Dearest readers, friends, and Mom, Thanks for reading my blog. I’m excited to announce that I’m boarding up Wanderlust Imagery and launching a new home for my photos and stories. This blog was fun, but I’ve put together something a little shinier, more professional: www.quietgriot.com What’s a griot? Click on the link and find out for yourself. Wanderlust won’t disappear, but all the hot n’ fresh stories will be on Quiet Griot Also, I’ll take this opportunity to officially announce a new project: www.pulaku.com You may have noticed the Fulani Photo Project link on this page, but now we’re ready to tell the world about Pulaku. This endeavor grew out of my friendship with Guida Belco, a brilliant young Fulani who taught me to speak Fulfulde in Goumori. We’re planning a motorcycle journey across West Africa, sharing stories and photographs from the camps of Fulani nomads. Since I’ve been in Benin, I’ve found myself drawn to the unique stoicism and mystique of the Fula people. In 2011 we will hit the trail to explore the ways in which the world’s largest nomadic tribe is coping with development and climate change. We’re currently working hard on logistics and funding. The more popular support we have, the better. Please spread the word about the Pulaku Project. We’d be happy to prepare a small article for your blog, neighborhood newsletter, or the New York Times. So, that’s two new bookmarks for your web-surfing pleasure. They’re both works in progress, so please browse over to the Comments page and tell me what you think. Love, Christoph

As a former bicycle racer, I was intrigued one day by the sight of a young cyclist dodging potholes and mopeds on the congested streets of Cotonou. That rekindled my cycling flame, one thing led to another, and I’ve somehow become an assistant coach of the Beninese National Cycling team. Man, you never know what Peace Corps will deliver. I’ve been working on a series of articles for www.cyclingnews.com, and the first article went up today. Click here to check it out. While bicycle racing in a country with few paved roads might seem a bit like bobsled racing in Jamaica, I’ve been impressed with the tenacity and grit of these athletes. These are some of my favorite shots from my return to the world of skinny tires: Cotonou paceline like I said, grit and determination Augustin goes on the attack. faster than most of the mopeds in Cotonou And a few great vintage images from the collection of Mustafa Saka, Benin’s top cyclist in the 1980’s. riders take to the start of the 1987 Beninese Independence Day road race Saka receives a new bike for winning the ‘87 Independence Day race the Beninese National Team prior to the Tour du Benin in the 1990’s friends and fans celebrate Saka’s first victory in the early 1980’s

International Women's Day is March 8th, 2010.

In celebration, we proudly present Fiydafrik's first music video: Femmes Au Pouvoir ("Women in Power")

Fiydafrik - Femmes Au PouvoirHow 'bout that?

Fiydafrik is currently in the capital trying to get the video shown on Beninese national television for International Women's Day.

Many thanks to my fellow volunteers who contributed on the filming and editing of this video.

Fiydafrik would love to hear your feedback. It takes cajones for a grown man in West Africa to dance around under the mango trees in a hot red miniskirt. All comments on this blog will be communicated to Fiydafrik himself.

How can you support Fiydafrik? Spread the word. He's thrilled to be online, and I'd love to tell him his video got five hundred hits, or five thousand.

Talk about a change of scenery... I've been in Switzerland for the last 10 days. After over a year in Benin, it's been blissful to indulge in chocolate, cheese, deep powder, and family antics.

Wengen is a mountain village, accessible only by train, that lies bellow the north face of the Eiger.

Little Engine That Could, and did, clear 2-meter snow drifts

old chalet textures

cable car rises from the clouds to Manlichen Summit

this fella lives at Manlichen - a mountain chamoix

avalanche barriers (fresh powder skiing barriers)

Poppa and my half-brother JB sled some gnar

JB ready for action

happy me with sister and the Eiger

did little Lena empty the wine glass?

my sister is pretty.

and I'm not used to this cold. (self-portrait in the bathroom mirror)

Big changes on the Peace Corps front…. I’ve moved to Parakou – metropolitan heartbeat of the north country.

After months of planning the Moringa Association of Benin, it looks like we’re set to launch the NGO this spring. To facilitate our launch and get started on developing the market for moringa leaves, I need to be centrally located, and able to communicate by phone and email. It wasn’t easy leaving my friends in village, but I’m pleased to be working on something fruitful (er, leaf-full?) and I’ll surely be back up north to help with the plantation and see my village cronies.

Parakou Scenes:

Moto Town

Compared to other West African cities, Parakou is rather pretty. There are quite a few public spaces and socialist-era monuments.

Like this statue of Bio Guera - the great Bariba fighter who resisted the European slave traders.

Don't let the anxious face fool you...

It may be the "second city of Benin" but we keep our rural roots with a healthy downtown goat population.

Parakou has always been a trade junction, and the huge central market sells everything from Obama undies to dried chameleons, and a huge variety of veggies too.

It's like Toys R US...

just a little disturbing.

At dusk each day the sky fills with fruit bats.

the nimble Peugot 505 on moving day

Parakou ain’t bad – veggies all year round, cold beers, and…….. Fyidafrik!

Sebastien is the night guard at the Peace Corps work station in Parakou. He’s a quiet guy, always there with a kind greeting and a warm smile. He does his job well, and he’s a friend to all volunteers.

But there’s more to his unassuming smile than meets the eye. Afterhours Sebastien shines as Benin’s emerging cross-dressing pop star : Fidyafrik!

Six years ago, Sebastien’s best friend lost his soul mate to an arranged marriage. She was whisked away overnight to marry a man chosen by her father. Distraught by injustice that tore apart a happy couple, Sebastien vowed to fight for women’s rights and gender equity. The time had come to merge his passion for music with his aspiration to spread a message of hope and justice. Fidyafrik was born.

