The End of the Bénin Blogging

It’s my personal belief that you have to be somewhere for at least a year before you can claim to have lived there. Any time spent before that is just “staying” somewhere. So after having stayed in Bénin for only 2 months, I’m hesitant to write as an authority on the culture, the country, or even working with a Béninois NGO (non-governmental organization). All I can relay to you is my experience and what I learned from it, and I hope I’ve done that through the last few months of blogging.

I’ve been back in the U.S. for almost 2 weeks now, and in that time there have been many things that have made me happy. Seeing my friends is the first to come to mind, but fast and free internet is a close second. I can actually upload every web page in its entirety and look at my friends’ facebook pictures within seconds. I also like being allowed to wear shorts in public without offending anyone. I appreciate being able to speak fluently with those around me, especially my co-workers. I love coffee shops, indoor plumbing, and blackberries. I enjoy having a job where I actually feel like I’m accomplishing something. But most of all I love anonymity. I fit in everywhere, I can walk anywhere I want without children announcing my arrival, men harassing me, or people asking me for money.

But I miss populated streets, where my ten minute walk to work consisted of greeting at least 25 people, sometimes more. I miss how alive the streets are with mechanics, women selling food, neighbors sitting outside their gates watching the world pass by. In Bénin everyone is part of the community, but here in Arizona, while most people are incredibly friendly, there isn’t much interaction between strangers. Life is individualized.

I also miss the bright colors. Clothes are usually muted here (the majority of my wardrobe is unfortunately not an exception), but in Bénin the clothes were almost as beautiful and vivid as the tree-covered hills.

I miss the kids and their enormous, sincere smiles.

I miss the music. Everywhere. Pouring out of restaurants, bars, hair salons, and houses at excessive volumes. It’s almost always upbeat, especially at church. I was sitting in church last Sunday and couldn’t help but be distracted and disappointed by how slow and boring all the songs were here in America.

I daydream about the fresh tropical fruit- the mangoes, the pineapples, the bananas, the coconuts. I loved that there was food everywhere, and that it was always flavorful, natural, and homemade. It’s all so fresh and organic that it doesn’t last very long, prompting one of my roommates to make the insightful observation of, “It’s nice that when you’re hungry you just have to go outside to find food, but it’s annoying that when you’re hungry you have to go outside to find food.”

Those are a few of the things I loved while I was there, but what did I learn?

I learned about the realities of NGOs in Bénin, which may provide a fair representation of NGOs in Africa as a whole, but I’m not positive about that. A lot of people who manage NGOs are actually working full time jobs elsewhere and tend to their NGOs on the side. Projects and programs are created once funding is found, rather than looking for funding to support projects and programs that have already been put in place. I learned that with my personality, I wouldn’t feel fulfilled working in a local NGO if it were similar to the one I just worked in, since I was viewed by my NGO as more of a resource for getting money than anything else. I didn’t really learn any skills, since the staff I was working with barely had enough training and experience to run the NGO. But I gained invaluable experience, so I’m not too disappointed.

In fact, I left Bénin with very mixed feelings about NGOs, foreign funding, and the development field in general. NGOs like the one I was working with wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for foreign funding, so should they even exist at all? An entire system has been created that revolves around training Africans to adhere and submit to the whims and methods of European/America/Canadian donors. But at the same time, there are lots of foreign and local organizations who are doing a lot of good within that system. So for the majority, it’s an unnatural, one-way relationship, but not one than I can write off as being solely villainous. But now I’m not so sure I want to go into it as a career.

Also, it was reaffirmed for me that I will always be a foreigner in Africa, simply because my skin is white. Even if I become accepted as a local in the community or town I’m in, any time I travel outside of that group, the people I encounter will see me as an outsider. No matter how much I try to dress and speak like the people around me, my skin will always set me apart.

Despite several frustrations, I’m inexplicably glad that I spent the last two months in Bénin. I got two more stamps in my passport (Brussels & Bénin), as well as a realistic idea of what working in a Béninois NGO is like. I got acquainted with another region of Africa, improved my French, and acquired a better understanding of the development field.

Thanks for following my adventure and I hope you’ve been able to live vicariously through me at least a little over the last couple months. The blogging is now officially over, since I’m not going to attempt blogging about my life in Arizona. If I did, I would only publish posts sporadically and they might not even be interesting, because as a grad student, surviving an insane schedule and remembering to eat/sleep/maintain basic levels of hygiene take priority over having an interesting life. I would write things like, “I went to class, and then I went to work and sat at a computer, and then I went to the library and ploughed through some of my readings for class, and then I went to bed.” But in May I graduate, and am off to the next adventure. So, check back in a year, if you feel like it, and hopefully there will be interesting news up there.

-Jenn

p.s. I have full albums of my pictures from Bénin up on facebook. If you would like to see them, the link for the first one is:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.730608447928.2249484.27711297&l=659339dcd7&type=1

and the second is:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.738907616328.2253204.27711297&l=0958410b14&type=1

The Trip Back To America

When traveling, especially internationally, you should always give yourself a cushion of time if you can, and carry lots of cash. My original itinerary last week was: Leave Cotonou 8pm on July 12, layover in Brussels, layover in Newark, arrive in Atlanta 5pm on July 13, drive to Lillian, Alabama with friends on July 15 for our friend’s wedding on July 16, have a great time, fly to Phoenix July 17, and start back at work July 18. That sort of happened.

Last Tuesday, I left Cotonou and arrived in the Brussels airport the next morning, where I thought I would only be staying a few hours, but instead, thanks to a bird getting caught in the engine, I was given a 24 hour layover. At first I was irritated at the change of plans, but then the adventurer within rose up, and I mentally thanked that poor bird for sacrificing his/her life as I got another stamp in my passport and set off to explore the town. This was my first time in Belgium and I didn’t know anything about Brussels, so I spent the afternoon wandering around aimlessly, impressed by ancient architecture and eating waffles. It was lovely.

Exploring Brussels

The next day was frustrating because when I got to the Newark airport I had to get a new connecting flight to Atlanta. And I discovered that my suitcase had decided it wasn’t done hanging out in Brussels. And my credit card didn’t work, because I forgot to tell my bank I was leaving the country. And I was going on 6 hours of sleep in about three days. But around 2am on July 15^th, I finally showed up at my friend’s house in Atlanta, and after a few hours of sleep, we were on our way. Instead of trying to chase down my suitcase for the next few days, I had the airline send it to Phoenix, and I grabbed a few essential items at Target and enjoyed hanging out with my friends.

