Being safely home in the comforts of American life is really nice. However, things feel much different from when I came for my brother's wedding 1.25 years ago. The idea that I am not returning to my house in Djakotomey, taking zemidjians around town, and not having to worry about people noticing me everywhere I go are all things that feel unsettling.

My trip back home wasn't very eventful. I watched 2.5 movies from Cotonou -> Paris. There, Kyle and Andrew went to another terminal and I had to go to my own terminal, making our goodbye a little earlier than planned. After a four hour wait we were moved into our Boeing 777 and I took my seat next to some Americans. A few minutes later a flight attendant came by to ask if I would switch seats with someone. I didn't care about anything at this point (since I was going to AMERICA) so I agreed to go. As I followed my lovely flight attendant we moved further and further to the front of the aircraft. Then she started to slow down after a curtained area.

So that's how I got to ride 'Premium Voyager' seats back to the United States of America. It was like a little gift from the heavens. Maybe it was from the bonus points I was able to accumulate in the Peace Corps.

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I don't have any plans for the immediate future, but will probably look for a job in early 2011. I'll be at my parent's house in California until that happens. We shall see how that goes.

Looking back at earlier posts, I am glad that I was able to share my experiences with those of you who came by to read. I don't know how well I was able to capture the lifestyle, the eccentricities of living in another culture, and sometimes the frustrations of trying to do work, but I enjoyed writing every post and will probably refer back to this later in life. It was a fun 26 months and I hope you have had just as much fun reading my blog. Thanks for reading and for your thoughts, comments, and continued support!

*FIN*

My last 24 hours (plus four hours) turned out to be surprisingly representative of my time here in Benin.

The Simplicities of Life

I had already sold my computer to one of my friends in Djakotomey who had been eyeing my computer for some time now. So, I had a lot of free time to read books (I finished Breakfast of Champions and almost finished Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) and walk around my empty house. It was nice being able to read for extended periods of time and to lounge on the floor of my newly austere home (due to giving most of my furniture to Meredith and some to my friend).

Cultural Differences

My proprietor, who is also my neighbor, told me the night before my last night that he wanted to eat dinner with me tomorrow (which was my last night at post). He said it was 'obligatory', meaning of course he wanted to have dinner since I'd be leaving, indefinitely. I was excited for our dinner since my mama next door is a good cook and I really enjoyed chatting, talking about politics, trying to explain my views on development, and practicing my French with my neighbor. So when 19:00 came along, I figured we might be eating sometime within the next two hours. I had an early lunch (10:30), but ate enough to tide me over until dinner. I waited. And waited. Talked with my proprietor and sent him an email using his computer/internet key (cause I didn't have a computer) so he could 'keep in touch' and around 21:30 he turns to me and says, “So, mama is in Cotonou! This is why we are in the situation we are in.” I assumed the 'situation' was the lack of food. He then told me he'd be back. I went inside to read. He came back and went into his home. I heard the turn of the key, locking their door. My stomach grumbled.

Around 22:30 my mama came home. She sounded tired and went straight into her house. I thought I heard the familiar *thump,thump,thump* of the wooden paddle mixing the pate inside the cauldron. But when I looked outside, the exterior light of my neighbor's house was turned off. Meaning, they were in bed, sleeping. The tricks your mind can play on you when you are hungry.

So, my last night at post, I ate nothing.

The Generosity of the Beninese

The other day I had bought some sweet potatoes (my favorite!) from a lady who never sold them before and I noticed that she was pulling the deep fried potato wedges out of the oil with a plate. She would corral the wedges to the lip of the wok and then dump the pieces into the colander to dry. I noted that this lady needed something to help her not burn her entire leg. Thus, I swung by to drop off a slotted spoon I had laying around my house. She was so excited by this small gesture that she called over her entire family and energetically told the story of how she received this spoon from me. I started pedalling away (I felt awkward) as a trail of 'Merci's followed behind. I raised up my left arm and pointed to the sky, the symbol for 'Thanks be to God' (since they seem to love to say that here). The morning of my departure I walked over to my bread/egg lady (who was featured in my biking around Djakotomey video) to say my farewells. The day before I had brought over a few pots to give to her in thanks for the two years of free eggs and other treats. As I stood saying good bye to her she grabbed a 400F loaf of sweet bread and a packet of margarine (800F?) and gave them to me. I gave her a big marche mama hug and when I looked in her eyes I could see tears forming. She and I couldn't communicate that well, but we got our points across. She was a lovely lady.

The Ridiculousness of the Beninese

As I left my bread/egg lady's house I had a warm feeling in my stomach. With a bounce in my step I decided to give my final regards to the local police (the 'gendarmes'). I said my farewell to the man on duty and as I walked out a kid lingered by me. I immediately noticed that this boy seemed very very familiar, but from where? And why? As he trailed me he asked me if I was leaving to the states and if he could request something from me. Then it dawned on me.

This boy looked much like Bryce, the kid who stole my camera (and other stuff).

As this boy continued talking I realized that he was asking for things that he wanted me to get him from the US. At this point, I stopped walking and looked at him and said, “I believe your brother did something bad to me.” (pretty much a direct translation because I momentarily forgot the word for 'to steal' in the heat of the moment) He looked at me with a sheepish grin, “Bryce? Yeah, he's a joker.” I rolled my eyes and told him, “Au revoir.” I think he got the point that I was not too happy by the actions of his kin.

Some Things I Never Got Used to (aka I don't like) About BeninI walked into my concession at 8:30, holding my bag of sweet bread and margarine. My mama asked me if I had received presents from people. I said yes. She responded, “I am waiting for my presents. Which is why I have yet to set up my fabric shop.” I responded, “Oh, haha, yes.” But I didn't really understand exactly what she said until I got into my house. I figured I waited long enough to give all my remaining 'stuff' to my neighbor, so I called them over and showed them all the stuff they'd be inheriting. They were happy.

My taxi driver told me he'd be doing maintenance on his vehicle (even though he knew two weeks in advance that I'd wanted to leave at 7:00 on Friday, September 10) in the morning so he wouldn't arrive until 9 to 9:30. I figured he might show at 10. When he didn't come at 9:30 I called. No answer. 9:45, no answer. 10:00, “Hello?” “Hey, where are you?” “I'm already on my way!!! (almost annoyed sounding)””Well, I've been waiting 30 minutes...” Network connection lost.

I figured if he was on his way I didn't need to call him. 10:30 “Where are you?!” “You told me to wait 30 minutes so I am here.” “WHAT?! I said I was waiting for 30 minutes ALREADY! I told you I wanted to leave at 7:00, you said you had maintenance till 9:30, why aren't you here?” “Okay, I'm coming.” 10:45, no answer. 10:55, no answer. 11:05, no answer.

I was pretty steaming by now. Then the main gate of our concession opens up. My driver! No, the ex-president of the artisans, probably the biggest politician I've met in Djakotomey (besides the current mayor). Just my luck. “Dennis! I heard you were leaving and I wanted to wish you well!” (I have not seen this man or talked to him since I first came to my post visit during training in 2008) “Oh, thanks. Yes, I am finished.” “Us artisans thank you for your work and look forward to another volunteer.” “What? I didn't even work with you. You aren't getting another volunteer. It isn't necessary.” “Oh, don't say that. We love the volunteer.” I won't continue with the quoting because you get the drift of where my tone and this guy's tone was at. We continued for five minutes and I was tired of everything, so I called it quits and called up my moto friend. He came to pick me up and we went looking for a taxi.

At 11:30 I had all my gear in the new taxi I found and was sent-off by three people, two of which I had little contact with during my two years. My other taxi driver wouldn't call me for another 30 hours, but I would miss the call. I should have known better...

I’ve listened to Akon before and enjoyed some of his songs. I especially enjoyed the fact that there didn’t seem to be very many lyrics to his songs, making it easier to remember. When I got to Benin, I realized that the Beninese also enjoyed Akon and probably for the same reason. Thus, when we got text messages from MTN that Akon was having a concert in Cotonou at the national soccer stadium, we decided to go.

The concert was supposed to start at 16h (4pm). We weren’t sure how concerts worked in Benin, but we figured that it probably would be foolish to arrive at 16h. But then Lucy came into the Peace Corps office and told us that her host family told her that they (MTN) might give away our seats if we weren’t there when they open up to the ‘masses’. We figured we would send a scout group to make sure that wouldn’t happen and decided to drink a few beers at a bar nearby our office. Around 18h (6pm) we decided to head over to the stadium. We beelined it straight to a bar in the parking lot and grabbed some dinner and negotiated with the bar owners to leave our helmets in their back room for 100F/helmet. After we met up with our scout group who were at another bar inside the stadium (much like where the concession stands are at in a US stadium).

After a few more drinks we decided that maybe we will miss Akon so we went into the stadium at 20h (8pm). Once inside the stadium we realized how wrong our thinking about this whole thing was. The stadium wasn’t even half full and there weren’t any bleachers, just concrete slabs that were arranged like benches (expected). We picked a spot and plopped down. Akon was supposedly coming on after five opening acts. They were on act number two. Good. Only three more acts to go.

Three acts, a bout of rain, two comedy acts (by a pastor and someone else), and three hours later, we were still in the same place. Then, over the loud speaker we heard that they were going to start the opening ceremonies because all the dignitaries had arrived. In honor of 50 years of independence this ceremony was a ‘skit’ of the history of Benin. It lasted a full hour.

The ‘skit’ was in local language and in French and would probably be considered incredibly inappropriate (there was a huge mascot-like person who had a huge nose, this was supposed to be the colonizing French), but the Beninese people around us seemed to be pretty captivated by the whole thing. Upon its completion the emcees came out (a man and a woman translator, who randomly seemed/sounded like our administrative officer) and asked us at least three times if, “WE [WERE] READY?!?” Then they told us, before the concert the associate mayor of Cotonou had a few words of welcome. We were all pissed (including the Beninese) mainly because speeches here take a really really long time. So after he was done the emcees asked us again if, “WE [WERE] READY?!?” and then they announced that the minister of some department had a few words of welcome. This was the first time we heard boos coming out of the Beninese (starting from the first speech Andrew, Lucy, and I tried to start an, “AKKKOOOON” chant, but that doesn’t work here). Once this minister took the stage a slight drizzle started to come down on us. Then the rain. I looked over at the Darrs and Kim and opened my mouth in disbelief. Kim had joked earlier that it was gonna rain right before Akon would start, resulting in his departure without giving us a show. The minister kept talking and once he was done the emcees asked us again if, “WE [WERE] READY!?!”

This time, they told us that Akon requested his fans to come to the field. This seemed like an impossible task for those of us who paid 5,000F because there were no stairs leading to the field. Of course, we silly Americans don’t understand that a 10+ foot drop isn’t that difficult if you really are desperate. And thus began the dash to the field by a couple hundred people. The announcer started telling people to come down slowly and “one-by-one” but it was already midnight and the drizzling was still going on. The people jumping from our stands were starting to get the hang of it when all of a sudden we see the gendarmes (guards) coming to beat the crap out of people doing this. Then Andrew yells out, “OH MAN!!!” Apparently someone was holding onto the rail and about to drop down to the ground level, but he misjudged his swing and landed square on his back, from 10 feet up. Haha.

After thirty minutes of these shinanigans there is a small crowd in front of the concert, but the announcer tells us that it is not enough.

Finally at 1:05 AM we here someone say (in good English), “Alright, let’s get this started.” And who rolls out on top of an explorer? That’s right, AKON. I don’t know why, but I was really happy that he actually showed up. I guess a few of the Beninese were happy too because someone almost pulled off his pants and then almost got run over by the procession of vehicles. After Akon made a round trip on the track, he returned to the stage and started off his concert.

Before starting his second song he told us all that we should get down on to the field and then started yelling, “Steve Lucas! Let the people in MAN! This is bullshit, let the people in!” He really doesn’t like this Steve Lucas guy and apparently Mr. Lucas had a lot of power over the gate. Ten minutes later Akon is still yelling at Steve Lucas and telling us to get down onto the field and that they will open up the gates for us. So, being true fans, we decide he is talking to us too and we run down the bleachers to find an entrance on the outside to get to the field. We run around to the backstage area because that’s the only door we see that might be open for us. As we are getting closer to the door we see a guy run back and get hit HARD on his legs by a baton carrying police man. Then, as he’s running away he gets hit again and again. I don’t think he did anything I think he was just asking to get in. We decide it is a bad idea to try to enter there and head to another gate. I look back to see if other people are following and see a lady. But this lady is only half a person. Apparently she fell into a gutter hole that wasn’t covered, half her body was in and half her body was sticking up outta the ground. She was unfortunately wearing all white.

We eventually make it all the way around the stadium and don’t find an entrance. Andrew and Brad are nowhere to be found. I look at Lucy, the Darrs, and a Niger PCV and we all look dejected. We decide to at least enjoy the rest of the show in another part of the stadium. As soon as we get in we see that Akon has left the stage. But he comes back in a few minutes. In a bubble. Yes, in a bubble. I look back at Lucy and I say, “That’s stupid.” Miranna comments that it is probably really hot in there. Then it dawns on me. He’s gonna walk in the bubble on top of the crowd! And he does. It was awesome.

The rest of the concert was pretty chill and a few PCVs made it down on the field. I talked to Andrew later and found out he was right next to the stage with Brad where they both ended up touching the bubble with Akon in it and was told (by Akon) to take off their shirts (only Brad did it though).

The funniest part about Akon being in concert here was the fact that not a lot of people understand English and Akon, ironically, doesn’t speak any French (he lived in Senegal for like seven or so years). At one point he started yelling at people to “BACK UP! BACK UP! Move over THERE!” for at least ten minutes. Andrew and Brad later stated that the people around them were asking them, “What’s he saying” (in French). That’s just funny.

All in all, a great experience. I ended up getting back to my hotel room at 4am. Sweet.

I had the pleasure of helping Melissa Ko move out of her house in Gomparou (the very far north). It is difficult to explain to people how one does such a thing here, so I have supplied some pictures. Melissa actually didn’t have that much stuff that she was going to take back to the US, but she wanted to drop off most of her furniture at a central location for other new volunteers to pick up when they go to their own posts after September 17 (the day I leave!). Unfortunately for me the driver couldn’t find any Beninese to help him take things off the taxi, so I had to help him.

