CHURCH BASKET
Church today was a little weird. Yes, Mom, I've been trying to go and, in fact, have only missed two Sundays since coming to Africa (and went an extra Friday for Adoration, but that's another story). It took a good two hours just to get through the Communion part. Afterwards came the second basket collection. Yes, I said second, and normally there are three! Now, this just isn't the normal type of basket collection either – oh no, true to Beninese queueing style everyone gets up at the same time and stands in a motionless line through the center of church where they can parade themselves down to the collection basket. If you even hesitate to let, say, an elderly person into the fray you risk losing your entire slot and being relegated to the back of the stampede. As the choir goes nuts with off-key singing and weird "accompaniment" people make big displays of dropping their change into the baskets ("flinging" it is a more appropriate word, really). And this takes place not once, but three times during the course of a normal mass. This, however, was not a normal mass today. In fact, ten golden dragoons to whomever can tell me what was the holiday for this specific Sunday because I had to pay an extra 50F get some maroon and yellow ribbons pinned to me in celebration of the "fete." This particular fete meant that we did not have three collection baskets but only one large one then a second, more particular one in which two ladies with fantastically large hats on stood at the front of the church dancing and swaying and sort of clapping as one by one, the richer people in the community came up to "testify" to the church and give money which was then counted in front of the congregation. I saw the first one and that was enough – I was outta there. It wasn't enough that more than half the mass was in Adja, or Yoruba, or something other than English or French and that the parts that were in English were incomprehensible Nigerian English – it was easier to understand the French. Unfortunately, I knew I was only getting the "small, small" mass because the English and French parts were about 1/6 of the length of the parts in Adja and with a lot less enthusiasm (like reading from notecards) and it took three different priests to give the entire sermon and two other idiots with microphones (I think I previously explained the Beninese technological incompetence) to get money from people in the crowd. It was disheartening to realize that I would be attending church in a place where spirit really is not the richest currency, but where money is more important than even out on the streets. A show of wealth and status in church was the last place I thought I would see it; but, there it was, right beneath the off-center crucifix and diorama of Jesus and God having a conversation in a cave.
AMERICANA
Walking back from church is a painful, but sometimes, happier time. I can tell what kind of Sunday it will be based upon whether or not the constant "yovos" and ignorant name-calling can pierce through that "goodwill towards all brothers and sisters" feeling I created in church. Today was almost an even draw. It was almost pushed over the edge, however, when I got my first "white woman" call. That's right, it wasn't even a didn't-know-any-better "yovo" but a straight up, "White Woman, How Are You?" I title it in that manner with capital letters because that was very much how it felt. I never really acknowledged, but it's nice how in America you really can be from almost anywhere and no one would ever know the difference and, arguably more importantly, even if it were noticeable, people would not be so inclined to point it out to you on the street in such a blatant manner. You can walk by, unnoticed and not bothered by the people in the street. You are safe in your anonymity. Here, however, I am "White Woman, How Are You?" and it stung. I know it's probably not easy to imagine something so trivial hurting, but I definitely flinched at this seemingly archaic address and if, perhaps, I were a sociologist I might say the reaction was a cause of the blatant prejudice that accompanies being address ed in such a manner that pinpoints the difference in your skin from those that surround you. I would argue this is the case if someone should call out, "Rich Man, How is the Day Going?" to someone that is obviously affluent to all who surround him but in a neighborhood where perhaps being so different in that manner is not considered an asset. That is what being white means in Africa – that you are inherently considered to be more wealthy than those you pass on the street and it is told by the color of your skin; not how you behave, or what you buy, or how you eat or what you wear, but the color of your skin alone. When your whiteness is acknowledged it becomes an open address for the flood of groundless questions that follow,"how do I get to America with no money;" "Will you take me to America with you when you go back;" "Can I have money;" "Give me a gift; give me your clothes;" "I love you, will you marry me? At least give me your phone number." The list of pointless, painful interrogation goes on. Therefore, being called, "White Woman," carries with it all the prejudices and presumptions the Beninese have of what being "white" means to them. So I yelled back, "It is all going well, Black Man." I think by the time I reached my door the day was declared a draw.
