Where to begin?

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Where to begin? I have been in Benin just a week and a half, and already New York and everything I have known my whole life feel quite far away. I am settled in with a host family here in Lokossa, and I feel more comfortable every day.
Cotonou was interesting--a dirty, bustling little city full of colorful things. The streets are incredible. Although there are painted lanes, traffic flows like liquid, heedless of them. Vans, trucks and small cars travel on the left, while countless motos battle for position along the right. Families ride a single moped or small motorcycle—Papa driving, Mama behind with a baby strapped to her back with a colorful pagne or length of local fabric. A larger child may ride in the middle between Papa and Mama. Two men may share a moto, and I saw one balancing a full-sized mattress on his head, just cruising, all nonchalant.
Zemijdans (the Fon word for “get me there fast”) are everywhere, yellow-jerseyed drivers taking passengers anywhere from a few blocks to a few hours’ journey on a moto-taxi. A five minute ride may cost 50 cents or so. I expected our zemi training to be incredibly embarrassing—60 yovos (the Fon word for foreigner, or white guy) getting a special lesson in how to ride on the back of a moped—but it turned out to be really fun. We learned how to beckon the zemi (“KEKENO, WAAA”), how to negotiate the price, and how to safely ride and even ask the guy to slow down (“doucement”). “Doucement” means literally “sweetly”, and it is used for everything here.
After a few days of the necessary orientation-type activities in Cotonou (shots, health talks, intro to Benin, intro to TEFL, walking tour, medical interview, language evaluation, etc), the 20 TEFL (English teacher) trainees came by bus to Lokossa, while the other 39 trainees went to nearby large towns for our two months’ training.
Arriving just before the rain (a good omen that we have been lucky enough to enjoy almost every day J ), we sought out our host families outside the Marie, or City Hall. Mine had left my picture at home, and I had buried theirs in my luggage, but I picked them out easily enough—my host mom, 14 year-old sister, and 9 and 3 year-old brothers were all there to welcome me.
I there experienced my first official greeting ceremony, which I have since repeated, and I imagine I will repeat endless times in the next two years—Les “Grands”, or important people, give speeches whose content doesn’t so much matter. “Soyez les bienvenues…” “Be the welcome ones…”etc. The PC country director, the Mayor, the Gendarme Director, and the Police chief all took their turns mumbling. My little brother was running all over creating havoc. We happily sipped our fizzi pomplemousse sodas, and the rain beat down…

My Papa showed up on his motorcycle and then found a car to take my stuff home. I felt lucky to be able to make small talk in French, and I found my family very pleasant.
The house is quite large, with concrete floors and walls, a bit less decorated than I am used too—they have nice furniture but only a calendar hangs on the wall. I have a room with a large desk, a decent bed with a PC-issued mosquito net, and a stove for boiling my water. I have a large aluminum bucket for washing my clothes (more about that later), and a small broom made of some twigs for sweeping.
Only Papa sleeps in the house—one wife lives behind in another section of the building/coumpound with my brothers, and the other wife lives next door with my sister. (Figuring out all the relationships in French is an ongoing and difficult process…)
Generally I eat with my sister Michelle and the older boy Judo, and we follow a strict protocol—Mama leaves the food on the table in pots, with everything covered in small cloths or lacey coverings. I serve myself first, and then my brother and sister. She always clears after asking if I have finished.
The TV is relentless, and seems to be the major source of excitement for my brother and sister, who are on summer vacation. They religiously follow the two Mexican soap-operas which air three times a week here—“Crossed Destinies” and “Rubi”. I indulge too and tell myself that I just want to learn French…Every night after dinner we watch the death show, where pictures of recently deceased people fill the screen while an announcer tells about whomever has died.
Fate smiled down on me when I was placed (randomly) here in the home of a man who does the sound and sings for a local dance band. He also DJ’s parties, and I believe he is DJing the party Wednesday for Benin’s Independence Day. Twice a week his group will rehearse, and I am excited to check that out if I am not in class.
Right now, I am waiting for his motorcycle to roar up the driveway so we can walk to the local nightclub where he has promised to take me dancing. Tomorrow I have a free day (finally!) and I plan to go with some kids to play soccer at the sports field. Now I will have a breath of fresh air and we shall continue another night…