Watching the driver play tetris with furniture.Voila! Dining table, four chairs, washing table, shoe rack, mattress, bed frame, book shelf, two folding chairs, and a bike! And that’s just what’s on top.The next morning we left from Parakou where Melissa had significantly less stuff. We rented a five-seater taxi and the driver expertly put all the bigger items in the trunk. I don’t really know how he got the bike on there. I figured I might as well act like I knew what was going on.Melissa was so happy that she wanted to do a cartwheel on the beach. I told her, “Go for it!” and she did.

I woke up this morning thinking about how it is going to feel leaving this country. People who have been emailing me have been asking me if I’ll be sad to leave and other PCVs who have already returned have told me that I will miss it. Both groups of people are correct in their thinking. Yes, I will be sad. Yes, I will miss my life here. I am pretty sure that I will shed at least one (if not two) tear(s) sitting in my taxi full of my personal assets (which amazingly fit within two bags) pulling out of my concession for the last time… in my life. It’ll probably be odd giving my farewells to my mama next door since, more likely than not, I will not see her for a very long time, if ever. Once in Cotonou I will be busy enjoying my last week with some of the friends I made here and finishing all the paperwork/meetings/busywork with the Peace Corps office. But the one thing I’m pretty sure about is the feeling I have while I’m sitting on the airplane looking out at Benin for the last time. It is gonna feel the same way I felt when I was leaving my last District Convention in Key Club my senior year of high school. I know, high school?!?! Yes, high school. I remember sitting on our charter bus next to my girlfriend at the time, Sandy, looking out at the hotel/convention center as we slowly pulled away. The feelings of the past two years flooded over me: the hardships, the (small) victories, the missed family events, the dances, the idea that individuals can make a difference. I also realized that I will never again be in this position ever again. That I’ll never have an experience as unique. That it was all over. The only way I coped with this strange feeling of loneliness and emptiness was to look through all my pictures I had taken in the previous year. All the smiling faces of friends, new acquaintances, and events (volunteer projects and fundraisers) helped to remind me that the journey was well worth the frustrations, difficulties, and even, the ignorance of some people I respected at one point in time. This was just part of growing up. The most difficult part was that on the outside, I was still the same Dennis: seemingly confident, friendly, put together. But in the inside I was different. There were so many instances and particularities that I could never put into words to explain what I had to go through or adequately portray the joys I encountered. My Peace Corps experience will leave me with a similar feeling. Thankfully, there is a fairly larger group of people who have braved the two years (or more) of service in Benin and countries all around the world. It is no wonder the Peace Corps encourages us to join Returned PCV groups to help in the re-assimilation process. I hope my friends don’t look at me when we are taking off. If I’m feeling like this now, I can only imagine what’s gonna happen when we are actually leaving. It’ll be a lot like high school…. Acting like I am contemplating the meaning of life as I look out the window to hide my tears.

I decided for my last (Benin) Independence Day that I would celebrate it at the national party, which was held in Porto-Novo (the location changes every year, last year it was in Lokossa). Since my host family is in Porto-Novo I figured I would be able to kill two birds with one stone and decided to give them a warning. My host father called me when they first received a new trainee for this year’s training and so I let him know that I would be coming on the first of August to party with him. He seemed agreeable.

My host father called me again a week later to make sure that I was still planning on coming to party with him. I assured him that I would be there. The day before Independence Day I was at Andrew’s post (which is less than an hour from Porto-Novo) and I called my father to let him know that I will be coming around 3PM the next day. He asked if I could come later, but I told him that I would need to leave in the evening to get back to Cotonou. He said okay and said he’d see me tomorrow.

After waking up, eating breakfast, and catching some zems to Porto-Novo, Andrew and I ended up at the SED/EA house (where the trainer PCVs were sleeping) and we said hi to a few folks that were shacked up there. We decided to head to a bar to celebrate the 50th anniversary of independence instead of watching the parade, which usually consists of Benin’s military walking by followed with his Excellence, awesomeness, president, doctor Yayi Boni in a nice vehicle. I saw it last year so I wasn’t all that excited about it.

We spent a few hours at the buvette and then I told Andrew that I’d like to head over to my host family’s house. We arrived at the house around 3:15PM and it looked like no one was home. As soon as I passed the threshold of the main gate I heard the familiar voices of the children in my concession welcoming me home: DÈNIS DÈNIS DÈNIS! All the children were around (except one) and so was my grandmother (who speaks no French). It was great seeing all of the kids and meme, but when I asked where papa was, they could only tell me that ‘he left’. I received the same responses for my mama and my aunt. Turns out that they all went to Cotonou to party! What the heck?!

I was slightly upset, but when I thought about it it made total sense. The way things work here is that if you have some other (better) party to go to, you’ll do it. Plus, if you have other family in a neighboring town, you are gonna go there. I guess I was more surprised because I assumed my family wasn’t exactly like most Beninese families. I thought they could at least tell me beforehand that they wouldn’t be there for most of the day! Either way, it was good to see the kids and I finally took my camera out to take a few pictures, so here they are! Andrew on a zem, leaving his post, Adjohoun.Sitting at the buvette getting some beers and food.Watching one of the kids make a fool of himself. With encouragement from Andrew and I.Here are four of the kids. The two girls on the right (front) weren’t all that good at speaking when I left. Now they are perfect translators between me and meme! So cute.That baby in the left front was a new born infant when I came in! Crazy.Me and Andrew with the kids. Yes, my face is glowing.TEFL and SED kids at our old stomping grounds near our school. Wow, two years already.

Today marks the second year that I’ve been in Benin. It is pretty amazing that two years have already gone by and that in a few more months I will be getting on a plane to leave. I’ve realized that it has been difficult to think of things to write. Partly because the novelty of living here has worn off, partly because I’ve become accustomed to things here, and partly because there just isn’t anything exciting to write about. With that said, here is a new topic that I had the misfortune of experiencing during our Camp GLOW (the girls camp) which took place two weeks back. After the dance party on Thursday night, Angelina (PCV who set up most of the camp) came up to me telling me that one of her girls (who had a medical condition before) was not feeling very well and that she ran out of her medicine. Apparently her whole body was hurting, but she didn’t have a fever and didn’t look too bad. Plus, such episodes were common, occurring at lease once a month. So Angelina decided to keep tabs on her girl before heading off to bed. At around midnight I get a call from Angelina telling me that she is going to have her girl sleep in her room with Laura (another volunteer). I told her to let me know if things got worse. At 3AM I get another call from Angelina. I don’t really know what she’s talking about but I remember her saying ‘hospital’ and ‘pain’. I threw on some clothes and headed over to Angelina’s block. Her girl’s symptoms had gotten worse and she had been moaning all night. We decide to get her to a hospital, but not being from around here we don’t know where to go. We call up our Peace Corps doctor and he tells us to go to the regional hospital. I go to find the guard on duty to ask him for help in getting a vehicle or a taxi-moto to take us to the hospital. He calls up a few people and gets his moto ready to take us over one-by-one. Just then, a guy that has been sleeping in a explorer-like vehicle gets up and asks if we need help. We tell him the situation and he agrees to take us to a hospital. The guard tells us that there is a private hospital that is much closer than the regional one. We agree to go there. It turns out to be a two story house which has been converted into a private hospital. We bring in our girl and lay her down on a cot. A guy that doesn’t look like a doctor comes out and touches the girl’s head and mumbles a few words to no one. Another man comes out and sleepily says something in local language. Our guard tells us that there is no room at this hospital. We tell them that we don’t need her to stay a night, we just need to get her meds. The guy says meds won’t really help her and that she needs an IV. We go to the regional hospital. Once there I tell the driver to let us off at the ‘emergency’ entrance. The guard and I get off to check it out. For some reason it looks like the building has been bombed. When we get to the main hallway and look inside it looks exactly the same, crumbled walls and debris littering the ground. We go back to the car and tell the driver to go to the normal hospital entrance. Once there, we all get out and I pick up the girl. We walk past people sleeping on the floor, outside and inside. Once inside the pediatric ward there is a smell. I can’t put my finger on it, but it doesn’t smell like hospitals back at home, it smells like something much more… serious. We eventually find the room where kids like our girl come to in emergencies. The guy behind the counter is working on another child when we come in. He doesn’t acknowledge us until after he is done. Our guard does most of the talking. The guy doesn’t want to know much about the circumstances around what happened to our girl. He just wants her name and age. As we give him the information they get some people off a bed so we can put our girl down on it. As I walk past the other beds I realize what that strange smell was. Death. The kids that are in this room are infants (approximately two months) to children around the age of 3. Beds are no more than three feet apart and there are approximately seven beds. Each bed has at least one child on it and usually a parent draped over the kid, holding their hand. The infant next to our girl’s bed was the two month old. He/She looked possibly like a premature birth, or at least a baby without the proper ability to breathe correctly. He/She was attached to an oxygen tank. Another child looked totally emaciated and no longer aware of her surroundings. The guy at the counter calls me over to take me out of my trance. The guard tells me to come with him to pay our hospital bill and do some other stuff. I ask if we really pay for the hospital bill right now. He assures me that this is the standard procedure. I tell Angelina I will be back. We head over to the cashier’s office and on our way the guard points out the blood bank and tells me that eventually we will need to go there. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I agree. Once at the cashier’s office we pay for two things and then are given a receipt and told to go to another office. The next office is the on-site pharmacy. You go here to buy the meds your patient will be using while in the hospital. We pick up most of the meds we need (IV, tubes, etc) but are told we need to buy some more at a local pharmacy. We take all the things and go over to the laboratory where we need to receive some paperwork. We get over to the laboratory and the lady reluctantly gives us some paperwork and two vials for blood. We go back to the pediatric ward. We drop off all the supplies to the guy at the counter and he asks us for a third vial. Third vial? Yes, the laboratory needs to give us a third vial so that we can take it to the blood bank. Oh. So we go back to the laboratory and get a third vial. While there, we head over to the blood bank to pay for the blood work we will need to get done. We eventually get the door open and we give the guy money for the blood work. We head back to the ward to drop off the third vial and tell the girls that we will be going to the pharmacy to buy the additional meds. We head out to look for a pharmacy that might be open. On our second try we find one and we buy the necessary meds. We go back to the ward and find out that the girl’s blood has been drawn. The guard tells me that he will leave now because he has to get back to university (where the camp is) and do his job. I thank him and the driver for all their help. So I take the blood samples and go to the laboratory to drop them off. I give the two to the lady behind the desk and take one to the blood bank. The guy isn’t there. I wait with two other ladies. I get eaten alive by mosquitoes. The guy comes out. He takes the vial and says the girl’s name at least five times for no apparent reason. He tells me to take my money and this receipt to the cashier’s office and then I can come back for the results on our girl’s blood. I go to pay at the cashier’s office (again) and go back to the blood bank. The guy isn’t there but he eventually comes out and gives me the results. Oh. It is blood type test. O+. Nice. I head back to the ward with this information and realize that the gate to the entrance is closed. Huh? I try to pull on it a few times and realize that it won’t open. I wait there with two other people to see if they’ll open the gate again. A cleaning lady comes out, she looks sour. She sweeps out all the water that’s been collecting in the foyer all night, not really caring if she’s sweeping it on us. I ask her if I can get in. She says no. I ask if there is another entrance. She tells me to wait. Laura randomly pops out and says hello. I ask her if she can take the blood type paper to the guy at the counter. She says okay, takes it, and tries to go back into the hallway. The cleaning lady is furious! She tells Laura she’s not allowed to go back in. Laura says she’s just dropping off this paper. The lady yells at her again and starts mumbling to herself. Laura eventually asks if the lady can open the door then so she can get out. She does. Laura and I sit there for awhile trying to figure out how to get into the building. We go down a hallway and realize that it leads to another building across the way, not helpful. We decide to take a side route that smells like urine and shit all mixed up in one. We walk down a path and we see women peeing off the sides of it and, hey! Here are four latrines. That’s where the smell is coming from. Other women are making food and washing clothes (this is all very close to the main hospital buildings). We make our way down the path and find the other entrance to the pediatric ward. The cleaning lady has been duped! We go into the room and I give the guy the blood type paper. He glances at it and puts it aside. I wait with Angelina and Laura and then tell them I need to go to the laboratory to get the blood results there. Laura goes with me. We wait for twenty mins and get the results. We take ‘em back to the guy and he again doesn’t really seem to care. After standing there for another 10 minutes, looking at our girl I decide I am going to crap my pants if I don’t get back to the center for our camp. I tell Angelina I am getting replacements for her and Laura (since we didn’t know how long we’d be here for) and head out. As I walk out of the pediatric ward, pass the latrines and pissing ladies, I see a large women dressed up in a surgery gown. She greets me by telling me what I am, Yovo, and continues on her way. The difference in this picture is that on her head she has a huge bassine (large bowl) which is filled with surgical supplies. Weird. Eventually our girl ended up coming back to our camp in the early afternoon. Three groups of people were with her at different times, we spent approximately 25,000 CFA for the whole ordeal (50 USD), and realized how not fun hospitals in the third world are. Remember, this hospital is the regional hospital in the capital of Benin. It made me sad.

Overland travel makes life sort of difficult here in West Africa. Let me give you a detailed account of what passed during our recent vacation.