AMANDA'S SIZE 13's
When "Chocolate" showed up at my house to do my grocery shopping in exchange for eating the food she brought and I paid for and then prepared I thought I was going to scream. She was the third or fourth visitor in a week that felt it necessary to come to my house, wait for my return by the door, or knock incessantly during the repose to ask me to be Amanda all over again. "But Amanda and I were friends and I would come over and we would amuse ourselves," she explained, sitting on my couch ready and waiting for me to commence with the amusement. At the time I didn't really have the strength or the cultural wherewithal to explain that I am not here for her amusement, I am not Amanda and, even worse, I didn't know her and quite possibly might never become the same friend to her that Amanda had been. So I caved and had a girl I didn't know promising to return with her sister in the morning to take down a grocery list, my money, and go to the marché with the full intent of returning to have me make her dinner and eat it all together – the three strangers sitting in my house with my belongings and my deep-seeded fear that everyone from the streets of Azovè is out to take full advantage. I am feeling, more and more succinctly, a pressure built upon the foundation of Amanda's work that I am expected to behave and continue in the same, exact manner as Amanda had. Again, another way in which we are all considered to be white and the same. I am a white girl, Amanda was a white girl. We're both Peace Corps volunteers. Therefore, in their reasoning and logical conclusions I will, naturally, want to have the same friends coming over to eat my food and the same weird kids coming by asking for my used Possotome water bottles and magazines; that I will want to have the same creepy man on the corner shake my hand for an unendurably long two minutes while he smiles and asks me questions about my house, my work, my husband and my kids (that he knows I don't have, but asks daily all the same). Once my Peace Corps-issued backbone comes in through the shuttle system (it goes once a month now from Cotonou) I can, calmly, explain that while we are both girls and both white we did not, in fact, come from the same factory in Detroit and therefore things will be a little different with this volunteer and, heck, she might not even do the same projects as the last one because them's the terms – two years and then "time's up!" Sorry, but I'm here to do my job to the best of my ability; not Amanda's (amazing volunteer!!).
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
TISSUE, ABOMEY TECH VISIT, GRAN POPO & THE EQUITORAL SUNSHINE, DR. SAVAGE AND THE LONGEST DAY
18 September 2007
Tissue; Abomey Tech Visit; Gran Popo and the Equatorial Sunshine; Dr. Savage and the Longest Day
I am slowly acclimating to the heat and humidity over here. I went to the beach town of Gran-Popo and spent a day or two in a hammock on the beach and fully realized the effects of having an equatorial sun. I have quite the tan now, after just one day. My hair is in a perpetual state of frizz and curls (send some hard core conditioners!!!) and I leave the shower area and my house to be immediately coated in sweat – actually it reminded me a lot of exactly the way I felt when I visited Genevieve in New York during the summertime. Except with no air conditioning… EVER. My bed sheets are constantly damp from the humidity and all things wood (including my rosary and necklaces and food packaging) are covered in mold. It’s really impressive how short the shelf life is of most things here without the aid of air conditioning. Luckily, since it’s not the hot season yet (ha, ha!) I can sleep pretty well at night with the windows open and breeze blowing through, but a lot of other people have had to take some time to get accustomed to sleeping without a sheet on top – most nights a pagne is sufficient for a sheet/blanket which makes traveling a breeze because you use the almighty pagne as a towel, dress, beach blanket, and sheet to sleep in!
Now I want to step back for a moment and address an issue that was brought to my attention – the issue of tissue. I am going to explain how tissue works a little bit. Amazingly, almost whatever you could possibly want to wear you can make here and it only takes an impressive amount of patience, photos, pen, paper and at least one or two translators – no matter how great your French skills are. I have seen people have Banana Republic quality trousers and collared shirts made; girls with stretch fabric babydoll dresses; and boys that have Bumbas (like ponchos) with hoodies over long shorts. First step is to find a fabric you like – and they can get pretty crazy. I’ll start taking pictures to show you examples, but just for a taste: I’ve seen cuckoo clocks; spindles; typewriters; wallets with money falling out; UFOs; pictures of the president of Benin, YAYI Boni; Jesus, etc. all in patterns covering someone’s body in the most ridiculous and obnoxious of color schemes. It’s a game for most PCV (Peace Corp Volunteers) to see who can find the most bizarre or ugly of tissues and make it into something great to wear. So, once you have found the tissue you like and have argued for at least a good twenty minutes over the price, you take it to the tailor or couterie (if you’re a girl). The big difference being that a tailor can make pants and a couterie can make dresses and the two rarely ever cross over to the other. I have had four outfits made so far and that probably one of my favorite things to do: we’ll see if I have a future as a fashion designer. I’ll send you more photos as they come. It takes a lot of time to make sure that the seamstress really gets what I want down and that the measurements make sense (my weight has already fluctuated so much since arriving), but it’s so rewarding to have something flattering and made perfectly tailored to your body and needs (i.e. riding a bike in a skirt or hopping on the back of a zemi with a tight dress on).