About to leave for Alabama

 

So, when you travel, you should always carry extra cash, because if you don’t, you might show up in America and have no way to buy toothpaste or contact solution. Or you could just call your bank before you leave, and let them know about your travel plans. It’s up to you. And you should always give yourself cushion time, because otherwise you might miss your friend’s wedding, because you never know when a bird might fly into the engine of the plane you’re supposed to go on. Thankfully I made it to my friend's wedding with plenty of time to spare, but I was on the verge of stressing out a few times along the way.

When I showed up in Phoenix on July 17, was my suitcase there, since the airline said it would be? No, of course not. Clearly, four days was not long enough to get it from Brussels to Phoenix. (Not that I’m still irritated to the point of being sarcastic or anything). But it showed up the next day, with all of its original contents, so everything ended up ok in the end.

So, here I am, back in Arizona. My suitcase is here, my credit card works again, I’m mostly recovered from jetlag, I’m back at work, I’m mostly settled into my new house, and I even managed to cook last night. It looks like life has strangely returned to normal, which is a hard adjustment after living in semi-survival mode for the last week. There are some things I already miss about Ouidah, like my fellow volunteers and the fresh fruit, but at the same time, I am very thankful to be working in an office again with indoor plumbing and I can't get over how fast the internet is.

I’m going to publish one more post in the next few days as a wrap up to my trip, but for now, the

Porto Novo

Like many countries, Bénin has an official capital, Porto Novo, where not very much happens, and then it has the real capital, Cotonou, where everything important, such as businesses, embassies, and the airport, are located.

My roommates and I visited Porto Novo on Saturday with the intention of seeing three things- the Da Silva Museum of Afro-Brazilian culture, the park with monkeys in it, and a mosque that our Lonely Planet guidebook claimed to be “the most colorful mosque in West Africa”. We also decided we were going to walk everywhere since our agenda wasn't packed and we wanted to see as much of the city as possible.

We left our house and walked a few blocks to the “international road”, which starts in Lagos, Nigeria, crosses through Bénin and Togo and terminates in Accra, Ghana. We started walking along this road and as we walked by a few people sitting on an unmarked bench they asked us, “Cotonou?” We nodded in agreement, and they greeted us and motioned for us to wait with them. A few minutes later a van pulled up, the three of us were herded into the back row, followed by another person, and the four of us shared three seats, as is custom. The rest of the van gradually filled up and we were on our way with 11 people in the 8 person van. Fifteen minutes outside of Ouidah, one passenger was dropped off, and there were two people waiting on the side of the road to take his place. Since the van was “full” the apprentice (the teenage boy who collects everyone's fares, runs errands for the driver, and is in training under the driver to one day become a driver himself) gave up his seat and took his new place in the back with the luggage. We made a few more stops like this along the way, and eventually got to the station in Cotonou where we took similar transportation to Porto Novo.

Our first destination was the Da Silva Museum, since we actually knew the name of it. We took a tour, took a few pictures, and then headed off to find lunch.

(Two of my roommates and me- left: Natalie, center: me, right- Makeda)

Down the street we found a place with tables and chairs, and a few women sitting next to some cooking pots. When we asked what there was to eat the response was, “There's rice, there's pâte (paste made from ground up corn and manioc), there's sauce with fish, and there's sauce with sheep”. Then lids were lifted revealing that the rice was actually gone (which they already were aware of, so I don't know why they told us there was rice in the first place, but I've decided to stop trying to solve that mystery), so we settled for pâte and sauce with fish. After lunch we asked the cooks for directions to the mosque with lots of colors, and got our first taste of the confusion that we would be dealing with the rest of the day. We got only blank looks, since there are many mosques in Porto Novo, and the idea of one of them being known for its display of color didn't register with anyone, but as we explained it more they finally understood what we were talking about (or at least gave the impression that they did), and their first response was that we should take zems (scooter taxis) because it's a long ways away. After we explained that we wanted to walk there so we could see the city, they finally gave us directions.

It wasn't long before we were lost, and had to ask for directions again. Same procedure. Blank looks at first, and after a lot more explaining on our part, we were told we should take zems, but after we explained we wanted to see the city, directions were willingly provided. We also asked about the park with the monkeys, and since that seemed closer, we headed over there first. We arrived just as it began raining, and as we took cover under their gazebo were informed that since the monkeys were free to roam wherever they wanted, they had sought protection from the rain somewhere out of site, and no one knew when they would be returning and visible. So when the rain let up, we left the park a little disappointed, but with new directions to the most colorful mosque in West Africa, after, of course, going through the direction-asking procedure we were getting really accustomed to by now.

10 minutes later we were lost again. We asked a man guarding a government building, and went through the same directions-asking procedure, and then went on our way. After getting distracted by a wedding, a shop selling fabric, and a few other fun sites, we ended up in the middle of a market, where we tried getting directions again. Same procedure. After we went through the directions-asking process with three more groups of people we finally gave up on our goal of walking, since we were running out of daylight and our legs were tired. We found a few zems, which is what everyone had been telling us to do all day long, and after going through the same directions-asking procedure, they gave the impression of knowing where they were going, and we were on our way.

But they didn't really know where they were going, and we showed up not at the most colorful mosque in West Africa, but at the headquarters for Islamic culture. Two of the men who were in charge of the headquarters were standing outside, and after asking them for directions to the mosque, we went through the same procedure, which surprised us a little considering that these men were involved with the Islamic culture of Porto Novo. They gave the zem drivers directions to the biggest mosque in Porto Novo, which they proudly described as having 4 minarets, and which we were hoping was the same as the most colorful mosque in West Africa.

It was not. While it was an impressive structure, and very nicely painted, it was in fact only two colors, and was clearly not a building that could be described as the most colorful mosque in West Africa. We decided that the Lonely Planet guidebook must have deemed the site far more significant than everyone in Porto Novo did.

(The biggest mosque in Porto Novo, which is not the most colorful mosque in West Africa)

 But it was starting to get dark by this point, so we finally gave up completely on our mosque quest and decided to get home. How does one get from Porto Novo back to Ouidah? You get back to the international road, which passes through Porto Novo, and wait on the side of it until a van going to Cotonou drives by. Once you get to Cotonou, you walk a quarter of a mile down a crowded street until you reach a place with a gas station and a bunch of vans, and try to find a van that's going to Ouidah.

I've also included a couple pictures from church, since I finally remember to bring my camera this week. After much insisting, I convinced the woman in charge of the seating to let me sit in the back, so my camera and I wouldn't be too distracting. Here's the view from the back row:

How Béninois Are You?

