those deep, sad sleeps. The kind that are easily disturbed but heavy enough that you have a ½ second of ignorance when you wake, until you remind yourself what has happened, and the sadness sets in again, as it did after every subtle noise I awoke to.

But around 6h30 the next morning, I heard what I had been listening for all night – his little scratches on the door! I leapt out of bed, opened the door, and he pranced on in. I was so happy I started crying all over again. He was ok, and he came home! I gave him a big bowl of food and scratched him all over, which he probably thought was some sort of reward for his big night out…

At day break, I announced the news to my neighbors, some of whom were already up and ready to relaunch the search party. Even a man I strongly dislike had called the gongonière (man who bangs a gong when people are to assemble). The good news spread, and people kept stopping by to “Dieu Merci!” (Thank god!), because “Mishu, hier-la… Tchᴐ!” (Mishu, yesterday, tsk...), meaning I was ridiculously distraught over my missing kitten, and may never live it down.

If I don’t want him to leave again like that they said, it’s time to castrate him. I had about ten neighbors – village chief and delegates included – come tell me this within an hour of his return, and not one of them failed to accompany their suggestions with the corresponding cutting and crotch-pointing gestures... I think Geo knew what was up too, because he sat on my bed looking a bit guilty when my neighbors poked their heads in to shake a finger at him… At least Bob Barker will be pleased.

I’m just so happy to have him home. It was a long night. For us both, apparently. After the cuddling and the lecturing, and the big meal, he climbed up to take a little cat nap on my mosquito net: right where he belongs.