Last week from Thursday until Friday I was in a town called Abomey located in the middle of the southern part of the country. It's rich in Beninese royalty history and was once the home to all the great mud palaces of the Beninese kings. In fact, it is in Abomey where one can see the “walls made with human blood,” which is actually tiny and in a weird museum that it was expensive and painful to get into. Basically I had a rough time of it all. Our group of 14 was split into groups of 4 (who went to the beach town of Ouidah), 5 (who went to the beach town of Gran Popo), and 5 (who went to the crapshoot of Abomey). We were going for “Technical Visits” which was our time to visit a location and witness, first hand, the tourism industry in Benin, it's advantages and shortcomings, and use our findings to write a recommendation on how to ameliorate those shortcomings. First of all, the three men we were scheduled to go see (the Director of the Department of Tourism for Abomey, the Mayor, and the museum curator) either weren't aware that we were coming and weren't there when we arrived; didn't know what we were supposed to be doing and so didn't allow us entry to the sites; or didn't know when exactly we were coming and didn't set aside sufficient time to speak to us regarding the matter. We spent a lot of time walking around in the hot, hot heat, not really seeing anything and being angry that Abomey was so poorly organized even if we had wanted to see some tourist sites we couldn't find them if we tried. We, as Americans, were expecting brochures, easily viewable hotels with signs, knowledgeable staff (our hotel couldn't even tell us where to eat or how to get to the Mayor's office), and a curator whose office was located inside the museum. None of these were present and it made for a very frustrating two days. I did, however, visit the marché at night (one of my new favorite things to do) and got some awesome pictures of the mosque and other sites in Abomey (attached). Friday night we all went to the awesome marché in nearby Bohicon and got stuff to make dinner back in Azovè. After a very, very hectic discuter session with a taxi driver and his two friends (no one really drives back to Azovè from Abomey and it's usually necessary to take a zemidjan the entire hour long trip) we finally got our goods back to the house and made a wonderful dinner (“what's at the marché is in it” casserole). My baking hands are still going strong, too, and I presented a delicious apple tarte for everyone afterwards. Then we went to Gran Popo and the real fun started. If anyone actually plans on visiting, this place is like a real resort to visit. Complete with delicious chocolate mousse that tastes like brownie batter and real steak! Peace Corps paid for it, so I enjoyed every bite. All the stagiaires remaining in our original group of 60 were there (well, 59 as of Philadelphia) and we had a great time hanging out on the beach. Pictures of my post mate and others in my stage are included.
This past Monday was my last day of administrative mumbo-gumbo. I still have to figure out the banking system, but I have no more health, safety and security, or “this is a cultural exchange” junk to listen to! I am finally, seriously, really going to be a volunteer in two days!!! Part of the administrative day in Lokossa (a nearby town to Azovè – about an hour away), was the regional medical officer's talk. Dr. Savage, yes, that's his real name, went into a lengthy discussion of how Peace Corps Benin is actually considered the “Posh Corps” and that we're big, whiny babies compared to the volunteers in Mauritania. The only real reasons he could give for why was because Mauritania is an Islamic republic and therefore alcohol is not allowed at all and it's the desert. I personally think Peace Corps is Peace Corps and it can't be all that easy for anyone – but I guess, seriously, we have it a lot easier than some other country's volunteers. Working as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer means I am in an ever better position that most of the volunteers within Benin itself. Even after saying all that, I have to say Dr. Savage's talk was a little harsh at times. It was to the point, which is necessary concerning health issues, but then he launched into a full frontal attack on the previous years of volunteers having “thick dossiers” in the med unit. Meaning, we complain a lot, as a country. He read through an anonymous file and I have to admit, a lot of it was superfluous, but by the time he was done talking I felt like going to Cotonou (the med unit) for my intestinal bacterial infection was a sign of weakness and that perhaps I wasn't fit for the Peace Corps. Yeah, it was that rough. He even told us there was a very, very small percentage of “Super Star” volunteers that you see at swear-in and never hear from again because they've adapted into their community, are doing well on their own and having tons of success in projects and work. He said yet another small percentage is “unfulfilled” volunteers that go home early and he credited them with having the inner personal strength to see that they just weren't fit for the Peace Corps and that they should go home. The in-between, he said, was the rest of us; the volunteers who just kind of get through their two years partying and doing some work and mainly just wasting resources. I think I talked to three people after that talk to convince them not to early terminate (E.T.). The man had a great sense of humor; he mentioned that he would love it if we all contracted some great sexually transmitted diseases that were curable (“Get Syphilis, make my day”) because it makes it more interesting for him and they're really easy to cure. The context was in encouraging us to not contract Hep C or HIV – two slightly less curable diseases. All in all, very painful day – glad it's over.
My new address, for all your wonderful, wonderful people out there sending me Reese's pieces and M&Ms and other goodies, is:
HENDERSON, Allison
B.P. 126
Azovè, Benin
Afrique de l'Ouest
Be sure to put “par avion” on your letters because it makes it easier for the postal workers to see that it's going to need to get across the Atlantic Ocean,too.