June 1, 2010

0415 – Leave Natitingou workstation0620 – Arrive in Tanguieta0830 – Leave Tanguieta for Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso1100 – At the Benin/Burkina border1130 – Leave the Burkina border1310 – Transfer in Fada (with hour time change- back an hour)1350 – Leave Fada to Ouagadougou1540 – Transfer in Koupela1820 – Arrival in Ouagadougou

June 2, 2010

0850 - Leave Ouagadougou1200 - Arrive in Ouahagouya1220 – Leave Ouahagouya1400 – Arrival at Burkina/Mali border1425 – Leave Mali border1510 – Arrival in Koro, Mali2010 – Arrival in Sevaré

June 3, 2010

1010 – Leave Mopti1356 – Arrival in Djenne

June 5, 2010

0715 – Waiting for taxi van to fill up in Djenne0820 – Leave Djenne for Mopti1203 – Arrival in Mopti

June 6, 2010

0500 – Woke up to a nice layer of rain, thus moved mattresses into the restaurant area0610 – Restaurant staff come to open for breakfast, thus we moved out 1304 – Got on our boat to *beep*1517 – Leaving Mopti at 20km an hour1903 – Stop off in the middle of nowhere to sleep

June 7, 2010

0538 – Leave the middle of nowhere0540 – Find out that it actually will take 7 more days to get to *beep*0815 – Land in Dakawohmina (less than 40k from Mopti)1050 – Get into vehicle to leave to Mopti1247 – Arrive in Mopti

June 9, 2010

0633 – Arrive at taxi station in Sevaré0740 – Get into vehicle to head to Koro1234 – Arrival to Koro1615 – Leave Koro1800 – Arrival to Burkina/Mali border1840 – Leave Burkina border0100 – Arrival in Ouagadougou

June 10, 2010

0827 – Leave Ouagadougou1230 – Arrival in Fada1254 - :Leave Fada1519 – Arrival to Burkina/Benin border1630 – Arrival to Benin border (with hour time change)1706 – Leave Benin border1803 – Arrival to Tanguieta 1920 – Arrival to Natitingou

Total traveling time: 72 hours and 27 minutes

Needless to say, we had a lot of time sitting in taxi/van stations and in vehicles/boat. Yet, it was surprisingly still fun. Pictures and captions to follow!

Picture version of our vacation....

Starting off the day right with coffee.Our ghetto closet room. Guide books are very generous in regards to their standards.First of many nights sleeping on the rooftop of a hotel.Andrew's first of many rides in the back of a packed vehicle.Is that Kyle or a Tuareg? Oh, it's Kyle.Standing on the side of the road to Djenne.The courtyard of our hotel in Djenne.Taking a nap in the middle of the hot hot day on the rooftop.Any power source was an excuse to overload their generosity. Good thing I brought my power strip.Tea is a very special thing in Mali. Apparently you are supposed to do three rounds, but we only got up to two. Sad. This is our guide in Djenne pouring it the traditional way.Andrew and the guide's daughter.Breakfast: fried rice balls, fried rice cakes, and fish soup. Yum!The streets of Djenne.Andrew stealing a child!This is one of the many traditional buildings in Djenne. The triangles in the middle of the rooftop is supposed to signify the number of kids in the family living in the house. The two posts on the corners are supposed to signify if the head of the family is the man or evenly between husband and wife... now it is just decorative.Andrew didn't realize that during all his questions he was actually standing in doo-doo. I showed him this picture after the fact.Djenne apparently has had indoor ''plumbling" for many years now. The area left of the hole in the wall is the 'latrine' and the pipe on the right is the drain for shower water. Pretty impressive.Looking out to the 'New Djenne'.The largest sand castle, I mean, mud mosque, in the world. This is partly why Djenne became a World Heritage site.Sweet! They wouldn't let us go in though.Translation - 'Tomb of the young girl - Sacrificed to protect the village against bad spirits' I sure hope it worked.Horse drawn cart tour!Massive gold earrings. The sad part about this was that she was mad that our guide didn't give her more money. We didn't even realize that we were gonna be paying her (we didn't care too much to do this part of the trip).Due to Djenne being part of the Timbuktu trade route back in the day, there is some pretty impressive jewelry. We ended up looking through his stuff for like an hour and a half.

Us and our guide, Yousouf.Our captain who was supposed to take us to Timbuktu on a ghetto boat.The Niger River being used to clean cars, people, and drinking water.Andrew loving his mango.Andrew and Kyle reclining on top of huge sacks of rice and other products.

Stopping on the side of the river in the middle of nowhere due to lack of water in the river.Getting ready to eat and then sleep on the side of the river.Ugly fish. We had to get off the boat once we found out the trip would take over a week to get to Timbuktu.Good thing we got off or else we wouldn't have witnessed Andrew getting stuck in the back of this truck (where the red arrow is) for over three hours and surrounded by people and buckets of fish.A beer after our tough trip back to Mopti.

Translation: AIDS kills - Together we stop AIDS (by throwing a wall on it)The Vietnamese guy we found in Mopti. I tried to convince him to go to Cotonou. I don't know if it worked. We spoke to each other in Korean. It was weird.Laundry party in Sevare!Back in Tanguieta! Never been happier to be in Benin!Peace out - Mali '10!

After 678 days I have finally found out when I'll be able to leave Benin!

Mark your calendars everyone, I'll be leaving Benin on September 17, 2010!

I just received my camera battery and charger from my neighbor, the Chief of the Brigade! I realized that I didn’t update regarding who stole my stuff and how my neighbor found the stuff, so I’ll do that in this post.

The day after I got my camera back one of my friends in country came to visit me (Andrew). He arrived a little after lunch so we went to my favorite bean lady (the one in the video) to grab 100 francs worth of beans. As we sat there, another younger guy came into the hut, excitedly speaking in Adjah. It was something like this.

Adjah adjah ajdah adjah! Adjah, appareil de photo, adjah adjah, yovo!

As you can see, I understood two parts of this conversation. “Appareil de photo” is French for camera and “yovo’ is obviously me. Intrigued that this random guy was probably talking about my camera, I turned to him.

“What do you know about my camera?”

“HAHAHA! I helped get your camera back!”

“How? I want to hear this.”

“Well, you know that it was the son of the Chief of the Brigade, right?” (At this point in time my other neighbor, the proprietor, had revealed this to me)

“Yeah.”

“Well, the other day we had a soccer match at the school. It was a big event. This little guy comes onto the field with this new camera!”

“WAIT WAIT WAIT! HE ACTUALLY TOOK MY CAMERA OUT INTO PUBLIC?!?” (Looking at Andrew in amazement)

“Yeah! He was taking all these photos and having a grand time. We all knew it couldn’t be his so I went over to your proprietor and told him about it.”

“Okay… why didn’t this kid just go sell it somewhere? He could have made a lot of money.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t he resell my camera, it is worth a lot.”

*Totally confused look* “No, he took pictures with it.”

“It is okay, thanks for your help!”

“Oh yeah, so we went to your proprietor and then we had to work on a plan to tell the Chief without actually telling him it was his son. That took awhile.”

“That’s great. Thanks again!”

So yeah, it was the Chief’s son that came into my house, just like my mama thought. Kind of sad that that’s the case, but then again, he does go into my neighbor’s house (the Chief’s) every once in awhile to blast Celine Dion and such. I was looking forward to getting my battery back so I could see some of the pictures this kid took (I actually know his name cause I’ve talked with him before, Bryce) and I wasn’t disappointed. He starts with two self-portraits, moves onto his dog (Tupee), then there is a series of pictures of his classmates (I assume) who are mainly girls, finished off with pictures from the soccer match.

I’m genuinely glad I got my camera, battery, and charger back, but I’m still a little disheartened that this happened. Especially from my neighbor’s son, who just happens to be the head honcho of the law in Djakotomey. What can you do though…

Lock your back door, that’s what.

The human memory is a finicky thing so I wrote this right after I got off the phone with our Country Director. Unfortunately, even within the five minutes between the call and pulling up a new Word document, I have left out some parts.

Brownie, I’ve been thinking this through over and over this past weekend and I have decided to pull out my PCVL application.

WHY?

Well, I have had an incredible time here for the past two years and have looked forward to the PCVL position for quite some time now, however, I feel if I had decided to extend it will give me a negative view of my Peace Corps experience.

Why do you think that?

Well, the first reason is because of the PCVL application process. I know your response in the Kokoko was that you guys can do what you want with the deadline and not have our input. I agree with that. You should have either just selected the PCVL yourselves without our input at all or let it go the other way.

But that wasn’t the problem, it was because we didn’t have enough candidates.

Really? Because I heard from others that there were enough.

*unhappy tone* Who told you that?

*silence, at this point in time I didn’t know how to answer* Well, I believe that it isn’t due to internet or anything else that would cause someone not to apply.

It isn’t an internet thing.

Okay, well, I just don’t think that lack of access to the internet is a reason why you should change things for applicants.

Why don’t you just come down for the interview and then you can make your decision after.

Well, that isn’t the only reason. The bigger thing that has happened in the past week is the whole _______ thing. (Regarding sexual harassment/assault from one PCV to another) I don’t think he should have been allowed to go wherever he wanted to in the country during the investigation.

That was DC’s decision, not mine. Where else would he go? He was being investigated.

Something like this happened in the company that I was working for before the Peace Corps and the person was not allowed to come into work during the investigation.

Well, this is the Peace Corps.

*EHHH????* But that shouldn’t be a reason why you let…

*exasperated voice* Listen, just come down for an interview or don’t. You were one of the best candidates for the PCVL position so... just either come down or don’t.

Thank you.

*like an after thought and almost talking to herself* Just come down for the interview or decide not to.

Oh okay, thanks.

*click*

She abruptly hung up on me and by the time I got to the part about the sexual harassment thing she was really worked up. She must really believe now that the rumor mill is a ridiculous agent of getting information to volunteers. I’m glad I’m not staying for another year… even this conversation could have been handled better.

Today marks the first day where I have actually felt strange inside my home.

I went over to Dogbo to present ‘South Korea’ to Kristin’s geography club. It was entertaining to see the kids all excited to learn about another country and to want to learn the Korean alphabet. So by the end of the hour I had written a few phrases in Korean, as well as, the phonetics to pronounce the words easily. If someone had taken a picture of this it would have been interesting because here are a bunch of Beninese kids with French and Korean on the chalkboard, being led by a Korean-American and Polish girl.

Anyway, I got back home after around 3 hours and when I opened my front door I realized something was amiss. I normally leave my back door open when I go on day trips because of the heat and difficulty in physically closing the door. The screen door is always closed, but when I walked in I noticed that my bottle of bleach was propping open the door. I contemplated this for a second, maybe, just maybe, the wind blew the door open and somehow an animal pushed the bottle to prop open the door. No, that is too far-fetched. This sent chills through my body because that meant someone came in here through the backdoor.

I quickly, and quietly, moved around my house in case I could catch the culprit (this has happened to other volunteers before) but found no one around. I did a quick inventory of the more expensive items in my house: laptop (check), usb internet key (check), ipod (check), sunglasses (check), money (check). I was shocked and content that at the very least the thief (or intruder) didn’t take anything of real value. As I sat down in my chair I realized that I missed one item, my camera!

Alas, my camera had been stolen and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated and stupid. Frustrated, because what the hell is a kid going to do with a digital camera without the battery charger and cable? Stupid, because I shouldn’t be leaving with my backdoor wide open, even for short trips. I went outside to tell my mama what happened. She was incredibly upset and told me to go to the local police. I did. It just so happens that my neighbor is the chief of the brigade in Djakotomey so he came over and had a look around to see if there was any evidence left behind. This made me laugh because if you saw my back wall there is no way that anyone would struggle and leave footprints or handprints unless the culprit was playing in mud beforehand.

After a careful tour of the back area and surrounding field the chief came to tell me that, “After [his] observing the area, there is no evidence left behind.” I thanked him for his hard work and he went on his way. He sent one of his minions a little later to get the dimensions of my camera.

I doubt I’ll see that camera again. The worst part about this is that now I need to find another camera to take pictures of my latrines!

***UPDATE*** Bang bang bang. Bang bang bang. What time is it? Four AM? What is going on. “Oui? C’est quoi?” (Yes, what is it?) Can you please come out here for a second? Pull on some clothes and walk out. See the chief sitting in a chair, looking a bit disheveled, but content. Hello! How are you? I am good, have you been resting? Yes, thank you. I sit in the other chair. So? Well, I have not rest since I heard about your camera. I COULD NOT rest since then. Really? I am sorry, thank you for your hard work. Wondering what this was leading to. Look over at papa, dangling something in his hands. MY CAMERA?! Grab the camera, marveling at seeing it again. Papa has something else. My camera case?! Exclaim my thanks in weird primeval noises. Chief laughs. But…. How?! It is my job. Laughs again. Thank you so much! You are formidable!!! More laughing. Have a good night, know that you are in good hands here. Can’t stop smiling and have a hard time sleeping for at least thirty minutes.

Turns out the culprit stole my battery, and what do you know, my battery charger. No worries though, I think I might be able to find a replacement in Cotonou. Pretty amazing! Hopefully I can find out more about who did it and how they found it.

My power went out at around 7:30PM tonight. I remember in the states that when the power would go out my roommates and I would frantically look for candles (which we usually never had) and then would settle in the living room couches or our respective beds and lounge. There were no computers, tv, or other distractions, so we would be left to our own devices of keeping one another entertained the old fashioned way. Those moments were always few and far between, but it would always be refreshing; almost as if being forced to idly sit around was a welcome change to the monotony (and rigor) of daily life.

When I lost the ability to read, I lit a candle to continue reading, however, due to the increasing winds I had to stop that. I looked over to my left and noticed that the sky was lighting up every few seconds and figured this would be a good time to enjoy nature. I blew out my candle, grabbed my iPod, rearranged my pagne chair to face my screen door, and drew back my curtain. As I settled into my new location and a wonderful view of the lightning storm outside, I smiled to myself.

This is partly the reason why I wanted to join the Peace Corps: The ability to take myself away from the worries of daily life to just enjoy my surroundings. Faint wisps of the scent of rain come blowing through my house with the breeze. The sound of distant thunder can be heard from miles away, reminding me of the big rig trucks rumbling through the paved road. And, of course, Mother Nature’s own fireworks display with lightning bolts streaming across the sky momentarily blinds me as my pupils need to readjust themselves. I sit there for two hours, enjoying the music, the cool breeze, and the seeming simplicity of life when you can strip it all down.

Little things sometimes can make life that much better. When I was working, there were a few times I would stop by a local bakery, buy a dozen donuts, drive to a friend’s house and would gorge on the donuts while watching sports updates and end the night by playing a few rounds of a video game.

I just hope I remember to take a step back every once in awhile and take a breather. Life is life: Worrying just gives you wrinkles, white hairs, and an unfriendly disposition.