Sebastien spent the next five years developing his first hit single: Les Femmes au Pouvoir (“Power to the Women”). He recorded the song in a Parakou studio, complete with instrumental backing and a women’s chorus group. Les Femmes au Pouvoir starts with a percussive chant demanding political power for women, before moving into the poppy heart of the song that combines melodic Afro-beat verses with Reggae interludes. At seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds, there’s plenty of time for a VanHalen-esque guitar solo and two spoken word soliloquies. Fidyafrik hits you with a variety of musical styles – you’re sure to get the message.

In January 2010 Fidyafrik approached the Wanderlust Imagery team about producing his music video. It was an easy decision. We started work on the 24th of January. I’ll let the images tell the rest of the story:

The endeavor overcame adversity right from the beginning: the Sony DoDeCaHORN boom box seemed to be busted. Alas, we reversed the polarity of the batteries, and with great relief, proceeded to the first shooting location.

Sebastian metamorphosises into Fiydafrik. He prepared five seperate ladies outifts for the video shoot. When Fidyafrik performs, (s)he says “my heart, my lungs, my lips are feminine.”

Volunteer technical director Old Man Downing prepares the cinematography equipment.

Fidyafrik fires up the DoDeCaHORN,

and lays down the lyrics.

The camera is rolling!

costume change

Fidyafrik!

what, what? quoi, quoi?

Fidyafri and the tech team do business on a termite mound.

We are currently editing the video, aiming to debut on March 8th for International Women's Day. Wanderlust Imagery will be right there - first to deliver the music video to the WWW.

With a little luck, this release shall catapult Fidyafrik towards his dream of becoming the Universal Defender of Rights for Women and Children.

To learn more, or if you want to support Universal Defense of Women and Kids, contact me.

After two days afloat, we finally made it to Korioume, the port 18km from Timbuktu. It was a quick ride in a 4x4 taxi to get to the fabled city of Timbuktu. We unloaded the taxi and were promptly welcomed by a couple of obnoxious police officers with bloated egos. They demanded our passports and claimed that our visas were not valid. Poo. By a stroke of luck, Shindouk, the owner of our destination lodge appeared out of the blue and somehow persuaded the cops not to be jackasses. As it turns out, the owner of Sahara Passion lodge is the chief of the Ouladnagim Touareg tribe of the region. He's an incredible man who played in important role in resolving the conflict that devestated the region in the 1990's. Today he invites visitors to stay with him and see for themselves the gentle kind nature of the Timbuktu Touaregs.

The Flame of Peace, where the Touaregs joined the Malian army to burn thousands of weapons in 1996. Apparently the torch itself blew off the tower in a sandstorm, but the weapons cemented into the ground are still a powerful symbol of a conflict that's been buried in the past.

sundown football match

Lybian president Muammar Gaddafi is fond of Timbuktu, and he recently built this canal to deliver water from the Niger river. Just a simple gift.

Sahara traffic control

We were lucky to arrive on a festival day with horse racing.

Wu-Tang seems to be big in T-Town.

It wouldn't be Timbuktu without some time on the original 4x4 transport. Shindouk set us up with his cousin Gidou who lives nomadically in the desert outside Timbuktu. Gidou is brilliantly cheerful and radiates contentment and natural wisdom. He graciously welcomed us into his home (tent) and led us for three days on his camels.

Gidou

Gidou's son Idrisa helped out.

Certain parts of the region were surprisingly lush. Prickly grass and shrubbs sustain thousands of cattle and goats.

There's something magical about this place.

I felt a peculiar lightness out there.

photo credit: Old Man Downing

Touareg neighborhood.

Goat Market

Family photo with our hosts.

Donkeys draw water from the well. Gidou speaks softly and carries a small stick.

for good health: three cups of tea, three times a day.

We were treated to an incredible sunrise as we waited for the ferry across the Niger to take a packed Land Cruiser back to civilization.

morning prayer

unloading a cargo vessel

and this is sunset that same day.

and the next day.

what a gift.

Next we traveled to the bustling port city of Mopti. We were lucky to score a fortuitous spot on a cargo boat that was heading downstream the next morning.

Called

Vacation! I've been traveling the last few weeks with a couple fellow volunteers. We ventured north, in hopes of reaching Timbuktu.

Our first stop was in the Dogon region of Southern Mali.

mud mosque

To defend themselves from warring tribes and slave traders, the Dogon people built their homes high in the rocky escarpment that rises above the flat Sahel.

Sculptures adorn the mud buildings, telling the tales of a bygone era.

Today, without fear of conflict, the Dogon have opted for to build on the flatlands below, but they maintain thier incredible architectural tradition. Notice the elaborate mosque on the right side.

We enjoyed living as tourists for a change. Here, we slept on the roof of a mud lodge. A long exposure in bright moonlight let me slip ghostly into this shot.

I'm continual drawn to photograph the Fulani in my village. Incorporating modern elements into their traditional attire, they exemplify the convergence of old and new in modern Africa.

returning home from market

Fulani and friends.

My friend Guida is back in town, teaching in the elementary school to save up money to return to college.

We took another trip out to his uncle's camp outside of town to deliver photographs we'd taken several months ago.

Poppa shows the boys how to weave a straw mat.

'twas a fun photo shoot inside the hut.

I had a chance to visit the far northwest corner of Benin last month, home to the Somba people and their fascinating architecture:

Known as a "Tata Somba" this mud fortresses keeps cool inside, while protecting the inhabitants from invasion. Historically, the Sombas kept their animals in the ground floor and slept upstairs under the thatched roofs. With the reduced risk of invasion these days, the Sombas have set up their ground floor as a kitchen and cool living area.

inside the tata.like a hobbit hut.

It's hot outside, and grandma has a headache.

Grandpa enjoys the tobacco. They say he's been enjoying it well over a hundred years.

getting maximum mileage out of these trousers.

that's ten bicycles on one motorcycle.