 

I've created a quiz that will allow you to assess your inner Béninois, and see how well you would fit in here:

1. You have just opened a hair salon, and are deciding on a name for your new establishment. After much deliberation, you decide on:

A. Good Clips

B. Hair Salon

C. (Insert your name)'s Hair Salon

D. The Joy and Peace of our Great and Loving God Hair Salon

2. You are a taxi driver, and make your living driving a car that was created to seat 5 people, including yourself, and you make continual trips all day long from Ouidah to Cotonou. On an average trip you transport:

A. Up to 4 passengers, but they must be in the car and prepared to leave on time. Time is money, so you will leave promptly when you planned, regardless of whether or not your car is full.

B. 4 passengers and yourself, making 5 in total, because that's how many the car was designed to hold.

C. Usually 4 passengers, but if a fifth one wants to come along, you can squeeze him/her into the middle section between yourself and the other passenger up front.

D. A minimum of 6 passengers, 4 squeezed into the back seat, and 2 up front with you, and you won't leave the station until your car is full. The extra $1.20 you get from each of the two extra people more than covers the $1.00 fee/bribe the gendarmes (highway police) might charge if you get stopped for having too many people in the car.

3. You just inherited a TV from your uncle, and would like to receive a few channels on it so you can keep up with some of your favorite soap operas and watch the latest music videos. You acquire these channels by:

A. Buying a cable that you plug into the cable access already built into your house.

B. just watching these shows online on your computer, since you have internet in your house. You save the TV for watching movies.

C. Buying a satellite dish.

D. Attaching a metal receiver and some wires to a very long bamboo shoot, which is connected to your house and your TV. Why pay for an overpriced satellite dish when this is cheaper and works almost as well?

A whole community of bamboo satellites.

4. You are an elderly woman and you run a fruit stand where a customer has just purchased a coconut, which she has asked you to open for her because she doesn't know how to do it herself. You:

A. Refuse, not wanting to violate any federal health codes, insisting that she should open it herself at her house.

B. Gently cut it open with a kitchen knife.

C. Grab a machete, and chop it open with a few swift and efficient strokes.

D. Cheerfully comply, and repeatedly slam the coconut on the sidewalk (which many people have used as their bathroom) until it finally cracks open. Then you take a knife and pry out the meat from the shell, and place it neatly into a plastic bag. Your method has just motivated the customer to become self-sufficient and start opening her coconuts at her house, in order to avoid having them opened on the sidewalk/public bathroom.

5. You need to type up a document and print it out. You perform this task by:

A. Turning on your personal computer and printer, and doing it all yourself.

B. Heading over to the local library where you can use the computer for free, and print it yourself afterward for a minimal fee.

C. Using a computer at the cybercafe, which may or may not work.

D. Going to the nearest “Saisie” where there will be a woman with at least a middle school education who can type up your document for you as you dictate it to her, and then print it out for you afterward. But since the electricity just went off city-wide, you'll have to wait for it to come back on before you bother going over there.

6. You are a Béninois child, and are playing on the side of the street when a yovo (white person) walks by. You react by:

A. Ignoring them, as you are very self-involved and don't care about what is happening around you.

B. Being uninterested, since there are white people everywhere, making this a common occurrence, and nothing to get excited about.

C. Smiling politely and waving as you great them with a “Bonjour”.

D. Interrupting what you were doing and frantically announcing this person's presence by shouting, “YOVO!!” at the top of your lungs and waving as hard as possible. This is the most exciting thing to happen to you today, and you don't want anyone within a half mile radius to miss this wonderful moment. Then you and all your friends who are with you start grinning and singing a song you and every other child in Bénin seem to have known since birth, “Yovo, yovo, bonsoir! Ca-va bien, merci!” (White person, white person, good afternoon! I am fine, thank you!)

For every question you answered as “A” or “B”, give yourself 0 points, for every “C” give yourself 1 point, for every “D” give yourself 2 points.

If you got a score of 0, you're adjustment to Bénin is going to be pretty rough.

If you got a score of 1-6, you'll have a good time, but you'll probably still get frustrated occasionally.

If you got a score of 7-11, you'll fit right in.

If you got a score of 12, you've reached “local” status, and if you're not already living in Bénin, you should be!

Dahomey

On Saturday, my parents and my roommates and I visited the city of Abomey, which formerly served as the capital of the Dahomey kingdom, whose power lasted almost 300 years- from the beginning of the 17^th century to the end of 19^th century. In fact, after gaining its independence from the French, Bénin was originally named Dahomey, but ultimately it was changed to Bénin for the sake of unifying a country whose citizens' did not all trace their lineage back to the Dahomey kingdom.

After enduring a three hour car ride, half of which was on very rugged dirt roads, the six of us and our driver gratefully pried ourselves out of our 5 person taxi that we had been “cozily” wedged into during the ride, and began our tour of the Historic Museum of Abomey. As we were led through a maze of courtyards and ancient buildings that had previously served as the kings' royal court, our guide explained the purposes of each one, as well as the significance of the artifacts stored inside some of the rooms. As it always is with historic sites, it was hard to imagine such a serene and vacant location had been teeming with life less than a hundred years ago. There were also some pretty cool artifacts, such as 11 of the 12 original thrones for the kings, the oldest one dating back to the early 17^th century.

Some of the interesting facts I learned about the Dahomey Kingdom:

There were corps of female soldiers in the king's army known as the Amazonians. They were so good at their job that they were often favored over male soldiers when going to war. One of their most infamous tactics: if they were in danger of losing a battle, they would seduce the soldiers of the enemy, sleep with them, and then kill them.

The Dahomey Kingdom was bloody, brutal, and very involved in the slave trade with the Europeans, causing them to be disliked by neighboring kingdoms. Most of their slaves were captives from wars with groups to the east, in the area now known as Nigera, and the Dahomey kings would frequently offer these captives to the Europeans in exchange for canons, guns, and bricks. The practice of human sacrifice was also favored, of which the prisoners of war were generally the unfortunate victims.

There were 14 kings of Dahomey in total, but two were banished after selling their own relatives into the Transatlantic slave trade, so only 12 are represented in the museum.

The founder of the Dahomey kingdom was originally from the kingdom of Ashanti, which was located in the region now known as Ghana.

Despite being defeated by the French, the tradition of having a Dahomey king has been upheld through the present. Our guide was a descendent of King Glèlè (who ruled from 1858-1889) which allows him the privilege of living in the current king's house, which is located somewhere in Abomey.

Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures in the museum, but here are a few from the trip back to Ouidah, which was just as cozy and rugged as the trip to Abomey. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures capturing the dirt road on which we spent half the trip:

You Don't Like My Head?