Hope all is going well, please send some recent photos, or just photos in general as we spend a LOT of time looking at them and describing loved ones at home with one another and it's just a lot easier with pictures.
Tissue; Abomey Tech Visit; Gran Popo and the Equatorial Sunshine; Dr. Savage and the Longest Day
I am slowly acclimating to the heat and humidity over here. I went to the beach town of Gran-Popo and spent a day or two in a hammock on the beach and fully realized the effects of having an equatorial sun. I have quite the tan now, after just one day. My hair is in a perpetual state of frizz and curls (send some hard core conditioners!!!) and I leave the shower area and my house to be immediately coated in sweat – actually it reminded me a lot of exactly the way I felt when I visited Genevieve in New York during the summertime. Except with no air conditioning… EVER. My bed sheets are constantly damp from the humidity and all things wood (including my rosary and necklaces and food packaging) are covered in mold. It’s really impressive how short the shelf life is of most things here without the aid of air conditioning. Luckily, since it’s not the hot season yet (ha, ha!) I can sleep pretty well at night with the windows open and breeze blowing through, but a lot of other people have had to take some time to get accustomed to sleeping without a sheet on top – most nights a pagne is sufficient for a sheet/blanket which makes traveling a breeze because you use the almighty pagne as a towel, dress, beach blanket, and sheet to sleep in!
Now I want to step back for a moment and address an issue that was brought to my attention – the issue of tissue. I am going to explain how tissue works a little bit. Amazingly, almost whatever you could possibly want to wear you can make here and it only takes an impressive amount of patience, photos, pen, paper and at least one or two translators – no matter how great your French skills are. I have seen people have Banana Republic quality trousers and collared shirts made; girls with stretch fabric babydoll dresses; and boys that have Bumbas (like ponchos) with hoodies over long shorts. First step is to find a fabric you like – and they can get pretty crazy. I’ll start taking pictures to show you examples, but just for a taste: I’ve seen cuckoo clocks; spindles; typewriters; wallets with money falling out; UFOs; pictures of the president of Benin, YAYI Boni; Jesus, etc. all in patterns covering someone’s body in the most ridiculous and obnoxious of color schemes. It’s a game for most PCV (Peace Corp Volunteers) to see who can find the most bizarre or ugly of tissues and make it into something great to wear. So, once you have found the tissue you like and have argued for at least a good twenty minutes over the price, you take it to the tailor or couterie (if you’re a girl). The big difference being that a tailor can make pants and a couterie can make dresses and the two rarely ever cross over to the other. I have had four outfits made so far and that probably one of my favorite things to do: we’ll see if I have a future as a fashion designer. I’ll send you more photos as they come. It takes a lot of time to make sure that the seamstress really gets what I want down and that the measurements make sense (my weight has already fluctuated so much since arriving), but it’s so rewarding to have something flattering and made perfectly tailored to your body and needs (i.e. riding a bike in a skirt or hopping on the back of a zemi with a tight dress on).
Last week from Thursday until Friday I was in a town called Abomey located in the middle of the southern part of the country. It's rich in Beninese royalty history and was once the home to all the great mud palaces of the Beninese kings. In fact, it is in Abomey where one can see the “walls made with human blood,” which is actually tiny and in a weird museum that it was expensive and painful to get into. Basically I had a rough time of it all. Our group of 14 was split into groups of 4 (who went to the beach town of Ouidah), 5 (who went to the beach town of Gran Popo), and 5 (who went to the crapshoot of Abomey). We were going for “Technical Visits” which was our time to visit a location and witness, first hand, the tourism industry in Benin, it's advantages and shortcomings, and use our findings to write a recommendation on how to ameliorate those shortcomings. First of all, the three men we were scheduled to go see (the Director of the Department of Tourism for Abomey, the Mayor, and the museum curator) either weren't aware that we were coming and weren't there when we arrived; didn't know what we were supposed to be doing and so didn't allow us entry to the sites; or didn't know when exactly we were coming and didn't set aside sufficient time to speak to us regarding the matter. We spent a lot of time walking around in the hot, hot heat, not really seeing anything and being angry that Abomey was so poorly organized even if we had wanted to see some tourist sites we couldn't find them if we tried. We, as Americans, were expecting brochures, easily viewable hotels with signs, knowledgeable staff (our hotel couldn't even tell us where to eat or how to get to the Mayor's office), and a curator whose office was located inside the museum. None of these were present and it made for a very frustrating two days. I did, however, visit the marché at night (one of my new favorite things to do) and got some awesome pictures of the mosque and other sites in Abomey (attached). Friday night we all went to the awesome marché in nearby Bohicon and got stuff to make dinner back in Azovè. After a very, very hectic discuter session with a taxi driver and his two friends (no one really drives back to Azovè from Abomey and it's usually necessary to take a zemidjan the entire hour long trip) we finally got our goods back to the house and made a wonderful dinner (“what's at the marché is in it” casserole). My baking hands are still going strong, too, and I presented a delicious apple tarte for everyone afterwards. Then we went to Gran Popo and the real fun started. If anyone actually plans on visiting, this place is like a real resort to visit. Complete with delicious chocolate mousse that tastes like brownie batter and real steak! Peace Corps paid for it, so I enjoyed every bite. All the stagiaires remaining in our original group of 60 were there (well, 59 as of Philadelphia) and we had a great time hanging out on the beach. Pictures of my post mate and others in my stage are included.