As you all know I solicited some financial help from all of you in the month of January. Just to make sure that we are all on the same page I have been carefully documenting the physical work that has been going on at the project site. After the first few mishaps with location and ‘political’ problems, things have been going pretty well. I’m happy to announce that it appears this latrine project will actually come to fruition and we will most likely come in under budget AND on time!

The village that we are making these latrines at is called Akodebakou (ah-ko-deh-bah-koo). This village is roughly a thirty minute bike ride from my house and so I am always a sweaty mess when I show up to have a look around. There are four neighborhoods that have been selected. Within each neighborhood are two families that will be receiving latrines financed by you! The families themselves have been putting in the labor to making the pits for the latrines and your money has supplied the water (for mixing cement), sand, gravel, cement, paying the masons, paying for the transportation of a latrine/building specialist, and a PVC pipe to help aerate the latrines. Once the latrines are built, we are requiring the families to also create some type of ‘wall’ structure for their latrine to provide privacy. Most likely these ‘walls’ will be reeds and/or palm leaves thatched together.

I wasn’t sure how else to put the pictures I took together, so I clustered them according to my visits. You will see that some families have ‘no progress’ written on their picture and that is because nothing has changed since my previous visit. Sometimes this occurs because the family hasn’t gotten around to doing more work and others, it is because the masons haven’t had the opportunity to start building there. Either way, there is only one family I am worried about right now, which I will note below.

02.20.10 – Family and site selection as to where to put the latrines.

02.23.10 – Two of the families had yet to start digging. The sixth family (if you are counting from top left to top right and then down to the next row) I managed to scare enough by my presence so by the following visit, they had completed their pit before everyone else.

03.01.10 – The last family told me that the ground was very hard and that they couldn’t continue. We told them to throw some water in the pit over night and then it would be easier. They obviously didn’t listen.

03.03.10 – The sixth family (who had completed their pit first) is waiting for the masons to start throwing some bricks in their pit. This is the same for the first and seventh families. The last family is still in the same position as before. I have given them an ultimatum of finishing their pit by Friday, or else we will use the extra cement for someone else’s walls.

It has already been eighteen days since the departure of my dog, Burrito, but it seems like only a few days back when he first left.

I decided to take some time before writing this entry, mainly so that I wouldn’t be too emotional or anything like that. I wanted to take some time to appreciate the time I had with my African dog and to do his short life justice.

I’ve never had a dog before. Actually, I used to be deathly afraid of dogs ever since going over to my brother’s friend’s house (who had a younger brother in my year as well) whose dog chased after me. Of course, I didn’t realize that dogs will run after you if you run away, thinking that you are playing with them, so he ended up accidently clawing my ankle. It took me awhile to see that dogs aren’t all that scary and that they enjoy playing, licking, and being a good companion.

Anyway, Burrito randomly ended up being a great companion. A dog that I didn’t have to care for too much (after his first six months), loved meeting new people, and one of the smartest dogs I’ve seen in country. He was incredibly docile, which is sort of odd for a lot of the Beninese raised dogs and loved being like his owner, lazy during the sunny parts of the day. I think one day I kept track of how much he slept and he clocked in around seventeen hours. Of course, I know some people back at home who could also accomplish such a task, but Burrito consistently slept a lot (especially during the hot season).

One of the things I will miss most about not having Burrito around is hearing the *pitter patter* of his paws hitting the ground behind me when I leave the concession. I may not know where he is at all times, but every morning/afternoon when I would head out he would somehow hear me leaving and would run after me. Sometimes he would accompany me to school for English Club, provide me with encouragement at some village’s accounting session, or even run after me to Azove. Of course, if he did make it to Azove he would get lazy on the way back (or tired I suppose, I do tend to bike as fast as I can) so I would have to throw him into my side bag on my bike.

Thanks for keeping me entertained and for being a good sport whenever someone said, “Scratch your face,” in a deep voice. You were a good dog.

P.S. In case you were wondering how he died I don’t know what to tell you. I think he may have eaten something with poison or maybe he got insane worms. Either way, he showed up one morning and whined/howled. By the time I got back from a meeting, he was gone. My neighbor and I wrapped him up in one of my old shirts, dug a hole in the front yard, and said a few words about him. I’m glad he came back home to give me closure.

Michelle, Melissa, and I just got back from a quick trip to the northwest of Benin where another volunteer, Carlan, is posted. Near her village is a tourist location where one can see mud huts that are shaped much like a hobbit’s house. These structures are called ‘tata sombas’ and apparently fall apart every year due to the rain. The one we stayed at actually had a gaping hole on one part of the second floor/roof top, but our sleeping area seemed sturdy enough.

We had to hike for approximately two hours and fifteen minutes in the middle of the day, due to the time we arrived at Carlan’s post. Man, was it hot! I don’t think I’ve sweat like that since coming into the country. Actually, maybe I did sweat the same amount the very first night here where I ended up getting athlete’s foot. This time, I didn’t get any foot fungi, but I did manage to get two doses of blisters. I have come to believe that my feet were just not made for living life. Maybe I shouldn’t blame everything on my flat feet, but it is hard for me to think otherwise, since having flat feet has annoyed me since the third grade.

I think the best part of our trip was the fact that we had no real itinerary at the tata sombas and instead of being the tourist, we ended up becoming the evening’s entertainment. Upon our arrival, a mat was thrown out onto the floor of the people who would be cooking our dinner. As soon as we got comfortable on the mats a man came by with baby twins and gave a ‘husband’ for Melissa and Michelle. Once the babies started crying (they were probably less than six months old) we handed them off to their mother who immediately nursed them. We then went off to our sleeping building and were followed by the crowd of children who greeted us, trailed us to our mat, and would end up staring at us until we were finished with dinner.

There are a lot of things I’ve become used to in this country, like the list of stuff in the latter post, however, the amount of intrigue and sheer amusement these kids can get from more than one ‘yovo’ is incomprehensible. I’ve tried to think of equivalent scenarios in our lives back home, but I don’t think that is really possible. Of course, that is probably due to a cultural difference where staring at someone because they are different is frowned upon.

No matter. I had a great time and am sort of jealous that such awesome posts like that exist in this country. The grass always seems greener on the other side, but sometimes, it really is just greener. :P

Here we are on our way. We just traveled on this road for hours.

Unlike the south, the north can be very… arid… and sparse.

The twins I told you about. They ended up taking off the beanies soon after the picture because it was too hot. Haha. Plus, I don’t think they realized how dirty we were. Shhh.

Our guide and a big baobab tree. Oh, and the moon which lit up the sky like a 120kw bulb. It was hard to sleep having such a bright light turned on in the sky all night!

The caved in roof/second floor. I guess that doesn’t look too bad.

Looking at this picture makes me realize how small this tata somba actually is. It almost looks like we are standing on top of a sand castle. Haha.

Talking on the phone with my mom the other day made me realize something. I don’t think I talk much about the things that I find common place now. So I decided to write up a quick list of things that, in retrospect, are pretty odd, but no longer make me do double-takes.

In no particular order:

[1] Public urination: No rules here. Oh wait, unless it says ‘Interdit Uriner ICI– 5.000 CFA’ which translates to ‘Illegal to urinate here – 5,000 CFA’ (that’s the fine, but who knows who you are supposed to pay). Men tend to face the road so they can see you and you can see… them. Women hike up their dresses (to reduce splatter damage), spread their legs, turn their faces down to their target, and let fly. Children just do it wherever and whenever they want. I’ve seen my neighbor’s kid (cowgirl’s older sister) hop over in front of my door, slide her underwear to the side with her hand, and let go. That would be kind of like me going to your front porch and peeing. Haha. That’s funny. Babies usually don’t have diapers, so you’ll usually see them stop, look like they are concentrating, and then pee will be flowing down their leg. Once finished, they continue walking again and the parents just let it all air dry. Of course, if it happens in the house, they’ll rub it around with a dirty rag designated for such things and spread it thin so it’ll dry faster.

[2] Livestock: I was waiting for an English exam to start for a competition us volunteers help put on each year and I looked out the window to see a herd of cows meandering through the school grounds. Two children were herding them through with big sticks, whacking away to make sure they stayed the course. I sat there wondering, ‘Woah, cows (in Djakotomey?)!’ instead of, ‘Woah, cows (what the hell are they doing on school grounds)?!?’ I also find it funny when a random baby goat walks into our concession, makes his rounds, nibbles on some choice pieces of trash, and hops his way out.

[3] Sounds: Children crying here is almost like an art. I can now determine when a child is crying of hunger, anger, fear, sadness, pain, or faking. The most annoying are the times where the child (who shouldn’t even be in my concession) will do a half-hearted cry and then sustain it over the life of the amount of air he/she has in his/her lungs. He/she will do this for at least 5 to 10 minutes straight, trying to garner the attention of an adult (usually his/her mom). Depending on how I feel, sometimes I will yell, “YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!” For some reason, it occasionally works.

[4] Verbal fights: My mama next door has a lot of friends or at least a lot of people come by on a day to day basis. Therefore, this means occasionally they will have moments where they are yelling at one another. Now, since I don’t fully understand local language, I don’t know if they are mad at each other or if they are just passionately discussing a topic. Much like Korean, Adjah seems to be spoken through volume, rather than subtlety. I’ve looked out my window to see my mama yelling her head off, then, a few minutes later some neighbor walks into the conversation, listens, makes some sort of joke, laughs really loud (and ends with a big, “OOOOOhhhhh Weeeeeeee!!!”) and then everyone laughs?!? Yeah, I don’t get it.

[5] Power outages: We’ve had a lot of these lately. I ran out of candles so for the last few nights when 7PM has hit, I take a seat in my pagne chair, put up my feet on my coffee table, and look at the wall. Sometimes I’ll just sit there for two hours just listening to the church drums being played or just the quiet of the still night. It is relaxing and soothing… then I realize that this is really weird and almost creepy and try to find something to do (like listen to a podcast or something).

[6] Baby toys: I went to the mayor’s office once and a lady there had recently had a child. He’s a cute looking kid but it was weird cause he was probably only like 5 months old or something and this lady was bringing him in cause she was working. As I talked with her she put him on the ground on top of a big pagne (piece of cloth) and then, to make sure he had something to play with, threw him her house keys, a piece of plastic, and a calendar. I laughed out loud when I saw her throw him these things because after it hit him and plopped to the floor, the kid became COMPLETELY absorbed with these simple items. That’s all they need! As the children get older all they really need is some sort of plastic container, some water, and red dirt (which is everywhere). They play house with the mud they make (which represents food, furniture, etc).

[7] Male affection: I remember this was one of the funnier things that we encountered when first coming here. My host dad would hold my hand as we walked across the busy streets, usually leading me by my hand, so I would in turn put on a dopey looking face and sort of hop along behind him. Good friends here also hold hands (males), which is kind of like Korean culture, although, that is usually reserved for the female gender. So when I see two dudes kind of close together, speaking to each other in close proximity, I look down to see what their hands are doing. Usually one guy will have his index finger and middle finger slightly crooked and his friend will have the same fingers on the opposite hand lightly touching the fingertips of his friend. Yes, it isn’t full on ‘hand’ holding. Usually it just involves the fingertips or hooking up to the first joints of the pinky finger. Intriguing, huh?

This will be a quick blog post. I just want to let you know that my project has been fully funded (in only 2 weeks since sending out the email/posting a blog) and even with some complications, I have been given the green light to continue.

I'll write a full blog post as to the specifics that happened (it is kind of boring and long), but for now, just know that I appreciate all the support you have given to me, financially and emotionally!

*Disclaimer: If you are an animal lover (especially dog lover) do not read the following post. Consider yourself warned!*

I had an unofficial meeting today with the guy I’m working with for my PCPP and was planning on biking to Kloukanmae (Erik English’s post) with Jason at 10am. As I rolled up to my concession, I noticed that all the women were congregated outside of the steel door and so was Burrito. This was strange, but what was stranger still was that they were all stopping me and telling me, “You don’t want to go in there!”

I had no idea what they were talking about so I asked them why, but the only response I could get out of them was, “You really don’t want to go in there.”

Jason called me at that point and asked me where I was. I told him that I was home, but he apparently was inside the concession. I asked my mama if my friend was inside and she said nonchalantly, “Yes.” So I told them all that I needed to go in then, because I had a guest which garnered the response, “They are doing this (a chopping motion near the genital areas) to the dog.”

“Oh, a castration? I’ve seen plenty of those, let me in.”

I walk into the concession and a guy holding a big ass stick tells me, “Vit vit vit vit!!!” (quickly x4) I run inside and I look at Jason. Jason is looking at me like a bewildered little boy, unsure of what was going on. I reassured him, “Jason, what up man! They are just castrating Jasper, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure man?”

He had a worried look that was sort of disconcerting, but I didn’t think much of it. I looked towards my latrine and saw the guy who put in my pull-up bar straddling the far wall holding a huge ass stick as well, poking at Jasper who was barking really oddly.

I opened my door and talked with Jason, asking him what the hell he thought was going on here. As I opened the door he said, “Um… I think they are trying to kill him.”

“No no, this is just a castration man. Although, that guy is a mason and that other dude definitely doesn’t look like a vet.”

We walked into my house and I turned to the first man I ran into and asked, “What are you guys doing?”

He wouldn’t respond and kept commanding me to close my screen door. By this point in time, I was thinking Jason might actually be right, so I adamantly said, “No.” Thinking Jasper NEVER came into my house. If he did, it probably was cause he felt like he was gonna die.

Well, what do you know, Jasper bee-lines it from the latrine straight into my house, quivering. He was whimpering and already had a mangled hind leg and somehow must’ve gotten a cut up eye from the evening before (it wasn’t fresh). I reluctantly took a broom (since he was in high alert mode and would have bit my hand) and tried to sweep him out. He ran into my bedroom and tried to go through the screen door there, without success. So, with me pursuing him, he ran out to the concession again, a death trap.