I'm not fluent in French, but I'm definitely functional. I can never remember where to place my reflexive pronouns when I'm conjugating a verb in the past tense, and I can never keep straight the genders of most nouns, but I can still converse with the people around me just fine. But a lot of people like to throw in slang phrases directly translated from the local language, Fon, which make little sense outside of the Fon context. I've tried having people explain to me what they're asking whenever I hear a new phrase, but I've stopped doing this since they usually just repeat exactly what they just said, assuming I'll start to understand them if they repeat it enough. And if I do this with kids they increase their volume with each response. So as entertaining as it is to have a kid shouting a confusing phrase over and over as loudly as possible at me, my new tactic is to provide a noncommittal response, and ask someone later who I know will be able to give me an explanation.

Some of the phrases I've learned are:
“Tu as fait un peu?” (Have you done a little?)- This is a greeting, and a way of asking someone if they've worked today.
The first person to ask me this was a stranger I passed while walking home, and I couldn't figure out what he was asking I had done a little of or why he cared. My next dilemma was knowing how to respond. Does someone actually want to know if I've worked today? Will they think I'm a liar if I say yes, and they later find out that I've done nothing today, not even a little? Apparently, there's an expected response, like answering “fine” when someone in America asks how you're doing, and I've learned how to both ask and answer this question in Fon.

“Tu es en train?” (Are you in the process?)- My boss always asks me this when she walks into the office and I'm working at my computer. At first I expected her to finish this question by indicating what specific process she was referring to that I would be doing, but since then I've figured out she's just casually asking me how work is going, and answering with a simple “yes” satisfies her.

C'est gratuit. (It's free.)- The first person to tell me this was a staff member at the orphanage as he handed me a plate of papaya intended for me to eat. I told him thank you, and he responded, “C'est gratuit,” which led me to wonder if I should normally be expecting to pay for food offered to me there. I've since learned that that's just a way of saying, “No problem/Don't worry about it.”

I also get asked questions that catch me off guard, but not because they originate from Fon. The most recent question I've been asked that I didn't understand, I will hopefully never be asked again, because I still have no clue how to answer it.
My neighbor three doors down from me, Geraldo, was nicely offering his services as a tour guide for my parents during their stay in Ouidah, and I was politely declining said services, when suddenly he asked me, “Ma tête ne te plait pas?” I looked at him, not knowing what to say, so he asked me again, this time in English, staring at me forlornly, “You don't like my head?”

What did that mean?! I could see nothing obviously wrong with his head, and I tried to provide a satisfactorily vague response that wouldn't get me into trouble as I mentally analyzed the situation.
There's so much involved with a head! Was he asking me if I questioned his intelligence and didn't think he was smart enough to be a tour guide for my parents? Was he asking if I thought he was crazy? Was he asking me if I thought he was ugly?

A few nights earlier his sister had invited me over to their house, where I discovered that her actual intention was not to hang out with me, but to set me up on a date with Geraldo, so I endured an exclusive dinner and conversation with him in the living room for what felt like an eternity, as the film Hotel Rwanda played in the background and the rest of the family, of which there were about 10 of them, barely said a word to me. Awkward. Very, very awkward.
That being said, I didn't know what or how much was being implied in that question, and therefore I didn't know how to respond, because if I offended him, I would still have to deal with him each time I saw him, which is fairly often since he's my neighbor. But if I assured him that I thought his head was fine, he might have taken it the wrong way, and the awkward date might have a sequel.
I couldn't think of a good answer, so I used the ever-successful, and slightly cowardly, tactic of changing the subject, and told him that since my parents had lived in Africa for a while, they would be fine, and didn't need a guide. Thankfully he didn't press any harder for my opinion of his head.

The language difference can also be seen in the music, which comes from all over West Africa and is rarely in French or English, so my roommates and I can't understand it, but that doesn't keep us from enjoying it. There's music playing all the time, flooding out in excessive volumes from either houses, restaurants, or hand-held radios, giving the city a festive and care-free feel, which I love. Here's the “music video” (there's no actual music video for this song, so it's just a slideshow of pictures of the singer trying to look cool.) of my new favorite song, which comes from Côte d'Ivoire. It's a call for peace in response to the violence that has accompanied the recent Ivoirian elections. Fortunately for me, it's also the favorite song of most people in Benin, so I get to hear it anywhere from two to twenty times a day. The song starts slow and dramatic, and if you're with friends, it's customary to wave your hands back and forth in sync together, and when it speeds up about a minute later everyone starts dancing. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIWmkJM9ukU&feature=related

(If the link doesn't work, go to google and type in "Rien Que La Nation" and the video should show up. The artist is Debordeaux Leekunfa.)

Rain & Cheap Oil

It's rainy season right now in southern Bénin, and when it rains, it doesn't matter what you were planning to do, or what you needed to do, or what you wanted to do- everything gets paused until the rain stops. Because when it rains it's not usually a light sprinkle or drizzle, it tends to be a downpour that will soak into your bones within 10 seconds. Traveling very far in the rain isn't really an option, since cars are rare here in Ouidah, and having your face pelted with rain at 30 miles/hour while riding on a moto is not appealing. The occasional brave or desperate person can be spotted making their way through the storm, but mostly the streets are deserted as everyone dashes into their houses or businesses and the roads gradually transform into lakes and rivers for the next few hours. Life stops for a while, as the entire city mutually understands that nothing will happen until the storm is over.

Friday it rained harder than I had seen it rain since I got here, so my roommates and I spent the day trapped inside, watching low-budget films produced in Ghana and taking pictures of the people passing by who had the misfortune of getting caught in the storm. Definitely a relaxing day, but when it finally cleared up late in the afternoon, leaving the house was a welcomed option.

Saturday was spent in Cotonou, the business capital of Bénin, shopping at some of the markets and picking up my parents at the airport, who flew in for the week from Mali where they normally live. Cotonou may have a few more luxuries than Ouidah does, like Lebanese restaurants and ATMs, but the pollution and traffic were so bad that I spent the day really glad that I'm living in Ouidah instead.

One of our stops was the fabric market, where we were stunned by the vivid colors and spent a lot of time haggling with the Indian and Nigerian shop-keepers, who evidently hold a monopoly on the fabric industry here.

In fact, much of Bénin's economy is impacted by its Nigerian neighbors. Nigerians have lived up to their reputation of being business minded and even have their own market in Cotonou completely Nigerian-run, where most of the interactions are in English, which is the official language of Nigeria.

The oil industry here is also influenced by Nigeria. If you've ever read stories in the news about oil being stolen out of the oil pipelines in the Niger Delta and wondered where that oil went, I have an answer for you! Ok, you probably haven't actually pondered this subject much, but I still have an answer anyway.