This past Monday was my last day of administrative mumbo-gumbo. I still have to figure out the banking system, but I have no more health, safety and security, or “this is a cultural exchange” junk to listen to! I am finally, seriously, really going to be a volunteer in two days!!! Part of the administrative day in Lokossa (a nearby town to Azovè – about an hour away), was the regional medical officer's talk. Dr. Savage, yes, that's his real name, went into a lengthy discussion of how Peace Corps Benin is actually considered the “Posh Corps” and that we're big, whiny babies compared to the volunteers in Mauritania. The only real reasons he could give for why was because Mauritania is an Islamic republic and therefore alcohol is not allowed at all and it's the desert. I personally think Peace Corps is Peace Corps and it can't be all that easy for anyone – but I guess, seriously, we have it a lot easier than some other country's volunteers. Working as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer means I am in an ever better position that most of the volunteers within Benin itself. Even after saying all that, I have to say Dr. Savage's talk was a little harsh at times. It was to the point, which is necessary concerning health issues, but then he launched into a full frontal attack on the previous years of volunteers having “thick dossiers” in the med unit. Meaning, we complain a lot, as a country. He read through an anonymous file and I have to admit, a lot of it was superfluous, but by the time he was done talking I felt like going to Cotonou (the med unit) for my intestinal bacterial infection was a sign of weakness and that perhaps I wasn't fit for the Peace Corps. Yeah, it was that rough. He even told us there was a very, very small percentage of “Super Star” volunteers that you see at swear-in and never hear from again because they've adapted into their community, are doing well on their own and having tons of success in projects and work. He said yet another small percentage is “unfulfilled” volunteers that go home early and he credited them with having the inner personal strength to see that they just weren't fit for the Peace Corps and that they should go home. The in-between, he said, was the rest of us; the volunteers who just kind of get through their two years partying and doing some work and mainly just wasting resources. I think I talked to three people after that talk to convince them not to early terminate (E.T.). The man had a great sense of humor; he mentioned that he would love it if we all contracted some great sexually transmitted diseases that were curable (“Get Syphilis, make my day”) because it makes it more interesting for him and they're really easy to cure. The context was in encouraging us to not contract Hep C or HIV – two slightly less curable diseases. All in all, very painful day – glad it's over.
My new address, for all your wonderful, wonderful people out there sending me Reese's pieces and M&Ms and other goodies, is:
HENDERSON, Allison
B.P. 126
Azovè, Benin
Afrique de l'Ouest
Be sure to put “par avion” on your letters because it makes it easier for the postal workers to see that it's going to need to get across the Atlantic Ocean,too.
Hope all is going well, please send some recent photos, or just photos in general as we spend a LOT of time looking at them and describing loved ones at home with one another and it's just a lot easier with pictures.
GRAN POPO & THE EQUITORAL SUNSHINE, TISSUE, ABOMEY TECH VISIT, DR. SAVAGE AND THE LONGEST DAY
I am slowly acclimating to the heat and humidity over here. I went to the beach town of Gran-Popo and spent a day or two in a hammock on the beach and fully realized the effects of having an equatorial sun. I have quite the tan now, after just one day. My hair is in a perpetual state of frizz and curls (send some hard core conditioners!!!) and I leave the shower area and my house to be immediately coated in sweat – actually it reminded me a lot of exactly the way I felt when I visited Genevieve in New York during the summertime. Except with no air conditioning… EVER. My bed sheets are constantly damp from the humidity and all things wood (including my rosary and necklaces and food packaging) are covered in mold. It’s really impressive how short the shelf life is of most things here without the aid of air conditioning. Luckily, since it’s not the hot season yet (ha, ha!) I can sleep pretty well at night with the windows open and breeze blowing through, but a lot of other people have had to take some time to get accustomed to sleeping without a sheet on top – most nights a pagne is sufficient for a sheet/blanket which makes traveling a breeze because you use the almighty pagne as a towel, dress, beach blanket, and sheet to sleep in!