Now, Jasper is a pretty strong and fast dog, but these Beninese guys are pretty focused when they want to get something done. So, instead of tying up Jasper or catching him and cutting his throat, they were trying to tire him out and knock out the use of his hind legs by chucking, as hard as possible, hoes from at least 10 yards away. They were amazingly accurate at this and it almost seemed like a game for them. I yelled at them, “You guys are scared of the dog, huh?” They nodded in agreement. “You guys are going to eat this guy, huh?” They looked a little ashamed, but would not answer. So I asked them again. “Are you going to eat him?” “Yes…” “With what type of sauce?” “Every kind.” I then closed my screen door and tied it so that Jasper wouldn’t be able to open it. He tried to get in again, running full force into the screen, ripping a hole and getting blood on it.

I had to close the door, this was too sad.

The whimpering, the barking, the rhythmic sound of the hoe hitting the ground while the other guy tried to hit Jasper with the big ass piece of wood was sickening to the stomach. Jason was sitting on my couch, “Dude, I think I’m gonna throw up my breakfast.” I stood by the window watching how this was going to play out.

They must have broken both of Jasper’s hind legs from throwing the hoe at him, but he was running on pure adrenaline. Eventually it caught up with him and he collapsed in a bush on the far side of the concession directly in my viewpoint. I saw the first man grab his big ass stick (it was at least 7 feet long and had a girth of around 6 inches), wield it in both his hands while raising it above his head, and dropped it down with as much force as he could muster. But he didn’t realize that our laundry line was there, so he hit that and in his frustration ripped it out of the wall (I was saddened by this). Then he did it again and this time, he hit his mark.

It was horrifying to not only hear Jasper barking and then suddenly stop, but even worse to watch it cause I could see why he stopped. They had broken his back, literally. To make sure, the guy brought up the stick again and whacked him in the same spot. Then, to ensure there was no possible way that he’d get back up, he walked around him, raised the stick, and gave Jasper a final blow to the head. Game over.

Man, and I thought I’d seen all that you could possibly see here. Oh, how wrong I was. So wrong.

I’ve been in country for 558 days now and have been at post for 495 days.

Therefore, it has taken me approximately 500 days not to be a stranger in my own village. What a momentous occasion! We really should celebrate. Someone grab the bubbly and I’ll bring the tacos (haha).

So what, exactly, is the reason for this celebration?

Well, the other day I rolled into my concession on my bike. A normal morning doing my rounds: first to the mayor’s office (a quick greeting to my homologue and my buddy who I’m doing this latrine project with), a few words with my friend who sells gas on the side of the road, and a obligatory stop with my bread/egg lady. By the time I reach my concession I am used to the usual greeting:

“Burrito-tahhh-lllluuuhhhh!”

This roughly translates to “Papa Burrito” in local language and the baby girl that lives next door has realized I actually respond to this title. *A little side note, this baby girl has a pet name also, So-so, but I call her ‘cowgirl’ because she has a severe case of rickets (I know, it isn’t very nice, but seriously… it looks like she just got off a horse!)* It was no surprise that So-so screamed this out at the top of her lungs as soon as she saw the front tire of my bike push open the metal door.

But today was different. Her friend, Christianne (?), who has lived with my mama next door for extended periods of time with her mom (something like she is my mama’s sister-in-law, but who knows what kind of relationship they have) is around the same age as So-So and is INCREDIBLY cute. I used to find her as kind of an ugly baby, but as she has gotten older (yeah, just a year) she developed huge dimples and a beautiful smile. So, anyway, Christianne sees me walk in and she too yells out, “Burrito-taaahh-llluuhhhh!” I smile and wave, “Hello kids!” (yeah, I speak to them in English and French)

Then, all of a sudden, Christianne does something NO child has ever done here… her mouth stretches into a huge grin, she opens her arms as wide as possible, and runs (stumbles) over to me so that I can pick her up! Oh man! I was so flustered that I almost dropped my bike, but I managed to catch her in the crook of my right arm and fling her up to my chest.

Now, you are probably thinking, “Aw, that’s sweet! The little girl feels totally comfortable with you now!” And you are right. However! This was ground-breaking for me, as well, because I NEVER touch children so intimately. I usually grab their heads or pat them on the back, but hold them in my arms? Only infants receive this award because they are at the cleanest stage of their lives (please refer to the post on day 475).

Needless to say, I was all smiles as I came into my house thinking that I’d accomplished something. I looked down at my shirt, wondering if I should throw it in the hamper since Christianne is cute, but she was also totally naked, but I figured I wouldn’t be eating off my shirt anytime soon. I also realized something else which kind of made me laugh. The children here are really really good at ‘latching on’ to humans when you pick them up. I hardly had Christianne past my waist and her legs were neatly wrapped around my hips and she sat comfortably, looking up at me with her puppy dog eyes. That would be cool to teach my kid(s) when/if I actually have some… but if it means I have to strap him/her to my back for more than 10 hours a day for the first 1.5 years of his/her life, forget it.

****Mouse update *****

When I was in the states I bought some old school mouse traps (the wooden, spring loaded traps you see in cartoons) so I wouldn’t have to deal with random dead mice in God knows where, rotting away. They work like a charm. Almost too well. I’ve caught at least 20 mice since coming back. Funny thing is, I don’t even need to wash the trap after I kill one of these guys. I just reset the trap (if the food is still stuck on the end) and BAM, 24 hours later, another kill.

One day I came back and a mouse was sitting helplessly in the middle of my living room. “Huh, that’s odd,” I thought. When I came up to him I saw that his rear right paw was caught in the trap. He was frightened, so he tried to run away, but something else kept him close. It turns out that the first trap he hit caught his back paw so he walked/dragged himself over to the other trap to eat the food there and managed to get his front left paw stuck!

Laughing to myself I wondered how I was gonna deal with this pest. I remembered what one of my friends told me he did, “I grabbed a used small coffee can, put it over the mouse, and smashed the whole thing with a hammer. The mouse was totally dead and attached to the tin can.” Ew. I didn’t want that to happen. My mom told me that when she was a kid she used to drown the rats that were stuck in these kinds of traps. Ugh. I don’t want to waste a bunch of water on a mouse.

So I looked to my right and saw the weapons I had available: hammer (that’s too gruesome), broom (too long and narrow), and a pair of Quicksilver sandals from the states (nice, wide, and thick). I picked up my right sandal and gave the mouse a good whack. Man, I guess I didn’t realize how small this mouse was. His body rose one time for the last time and then was dead. Nice.

This took a lot longer than I had hoped, but at least it finally worked. I’ve been working on a project proposal through the Peace Corps to have latrines built at a nearby high school. The school itself has just been constructed and has three classrooms (made out of some cement blocks and tin roofs) and so they are in need of anything that they can get their hands on. The project would install four latrines (two units with two latrines each) and if properly maintained, could be used for a very long time. Currently there are only 140 (maximum) students at this school, but in the following two to three years this number will easily be tripled since primary school is paid for by the government (meaning more students will be eligible to move to the ‘high school’ level, which most families would be willing to pay for at least the first cycle).

Through the mayor’s office I met this guy named Thomas, who actually isn’t a Djakotomey native, but who has a non-governmental organization whose mission is to help develop parts of Benin, starting with hygiene-related projects. Therefore, his NGO will be putting up 10% of the total costs of the project, 15% (and probably more) will be funded through community contributions of labor and materials, and the remaining 75% will hopefully be funded through your generosity.

It is pretty obvious why I hoped this would go up before the holiday season, but due to things that are out of my control it took much longer. I have detailed information regarding timeline (it should take four weeks from whenever we start construction), budget, and post-construction sessions and such if you’d like to see it.

I’m not gonna lie. During the process of trying to get this project online I stopped myself numerous times wondering if this is worthwhile or not. I’ve seen countless half-finished buildings, schools, and other ‘construction projects’ from other organizations, that I was really hesitant. But in the end, the side of me that hopes for a safer, cleaner, and healthier environment for students and the greater community won the battle.

My promise to you is that when these latrines are built I will have an opening ceremony with a session on safe, hygienic practices, detailing why latrines are necessary. For the following three months, there will be monthly sessions (one time each month) on hand-washing (when, how, and why) and safe water practices. When I say ‘we’ I mean me and my ‘Amour et Vie’ (love and life) team which sole purpose is to educate the masses on such themes, as well as, malaria, AIDS/HIV prevention, and other related topics.

So, if you feel so inclined, please follow the link below and send over some money! Every little bit counts. Since the Peace Corps will not specify donated amounts and/or donor information, if you decide to donate anything please email me at Dennischon@gmail.com and let me know that you contributed (you don’t have to tell me how much). Please include your current mailing address so that I can send you a personalized thank you note (I would say card, but I might be making these things by hand)! Thanks in advance!

Donate to the Project!

I didn’t do a good job of updating this blog in 2009. There are big holes between my posts, but looking back, I’m pretty sure that I was either aimlessly traveling around my area, or just sitting in my pagne-chair in my living room, reading, writing, or watching things on my computer. Thus, nothing to report.

It is amazing that I’ve already been in country for 546 days. When I close my eyes and think back to when I was leaving for Benin I can only remember feelings of anxiety, inadequacies, and the uncomfortable knowledge that I did not speak a lick of French. I was looking back at my personal journal and I found this entry that I had written about coming here. Ironically (or maybe not so ironically), this was written on January 10, 2008, the day I found out I would be a Peace Corps Volunteer (or, I suppose, trainee since that’s what they insist on calling you until you swear in) going to a West African country in July.

************

Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm living in THE reality of what I call my life. The daily grind of things and the fact that I go to work, be zombie man, and then worry about the fact that I've been zombie man all day, always leaves me with an unsettling feeling when I get ready to crawl into bed at night. However, a new change has come over me. Kind of like a cloud lifting from a town that has had incessant rain for months and months, if not years. No, it's not like I found a girlfriend. I actually think I've found the anti-girlfriend. My dreams or aspirations are slowly forming into something tangible. Something fearful. Something that brings so much excitement to my mind and face, yet has the ability to be something that I dread more than anything else I've done in my entire life.

I'm going to be a peace corps volunteer.

That seems pretty weak when I look at that statement alone. I mean, you go off for a couple of years, living in an area that you are unfamiliar with. That ain't too bad, it'll be over in a blink of an eye. But there are so many random reservations and fears and inadequacies that I feel in my heart and in my mind that I can't seem to turn off. If I had a power switch for my anxieties and feelings of fear, this would definitely be the time I would pull the plug. I suppose the bravest people of them all though, would have to be my parents. When I called umma today she sounded nervous. She wanted to ask me what I decided to do with the nomination process, and more importantly, where I decided to go. When I told her that I've decided on africa, I could tell in her voice that she knew it was coming, but was hoping I would have changed my mind. Yet, she knows her son too well. Always the taker and the one following 'his dreams'... living in a magical world that somehow revolves around wanting to live in poverty, but wanting to have money at the same time. I asked her if she was scared for me and what appa thought about the whole ordeal. She was frank. I'm worried, but I know you would choose africa. You know appa, he'll support you no matter what you decide. But umma, are you guys really worried for me? Of course. And what happens if we visit you and we don't even know what to do when we get to the airport?

Oh mom. You are so cute. I reassured her that I would be at the airport waiting for them and that they wouldn't have to worry about such things. But honestly. I wonder how they feel. Do they think they screwed up somehow when raising their sons? Do they think that I just need to get this out of my system? I don't know and I don't think umma would ever tell me before I leave, but I must thank God for giving me parents like these. It isn't everyday that someone's parents is as supportive as my parents are being.

But anyway... So africa. In July. With a crash course in french for five months. Man. I'm gonna die. But it is going to be one hell of a time.

posted by Dennis.chon at 1/10/2008 11:41:00 PM

*****************

2009 had its ups and downs. Some of the biggest ups and downs I’ve ever experienced in my life actually. I made a lot of new friends, said goodbye to a bunch leaving the country, lost one in a still ‘unsolved’ murder, traveled to six new countries, went on safari, bungee jumped for my first time, and witnessed a beautiful wedding in the states. I’ve realized how hard it is to keep friends, how easy it is to lose friends, and how badly I need them. I probably managed to watch the most amount of movies/tv shows/trash than ever before in my life, but also had the pleasure of reading some really great novels (and trashy ones too). I’ve added another year to my life, bringing with it the ideas of wanting/needing to start a family, wondering where my ‘youthful carefree days’ have gone, and having to battle new bodily ailments (like a cockroach in the ear). This has been probably one of the least motivated years I’ve experienced in my entire life when dealing with ‘work-related activities’ mainly because I just ran out of places to look. It was the first year where I truly felt like a failure and inept at being useful. I also was more creative than I’ve been in a dozen or so years, which was refreshing. I’ve learned to cook from scratch things I never dreamed I would bother trying and figured out wallet-friendly ways to make food (ie. want to make individual sized cakes? Use old tuna cans).

I’m hoping 2010 will be an eye-opening year (God knows my eyes can use a little opening). Maybe I’ll realize what exactly I’m doing in Benin and where this whole thing is eventually leading me to. Maybe I won’t. Either way, I will strive to live, love, and be happy in all things. Thanks for reading and I hope I will have more stories for you in 2010!

I know I have been really bad about posting new entries, but it is mainly because my daily life has turned into a routine like in the States and we all know that when that happens you don’t think exciting things are happening every day. I am convinced that we are just not looking in the right places at the right time, but I do remember those endless hours I was stuck in front of my laptop at work and the only entertaining thing that happened during my day was when I wrote lewd or outrageous emails to my friends… who were also working and had access to email every second of everyday.

Anyway, this entry is about food. Some people may be under the impression that I do not eat well in Benin. This will hopefully give you a better idea as to the state of awesomeness (or lack-there-of) of the food we can get/make here. Back in November 2008 I think I wrote an entry about losing a lot of weight and how skinny I am now. That all changed after I visited the US in May/June of 2009. I haven’t lost the 15 pounds I gained in the 13 day eating frenzy I allowed myself due, in most part, to the arrival of the new volunteers.

I have a ‘close-mate’ who lives a couple kilometers away (approximately 20+) who is originally from Downey, California. Let’s say his name is ENGLISH. Erik English. We should also pretend that he is an English teacher here in Benin and replaced a guy volunteer named Eric. Erik (with a ‘k’) is a pretty chill guy and it just so happened that during one of our first conversations together we found out that we both love the same thing. No, not tacos. Not pate either. Tapatio.