It's tough to change the world in a mere two years of peace corps service, but we did our best on this world map.

Pakistan grew out of proportion, Russia extends into outer space, and Switzerland is a peculiar blob (not entirely unrealistic).

A couple other volunteers joined me to help the kids of my village primary school draw this map. It's on a wall facing the main road through town, and I'm astounded how often I now see people checking it out and coming to me with questions:

How long is the bush taxi ride from here to Washington DC? Why did you make Benin so small... that's surely a mistake! Who lives in Antarctica? Answer : crazy white people who do science in insulated jumpsuits. And penguins. What's a penguin? I didn't take this picture.

It's tricky getting 500 school kids to pose for a picture. Self timer... sprint into the frame. Where's Waldo?

The 10 art contest winners who painted the mural, plus the school director, and Waldo.

final product

Time to go to the bank again. Cringing at the prospect of another 7+ hours in a bush taxi, I opted for alternative transportation. I found an intriguing dotted line on my map, and set off into the bush, technically a short cut towards Natitingou:

It's the end of the rainy season, and I came upon high water at the Mekrou River. I found some folks in a fishing camp near the river, but I don't know the Bariba word for "boat", or "paddle", or "that water looks nasty". Nonetheless, with with some pointing and a goofy grin, I solicited help from this cheery lady and her son.

Then I came upon this good lookin' village called Firou:

Though I was 60k from my village, I had the strange luck to meet this kid who knew me by my local name, "Sabi Suleman":

He showed me to his family's home:

With a cool mural depicting Bio Guera, the Bariba warrior who resisted the slave traders.

And I met Gramma:

How 'bout those biceps?

Back on the trail, things got a little more junglish:

'Twas a hot day, so against the counsel of the voice in the back of head ("Schistosomiasis, you idiot!") I took a quick plunge:

Ya know what blows my mind? Washing machines. So you just put your stuff in the machine, and press a button, and walk away, right? Wow.

Or you could do it mannually:

These women are tough!

And this termite mound has neat shadows:

Then I met these boys along the road. The school year is getting under way, so they were walking 30k to the closest primary school, where they'll live with relatives during the academic year. I'm usually quite hesitant to profer handouts, but these kids had the audacity to ask for the shoes off my feet. That cracked me up. I can't handle barefoot bikin', but I gave the kids some coins for school supplies, since they were so obliging to be photographed. One of my favorite recent images:

And that's the story of how I went to the bank last week.

Sometimes I just think to myself "Man, this place really looks like Africa".

My favorite tea shop. You can get black tea, chocolate tea, or coffee tea (nescafe). For munchies, there is bread, and mayonnaise. Sometimes scrambled eggs. The smiley guy who runs this place is one of my good village buddies, but I don't know his name. Everybody just calls him Tea Man.

Outside the tea shop.

Sometimes the Funk Taxi comes to town.

That's a watermellonmobile.

On the outskirt of the village, behind the primary school, lies the sorcery hut. It's a good place to go if some kind of curse has got you feelin' down. Each month on the full moon people get out the drums and dance all night on that patch of dirt. That's a ficus tree on the left. It used to be upright, but it fell in a storm a couple months ago. That caused a big ol' ruccus, and required lots of dancing to rectify the disturbed order of the universe. Then people started hacking pieces from it for firewood. But it's not all fun and games and mystical forces. Oh, yes, I'm doing some work here too: At the moringa garden, harvesting leaves with Alfred and his brother. Those trees were planted last may. Now they're 3 meters tall. Whazzam! Washing the moringa leaves, before drying and milling them into vitamin-rich powder.Okay, so it probably appears that I merely took pictures of people working, but I partook in the slushing of moringa leaves too. However, I'm doing my best to make this Alfred's baby - he's the moringa boss, and I'm his sidekick. I hope this little opperation will prove sustainable such that he can keep it churning long after I've returned to the Blue Ridge. While we processed moringa leaves, Alfred's Momma warmed up a baby chicken that got soaked in a rainstorm. Neighborhood kids, displaying flowers, the baby chicken, and kung foo moves. My favorite is the youngest, third from the left. She rocked the onepieces snowsuit to keep warm. It was about 75 degrees Fahrenheit after the thunderstorm cooled things down.

At the primary school in nearby Gbangbanga, I helped the kids plant seeds that will hopefully form a prickly hedge to keep livestock out of the schoolyard. We planted a species called Caesalpinia pulcherrima or Peacock Flower. In the local Bariba language, they call it "white man's thorn bush".

Every four days, the village center livens up with the sights and sounds (and peculiar smells) of the market. It's a chaotic scene, but up close the details present a calm order in their patterns.

pillows, stuffed with cotton scrapsaluminum stew pots trouser fabric

prefer plastic or ceramic?

sweet boombox: the TeleFunken.

prayer rugs flips. and flops. "wishing you sweet bird"

shea butter soap, made locally

hardware, and plastic barbie cell phones

Not a tea party. I call 'em poop kettles. When you gotta go, you bring this along to wash up. made in Nigeria shady pharmaceuticals and fish traps. Curious what kind of fish these catch? keep scrolling. the food stuffs: beans african yams

swamp fish

ground peanut nuggets, called "coullie-coullie"

also available in curly form all sorts of spices and veggies too

Limes. Great for limeade on hot days. But most folks here use it as a traditional remedy for malaria. I buy a pile of limes from the same lady every time. Sometimes she appears concerned that I've been struggling for months with the 'laria.

hot.

I don't have the slightest idea what this is. but these are peanuts,

and this is corn. you can find black balls of mustard paste.

and fresh milk.

or perhaps you're looking for rice?

or a balloon?

faces of the market:

at the dry goods boutique.