It's smuggled across the border into Bénin, where it's sold to merchants who line the roads and sell it to the moto and car drivers by pouring it into their vehicles through funnels. Since the entire industry is based on stolen oil, gas is cheap here, resulting in lots of pollution, especially in Cotonou, and little incentive to improve public transportation. And as long as public transportation is insufficiently meeting the needs of the public and oil is cheap and available, personal vehicles will be driven in mass, which continues the demand for cheap, illegal oil, which helps continue the supply of cheap, illegal oil. But at the same time, the “legal” oil companies in Nigeria, who are mostly foreign-owned, are not exactly pure and innocent either, which means the profits from much of the Nigerian oil does not go back to Nigerians.
The industry is fairly complex, and is only one example of how fluid the borders are around here, with people and their goods crossing them regularly.

Gas waiting to be sold:

J'ai Fait les Tresses (I Got My Hair Braided)

I have survived a strange and terrible initiation into the world of African females- I got my hair braided with extensions.
Even though I grew up in a variety of African countries, I had never gotten my hair braided before because a. I had heard it was painful, b. it's really time-consuming, and c. it always seemed too touristy. But last week I was finally convinced it would be a good idea, so my roommate, Natalie, and I decided to get it done.

Last Friday was a rainy, do-nothing sort of day, so Natalie and I mustered up all our bravery and walked down the street to “La Puissance Divine d'Amour Tresseur”- The Divine Power of Love Hair Salon- where we spent the next 6 hours in excruciating pain. If you've never been through this process, but want to have an idea of how it feels, take a small section of your hair, about a centimeter in diameter, and then yank on it as hard as possible, until it feels like you're going to remove it from your scalp. Keep pulling on it for about a minute, maintaining that same level of force, and then select a section of hair next to it that's the same size and repeat that same action on it. Continue this systematically until you've done it to all your hair, which should take you about 5 or 6 hours. And make sure you stay in the same chair the entire time, and try not to move around too much. By the end you should have a headache, your scalp and your butt should be incredibly sore, you should be somewhat dehydrated, you should be exhausted, and you may want to cry. And while you're doing it, remind yourself that there are countless women all over Africa voluntarily submitting themselves to a similar torture for the sake of fashion.

After the braids were finished the pain faded pretty quickly, and I had to admit I liked the feeling of not having to worry about my hair. This was fairly unfortunate, because since we had gotten our hair done in twists instead of standard braids, and my hair is so short and smooth, and the hair dressers hadn't done a very good job, it started coming out of the twists the next day. By Sunday it was looking pretty bad, and Natalie's was too, so we removed the extensions, and a couple days later we decided we enjoyed having the extensions so much that we would go through the entire process again, but getting normal braids this time, and having someone else do a better job. Round two was much more pleasant, since not only did the hair dresser actually came to our house, but she didn't handle our scalps so brutally.

So now I have black and purple braids, and while I prefer the look of my natural hair, this is still pretty fun, and I don't have to worry about how it looks when I get up in the morning, after I ride a moto/scooter, when I get caught in the rain, etc.I keep getting comments about how beautiful and Béninois my hair looks, so maybe I was wrong about it being touristy. But my suspicions about it being painful and time-consuming were definitely accurate.

Looking as Béninoise as possible with my dress and hair:

Natalie, my fellow braid veteran, and me:

Being white in Bénin

After being in Ouidah for almost 5 weeks, I don't get stared at as much now that my novelty has worn off. Or at least I don't notice it at much. Or maybe everyone has gotten more discreet with their staring. Whatever it is, I'm starting to feel like an integrated member of society, which is a pleasant change. In reality, I probably feel more integrated than I actually am, because, as strange as this might sound, I get so used to always seeing black people that sometimes I forget I'm not black. But the kids on the street frequently give me a reality check by waving excitedly at me and calling out, “Yovo!”, which means white person, to get my attention. But even though I'm white, every time I see white people around town, which is a rare occurrence, I'm always so startled by how different they look in comparison to the people I'm surrounded by that I can understand why the locals stare.

One afternoon during my second week here I was at the cybercafe when I saw a white woman getting out of her car across the street. It had been a few days since I had seen ant yovos, and I was intrigued by her brisk movements as she swiftly opened and closed car doors, rearranged what was inside, and dashed off down the street. It was such a contrast to the methodical, unhurried movements of most Béninois that I couldn't help but join the Africans around me in the activity of staring at her, completely fascinated. My initial reaction to her was one of slight contempt, wondering who she thought she was and what she had to do here in Ouidah that was urgent and important enough to make her so rushed, but then I reminded myself that that's just how it is in many western countries, and that my behavior is very similar when I'm in America. Always rushed, always in a hurry to get to the next event, a mindset which affects even the subtle details of our lives, such as mannerisms and body language. But does anyone actually get more accomplished? Maybe, maybe not; it probably depends on the person.

All that to say, it's more than just skin color that makes foreigners stand out around here, but at the same time skin color alone carries a lot of baggage. White people are assumed to be either tourists or volunteers of some sort. And while neither of these is inherently bad, there is an underlying tension because many people only come here to either capture Africa in photographs or throw money or advice at a continent that is treated as a country, rather than valuing or understanding the people and culture they are surrounded by. Everyone seems to come here with their own agenda.

Switching subjects to something less philosophical and more photograph-able: the weekend before last we took a tour of Lake Ahémé, which is about 30 minutes from Ouidah, and the source of most of the fish we all enjoy so much around here. There are islands scattered throughout the lake where the fishermen/women (fisherpeople?) live, their houses built to the very edge of land. Do they have flooding? Yes. Do they have a flooding problem? Not really, since they've constructed their houses and their lives in such a way that adapts to the changing water level. I saw a group of kids playing football (soccer) and wondered, though, how often they have to retrieve their ball out of the lake.

Next to the lake was an abandoned train station built in 1810, which, when it functioned, used to be where people could catch the train from Lake Ahémé to Cotonou, which is the business capital of Bénin. Now the train station provides convenient housing for squatters.

Fish, Pineapples, & Daily Marriage Proposals

The other volunteers and I laugh sometimes at how different our lives are in Bénin compared to the countries we normally live in.

Fish
Whenever we go to a restaurant, we can predict the menu. Rice, sauce, and fish. Rice, sauce, and fish. We smile knowingly at each other as the waitress lists the menu items that we could easily list for her. Sometimes a restaurant will surprise us by serving fries or pâte instead of rice. And the type of sauce varies. But there will always be fish. I've actually become addicted to it, and if I go a day or two without these tasty treasures of the sea, I start craving them. And that's after only a month. When I return to the not-coastal-not-fish-infested region of Northern Arizona after eating fish almost every day for two months, there's a chance I might go through withdrawals and start having emotional breakdowns in public. If you're around when this happens, please just feed me some fish, and I'll be fine.

Fish for dinner!