For those of you who have been living under a Mexican rock for the past so many odd years, Tapatio is the hot sauce brought down from the gods to humankind to help our taste buds fully appreciate the awesomeness of Mexican food. Or, simply put, it is tastier and less acidic than Tabasco. Once I found out that I had someone close by me who shared a love of Tapatio, and, therefore, Mexican food, I was ecstatic.

We’ve had a total of three (3) ‘Taco Nights’, one of which happened to land on Tuesday, making it ‘Taco Tuesday’. What this usually consists of is me and Erik getting together, discussing what would be good in the day’s taco pursuits and then us putting it all together for a beautiful, candlelit dinner (note: it only has been candlelit because for some odd reason the electricity has been out the last two sessions). We have slowly been inviting others to come join in the madness of taco night, but we also make sure to warn them in advance: You will want to eat more, but you will realize that you already ate way too much. Taco night is NOT a joke. It will ruin you.

Until, that is, the next morning when we make huevos rancheros for breakfast with a side of coffee.

Now that I have given the gist of ‘Taco Night’, it may be profitable to list out what we actually make here:

[1] Refried beans: sometimes we do this from raw beans, boil them with baking soda (an amazing trick that works like a charm – and that does not have a weird taste, as long as, you don’t put a ton of baking soda in the water!), drain, fry up some onions and garlic, throw in the beans, throw in oil and seasonings, and mash away!

[2] Spanish rice: mash some tomatoes, cut up garlic and onions, throw in your rice, oil, seasonings, and water… and voila! Amazing rice!

[3] Meat: This one changes every time. Sometimes we use spam (that’s usually something I randomly have since I use it sparingly here), lately I’ve been able to find PORK at post so we used that two Taco nights ago, and this last time (Saturday) we found BEEF! And man, was it glorious. Cut up garlic, onions, meat, add seasonings and voila! Spicy meat!

[4] Tortilla: Now this is the secret to our success. I found an awesome chewy tortilla recipe awhile back and it has been the crux of our night. Erik has been a great addition because he has given the night creativity. For example, during the first night where I made Mexican food for people at their technical visit, Erik suggested, “Why don’t you fry those suckers up?” Hard shell tacos. The first ‘Taco Night’ Erik suggested, “Why don’t you make a double decker taco?” So we did. The second ‘Taco Night’ we had a bottle of just-sent-Tapatio so we didn’t make many changes. The third ‘Taco Night’ Erik suggested, “Why don’t we have chalupas?” Fried tortillas, before cooking the tortillas on the skillet and then frying. Genius.

[5] Salsa: Pico de gallo, mango, or just some tomatoes and onions, we make it all. Unfortunately for us, cilantro is sorta hard to grow here, so we are still trying to work the kinks outta that one.

Now, all these things are made from scratch so you can see why it is an exciting event when we do it. We have gotten pretty good at rolling out, heating up, frying, and shaping our tortillas now. Beans, rice, and meat are simple as rinsing vegetables. When Erik and I get together we contemplate life in Benin and then the conversation always inevitably goes to, ‘What would be good to add/subtract for the next Taco Night.’ Sad, but true.

Erik has also been publicizing our nights to anyone who would lend a listening ear, so PCVs are beginning to think that we do them all the time and wonder why we don’t invite them. Little do they know that Erik and I enjoy having exclusive rights to ‘Taco Night’ and changes made to the night need to be done with much scrutiny. The next ‘Taco Night’ might actually move into an altogether different category, chimichangas. Or better yet, burritos. Or better still, TAQUITOS. Oh man, I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.

Children in Benin aren’t that much different than children in the states, but the biggest cause of why they are different (ie. dirty) is because of the golden rule in parenting here: let the little rogues run free! The surrounding community is considered the ‘communal parents’ of any child that is under the age of… well, quite frankly, a child that can’t hold a bassine (large bowl that is used to carry anything from water to peppers sold in the market) on their head. This is an incredibly intriguing way of watching children grow up especially since I am used to seeing people who place body harnesses and wrist leashes on any child that is beginning to discover the art of walking and in any public place where the child may run amuck.

Somehow it works. But there are some drawbacks to letting your children run wild and free, which is the real purpose of this entry.

The other day I was sitting around waiting for my translator to show up to the small village of Babohoue where I provide the weekly service of trying to explain accounting to those who do not know how to read and write. I looked over to a pile of orange-red dirt, which will inevitably be used to create a nice four-inch thick wall of some house within the village. It was a sizable pile of dirt, probably around five to six feet at its apex. My attention was specifically on two goats that were on top of the pile, butting heads, seemingly playing with one another and making funny goat noises. Silly goats!

Thirty minutes later, after the session was well on its way, I was looking around again trying to find this one child that has huge, expressive, beautiful eyes. He wasn’t sitting near his mom where he usually was, but I knew if I just looked for the green and white striped pattern of his underwear, he’d probably turn up. Sure enough I heard his laughter before I actually saw him. Exactly like the goats before, this boy and his little friend were trying to climb up the dirt pile and making a nice little mess on their bodies. They looked like they were preparing for some sort of battle, red dirt was caked on all parts of their mostly naked (well, totally naked for the little girl) bodies and they were having the time of their lives.

So here is the breakdown. From the ages between 0 to toddler age children in Benin are immaculately clean. They are almost always strapped onto their mother’s backs or are placed onto a couple of big pieces of cloth, wrapped up in more, and usually wearing some type of beanie to keep their precious little heads warm. Once these children are able to walk/crawl/roll, they are in the dirty stage I would like to call “collateral damage”. This means when they decide to take a crap, it is wherever they end up and in whatever position they happened to be in. So if they were sitting up, they will pee/poop on themselves. If they happened to be in the middle of walking into their house, their mom will need to clean up the aftermath. And so on and so forth. Since they do end up peeing on themselves quite a bit, the liquid causes dirt to easily stick on many parts of their body. Hence, collateral damage and dirt is bound to get stuck on their hands, knees, and other parts of the body that need to touch the floor.

Now, the age where they are fully capable of walking and going to school (and possibly the first two years of primary school) is their dirtiest stage. They are old enough to know how to keep themselves clean in regards to waste management, but when they get dirty, they are in complete control. Due to this fact alone, I consider this the dirtiest part of their lives. You’ll often see kids running around in their underwear (as soon as they get home they do what I do, throw off all clothing which could cause more heat) and somehow, I don’t know how, they are covered in dirt, mud, a combination of the two, and/or blood/flies/mucus. I’ve seen little boys, in particular, grab knives (and sometimes machetes) and swing them around for fun and start hacking away at a partially built mud hut. They’ll knock of pieces of whatever they are hacking at and it will fly everywhere. Some kids grab stones and do what their mamas do, ecrase (grind) leaves and sand, adding water to the flat stone to make sure things don’t stick. They’re able to climb up trees and sleep in the most uncomfortable positions, regardless of where they are, which sometimes is right on the dirt floor, or maybe a pile of charcoal. But I especially like those children who don’t seem all that dirty because they are wearing a nice school uniform, but when you look closer, not only is the uniform insanely dirty and has caused a nice pattern throughout, it also is littered with holes!

One of the things that I didn’t think I’d get used to is the fact that all these children are malnourished, thus leading to distended bellies, since they lack proper nutrition for their muscles around that region. I remember as I kid I would make fun of my older brother, saying he was potbellied like a kid in Somalia. I have no idea why or where I got that idea from, but I remember our mother being not too happy about that statement. As any other child would, I thought it was funny to see people get upset by things I said and so I continued to say that. Looking back, that wasn’t funny at all and even though I’d love to just grab some of these cute little kids, hold them (unwillingly for most of them), and throw them up in the air, I get scared that they might be more fragile than I would think.

And yet, it doesn’t matter to them. Which is probably the most refreshing part about it all. The older kids will grab the toddlers, no matter how dirty, pick them up and hug them. The older brothers and sisters will take care of their siblings. They all know how to wrap tissue around the babies so that they will be secure on their backs. They know the sounds to make to help the children stop crying. It is almost instinctual, helping out their mamas with raising these helpless bundles of joy. I think that’s one of the coolest things about being here and witnessing the community relationships and how people treat one another. I’m not gonna lie, it isn’t all this beautiful and loving… a lot of stuff goes on here that I probably don’t know about and don’t want to hear, whether it be spousal abuse, child abuse, sexual abuse of all kinds, forced marriages, and what not. But, I like to sit and watch these mothers and their children. The way they love sitting and watching not only their child, but all the children in their village. They look with a sense of awe, a sense of love, and sometimes, I’ll see a glimpse of the truth behind it all: heartache, knowing that this little one will need to struggle, work, and hopefully, survive.

While living in Porto-Novo with my host family I went to a handful of funerals. Now, that might sound weird to you, but let me explain. In Benin, they call funerals ‘ceremonies’, which can also be defined as a ‘fete’. In French, that would be the equivalent of calling this funeral a ‘party’. Every weekend I would see my papa getting dressed up to go to a minimum of three fetes (usually a Saturday). I accompanied my papa at least three times and the night before I left to post the entire family went to three different ceremonies. It felt like we were funeral-crashers since there were like 15 of us and we would sit down, eat, drink, and bounce.

Anyway, today I went to one of the first funerals where I actually had a reason to go. The mama that lives next door to me (henceforth referred to as ‘my mama’) recently told me that her grandmother had passed away. She actually seemed pretty upset by it so I stood outside with her, holding her hand for a good five minutes, not saying anything and not looking at her. I’ve become really good at that. Just look in the distance and think about something else. Usually I think about what I’m going to eat later or things I need to take care of. I swear, I’m not heartless, it is just something that I’ve learned to do because a lot of social interactions here requires you to just sit and stare.

The following day my mama showed me the tissue (the cloth) that the family would be wearing for the ceremony and she told me that six meters cost 4.500 CFA (approximately 9 dollars). I considered this for a few seconds and told her I would be more than happy to buy it. The next day she asked me if I was going to give the cloth to a tailor to have some traditional clothes made. I assured her that I would. To make sure that I was actually invited to the ceremony I discussed the situation with Emile (my friend who sells gas). He assured me that it was her way of inviting me. My mama confirmed this by asking me, “You will be coming with us tomorrow, right?”

The actual event was a lot crazier since I got to see some of the behind-the-scenes action going on. First off, I was told to be ready by 9 in the morning. I figured I had until at least 9:30 to get ready, so after washing my clothes I started reading a book. Two hundred pages and four hours later my neighbor knocks on my door to ask me if I’m ready. Finally, after picking up his older brother, the village chief, and a random woman we were off. We stopped on the side of the road where I saw my mama and all her friends bringing out an insane amount of food to put in the back of the car. Everyone was all prettied up but I knew that my mama and her friends had been working since the night before making food (I hadn’t seen my mama since yesterday morning). Once our car was loaded, we jammed to a small village north of Dogbo where tons of people were dancing, doing motorcycle tricks, and the like.

After greeting a whole slew of people and getting the weird “what the hell is this Yovo doing here” look I sat down. My mama rolled in with her friends an hour later with more food and then the madness started. Let me rewind a little. These types of ceremonies cost the grieving families more than a million CFA. That’s a lot of money for someone who is no longer living. They rent sound systems, chairs, tents, air conditioning for the body/casket, bands, dancers, singers, buy drinks (sodas, beer, hard liquor, etc), buy/make food (some of the best food you’ll eat), and invite pretty much anyone that may have seen the deceased in this lifetime. This usually results in a lot of ‘funeral crashers’ who you can’t really refuse food or entry too. So, it is known that excess people should be included in the costs.

I was watching one girl who was living in our concession when I first moved to Djakotomey. She was a 3e student at the time (equivalent to a sophomore or something) and I didn’t know she was actually related in some way to my mama. Anyway, I couldn’t read her expression when at the end of the ceremony we both stood inside the windowed, air conditioned room (which held the open casket), taking pictures next to her grandmother. I know that Beninese people don’t smile in photos, but she usually is a pretty happy person. Today she looked super stressed and actually sad. This threw me off guard, not because Beninese people don’t love those family members that have passed on, but because on the ‘ceremony’ day I have never seen anyone grieving. The atmosphere is so crazy that it is a lot more like a wedding and people are so excited that they can’t contain it within themselves.

I’m not sure how I felt about the whole ceremony. My mama had a look of relief when I saw her at the end of the ceremony. I asked her how she was doing and if she was tired. She said, “A little.” The correct answer to any question you ask a Beninese person. Every family member that was clothed in the fancy-white tissue (cloth) were the direct family members of the deceased. Each one of those people (excluding my mama’s husband) looked stressed, somber, and relieved by the end of the ceremony. I can’t imagine putting something like that on myself… especially when the person you are celebrating isn’t even around.

I have received a few emails and comments about the fact that I have not updated my blog in quite some time. I am sorry to all of you who follow my time here in Benin, but I haven’t been in country for the past few weeks. I had the opportunity to travel (on vacation) to Mozambique and Zambia. I don’t know what the best way of cataloguing the trip, so I’ll put more pictures than text. Here we go.

[TRAVEL]

I first had to pick a worthy travel buddy, or at least someone who would know someone else in Moazambique since I don’t speak Portuguese. I had to settle on Melissa, which I wasn’t too sure about since she is another Korean-American, meaning that people will think we were married and that we were Chinese. We got both, but it turned out alright since getting through customs was easier by giving them our passports at the same time (we figured this out kind of late). Our travel to Mozambique was the following:

- Taxi from Cotonou, Benin to the Togo/Ghana border

- On foot for 3km from drop-off point to border

- Taxi from Ghana border to Accra, Ghana

- Sitting around the airport for six hours

- Flight from Accra, Ghana to Johannesburg, South Africa

- 3 hour layover in South Africa

- Flight from Johannesburg, South Africa to Maputo, Mozambique

We got into Mozambique after approximately 30 hours of traveling. Even with this large amount of traveling, we didn’t run into any delays, problems, or breakdowns. Our trip was looking good. And now, since pictures are worth a thousand words, here are one hundred million words!

[PICTURES]

I made some new friends on this trip (Esther - David's girlfriend and David - PCV in Moz).

Tofo (pronounced Tofu) beach was our first destination. We went snorkeling with whale sharks and saw humpback whales!