She's my neighbor. Her name is Bake. She likes to say my name and then chuckle. What a beautiful face. The three tiny parallel lines are from the ritual scarification of the Bariba people. For some, it's subtle and elegant; for others, it's thick and striking. photographer's self portrait.

Market is held every four days in my village. That means every four days the bar owners fire up their generators to pump dance tunes through tattered speakers, and the young folk get busy on the dance floor.

But this week was different. Goumori hosted a dance competition. There was only one place to be Tuesday night: the youth hall. Teenage guys from miles around came to compete for the grand prize, a set of new, untattered speakers.

It was an elimination style competition, two at a time.

It's hard to capture dancing in a still image, but these guys were good. Imagine breakdancing mixed with traditional moves and a moonwalk or robot gesture thrown in for flare.

After three hours, I headed out before a winner was declared. The scene was little sleepier outside.

In other news, here's my cross-eyed puppy, Blek, making his internet debut:

And a bovine sunset:

Mating season brings out the brightest plumage in the bird world:

This guy pretty much owns the corn patch next to my house.

And this is my kitchen. Where the peanut butter pancakes happen. And it's where I shower. And I sleep here when it's too hot.

The locals tell me we're two months late, but the rains have finally come.

Get ready.

It's summer break, so the kids are free to work the corn fields.Well, most of 'em aren't in school anyway, but there's less time for trouble-making now that there's plowing to be done.

I've had to revise my bike routes through the village - this used to be one of my paths to a friend's house.

Now, let's talk about goat meat for a minute. I love the stuff. Goat salad, goat fettucine, goat couscous, goat on rice, or just simple goat bits alongside a beer.

Abdoulai knows the goat biz.

And this little man has mixed emotions about the whole thing.

Each night several vendors sell the good stuff fresh above a wood fire. With a little salted spice from that metal bowl, it's delicy.

And some other stuff:

You're being watched.

One of my favorite elders. Every time I see this Fulani man in town, he grabs my hand and we exchange a prolonged gentle shake as I spout off my token list of Fulfulde greetings. Same shtick every time, but it never gets old.

My buddy Awale purchased a stout new diesel generator. He charges people 150 francs to charge a cell phone battery.

Right next door, Aruna works a little welding operation. When I told him I wanted to take his photo, he proudly demonstrated how he fires up the mill that turns the dynamo that fuels his spark.

Hassan in his carpentry workshop. It's pretty impressive what this man can do with a hand saw, a plane, and a chisel. He built my bed, kitchen shelves, table, and footstools.

There’s a new mosque under construction in Kandi, the regional capital of my northern Alibori department. It’s an impressive project. Everything is hand built out of concrete. Each bucket is hoisted up to the scaffold on a rope and poured into wooden molds. The Imam will lead the call to prayer from these 45 meter tall minarets (147 feet). They’ve been working three years and expect to finish in another four.

Since it’s not yet dedicated as a holy site, the construction workers were happy to let this curious infidel poke around and take photos. Seeing as I had such bad luck with the monastery last year, I’ve taken to climbing mosques instead.

That joke will never get old.

peering down within the minaret

the view from up high.the road at the center of the horizon eventually leads to my village, 90k away

shanties. now available with satellite TV. oooh the juxtapositions of the developing world...

I'm glad I don't live in the center unit.

Looking down on the construction site.

I can't decide if I prefer this image.

or this one. Thoughts?

another cute little mosque down in the neighborhood. Cinderella's Mosque.

another month passed, and it's been a quiet one behind the camera. one year since i fell through the roof and junked up my bones. i'm up to 3 miles on my jogs, and i found myself googling the 2010 Accra Marathon a couple nights ago - so the recovery's progressing well.

been workin' on setting up the organizational framework for this national moringa association - my first shot at french beaurocratic jargon.

just a few shots this time around:

skivies. hah-ha.

on july 4th volunteers in Parakou crafted Old Glory from a bedsheet, fabric scraps, staples and glue.

the rainy season should have arrived, but my village stayed dry. this impressive sandstorm rolled through town mid june.

The Benin Squirrels (yes, really) hosted Sudan in an Africa's Cup and World Cup Qualifying match. With a raucus crowd we kept the ball on Sudan's end of the field to beat them 1-0.

With a little exaggeration and a lot of shmoozing, I wrangled my way onto the turf with the press. I am, after all, an american photographer who publishes images of Benin on a "popular" website, right ya'll?

Stephane Sessagnon: Benin's #1 soccer beefcake.

Travelers often label Ganvie the "Venice of Africa". The Tofinu people settled this village 300-400 years ago to escape conflict with Fon warriors. Because the Fon feared travelling over water, the Tofinu built their homes on stilts above Lake Nokoue. Today 30,000 people live in Ganvie, subsiding mostly on fishing and fish farming, but all trades are practiced here. There's a post office, hospital, even barbershops and several hotels on stilts.

fast food. yes, she's wearing a McDonalds tee

(wildlife Park in Northwest Benin)

tourist folk climb atop an SUV and parade around scanning for big critters.

it's way fun.

i feel humbled to see such amazing animals living wild on their own terms.

Environmental Sector Volunteers, Mandylou, and guide Marcel

Margaret jumps

this shot's dedicated to the doctors who pieced me back together last year

To all my friends in Virginia who suffered the month of May without the company and sassy charm of MandyLou, I thank you. She done good over here. What a wonderful month.

Pictures!

a fine taxi, Kerou

orange seller by streetlamp, Dassa

the hills and Basilica of Dassa

fabric weaver, Goumori

mangoes are in season

planting moringa seedlings at my worksite in Goumori

jewelry seller at Goumori market

hot wheels

fisherman folding nets, Grand Poppo

Last Saturday my landlady offered her daughter in marriage to a rich fella from Banikoara. These folks are a prominent family in my village, so the marriage is a big deal. My neighbors brought gifts of goats or chickens to celebrate the occasion. Living on a Peace Corps budget I couldn't afford a good goat (about 50,000CFA or $100), so I offered to take pictures instead.