Pineapples
Pineapples have taken on a monetary quality. Example- When I leave the cybercafe and it's hot outside, I ask myself, do I want to take a zem (a moto taxi) and avoid the 15 minute walk home in the heat? “Absolutely not! The cost of that is equivalent to an entire pineapple!”
Or when we're at the one and only supermarket in town contemplating the savory-looking imported boxes of cookies whose names we can't pronounce because they're in Finnish or Dutch and we probably won't enjoy anyway because they're probably dry and flavorless, and we're about to grab a carton, we withdraw our hands thinking, “No, I can't do it! That's 18 pineapples!”
Pineapples hold a very high place in our hearts, in case you couldn't tell.

Marriage Proposals
The questions we get asked when we meet people used to startle us a little, but now we just take them in stride and try to hold back our laughter until afterward.
A typical encounter might go something like this:
Scene: A foreign female, who stands out mainly because of the color of her skin, is minding her own business at a cybercafe, a restaurant, or a variety of other local establishments. A Béninois man, who may be anywhere from 17-40 years of age approaches said foreign female, and begins speaking to her in French.
Béninois man: Hello, how are you?
Foreign female: Hello. I'm fine, thank you.
Béninois man: What is your name?
Foreign female tells him her name.
Béninois man: Are you married?
Foreign female: No.
Béninois man: Would you like to marry a Béninois man?
Foreign female: No, not right now.
Béninois man: Why not?
Foreign female: I have to go back to my country and finish my studies.
The Béninois man seems satisfied that this is a valid reason to not get married at this present time, and eventually leave the foreign female alone.

Occasionally they get more creative, such as the guy who tried to get my phone number a couple weeks ago by telling me he was Barack Obama's brother. When I asked him what he was doing in Bénin if he was Obama's brother, he replied casually that he was just here for the experience of it.

So that's a small taste of life as a Humanity Exchange volunteer in Bénin.

On a side note, I got called a yovo africaine yesterday, which, roughly translated, means a white person who is African. This compliment came while I was eating lunch on the side of the street with my neighbors while wearing my Béninois dress. Being told that made me feel very cool and accepted, which is always a pleasant experience.
Between happy feelings like that and an unending supply of fish and marriage proposals, there is a chance I might stay in Bénin permanently.

Nonvitcha

Sunday was the 90th annual Nonvitcha (pronounced No-Veetcha) festival, which celebrates the partnership between two people groups in southern Bénin: the Xwla et Xwéda. Started in 1921, it focuses on their unified historic and artistic values, and embraces economic, social, and cultural development. From what I could tell, they work together throughout the year, and once a year they have their official ceremonies and a giant party, but the other volunteers and I just caught the party end of it. There were thousands of people on the main road and on the beach, street vendors selling food and souvenirs, loud music everywhere, a few concerts going on, and dancing, dancing, and more dancing, because where there is music, there will be dancing. At one point it began raining, and in our mad dash to get out of the rain we, and about 30 other people, accidentally crashed a private party that was inside a gazebo, but we just joined in with their dancing, and they didn't seem to mind us being there.

Any time there's some type of event like this, material is made especially for the occasion, and the majority of the people at the event will be wearing clothes made out of it. This was the design for this year's Nonvitcha:

There was a fun mix of modern and traditional music:

Adding to the atmosphere of excitement was a man painted in the colors of the Béninois flag:

Happy Nonvitcha!

A Dollar A Day

I live on approximately a dollar a day.

My breakfast of bread and coffee costs $0.25, my lunch costs $0.50, and my dinner can cost from $0.20-$1.00. It's not as if I have the super-power of thriftiness or I'm making an enormous sacrifice of self-deprivation; food is just cheap here, and there's nothing else I need to buy. Oranges are about 10 cents each, mangoes 25 cents, pineapples 20 cents, the list goes on. And it's all unbelievably delicious. (It's also organic, fair trade, and everything else I wish all food in America was.)

There are two main reasons it's so cheap. The first is that it's nearby and grows in abundance, so transportation isn't an issue, and the second is that Benin is such a poor country as a whole that no one would be able to afford the food if it were to cost more. In fact, approximately a third of the country (mainly those in villages) lives under the poverty line, meaning that many of them are also malnourished because they cannot afford to either buy enough food or buy the right food. The dollar I spend on food every day is a luxury for them.

I'm not writing this to evoke emotions of sympathy or guilt. Due to the average cost of food, it would be impossible to live on a dollar a day in most developed countries, even if you wanted to. But there are three things you can do:

1. You can take responsibility for your own consumption and at least be aware of what you're purchasing, what you're eating, and how much of it you're throwing away. Try to buy fair trade items when possible.
2. You can try to help groups that are actively working to make change. For example, check out http://www.kiva.org/, an international organization that facilitates micro-loans in developing areas. By lending $25 (that's the equivalent of about 6 lattes at Starbucks), you can help groups and individuals with projects, such as starting or improving their own businesses, which then allows them to buy food and/or send their children to school.
3. You can get involved in your local community. Volunteer your time at a homeless shelter, food bank, an after school program, etc.

I could end this post with something cliché and inspirational, like, “Be the change you want to see in the world,” but all I really want to say is, if you're already doing something, awesome! Keep up the good work. But if you're not doing anything and you're sitting around watching TV all day, get off your butt and GO DO SOMETHING!!!

Daily Routine

I've been in Ouidah for three weeks now, and have developed a daily routine.
My morning starts off with a baguette and a cup of Nescafe, the baguette I pick up at the bakery down the street, so fresh that its heat makes my fingers uncomfortable. Then I try to be out the door by 8:50 to get to work by 9, but since the word “late” doesn't seem to exist in any African language, I'm not too concerned about arriving exactly at 9. My walk to work is now speckled with familiar faces of people I've walked past at least 3 or 4 times a day since arriving here, and we smile and greet each other. The woman sitting at one of the corners selling bread out of a giant basket, the mechanics discussing how to fix the broken car in front of them, the teenage girls at the hair salon learning how to braid hair professionally. The little kids waving at me excitedly, yelling out, “Yovo, yovo (white person)!”

A typical scene on the way to work:

When I arrive at the VAID office, Rekya, the secretary, greets me in French first, and then we greet each other in Fon, one of the local languages, so I can use the little vocabulary I've acquired since arriving here, and then we greet each other in English, so she can practice what she learned in school. After this fun little exchange, I pull out my computer, and spend the day doing research online for VAID. I have internet access at the office, but it's really slow, so I spend most of my time waiting for the pages to load.

Around lunch time, I walk down the street and either get some fruit or try one of the dishes prepared and sold by one of the women on the side of the street.