TISSUE
Now I want to step back for a moment and address an issue that was brought to my attention – the issue of tissue. I am going to explain how tissue works a little bit. Amazingly, almost whatever you could possibly want to wear you can make here and it only takes an impressive amount of patience, photos, pen, paper and at least one or two translators – no matter how great your French skills are. I have seen people have Banana Republic quality trousers and collared shirts made; girls with stretch fabric babydoll dresses; and boys that have Bumbas (like ponchos) with hoodies over long shorts. First step is to find a fabric you like – and they can get pretty crazy. I’ll start taking pictures to show you examples, but just for a taste: I’ve seen cuckoo clocks; spindles; typewriters; wallets with money falling out; UFOs; pictures of the president of Benin, YAYI Boni; Jesus, etc. all in patterns covering someone’s body in the most ridiculous and obnoxious of color schemes. It’s a game for most PCV (Peace Corp Volunteers) to see who can find the most bizarre or ugly of tissues and make it into something great to wear. So, once you have found the tissue you like and have argued for at least a good twenty minutes over the price, you take it to the tailor or couterie (if you’re a girl). The big difference being that a tailor can make pants and a couterie can make dresses and the two rarely ever cross over to the other. I have had four outfits made so far and that probably one of my favorite things to do: we’ll see if I have a future as a fashion designer. I’ll send you more photos as they come. It takes a lot of time to make sure that the seamstress really gets what I want down and that the measurements make sense (my weight has already fluctuated so much since arriving), but it’s so rewarding to have something flattering and made perfectly tailored to your body and needs (i.e. riding a bike in a skirt or hopping on the back of a zemi with a tight dress on).
ABOMEY TECH VISIT
Last week from Thursday until Friday I was in a town called Abomey located in the middle of the southern part of the country. It's rich in Beninese royalty history and was once the home to all the great mud palaces of the Beninese kings. In fact, it is in Abomey where one can see the “walls made with human blood,” which is actually tiny and in a weird museum that it was expensive and painful to get into. Basically I had a rough time of it all. Our group of 14 was split into groups of 4 (who went to the beach town of Ouidah), 5 (who went to the beach town of Gran Popo), and 5 (who went to the crapshoot of Abomey). We were going for “Technical Visits” which was our time to visit a location and witness, first hand, the tourism industry in Benin, it's advantages and shortcomings, and use our findings to write a recommendation on how to ameliorate those shortcomings. First of all, the three men we were scheduled to go see (the Director of the Department of Tourism for Abomey, the Mayor, and the museum curator) either weren't aware that we were coming and weren't there when we arrived; didn't know what we were supposed to be doing and so didn't allow us entry to the sites; or didn't know when exactly we were coming and didn't set aside sufficient time to speak to us regarding the matter. We spent a lot of time walking around in the hot, hot heat, not really seeing anything and being angry that Abomey was so poorly organized even if we had wanted to see some tourist sites we couldn't find them if we tried. We, as Americans, were expecting brochures, easily viewable hotels with signs, knowledgeable staff (our hotel couldn't even tell us where to eat or how to get to the Mayor's office), and a curator whose office was located inside the museum. None of these were present and it made for a very frustrating two days. I did, however, visit the marché at night (one of my new favorite things to do) and got some awesome pictures of the mosque and other sites in Abomey (attached). Friday night we all went to the awesome marché in nearby Bohicon and got stuff to make dinner back in Azovè. After a very, very hectic discuter session with a taxi driver and his two friends (no one really drives back to Azovè from Abomey and it's usually necessary to take a zemidjan the entire hour long trip) we finally got our goods back to the house and made a wonderful dinner (“what's at the marché is in it” casserole). My baking hands are still going strong, too, and I presented a delicious apple tarte for everyone afterwards. Then we went to Gran Popo and the real fun started. If anyone actually plans on visiting, this place is like a real resort to visit. Complete with delicious chocolate mousse that tastes like brownie batter and real steak! Peace Corps paid for it, so I enjoyed every bite. All the stagiaires remaining in our original group of 60 were there (well, 59 as of Philadelphia) and we had a great time hanging out on the beach. Pictures of my post mate and others in my stage are included.