I'll have these images printed to give to the family.

Thus, my first real foray into wedding photography:

Will this portfolio lead to wedding gigs back in the USA?

nervous bride, Anissa and her proud Mother, Asja Sofia

friends and family prepare food on the eve of the wedding

Anissa's friend paints her in henna tattoos

it was a day for celebration, unless you're a goat

well-wishers arrived from across the country

dressed in the finest fabrics

At the Mosque, these gentlemen scrutinized the husband, and found him fit

to support a third wife. Cash and kola nuts lubricated the deliberations.

I now pronounce you: husband and wife.(except the wife isn't aloud in the mosque for the actual wedding ritual)

drums and dancing, and Dolce & Gabbana.

not sure who he is, but he's important.

you're just not a wedding photographer unless you snap shots of cute kids.

And finally, I raise a glass of warm beer to my peeps Drew and Gilli who tied the knot back home in Virginia last weekend. I miss you guys, and wish I could've been there with you. Congrats. I am so happy for ya'll.

DISCLAIMER - NO PHOTOS in this post. I tend to favor photographs, but if the old adage holds true, and a picture is indeed worth a thousand words, then this should be worth about a picture and a half.

My good friends Ross and Andrew of the American Festivals Project dropped me an important question recently:

Can you tell us a bit of what you are doing over there? What are your day to day tasks? Are you working alongside anyone else?

Well, yeah boys, I suppose I should explain what I’m doing here. After all, Peace Corps ain’t just about taking pictures…

I’ve spent my first three months at post getting settled into life in the village. I’ve made a full time job of getting to know my neighbors, learning local languages, and figuring out how to get by day-to-day.

WATER

Each day I lug my 25-liter water jug to the pump. It’s a hand pump that pulls water from deep within the earth. Cool, clean and fresh. Inevitably, there’s a line of women and kids waiting to fill their own jugs or laundry basins. Yes, women and kids. It ain’t a man’s job to be schlepping water in this Bariba culture, but since I’ve got neither a woman nor kids of my own, I swallow my manly pride, lift the jug onto my head and lug it back to my house. It’s only a few minutes away. It didn’t’ take long on African soil for me to discover carrying heavy stuff on one’s head really is the best way to cover ground with a big load. Thank you Dr. Moskovitz for helping me heal my spinal fractures.

I use those 25 liters each day for drinking, cooking, showering, dishes, laundry etc.

I’ve got a clay pot that I fill with water to keep cool. The moisture seeps through the clay and evaporates, keeping the water pleasantly chilly inside.

FOOD

Goumori has a great market that gathers every 4 days. Folks bring their wares from miles around selling anything from onions to jewelry and brightly colored fabric. The veggie availability varies month-to-month, but onions and tomatoes are the consistent staples. Carrots were hot last month, and I hear okra is coming up. Part of the market is dedicated to smoked fish – brown curled catfish from the wetlands. Upon arriving in Goumori I swore to myself I wouldn’t eat such a nasty looking hunk of meat. A week later my neighbor brought over swamp fish in a spicy pepper sauce, and I gobbled it right up. How quickly I’ve lost my dietary inhibitions. There are also a couple gardens in the village where you can procure whatever’s in season. We just saw the last of the lettuce and cabbage last week. Fortunate as I am to have the means to travel, I get quite a bit of my food from outside the village: oatmeal, powdered milk, eggs, coffee, and canned sardines. The sardines go especially well on noodles with some sautéed onion and tomatoe.

Once in awhile a kid will ride into town from Banikoara with a cooler full of frozen yogurt strapped to his bicycle. I always look around the village mid-afternoon searching for this joy delivery. On a good day, I settle into my hammock in the afternoon heat with a little plastic bag of frozen bliss.

BEER

For a small village, Goumori is fortunate to have three drinking holes. Three bars offer a half dozen varieties of warm beer. Though we're a predominantly a Muslim village, the prohibitions on alcohol are taken rather lightly. Most business and politics seems to be lubricated with omnipresent bottles of Beninoise.

LANGUAGE/CULTURE

With the help of an occasional tutor and patient neighbors, I’ve been learning the predominant Bariba language. The Bariba are the ethnic majority in my region, and they dominate local politics. Much to the amusement of neighborhood kids, I’ve gained enough proficiency to negotiate the price of a chicken and profess my intention to grill it. I can also announce that my name is indeed Christoph, not Bature (“White Dude”). The mother who lives next door also baptized me into Bariba culture with the name Sabi Suleman.

The Fulani are the ethnic minority in my region, but I’ve become fascinated with their nomadic herding culture. They tend to live in small camps outside the larger villages. While they’re less pastoral than they were in centuries past, they still focus most of their energy on grazing cattle deep in the bush. On market days they bring milk and firm wheels of cheese, and shop for the brightest clothing and silver jewelry. Although the Bariba tend to dominate the socio-political scene in Goumori, I’m making a deliberate effort to reach out the both ethnic groups. In February I held a meeting with Fulani elders to explain my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I was thrilled by their kind reception, and some of the men told me I was the first white man to approach them in friendly conversation. Humbled by this position, I’m eager to collaborate with the Fulani as I plan my projects. I’ve also received a Fulani name: Sidiku.

So, my full name in Goumori is Sabi Suleman Sidiku Bature Christoph.

PROJECTS

I’m trying to understand the complexities and challenges of village life so I can organize appropriate projects here. I’ve realized it’s impossible to separate environmental work from social projects - people must meet their basic needs for health, food and shelter. In some cases these pursuits come at a cost to the natural environment: the tragedy of the commons. When a growing population shares limited resources, each individual claims his own small share, leading to the degradation of resources. In Sub-Saharan Africa, the population continues to grow as water, grazing land, fertile soil, and forests grow increasingly scarce. Environmental concerns are foremost human health concerns. As an “Environmental Action” Volunteer, I’m trying to figure out ways that folks can meet their needs while reducing their footprint on the natural environment.