This is the sail that was helping to propel the ghetto boat we took across the ocean to our next scenic location.

Walking to the backpackers called 'Funky Monkey' in Linga Linga. The guy who owned this place was actually half-Chinese and half-Mozambiquan (?). He was happy to house four asians! Lucio and his wife are running a pretty sweet set-up here.

Tunnel digging is one of my most favorite activities at the beach.

Melissa also likes tunnels, but she likes to act like a wombat and crawl through it. David actually fit in it too. It was a BIG tunnel. =D

These were two of Lucio's 25 children. We tried to get him to not put sand in his brother's mouth, but he didn't care. His little brother actually ate a lot of sand on purpose, while laughing. Weird.

David and I decided we'd try to catch some crabs like in Castaway. I like how you can see his shadow, holding back the coconut which was used to stun the little guy.

MMmmmm. Crabs in rum over an open flame.

Esther had a polaroid camera. We took advantage of it. First leg of the trip, done!

Here is my traveling buddy. This is Melissa and I in Livingstone, Zambia.

There is no way to take a bad picture of Victoria Falls.

See?

There were hardly any tourists due to the dry season that Southern Africa is currently in.

And a picture from the top of the falls.

And now. Some things that we probably shouldn't have done:

Like feed the baboons. In fairness, she stole this box from us when we weren't watching. We were both pretty sad. I'm just happy I got to eat like five before she took 'em.

Or, get an illegal tour guide ('Harold') to take us through the tops of the falls.

Or be convinced that taking a picture next to the cliff would be a good idea.

Or a picture in the actual water, a few feet away from the side of the cliff.

I suppose it is better than doing a gorge swing where you fall something like 50 meters or something.

Then again, jumping off of one of the highest bungy jumping points is probably not a good idea either.

But, you only live once right?

Yes, I agree. C'est la vie.

I leave you with Melissa and my favorite meal of the trip. Delivered stuff crust pizza. Half hawaiian and half 'The Works'. Johannesburg, you are like America.

For the past two weeks I was ‘working stage’, basically meaning that I decided to help out the new kids on the block and teach them what I have learned in the past year. Ironically, I never actually applied to help out at training (I was planning on going to visit and just play), but it worked out for the better because I do like meeting new people and I got to work with Lindsay and Andrew (on the SED side), and Claire and Kendra (on the TEFL side).

I like to look back on past entries of my stage experience(s) and see how these new trainees view their host families, react to the same situations we had (their reactions have been a lil’ different than ours were), and deal with the daily challenges due to language and being in a new culture. The 1.5 weeks I worked training at Porto-Novo went by without much problems: a person who needed medication called us up one night, a parent of a trainee called to wonder where their ‘son’ had gone, and not having a set group to give one of our presentations to, were some of the few problems.

Thus, I didn’t think that having four people over at my house for technical visit would be very tough. I’ve already had experience at hosting more than one or two people at my house before, therefore, this couldn’t be too bad. Man, was I wrong.

We left on Wednesday morning at 8AM and got to Djakotomey approximately at noon. We immediately headed out to the Azové marche and grabbed lunch and walked around the insanity known as the marché. Luckily we went during the hottest time of the day so there weren’t as many people walking around. We came back to my house after fighting a small bout of rain with a quick drink at a buvette. Once we got back I made some food and we watched a movie. Tame day. The next day we headed out to Dogbo to meet up with the other RCH trainees, who were also on their technical visit. This allowed me to get away from my own trainees for a few hours, have a few drinks and some good food. I think we accidently sat around that buvette for around four hours or so, which we followed with a quick trip to see both Catherine’s and Kristin’s homes. My trainees cleverly noted that their two houses were much larger than mine. Such is life, is what I told them.

The next day was our busiest within Djakotomey: a meeting with the mayor at 8:30, a stop by all my favorite hotspots in my area (pretty much the bike video), and a formation at 4PM. Amazingly the mayor actually did want to see some foreigners and graced us with his presence earlier than 8:30, which was awesome. After meeting with the godfather of Djakotomey we hit up Emile’s stand and he bought us all rice, beans, and fish, and of course got a photographer to take a picture of us. I ate around two plates of food because I love that stuff, but the trainees are still newbies (meaning their stomachs and taste buds are still on the pickier side). When we got home my mama was preparing our lunch (chickens and pâte rouge) and we waited for Erik (a TEFL trainee who is replacing Eric and Sheena) to arrive. After a nice lunch with my neighbors (and another picture) we sat around until the formation.

I’ve never had anyone come visit me and watch me ‘teach’ in French, so this was a new experience for me. I had fun and it was hard trying to explain the intricacies of keeping inventory, but luckily for us the Mayor randomly decided to make an entrance! I must note here that in all the time I’ve been in Djakotomey I’ve met with the mayor three times and have never seen him twice in ONE day. It was amazing. The godfather walked into my meeting and started welcoming/greeting the participants and gave a speech, I wouldn’t have expected otherwise. Honestly, when a ‘dignitary’ comes in from somewhere you just shut up and watch. So I did. The trainees didn’t like that he just walked in like that, but I was surprised at how natural it seemed to me.

Anyway, that night we had a lot of beers and some sodabi (like Beninese moonshine) so I just whipped up some fried rice for the second time in three nights and we hit the sack. Saturday was full of just lounging, reading, watching movies, eating, and drinking. So it was a ‘chill’ day.

The weird thing that I noticed about all this wasn’t that I was fatigued from hosting people. No, that wasn’t too difficult. The difficult part was that I was hosting trainees. I didn’t think that it really mattered, but looking back I was stressed about how they would perceive my place, if they were comfortable, and (in general) they didn’t know how things worked. For example, most PCVs realize that we have screen doors to keep bugs out. So even though occasionally people may forget to close it when leaving or entering it isn’t as often as I saw the trainees doing. Also, thinking back on my technical visit, it is hard for a trainee to wrap their brain around the fact that this is a PCV’s house. A PCV lives here and this is his/her space, just like in the states. For some reason, after living with a host family and being away from home in the states, trainees have the tendency to just think being dirty is what PCVs do, that this place isn’t someone’s home but just a transit location, and have a different mindset from a PCV. I’m not sure I explained myself well, but I will try to think of other ideas later.

Anyway, I will have two ‘postmates’ for the next year as long as they don’t leave. One is actually going to be living in Djakotomey (he is an EA –Environmental Action - volunteer) and the other is a girl living in Azové (potentially Jordan’s old house). This will be interesting since both of them won’t have any furniture when they get to post (I know what that feels like), so I will be inviting them to use my house whenever they’d like.

I know I never have any pictures of my work, thus having visitors was the perfect photo op. Here I am doing the chicken dance. Just kidding, I was explaining how money comes in when you sell something.

Here I am explaining the inventory system and its relationship to the sales/expenses.

Here I am smiling at the treasurer of one of the women’s groups. She is a smart cookie and really does want to understand this stuff. Too bad she hasn’t started any of her own notebooks. Hopefully this changes in the next week.

Here I am looking at the ground as the Godfather of Djakotomey makes his impromptu speech. Oh, how I love those!

*** Disclaimer: This entry is kind of sick/gross, so please stop reading now if you are easily grossed out ***

In 'Star Trek II' there is a part in the movie where Khan (the baddie) places 'mind-controlling eels that enter the ears of his victims and uses the officers to gain control of the Reliant'. This scene has always horrified me because:

[1] The victims are crying out in pain,

[2] The lil' eels are slithering into their brain slowly, methodically, and with a purpose.

I had a similar encounter the other night. It was approximately midnight and I had collapsed on my bed knowing that I should probably get at least four hours of sleep before heading out to the road to catch a taxi to Cotonou. As I lay there, I started debating whether or not I should put in my ear plugs because I could hear the annoying cricket that had taken refuge in my kitchen area for the past few nights. I dismissed this idea because everywhere else was incredibly quiet and I didn't want to start relying on ear plugs to sleep. Soon after this thought I heard a mosquito buzzing by my head. I thought, "Good thing I decided not to put in my ear plugs or else I wouldn't have heard this little bugger."

I clapped in the general direction of the buzzing noise and figured I probably missed it. A few minutes later the buzzing noise came back and so I blindly clapped again. This time, however, something (something BIG) landed on my left ear lobe and then... to my surprise and utter disgust it scuttled into my EAR.

Now, I'm not one to freak out about things and in the past, when faced with an accident or something of that nature I have found out that I've been able to be calm and collected. This however, was too much. I. Flipped. Out. I jumped out of my bed screaming, "Get it out, get it out!" But to my dismay the bug didn't get out, instead it started burrowing into my ear canal. I became frantic and grabbed my ear pick (Koreans tend to use this little spoon-like device to pick ear wax) and thought for a split second, "Dennis, this is a really bad idea." And jammed it into my ear, hoping that this bug wasn't too big and that I would be able to essentially 'fling' it out of my ear. My first attempt came out with something yellow. Hrm, maybe ear wax. Tried it again. Again, yellow substance, ear wax? The last time I tried going to the upper part of my ear canal and felt something, but as I felt him, he felt me, and started trying to burrow further into my ear.

This was not comfortable. At all.

I screamed and flicked out what I hoped to be an ant. But when I looked down at the pick all that I could see was blood. Blood. Did I just rip through my tympanic membrane? I wasn't sure, but I could hear, and worst of all, feel this bug clawing around inside my head. What else could I do but call the emergency line for the Peace Corps doctors? As I waited for someone to pick up the phone, the bug in my ear would stop burrowing, wait, and then scratch around frantically, trying to find an exit into my brain. As such.

The bug. Enjoying my external auditory canal and munching on the tympanic membrane.

"Hello?" "Yes, doctor, a bug flew into my ear and it is ripping the inside apart. It hurts like crazy and I don't know what I should do." "I see. So there is an insect in your ear?" "Yes, that's *grimace* right. I think it is trying to burrow further and further into my head." "So it is alive?" "Yes, *yelp* it keeps digging in and it hurts a lot." "Okay, you can come down tomorrow to Cotonou." "*Yell* Tomorrow? What can I do about this pain right now? Can I throw water into my ear and try to drown it or something?" "Yes, you can try that. Don't worry, it can't get into your brain no matter how hard it tries." "*laughing and sad at the same time* Yes, I know, but it feels like he wants to get in there. I'll see you tomorrow then, good night." *click*

As the insect continued to burrow I threw as much water into my dishwashing station as it could hold and a healthy dose of bleach. Then I dunked the left-side of my face into the water hoping that it would reach the level of the insect, drowning it (I stood there for close to twenty minutes). Unfortunately for me, this didn't work. Every few minutes the bug would burrow harder, causing me to grip the table and yell out in pain. I didn't know what else to do but breathe harder and text my friend Andrew. He could tell I was freaking out and sent me a few really supportive texts and then the doctor called me again.

"Dennis." "*breathing heavily* Yes?" "Is the pain gone?" "No, the bug is still ripping around inside." "Did you pour water into it?" "I've been dunking my head. I'll try pouring water in it now." "Okay. Try that. Then you will come down tomorrow, okay?" "Yes, okay. Thank you doctor." *click*

Now, when you have an insect in your ear canal the very last thing you wanna do is tilt your head the other way, inviting it to go further in due to gravity. But it did seem like if I wanted to drown it, it would be the best way of accomplishing that goal. So, after taking a few big breathes and gritting my teeth I poured as much water as could go into my left ear. After a few scratches the bug stopped. At this point in time I wasn't sure what was in my ear. I thought maybe it was one of those big ants that always walk around my house. Or maybe it was a weird moth or something. If it was the former, those ants don't drown after a few minutes of water submersion, thus, I decided I'd play it safe. I ended up reading on my side for two hours and then slept for one hour with water in my ear. By the time I had to leave at four in the morning I was still scared the insect might be alive, but I had to risk it.

I sat up straight and let the water run out. No movement. I thought I could make it. Well, I did. And I got my ear checked out with a specialist in Cotonou. All I can say is that the specialist exclaimed, "Hohoho! C'est grande!", blasted my ear with water and air, and then took a pair of tweezers and pulled out a winner.

It hurt.

Voila. The cockroach that could. A 100 franc piece is about the same size as a quarter.

We held a week-long girl’s camp a couple weeks ago and it was one of the best things I’ve done in country. I was disappointed with myself because I wasn’t even able to bring ONE girl from my community. I do argue with myself about that though because given the circumstances it would have been weird if I brought one. For example, the people that I work with or meet, tend to not be girls between the ages of 11 to 16 that have shown some sort of potential of being model students or having that ‘spark’ that you see in some children. Plus, I think even Beninese people would be weirded out by an older yovo man coming to take away their young daughter for a week at a ‘camp’ a couple hundred kilometers away.

Anyway, this post isn’t about my inability to bring girls to the camp. The name of this camp is, “Camp G.L.O.W.”, which stands for Girl’s Leading Our World. I remember when I first heard this way back when planning for the camp began (PCVs have been hosting this camp for awhile now), and I didn’t think much about it and actually didn’t know what the acronym stood for. But after being in country for almost a year this is actually a pretty bold, and much needed, title for this type of camp. The whole week is dedicated to giving these girls an opportunity to learn more about their culture, their role in society, myth-busting, their sexuality, AIDS, hygiene, and how they can hopefully become something more than an uneducated, dust-sweeping, baby-making, subservient housewife.

That last part may have sounded harsh, but I think I should explain to you one of the things that I haven’t really talked about. I’ve joked in the past about how ‘petites’ (or children) do all the work around here. This is totally true. But the group that gets the ultimate short-end of the stick (besides those children that are sold for labor) would be girls. A typical day in the life of a girl in probably almost any community throughout Benin, goes something like this.

You wake up before the roosters start crowing at around 4 or 5, depending on how many family members you have, how big your front ‘yard’ is, and how many chores you are required to finish before you head to school. You probably start your day washing off and getting your things in order to start sweeping dirt within your compound because that’s just what you’ve been programmed to do. Maybe you have some younger siblings (or older brothers) that need to be woken up so that they can start getting ready as well, but before you do that, you gotta start a fire to make some type of breakfast or at least hot water for your dad’s coffee or pâte that your mom wants to probably have you cook later. Once you get all your brothers and sisters ready to go to school you have to walk to school. This could be anywhere between 2km to 10km (1.2 miles to 6 miles). Once you finally make it to school you go to class but your teacher isn’t there for the first hour and comes in for the final hour. Great, you copy the stuff he/she writes on the board and grab a snack at the break between classes. Your next class goes well, except for the fact that your teacher hits on you and your friends (yet again). Thankfully it isn’t as blatant as usual.