In the dishes on this tray are “patte”, a paste made from cassava, and a tomato-based sauce, usually including fish and leafy vegetables in it. The woman selling it carries the entire try on her head from one location to the next, stopping when she reaches a new group of customers. Not only is it incredibly convenient for the customer, who never has to go far to find one of these women, but it's all home-made, and is usually delicious.

I then return to my lethargic internet, and after a few hours, head back home. Not incredibly riveting. But if there's been a lot of rain during the day, the walk home can be very interesting, since sections of my street will be flooded until the water drains off, evaporates, or soaks into the ground. One afternoon, as I was wading past someone's house through six inches of water, trying to keep my skirt up around my knees while not losing my balance on the uneven dirt road full of unexpected potholes, the woman sitting on the porch laughed and told me, “This is Africa”. As if wading through water on my way home was something I frequently did in America, and I had forgotten where I was. I laughed with her, and agreed.

In the evenings I spend time at an orphanage, where I help the kids with their homework. This has been an unexpected challenge, since not only is it usually math, which I haven't done much of in years so I don't remember some of the concepts, but it's in French, which makes it even harder to explain the concepts I can't even remember in English. On top of this, since I haven't done math in French lately, or ever, a lot of the words are unfamiliar to me. As I sat there struggling to explain in French how to calculate the length of a section of carrots when it takes up 35% of Mr. Djaha's garden that has a circumference of 575 meters, I really hoped none of these kids would fail their exams because of me. Thankfully one of the staff members also helps them with their homework, so the fate of their grades isn't solely in my hands.

The wall by the entrance of the orphanage. Roughly translated, it says, "Welcome to the hope of the children of Benin Orphanage":

After leaving the orphanage I have dinner, and the rest of the evening is spent relaxing at home. It's not exactly an action-packed day, but then again, the stress-level that comes with it is pleasantly low.

Thoughts on NGOs in Bénin

Working with non-governmental organizations (NGOs) during the last two weeks has started to give me a first-hand taste of the frustrations within the field of development.

There are countless NGOs in Bénin: orphanages, micro-loans, health education. The list goes on. The people initiating these groups see needs not being addressed, but they don't always know how to find the solution; there is an abundance of compassion and awareness without adequate education. Many of the NGOs have staff members who are older than I am, who have not even completed high school (the secretary I work with is in her mid twenties but only has her 6th grade certificate). This causes them to struggle with correctly preparing documents, reports, and applications that donors expect to see before granting them funds, which then makes it difficult for them to find financing.

Accompanying this are the incorrect assumptions about how foreign/external funding works. For example, the director of VAID has given me the vague assignment of finding financial partners, but she doesn't understand that most donations reward specific projects and innovative concepts, more than an organization as a whole. Along with this, the vast majority of donors are English-speaking, so if I help VAID submit an application for funding, there won't by anyone to continue the communication process after I leave. And even if I can manage to find them funding for a project right now, what good will that do in the long-term if they're left waiting for the next English-speaking intern to come along? If this pattern continues, their success as an organization will constantly be dependent on factors outside of their control.

Another frustration is that sometimes their goals are unrealistic, and hinder them from setting goals that can actually be accomplished. For example, I help at an orphanage of 45 children where the staff is convinced that they need their own hospital, since they can barely afford to take children to the local one. They have not considered the cost of land, construction, materials, maintenance, medication, and staffing that would be necessary for the creation and upkeep of such a facility. NGOs here have repeatedly seen other groups receive hand outs, so a relationship of dependence on European/American countries is sustained and a simplistic assumption has been perpetuated of there being an ocean of money in the land of white people, and all that needs to be done is to find it. There is a lack of education about the complicated process behind all this, so while my current task at VAID is to find financial partners, my actual goal is to help them set up a realistic and sustainable way of receiving funding.

If you have any experience/ideas about finding local funding in Africa, I would love to here them.

Parties, Salt, and History

One of the things I love about my life in Benin is that I'm never sure about what's going to happen next, but my schedule is never tight, so it doesn't really matter.
For example, I've been wanting to volunteer at an orphanage here, and I talked to Jules, the exchange manager about it. He said he would talk to the man who ran the orphanage and then he would let me know. Friday evening Jules took me to the orphanage, for what I thought was just going to be introductions. After greeting everyone, Jules left, and I ended up helping 45 orphans wash their clothes by hand.
3 hours and a dinner of rice covered with thick, salty, spicy sauce later I went home, where I was informed that a group of us would be going to the end of the year party at the local high school. My first thought was, 'Aren't we a little too old for this?' But since it's common for students to repeat grades or take time off from school if their families are having financial problems, a lot of students are in their early 20s when they graduate. The party consisted mainly of a talent show, where a lot of the students sang or danced, but my favorite act was the skit performed by the English Club in which one of the actors cried out, “I am winning you!”
The next day I had another opportunity to be flexible when, without warning, I got dropped off at the house of two girls I had met the night before in order to help them practice their English. We had a great time talking in a mix of French and English while eating raw peanuts, drinking coke, and watching 24 (in English):

The next day I ended up at a celebration of Sita's (the Ivoirian woman who makes me delicious attieke and alloco) daughter's baptism, where we sat around and ate while the DJ played really loud dance music.
The DJ can always be identified as the cool guy wearing sunglasses:

Sita dancing:

That was followed by a tour of the Rue des Esclaves, a 4 kilometer route with monuments explaining the process the slaves went through during the weeks prior to leaving Africa.

Along the way we also stopped at a village where salt is produced. The women who make the salt collect the watery soil in these large baskets, drain the water, then boil it for three hours, and voila: salt! The process is a little more complicated than that, but I'm sure you get the idea.

The tour ended at the beach, where we all sat around and watched the sunset. All in all, a perfect weekend.

Sindédji

Yesterday was my first site visit for my job, which consisted of a 20 minute zemi (scooter taxi) ride out to the village of Tourinou to attend the weekly meeting of Sindédji, a group comprised of women who are trying to earn supplemental income through selling palm oil. They just started working with VAID to attain a loan in order to purchase a machine that would make the palm oil production easier. Right now they're doing all the work by hand, which is very slow and laborious, so they can only produce a little bit at a time, but if they had a machine, they could sell a lot more at the local markets, and could expand even to markets in Nigeria. They have the raw materials, the clients, and the motivation, now all they need is financial, material, and technical assistance.

This is the president, collecting the weekly payment ($2/person) from each member. She can't read or write, so she memorizes how much everyone gives her. In her role as president over the last 12 years, she has never forgotten exactly how much each person has paid!

Group Picture of Sindédji: The two men in the picture aren't members. One of them acts as the secretary, since none of the women know how to read or write, and they both act as regulators in case anything gets out of control at the meetings. Stephanie, the director of VAID is the woman in the front row with the blue head scarf.