One encouraging prospect is the planting of live tree fences. Goats and cattle are all over the place, looking for green stuff to chow on. That’s all good, but they can be a nuisance when they stroll into hospitals and schools. Rather than cutting wood to build fences, I’m working with a local health center and elementary school to plant tight rows of thorny trees to enclose their properties. I’m currently experimenting with a couple different species to figure out which plants are least appetizing to my neighborhood livestock. Save wood & plant thorny bushes: it’s a win-win situation.

I’m also excited about planting a bunch of moringa trees. You can read all about the trees on Wikipedia, but basically they grow well in arid climates and the leaves offer tremendous nutritional value. Moringa leaves are rich in beta-carotene, Vitamin C, protein, iron, and potassium. Yes, multivitamins do grow on trees. Folks in Benin are not starving for food, but they are often malnourished. With diets based largely on corn meal, manayunk root, and yams, it’s difficult to achieve a balanced diet. It’s common to see kids in the streets with big bellies sticking out. Their bellies aren’t plump because they’re well fed. Their bellies protrude because they are malnourished and their abdominal muscles are too weak to hold tight their intestines. By adding vitamin-rich foods to the diets of children and nursing mothers, malnutrition can be easily improved. A few scoops of dried moringa leaves added to the daily cornmeal slop can make a big difference.

I’ve become friends with an old woman who owns a large piece of land near the Goumori village center. She currently grows corn and has a small vegetable garden, but she’s eager to find a new crop to put her land to better use. In the next few months I’ll be working to set up a small moringa plantation in anticipation of the upcoming rainy season. I’ve also been in touch with local health workers and pharmacists to promote the use of moringa leaves once we produce a harvestable crop. If the small planting succeeds in the first year, I’m hoping to grow the plantation into a larger operation that may employ several community members.

You see where I’m going with this? You can’t just tell folks to plant trees ‘cuz it’s good for the environment. You’ve gotta form a direct link between their life, their health, and the planting of trees. That way we can take small steps towards resisting the desertification as the Sahara spreads south due to deforestation. Small steps.

I hear Benin was the first West African country to experiment with moringa, and there are a few successful moringa plantations in other parts of the country. However there is very little organization to coordinate moringa as an industry. In Nigeria and Ghana, for example, there are national groups that regulate quality, packaging, distribution, and promotion. There is currently no such organization in Benin. One of my larger goals as a Peace Corps Volunteer is to organize a coalition of moringa interests. If the growers and distributors and health officials work together, we can get more folks turned onto this good stuff. An organized industry is a profitable industry, and a profitable industry is the key to widespread distribution. I’ve heard that in Ghana you can find bottled fruit juice fortified with moringa additive. Way cool. I’m planning a research trip to Ghana to study their organization and promotion structures.

It may exceed the scope of typical Peace Corps service to organize a national agricultural coalition, but I’m eager to think big. My grand hope is to organized a nationwide conference of individuals involved in moringa. Short of that, I at least hope to learn the nuances of the industry and help forge stronger connections between those involved.

So that’s where I stand. I’m becoming ever-more comfortable in my village as I enter the more fruitful portion of my Peace Corps service. Thanks for reading, friends, and I aim to continue sharing these developments with photographs.

the hot dry season is upon us; the fields lay fallow

all the cotton is loaded up and shipped south for bleaching and export

I have a crush on Fulani culture.

Fulani baby

"no littering - one dollar fine"

A few more images from my neighborhood:

My region recently celebrated Ganni - a traditional annual party that serves as a good opportunity to get dressed up in matching fabric.

the ladies of Goumori

like most neighborhoods, folks catch up on local news at the barbershop

smoked fish and a tired vendor at the market

My good friend Awale runs the local pharmacy for his dad. In addition to helping me learn the Bariba language, Awale tought me to kill a chicken, season it with salt, hot peppers, and MSG, and roast it over charcoal. Awale is also going to help me promote the use of moringa leaves to supplement the diets of malnourished children in our village.

"Friendship, Seafood, and Photocopy Shop" in nearby Banikoara.

Early March brought my first trip outside Benin's borders... to Ougadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso. The city hosts the Pan-African film festival FESPACO every two years - an opportunity for African filmakers to show their work to a global audience. While there were a few insightful films, they proved most interesting for their reflections of the people and countries who produced them. The sights of Ougadougou proved just as intriguing as the festival itself.

Like many large African cities, Ougadougou offers an interesting juxtaposition of traditional culture and modern amenities.

one-stop shopping, if you're looking for millet, nails, and cowry shells.

the films were screened in a half dozen theaters throughout the city, including this open air marvel about 6k from downtown. open sewers - a distinct improvement over no sewers

I took the previous photo of the busy market from atop this work in progress. Yes, there I go climbing on shaky structures again... better luck this time.

Last month I biked to Natitangou, site of the nearest bank. I could've taken a bush taxi, but I just prefer the freedom and flexibility of bikin. And it really ain't that much slower.

170 km of dirt roads took me through some pretty brilliant scenery

This was my first foray into the Atacora region in Northwest Benin - where small mountains rise up from the savannah landscape I'm accustomed to.

Atacora sunset

the Kota Waterfall

gathering firewood. they gave me cashew apples after I took their picture. it's the fruit that grows above the nut part of a cashew. seriously. who woulda thunk? tastes like a chalky peach. 5 bikes, on a bike.

handmade gravel.Sights like this fuel my thoughts as I pedal my bike - why isn't this kid in school? Well, at least he's making a living, right? Do you label it desperation, or enterpreneureship? Is he better off making gravel than working the cotton fields? How much does a pile of gravel cost? I don't know. I'll ask next time. Maybe he'll earn enough to send his own kids to school one day. And perhaps he'll be better off than the folks habituated to taking handouts from misguigded charities. Better bangin' rocks than stretching out a beggars hand.Food for thought, at least.