Finally it is lunch break. You get three hours, but you have to get home as fast as possible so you can help prepare lunch for the family and finish that homework that you didn’t have time to finish the other night. When you get home you quickly change and run to help your mom over the charcoal stove. Your mom’s in a sour mood cause your youngest sibling wouldn’t stop crying all morning long, looks like you’ll have to strap her to your back for the rest of lunch. After finishing lunch and cleaning up, you look at the clock and see that you only have around 20 minutes before you have to start walking back to school. Might as well take a power nap, you are exhausted.

Classes in the afternoon are always a pain because not only is it super hot, but the rooms are so overcrowded and the acoustics are so bad that you can’t hear anything the teacher is saying anyway. You trudge through the remaining classes for the day and depending on what day it is you get off at 5 or 7 PM. Thankfully your teacher wasn’t too harsh today for not finishing the homework. As you walk home you see a few of your brothers playing soccer on the field next to the school. If only you could have a chance to go play with them, you’d be the best player on the one girl’s soccer team they have in the area. Maybe you’ll get a chance to play this weekend, as long as you finish the chores that seemingly always tend to pile up on the weekends and you don’t get stuck with the baby.

You arrive at home, exhausted, at around 6 or 8 PM. If you were lucky mom has already started up the fire and finished most of the sauce. If not, you gotta start grinding tomatoes, peppers, onions, and garlic on the grinding stone and get the meal finished within the next hour or two. You’ve had a decent day today and you aren’t as tired as usual so you are feeling good about getting your homework finished tonight. All caught up for tomorrow’s classes! Wouldn’t that be nice. Once you finish the dishes you go to start on your homework, but as soon as you open up your books the power cuts. Oh, the injustice of it all. Good thing you have your trusty candle to light up your room to do some work. As you plug away at the homework your eyelids start to get heavy and the warm, stuffy air starts to feel comfortable, almost like an unwanted blanket. You take an accidental nap and wake up with a start two hours later. The candle has burned down to the bottom and you know you have to wake up in approximately 4 to 5 hours. Might as well go to bed and worry about your schoolwork tomorrow.

Okay, so I definitely added a few unfortunate series of events, but all things that could happen in the average day of a Beninese girl. I should also note that not all girls live in this kind of environment. It is hard to find, but there are families that are very forward-thinking and do value education, for both their sons and daughters, and encourage their children. However, in my own experiences, I have not seen this all that often.

Anyway, the point of that story was to show you the daily hardships that most of these girls are going through and I didn’t even touch upon the sexual harassment (if not worse) that goes on from strangers, teachers, and probably even friends. Not only did this camp give these girls the opportunity to learn a lot more about themselves (as girls becoming women), but it also gave them the opportunity to just be girls. They laughed, they sang, they danced, and they ate (some of them may not even be properly fed at home). Seeing how they interacted with one another at the beginning and the end of camp really put a smile on my face.

Even though this camp only lasted for a week I hope that these girls were able to gain new friends (from all over the south), gain some sort of a new perspective on life, and had the chance to be able to enjoy the moment, as a carefree, fun-loving, child.

Morning exercise while waiting for breakfast to arrive.

Waiting for food and deciding which team should go in first. Some volunteers taught them, “Boomchicka boom”. It was pretty funny, I’ll see if I can upload the video from Cotonou.

Teaching the girls how to play four square. Man, that game is awesome.

These girls can dance! They danced for like 3 hours straight, I couldn’t handle it.

Since today marks the 365th (real day, I screwed up somewhere along the line with my dates) day I figured I should look back and note a few things that I’ve been thinking about:

Things I’m proud of:

- Being able to buy most of my groceries in local language

- Having at least one photographer use the accounting I taught my group

- Setting up an accounting for semi-literates group

- Having the chance to start a penpal program with Ms. Mills’ classes at BHS

- Being able to negotiate prices with relative ease and not blowing up when someone is trying to hike up the price cause I’m ‘white’

- Teaching Burrito to be a good dog

- Reading approximately forty-four books in country

- Trying my best to be myself around PCVs and Beninese

- Being able to cook almost anything with the most random tools

- Learning how to sew some pretty good stuff

Things I’m not proud of:

- watching over four or five tv series (usually within a two week or less window)

- watching the most amount of movies I’ve ever seen in a one year period (this is pretty shocking because while working I was watching at least four dvds a month and tried to watch a movie/tv show every night with the streaming movies on Netflix)

- the way I taught Burrito how to be a good dog…

- how okay I am with being grungy, sweating profusely, and being a ‘volunteer’ (I suppose)

- smoking cigarettes even when I’m not drinking

- the amount of times where I’ve dreaded wanting to go outside of my safe haven (my home) and into the world outside my house

- not appreciating, to the fullest extent, when my mom calls me to check on how I’m doing (I’m really sorry about this mom!)

Things that still confuse me:

- Why do people tell me, ‘Je vien’ (I’m coming) when it could mean 10 minutes, 5 hours, or the next day?

- ‘Petite monie’ (or change, in English) is so hard to come by, how is it that something like a supermarket doesn’t have change?

- Why do people care so much about the appearance of their bike, motorcycle, or car? My bike is so filthy people give me the stare of death as they see me riding by, almost like it is blasphemous of me to be doing that to such a nice piece of equipment.

- Why is efficiency trumped by old habits? For example, there are no such things as lines at the post office. Usually I benefit from this because the post office man likes me (I don’t know why), but if I quietly wait behind someone else, there will, without fail, be someone who just walks right up and demands the post worker’s attention. Same thing happens at the bank (even in Cotonou), the airport trying to get to Benin, etc.

- How is hissing at someone more effective than calling out that person’s name?

- Why do people I don’t know hiss at me and tell me to come over to them when they have nothing important to say to me?

- How even rich, educated people will ask for money because I am a Yovo

- Why is a SED volunteer placed in my village/town to help the artisans?

Things that are no longer confusing:

- Why most babies at the age of two have trouble walking

- Why most women who have had at least two children have insanely sagging breasts

- Why people call us, ‘Yovo’, ‘le blanc’, or some other local name for ‘us’

- Why some people here suffer from severe gap tooth

- How to tell when someone is trying to shaft you the price for something

- How people can enjoy food such as pâte, acassa (fermented pâte), fried small fish, buille (fermented semi-cooked pâte), gumbo sauce (sauce made from okra), and other Beninese dishes (I love them all!)

- What it means when someone takes their hand, raises their fingers to their mouth, and brings the hand down onto the other, and than spreads both hands while shrugging the shoulders

- How PCVs survive and what they do

On an unrelated note, I have recently acquired a very cool piece of equipment! Let me first show you a picture of what it is:

A stick with nails… Great! Hmmm… why am I destroying my house? This was all over my house. But honestly, with concrete floors this isn’t too hard to get rid of. :PYeah, it is a pull-up bar. I was wondering how the mason was planning on installing this piece of wood. Turns out the way they punch windows and make new doorways is taking a mini-sledgehammer and a pick and pounding the shit out of the wall! Awesome. My house was an insane mess afterwards, but hey, now I have a pull-up bar! Total materials needed? Wood, nails, cement, and water. Total cost for everything? 2,700 CFA which is approximately 6 bucks… the labor for punching the holes in the walls and cementing it again was 1,000 CFA… 2 bucks?!?! WoWoWoWowWoWoW!

It is hard to believe that I have been in the United States for approximately two weeks. I had the chance to drive over 600 miles in three different cars, met up with most of my friends both in northern California and southern, watched Up in 3D and normal, saw all my family, and was able to hang out with my brother and my new sister-in-law at least three times after their wedding. All in all, it was a great trip and makes me realize (yet again) how much I love the states and the amount that I appreciate friends and family. I figure I should include some pictures and some things I will miss…

[1] Drive thru. I never really thought about how awesome drive thru is until now. How amazing is it to be able to drive your car at anytime (day or night) and pick up food in under five minutes? Pretty freaking amazing.

[2] Happy hyung and hyungsoo. My bro and his wife! Man, seeing them so happy together makes me happy and glad that I was able to come back home to witness their marriage. We all had a good laugh during the wedding (see below) and had a few chances to meet up throughout my last week at home. Best wishes to you guys!

Yeah, normally I think laughing at your own joke is lame. But I couldn’t stop myself.

Best wishes to one of the happiest couples I’ve seen. :D

[3] Service. Without one hiss I was able to order food and receive my food in a timely manner. The second that I was back in the US I went to IHOP with my mom and I was explaining to her how I would normally order food and how long I would have to wait… not to mention, how most of the time there is no menu or other types of food even though the server might ask what I’d like to eat. Haha, she couldn’t understand what I was talking about.

[4] Food. Yeah. First meal after arriving back in the US? Tacos, burrito, and nachos. Delicious. But what can be better than my grandmother’s home cooking? She cooked up a storm which included approximately seven dishes and this sweet rice drink (much like horchata, but the Korean version).

My grandmother, who made insane amounts of korean food for my parents and me.

Last meal with my family and our new addition, Jane! Korean bbq, greens, and spicy seafood soup!

[5] Family and friends (sorry). I didn’t get to spend as much time as I would have liked with my parents or my brother and his new wife, but we did get some time. It was great meeting up with my old buddies both from work and school. Thanks for taking time to meet up with me!

My mom and I grilling some korean bbq on the last Sunday I was at home!

[6] Last, here is the video presentation I made for the classes back at my high school who is participating in a penpal letter exchange with my english club.

***Note: Local Adja music is playing in the background and the black and white dog running around with me is Burrito.***

***edit ***

[7] Here's a video of burrito doing some tricks I taught him:

It is my mom’s birthday today, but I wrote an entry back in October that I decided to save for Mother’s day/my mom’s birthday. Back then, I didn’t even know that I’d be heading back to the states to celebrate my brother’s wedding in May 2009, so this is interesting to read now. Anyway, happy birthday mom and see you really soon! *** The following was written on 10.10.08 in my private journal *** There was a flash flood today. I don’t normally get worried about things like rain or other natural disasters (that won’t immediately effect me), but today the rain that came down was as if the heavens parted and God decided to dump buckets of water out of his boat. The oddest part was that this morning was incredibly hot! As I performed my usual routine of salué-ing the mayor’s office, talking with Emile and Simone (his brother), and buying some stuff from my Marché Maman, I was sweating up a storm by the time I got home. I was going to do laundry due to the trés forte (very strong) sun, but my maman in my concession already was a step ahead of me. Relieved that I had an excuse not to do my overdue laundry, I went into my place to prepare lunch. Over the next few hours I performed menial tasks that have been keeping me busy (sewing a curtain to separate my rooms, typing up recipes for the revamped PC cookbook, reading, and trying to figure out ways to torment Burrito). As I was preparing my rice and sauce I heard my mama talking to her baby girl. Her daughter is probably around 1.5 to 2 years old and so she doesn’t really talk yet, but does babble a lot. It is funny how you don’t even need to understand someone else’s language, yet you still can distinguish when someone is speaking in baby talk. This made me think about my own mom back in the States. When she had my brother AND me, it was about 3 years after she immigrated to the United States of America. This meant that she probably had very little exposure to the spoken language, didn’t know anyone besides immediate family members on my dad’s side, and to top it off, she had two annoying sons to look after. To this day, I’m not entirely sure how she went about her life and got things done, including learning English and just learning enough to get by. Judging from my own experience, knowing even the basics of money, household items/food, and salutations can get you a long way. But the difference between someone who is starting to learn English in the States and a foreigner (who is put on a pedestal regardless if you are not Caucasian, they don’t know the difference) in Benin attempting to learn the local language, is incredibly vast. On one hand, America isn’t necessarily the most accepting of places for those who don’t speak English. I am guilty of this also, but I think it is part of our superiority complex engrained into our culture, something that we can’t necessarily turn on and off. We can be aware of it and be ‘sensitive’ to others, but again, I tend to think this is more relevant to those people who know (or who have themselves) immigrated to the US from a non-English speaking country. At the same time, almost every country (with a government supported school system) has included English as a secondary/tertiary (wow, I had to stop and think of what the heck ‘3’ was) language. Thus, people who immigrate to the US aren’t in that bad of a place. Nevertheless, learning a new language after 20 years of living your life speaking only one language is rather daunting. So how’d she do it? From what I remember of my childhood (which is rather spotty since I have selective memory) my mom would go through flashcards with me before I went to pre-school. We would sit on the couch in the living room for an hour or so. She’d flip through cards and make me read what the words said. I usually didn’t know the meaning of the words, but I knew that it was imperative that I read the word correctly. Part of it was because I didn’t want to have to do this over and over again, but the other part of me was anxious to learn these words to make my mom proud. She would work hard with me so that: I would understand quicker and hopefully perform better in school, which would lead to more opportunities in higher education, thereby giving me the ability to compete against some of the ‘best and brightest’ in the job market, and ultimately to become a successful, well-educated, (and happy) man. Could she see all these things back then? Did she really have that kind of foresight? I suppose that is what all parents think about. Maybe that is what gave her the drive to wake up each morning and take care of her two sons in a land that was so alien and unrelenting. Or maybe she really is a super-mom and is able to do whatever it takes, not for herself, but for the good of her children. Thanks umma. Happy birthday and Happy mother’s day. Thanks for letting me be me and for giving me the freedom to do what I’d like to do! I hope I can make you proud even though I am thousands of miles away from home! My mom and me at Paul and Tammy’s wedding. [08.10.07]

So I never found out if there was a rotting mouse behind my bookcase, but based on the smell I’m pretty sure he was there. So, I’m going to take credit for that one and add this one to the pile of dead mice due to poison. I was going to lay down to read my book and lo and behold! A dead mouse!

Mice killed by poison: 9.5; Mice killed by sheer force: 1.5