DR. SAVAGE AND THE LONGEST DAY
This past Monday was my last day of administrative mumbo-gumbo. I still have to figure out the banking system, but I have no more health, safety and security, or “this is a cultural exchange” junk to listen to! I am finally, seriously, really going to be a volunteer in two days!!! Part of the administrative day in Lokossa (a nearby town to Azovè – about an hour away), was the regional medical officer's talk. Dr. Savage, yes, that's his real name, went into a lengthy discussion of how Peace Corps Benin is actually considered the “Posh Corps” and that we're big, whiny babies compared to the volunteers in Mauritania. The only real reasons he could give for why was because Mauritania is an Islamic republic and therefore alcohol is not allowed at all and it's the desert. I personally think Peace Corps is Peace Corps and it can't be all that easy for anyone – but I guess, seriously, we have it a lot easier than some other country's volunteers. Working as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer means I am in an ever better position that most of the volunteers within Benin itself. Even after saying all that, I have to say Dr. Savage's talk was a little harsh at times. It was to the point, which is necessary concerning health issues, but then he launched into a full frontal attack on the previous years of volunteers having “thick dossiers” in the med unit. Meaning, we complain a lot, as a country. He read through an anonymous file and I have to admit, a lot of it was superfluous, but by the time he was done talking I felt like going to Cotonou (the med unit) for my intestinal bacterial infection was a sign of weakness and that perhaps I wasn't fit for the Peace Corps. Yeah, it was that rough. He even told us there was a very, very small percentage of “Super Star” volunteers that you see at swear-in and never hear from again because they've adapted into their community, are doing well on their own and having tons of success in projects and work. He said yet another small percentage is “unfulfilled” volunteers that go home early and he credited them with having the inner personal strength to see that they just weren't fit for the Peace Corps and that they should go home. The in-between, he said, was the rest of us; the volunteers who just kind of get through their two years partying and doing some work and mainly just wasting resources. I think I talked to three people after that talk to convince them not to early terminate (E.T.). The man had a great sense of humor; he mentioned that he would love it if we all contracted some great sexually transmitted diseases that were curable (“Get Syphilis, make my day”) because it makes it more interesting for him and they're really easy to cure. The context was in encouraging us to not contract Hep C or HIV – two slightly less curable diseases. All in all, very painful day – glad it's over.
My new address, for all your wonderful, wonderful people out there sending me Reese's pieces and M&Ms and other goodies, is:
HENDERSON, Allison
B.P. 126
Azovè, Benin
Afrique de l'Ouest
Be sure to put “par avion” on your letters because it makes it easier for the postal workers to see that it's going to need to get across the Atlantic Ocean,too.
Hope all is going well, please send some recent photos, or just photos in general as we spend a LOT of time looking at them and describing loved ones at home with one another and it's just a lot easier with pictures.
TISSUE
Now I want to step back for a moment and address an issue that was brought to my attention – the issue of tissue. I am going to explain how tissue works a little bit. Amazingly, almost whatever you could possibly want to wear you can make here and it only takes an impressive amount of patience, photos, pen, paper and at least one or two translators – no matter how great your French skills are. I have seen people have Banana Republic quality trousers and collared shirts made; girls with stretch fabric babydoll dresses; and boys that have Bumbas (like ponchos) with hoodies over long shorts. First step is to find a fabric you like – and they can get pretty crazy. I’ll start taking pictures to show you examples, but just for a taste: I’ve seen cuckoo clocks; spindles; typewriters; wallets with money falling out; UFOs; pictures of the president of Benin, YAYI Boni; Jesus, etc. all in patterns covering someone’s body in the most ridiculous and obnoxious of color schemes. It’s a game for most PCV (Peace Corp Volunteers) to see who can find the most bizarre or ugly of tissues and make it into something great to wear. So, once you have found the tissue you like and have argued for at least a good twenty minutes over the price, you take it to the tailor or couterie (if you’re a girl). The big difference being that a tailor can make pants and a couterie can make dresses and the two rarely ever cross over to the other. I have had four outfits made so far and that probably one of my favorite things to do: we’ll see if I have a future as a fashion designer. I’ll send you more photos as they come. It takes a lot of time to make sure that the seamstress really gets what I want down and that the measurements make sense (my weight has already fluctuated so much since arriving), but it’s so rewarding to have something flattering and made perfectly tailored to your body and needs (i.e. riding a bike in a skirt or hopping on the back of a zemi with a tight dress on).