My Fulfulde language teacher Guida took me to his uncle's camp to see a Fulani wedding. What a gorgeous culture. The Fulani are the migrant herders who travel on foot throughout West Africa. They settle into little camps along the way. The Fulani occupy the bottom rung of the socio-political ladder, but ironically they tend to be wealthier because the cattle market earns far more income than their cotton-farming counterparts. They live a modest lifestyle, with clean villages, gorgeous clothing, and eleborate make-up and jewelry. I've no doubt the original punk fashion movement began in a Fulani village.

A young girl waits for her bride-to-be sister to come out of her hut.

The mother escorts the bride (in white) and her younger sister out of their family hut.

The father transports his daughter to the neighboring village where a new hut awaits the couple. The bride will reside in this hut for seven days with her mother and sisters. At the end of the week, her new husband will return from the bush where he's been tending cattle, and move into the hut as a married man.

A sister carries the dowry, an offering of calabash bowls from one village to the other.

Yam Pilee. Boiled Yams get mushed in this pot, to be eaten by hand with spicey sauce. Really tasty.

can't match the Fulani fashion instinct.

yes friends, "ai lov you"This is in the Bariba village of Bani, 7k outside Goumori."bring out the boombox... he's gonna take our picture!"

The Environmental volunteers of the Alibori Department toured the region on bikes for a four-day reforestation blitz. We stopped at a dozen villages to give brief talks about tree conservation, and planted Moringa trees with the chidlren of each town. Moringa is an incredible plant that yields highly nutritious leaves. The dietary problem in Benin is not lack of food, but lack of nutrients. Thus the distended bellies and bald patches on many children. Moringa offers a bright prospect for aiding this problem - as it produces leaves that are rich in vitamins, minerals and protein. What's more, it grows well in arid climates. So we cruised around talking about these miracle trees, gave out seeds, and taught the mommas how to use them in sauces. Kinda like adding a multivitamin to the diet. The Alibori is a striking region, and it was a joy to shoot a few pictures.

Small Fulani village - typical for rural Northern Benin

old wisdom.

Dendi girl

cotton farmer with harvest

kids will be kids

Niger River

Antelope - domesticated at a Baptist missionary's home

gratuitous cuteness

Perhaps the most suprising element of this image is the pavement. It's a rarity to find such buttery smooth tarmac. What a joy.

A typical gas station: the fuel gets siphoned off Nigerian pipelines and smuggled across the border. Once in Benin, it's sold by the liter in old booze bottles. At the Kompa Medical Center it costs 500 CFA for a childbirth. Approximately one US dollar.

I found the crashing airplane decor for this mosque to be a little peculiar.

and the dead bats trapped in nets above the door did little to enhance the sanctity of the building. It seems incongruous with the cleanliness and beauty of most mosques.

Goumori sunset.

Life is rich, the weather's hot, and my body is healthy.

This internet connection in Natitangou isn't capable of uploading photos, but thanks for checking in.

Coming soon:

Dendi portraits from the Alibori "Let's Fight Desertification" Bike Tour

Niger River Scenes

Dangerously Cute Ducklings

Fulani Wedding - yes, my first gig as a wedding photographer

Goumori Fashion Shots

I'm so fortunate to have an amazing village - not the idealized Africa - but the real hard livin' joyful energy of a small town. I haven't yielded the SLR camera yet - but I took a few snapshots to share the feeling of my neighborhood:

The main dirt road through town - don't let the power lines fool you - they're high voltage lines that don't actually deliver any current to the village. Such is the irony of rural African development.

Cotton trucks frequent the road, fully laden with fluffy stuff to be processed in factories in Central Benin. In one week I've seen three of these big boys tipped over. One of them dumped cotton all over the center of a neighboring village. When I stopped to take a picture a guy approached me with a diamond mining proposal. I politely declined and scurried away on my bike.

Every fourth day the market gathers in the center of the village, bellow the big tree.

Herders come from miles around to gather at the cattle market - one of Goumori's primary attractions.

Peace Corps doesn't like us to post pictures of the outside of our homes online, but things are shaping up quite well inside. It's quite cozy - a newly built concrete structure. I'm waiting for the local carpenter to craft a table, bed and some other furnishings. In the mean time cinder blocks and 2x6s shall suffice.

and I scored some sweet patio furniture from the Fulani artisans.

Each year, January 10th marks Benin's national Voodun Festival. The festival is celebrated nationwide, but the city of Oudiah is the center of the Voodun world - a "Mecca" of sorts. This year more than 100,000 Voodun celebrants and visitors (and photographers) congregated on the beach at Ouidah. Numerous spiritual ceremonies and performances punctuate the day as crowds wander and encircle the performers. In a state of spiritual euphoria, Voodun practicioners dance and perform ritual scarification. I was struck by powerful energy that permeated the scene, and the strikingly beautiful people.

A crowd gathers bellow the Door of No Return - a monument to the millions of slaves exported through Benin's ports during colonialisation.

Afrikaworld.net has an excellent description of Voodun history and beliefs.

I've organized these images into four categories: portraits, general scenes, dancing, and scarification.

Currently the Peace Corps Bureau resides in the Jonquet neighborhood of Cotonou, a bustling area that turns into the red light district by night. Incidentally, I find the neighborhood to be more comfortable than other parts of Cotonou because the streets are lively. There's always a crowd along the road, plenty of streetside food, music coming out of bars, and it generally feels pretty safe. I'm less at ease in the quiet parts of town where there are fewer eyes on the streets.