And of course no village is complete without a group of children around to profit from the entertainment of getting their picture taken. It was easy to see that I was not the first person with a camera to visit this village, as the children lined up and sat down as soon as I pulled it out.

By the end they realized they could see a reflection of themselves in my camera lens, so they started using it as a mirror, which is why they're staring so intently.

V.A.I.D.

I've been in Benin for one week now, and at this point I'm in training to work with V.A.I.D., the local NGO I've been assigned to help. V.A.I.D stands for “Volontaires d’Actions Intégrées pour le Développement”, meaning they help implement development projects. Their goal is to improve the lives of the most marginalized in society and to contribute to sustainable development through assisting the local communities in creating, maintaining, and improving their own projects. They focus mainly on: community health, providing support for community projects in the nearby villages, defending the rights of women and children, and working with the youth through cultural activities.

My homework over the weekend was to read the ever captivating “Introduction to Strategic Planning” in French. Yesterday and today my assignment has been to read other similar documents, also in French, such as “Self-diagnostics for Civil Society Organizations of Benin” and “The Policies and Procedures of V.A.I.D”. While this hasn't been very glamorous and I'm getting very tired of reading training manuals, it's been a necessary step for familiarizing myself with the work that VAID does, and their approach to their projects. And it's been expanding my French vocabulary, which is never a bad thing.

Reckya, the secretary

Inside the office

The view out the office window onto the common area. Our one room office is part of a mini compound shared with about five similar buildings, all of which are houses.

Venturing Out For Lunch

When in a new country, the most mundane tasks can become an adventure- sleeping, getting dressed, finding a bathroom.
My most recent opportunity to learn more about Beninoise culture came in the form of lunch yesterday, when I was faced with choosing either leftover bread from breakfast or leaving the house in search of something new. Feeling adventuresome as I was, I settled on option 2. Since my internet connection had been miraculously swift around lunch time, I had declined Jules's invite to come with him and his friend to a restaurant for lunch earlier. So, by 2pm, I had developed a remarkable appetite, which was just as well, since the key to successfully trying new food in a foreign country is having a remarkable appetite. This leaves you feeling desperate and willing to try things you might otherwise politely decline. As someone who grew up around African cuisine, I know how easy it is to encounter food that is difficult to appreciate the first time you eat it, so I left the house feeling fully prepared and slightly nervous about what I might find.
After a couple blocks, I stumbled on a corner shack with a table, two benches, and a woman selling food covered by a sheet so that flies wouldn't get to it. Appreciating her sense of hygiene, and not knowing how far I might go before finding another “restaurant”, I approached her, greeted her, and asked how much the food cost. She began listing words I didn't understand, so I explained that I had just arrived in Benin on Tuesday, so I wasn't familiar with the food, at which point she excitedly showed me the selection.

Another crucial element of trying foreign food is commitment. You have to promise yourself you won't chicken out once you've seen it, no matter how appealing leftover bread might seem at that point. She opened a small container revealing a white, slimy, dough-like ball, and asked me if that was fine. I lied, and said yes, and after she plopped it onto a plate, she poured a red tomato-based sauce over it, and then asked me if I wanted vegetables or not. “Vegetables” is a very vague term, but since I hadn't eaten very many of them since arriving in Ouidah, I agreed to the vegetables. Something resembling cooked spinach was then plopped onto my plate, and then some roasted fish after I was given the choice between that and boiled eggs. I smiled and thanked her, took my plate, and sat down at the table.

Feeling nervous, committed, and still hungry, I approached the gelatinous ball of dough first. Slimy, bland, but if covered with enough sauce and vegetables, not too bad. After getting through that ordeal, and knowing the woman would be offended if I didn't finish my food, I gingerly took a bite of fish, and discovered that it was actually quite delicious. When I got up to pay her and thank her for lunch, she informed me that it would only cost 30 cents! I headed home completely full, mouth still tingling from the spice in the sauce, determined to acquire a taste for this food.

Waiting

Waiting: I do a lot of it. Everyday. All day.
Life in general is just slower here, so by waiting I'm learning to adapt. My schedule isn't slotted in half hour increments, and I'm not rushing off from one thing to the next. For now I spend most of my day not even knowing what time it is, although that will probably change once I get settled in with the NGO (non-governmental organization) I'm helping.
The internet connection is slow at the cybercafe, so when a page loads in less than a minute, I get really excited. Sometimes I wait at least 20 minutes for a page to load. So I wait, because there's no alternative. But it's teaching me patience, and giving me the chance to observe the world around me, which I think is one of the best ways to understand a culture. For example, while waiting for my page to load, I took a picture of the woman selling eggs across the street:

I wait at the restaurants too, because it can take a while to prepare the food, but it's always worth it. For example, yesterday I waited about 45 minutes for my foutou banaine (mashed up plantains with eggplant sauce over it), which I got to eat for the first time since leaving Cote d'Ivoire over ten years ago. I'm a little ashamed to say that I've been here four days now, but still haven't tried any local cuisine. But Ivoirian food is just so good; I can't resist!

While my room is not exactly posh in comparison to many standards, I have running water (the tap water in Benin doesn't have to be filtered and it tastes great) and electricity, which has only gone out once, so I'm really happy with my housing. Benin is one of the poorest countries in the world, which means that the house I'm living in is one of the nicest in Ouidah (pronounced Weedah). And no, my bathroom doesn't have a shower curtain or a toilet seat, and yes, my bed is made. It's so hot here that you don't even want a top sheet:

The last few days have been orientation/recover from jet lag days, so we've mostly been running errands.
Wednesday we went to Cotonou, the economic capital of Benin, to register at the U.S. embassy. I have never seen so many scooters before in my life! This picture is taken from inside the taxi we took from Ouidah, but as soon as we arrived in town, we took scooter taxis everywhere, so we quickly became part of the chaos. The taxi drivers can be differentiated from everyone else by their bright yellow shirts.

Thursday was spent relaxing, so we toured the Python Temple, which is the Voodoo center in Ouidah (Voodoo originated in Benin), and got to hold a couple of the temple snakes, which are completely tame. I am aware that this sounds like something out of an Indiana Jones film, so here's proof that I'm not making any of it up:

After that, we headed for the beach, which is about ten minutes away by scooter. The beaches are completely empty during the week, so Gaurav and I contemplated the idea of relocating our offices to this more scenic area of Benin. This idea has not been completely dismissed yet.

The lagoon on the way to the beach

"The Port of No Return" -A sobering reminder of slavery's impact on Benin

The unbelievably gorgeous beach where we spent the afternoon

The "Crew"- Me, the American, Jules, the exchange manager, who is from Cote d'Ivoire, and Gaurav, the other volunteer, who is from Canada