ABOMEY TECH VISIT
Last week from Thursday until Friday I was in a town called Abomey located in the middle of the southern part of the country. It's rich in Beninese royalty history and was once the home to all the great mud palaces of the Beninese kings. In fact, it is in Abomey where one can see the “walls made with human blood,” which is actually tiny and in a weird museum that it was expensive and painful to get into. Basically I had a rough time of it all. Our group of 14 was split into groups of 4 (who went to the beach town of Ouidah), 5 (who went to the beach town of Gran Popo), and 5 (who went to the crapshoot of Abomey). We were going for “Technical Visits” which was our time to visit a location and witness, first hand, the tourism industry in Benin, it's advantages and shortcomings, and use our findings to write a recommendation on how to ameliorate those shortcomings. First of all, the three men we were scheduled to go see (the Director of the Department of Tourism for Abomey, the Mayor, and the museum curator) either weren't aware that we were coming and weren't there when we arrived; didn't know what we were supposed to be doing and so didn't allow us entry to the sites; or didn't know when exactly we were coming and didn't set aside sufficient time to speak to us regarding the matter. We spent a lot of time walking around in the hot, hot heat, not really seeing anything and being angry that Abomey was so poorly organized even if we had wanted to see some tourist sites we couldn't find them if we tried. We, as Americans, were expecting brochures, easily viewable hotels with signs, knowledgeable staff (our hotel couldn't even tell us where to eat or how to get to the Mayor's office), and a curator whose office was located inside the museum. None of these were present and it made for a very frustrating two days. I did, however, visit the marché at night (one of my new favorite things to do) and got some awesome pictures of the mosque and other sites in Abomey (attached). Friday night we all went to the awesome marché in nearby Bohicon and got stuff to make dinner back in Azovè. After a very, very hectic discuter session with a taxi driver and his two friends (no one really drives back to Azovè from Abomey and it's usually necessary to take a zemidjan the entire hour long trip) we finally got our goods back to the house and made a wonderful dinner (“what's at the marché is in it” casserole). My baking hands are still going strong, too, and I presented a delicious apple tarte for everyone afterwards. Then we went to Gran Popo and the real fun started. If anyone actually plans on visiting, this place is like a real resort to visit. Complete with delicious chocolate mousse that tastes like brownie batter and real steak! Peace Corps paid for it, so I enjoyed every bite. All the stagiaires remaining in our original group of 60 were there (well, 59 as of Philadelphia) and we had a great time hanging out on the beach. Pictures of my post mate and others in my stage are included.
DR. SAVAGE AND THE LONGEST DAY
This past Monday was my last day of administrative mumbo-gumbo. I still have to figure out the banking system, but I have no more health, safety and security, or “this is a cultural exchange” junk to listen to! I am finally, seriously, really going to be a volunteer in two days!!! Part of the administrative day in Lokossa (a nearby town to Azovè – about an hour away), was the regional medical officer's talk. Dr. Savage, yes, that's his real name, went into a lengthy discussion of how Peace Corps Benin is actually considered the “Posh Corps” and that we're big, whiny babies compared to the volunteers in Mauritania. The only real reasons he could give for why was because Mauritania is an Islamic republic and therefore alcohol is not allowed at all and it's the desert. I personally think Peace Corps is Peace Corps and it can't be all that easy for anyone – but I guess, seriously, we have it a lot easier than some other country's volunteers. Working as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer means I am in an ever better position that most of the volunteers within Benin itself. Even after saying all that, I have to say Dr. Savage's talk was a little harsh at times. It was to the point, which is necessary concerning health issues, but then he launched into a full frontal attack on the previous years of volunteers having “thick dossiers” in the med unit. Meaning, we complain a lot, as a country. He read through an anonymous file and I have to admit, a lot of it was superfluous, but by the time he was done talking I felt like going to Cotonou (the med unit) for my intestinal bacterial infection was a sign of weakness and that perhaps I wasn't fit for the Peace Corps. Yeah, it was that rough. He even told us there was a very, very small percentage of “Super Star” volunteers that you see at swear-in and never hear from again because they've adapted into their community, are doing well on their own and having tons of success in projects and work. He said yet another small percentage is “unfulfilled” volunteers that go home early and he credited them with having the inner personal strength to see that they just weren't fit for the Peace Corps and that they should go home. The in-between, he said, was the rest of us; the volunteers who just kind of get through their two years partying and doing some work and mainly just wasting resources. I think I talked to three people after that talk to convince them not to early terminate (E.T.). The man had a great sense of humor; he mentioned that he would love it if we all contracted some great sexually transmitted diseases that were curable (“Get Syphilis, make my day”) because it makes it more interesting for him and they're really easy to cure. The context was in encouraging us to not contract Hep C or HIV – two slightly less curable diseases. All in all, very painful day – glad it's over.
My new address, for all your wonderful, wonderful people out there sending me Reese's pieces and M&Ms and other goodies, is:
HENDERSON, Allison
B.P. 126
Azovè, Benin
Afrique de l'Ouest
Be sure to put “par avion” on your letters because it makes it easier for the postal workers to see that it's going to need to get across the Atlantic Ocean,too.
Hope all is going well, please send some recent photos, or just photos in general as we spend a LOT of time looking at them and describing loved ones at home with one another and it's just a lot easier with pictures.
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