A few long-exposure images of the nightlife:

prostitutes appear ghostly in a 30-second exposure

Possessed by spiritual forces, Voodun practicioners reportedly feel no pain in the scarification ritual. Created while in a spiritual euphoria (aided by local firewater sodabe and herbal agents), shallow cuts represent adulthood and virility.

potent herbal concoctions play a significant role in Voodun ceremonies

Zangbeto - spirits of the night (now available in daytime)

Afro-Brazilian Dance

exhausted drummer

crazed photographers abound

powerful fetish sculptures

the festival is one of the few Beninese events that draws European visitors

"le Marché de Nuit" in Cotonou: a tricky venue for photographs, but a surreal setting to explore.

I've just returned from visiting Jesse Dallas - a volunteer living in Dahe near Lake Aheme (southwestern Benin). Jesse has a great garden and beekeeping project out in the bush. It was wonderful to spend some time in a quiet village setting, and it's got me jonesin' to head up north to my post.

quiet fishing villagethe idylic scenery belies the fact that life is increasingly difficult here. sedimentation and overfishing have left meager fish populations and hungry locals

beach hoodlums

hand-carved pirroges: crooked tree = crooked boat

72 hours post-op, and i quit taking narcotic pain killers. it feels fantastic. the pain is uncomfortable, but so it goes. i feel alive. i'd rather ride the lucid pain train than stay aboard the fluffy pastel locomotive full of marshmallows and care bears.

i'll start taking some pictures again soon.

and yes. i will go back to benin.

doctor is confident that he's successfully reconstructed my right heel.

it's recovery time. full time.

life is rich here at GWUH. thanks to all who've visited. i've got lots of candy, both physical and metaphorical.

surgery is tentatively scheduled for friday morning. see ya'll on the other side of the morphine cloud.

takes good friends to smuggle you out of the hospital. we went to the farmers market for peaches, and west end market for medicine. doctor said it was cool... just don't tell the nurses.

i'm back in the USA. god bless america.

turns out I actually crunched both my feet, and fractured three vertebrae.

after 17 X-rays, 4 CT scans, and 1 MRI this seems to be the laundry list:

left calcaneus fracture - mild

right calcaneus fracture - nasty

fractures in L1, L2, and L3 vertebrae - spinal chord intact, no fluid leak

truth be told, i'm super lucky that I didn't jostle up my spine any worse. however it looks like this recovery is going to be a long term project.

doctors say it's going to be tricky walking normally again, not to mention running and ass kicking. i've got my work cut out for me.

thanks ya'll.

Greetings.My first few days in Benin were splendid. Then I crashed through the roof of a monastery. Thus began a whirlwind tour of African medical facilities. I’ve fractured my L1 vertebrae and shattered my right foot like porcelain. There’s no nerve damage to my spine, but it’s pretty delicate. After a codeine-blurred 36 hours bouncing around in the back of an ambulance and visiting many of Benin’s finest doctors, I finally settled into the med clinic at Peace Corp headquarters. For the next 3 days, Doctor Lomo and Doctor Roufin toiled over me trying to determine just how badly I’d jangled myself up. Turns out I did pretty good job. Peace Corps spared no effort or expense in caring for me. I was flown by air ambulance to South Africa for further neurological testing. After a few nights in the Unitas ICU, the South Africans crafted me a fine custom back brace, fed me lots of rooibus tea, and sent me on my way for treatment in the USA. I'm headed for surgery at George Washington University in DC.

I suppose I should revisit the part where I crash through the roof.

After three hectic days of training, I sought to escape the busy noise of the trainee dorms with my friends Karina and Carlan. We climbed to the third floor of the monastery for a little peace and quiet. We decided to relax on the roof where numerous trainees in years past had enjoyed the view of the courtyard. As soon as I stepped onto the roof it collapsed and I crashed into the building below. I fell to the concrete floor in a shower of broken tile. It was pretty scary, and it hurt a bunch. And that's how I installed a new skylight at the Saint Jean Eudes Monestary. Right to work.

It does make me sad to be away from my Peace Corps cohorts who have now joined host families in Porto Novo. You are good people. But I won't shy away from unexpected adventure. I suppose I can't plan for everything, so I'll just keep smiling at people and shooting pictures.

downtown Cotonou, street soccer

Doctor Lomo, stern love

Sheryl Cowan, Benin Country Director, advocate for my return

Monsieur Clement, night shift nurse

Doctor Rufin, "Le Professeur", and the air ambulance team

steve, carlan, karina, jaren

Lucienne, angel of kindness and croissants

Florence

air ambulance

flight paramedics

miniskirts, so hot right now

my South African vacation

safe and happy in Benin.

Mount Luggage

classroom time

ID photoshoot

peace corps bikes

staying in a local monestary

Thanks! Thanks all you good people who came out for hugs and beers the last few days.

Just rolled through 2 days of pre-service training in Philly. Seems we've got a solid bunch of folks headed to Benin. Bright people. We've spent lots of time in stackable conference chairs discussing PC purpose, goals, policies and playing with highlighters.

In a getting-to-know-you exercise, one of the PC Staff asked everyone to raise their hand if they'd experienced any doubt, perplexion, or resistance from friends and family regarding their Peace Corps decision. As hands throughout the room shot upward, I realized I'm damn lucky to have such support. I can't name a single person who expressed a lick of doubt. Thanks.

Tomorrow we've got a bunch of vaccine shots in the AM, and then it's showtime. Arriving in Benin on July 4th. Giddy up.

See ya.

More mugs:

just a few of the good folks who've played into the recent months of travel and giddy living.

bethany

owen

kelly, gabe

p. biz

kelly west

ross

cat

bee

dave n' katie, newlyweds

ditto

mr. bojangles

terminateacher

1skinnypro

sis

bro

mom, sis, dad