Monday, July 30, 2007
I have just eaten, and it is now “repos” or siesta time. It seems that most people here come home for lunch if possible and take a little time after eating to relax and digest. Not a half-bad idea if you ask me… Today I ate with my sister and two brothers as usual. We had Pate Noir—basically yams pounded and cooked until it becomes a gooey glutinous mass, served today with a gooey green snot-sauce made of cooked greens of some kind and I-don’t-want-to-know-what-else. Plus some nice chunks of fish . I was scared at first, after yesterday’s pate blanc. Yesterday’s pate (made of corn meal) was fine, but the sauce was dry cooked greens and little fishy fish, I did my best to choke down half a plate. Luckily Mama sensed my lack of enthusiasm and brought me some grilled corn-on-the-cob. Today was much better, and I had three helpings.
Yesterday I went in the morning to the terrain, a big soccer field with a large concrete structure of bleachers. We played a game of soccer, and I was made to feel big, goofy and inept by some 10 year-olds. After a mid-day repos, I brought my two brothers back to watch the match there. Admission, two small bags of peanuts and a bottle of home-brewed sweetened bissap iced tea (hibiscus) set me back 325 Francs or about 65 cents.
I couldn’t tell what kind of teams they are, perhaps “professional” or just good amateur teams. Everybody came out in their nice clothes made of good tissue (local word for fabric).
Speaking of which—the clothes are fan-freaking-tastic. Bright colors, different styles, almost all handmade. You buy tissue at the Tissue store or at the market which is held here every four days, and bring it to a couturier or tailor. There you can draw what you want, or show a picture, or have them copy some piece of clothing that you bring them. If you trust them, you can tell them just to make anything they want. I am taking my time before I start commissioning clothes, but I am very excited to pimp up my wardrobe.
Im getting used to stuff faster than I expected, like the two-inch roaches which take over my shower (which doubles as a urinal) every day at nightfall. (I quickly learned to take showers in the morning, not at night).
The nightclub Saturday was fun, and it gave me some perspective on this city. Kass Club animates only on Saturday nights, and has a disco ball and a DJ booth. I was a bit intimidated at first, but as the evening progressed, it become more and more clear that this is a small, out-of-the-way place. The mix of music was fun, but some of it was decidedly unsophisticated—club anthems mixing with 50 cent, Cuban Salsa, Beninese hits of the moment and some scrapings from the barrel of forgotten Eurotrash favorites.
Since homosexuality isn’t really acknowleged here, men dance with men freely and happily. One dapper young man took my hand during a Salsa tune, and we danced. I must admit, I was a bit surprised and uncomfortable, but I like the openness—men here often walk hand in hand, or absent-mindedly touch each other in a comfortable way.
Bon—il faut rentrer a l’ecole…It’s time to go back to class…

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Today is Benin’s Independence Day, one of the biggest fetes of the year. Here in Lokossa there was a parade, and a lot of small groups came to represent their villages from the region. They brought drums and after the parade they set up small circles of drummers with dancers. I danced once when I was dragged into the circle, but I’m shy to dance because only a few people dance at a time and everybody else watches them. When I learn some more of the local moves I will dance more…
One dancer had a fake penis strapped on which she would pull out from under her dress. Then in quite dramatic fashion she would mount a female friend and make incredible faces of ecstasy. I wish I had my camera!
Speaking of which, I didn’t want to bust it out right away, and I will be here two months, but I promise pictures will be coming!
I have been in good health, and have even started running or doing yoga most mornings. The two-inch cockroaches who share my urinal/shower bother me less each day. French classes are going well every day, and slowly I’m learning the Beninese accent and their words. My sister is my best teacher. We talk, and when she gets started, she will go on and onand on, and I just try to understand as much as possible, grunting every now and then.
Last night I arranged for three friends who are current volunteers to come have dinner at my house. My mama prepared fish in a tomato sauce and rice, and a very nice salad with lettuce, avocado, carrots, potatoes and tomatoes. I insisted that she sit and eat with us; it was our first time eating together, so I think we both enjoyed it.
Today we have the day off for the holiday, and I will meet some friends at the buvette for a beer. To anyone who has written me, sorry, but I have not yet been to a cyber café since I arrived in Lokossa. I will try to read and answer emails, but I hear the connections can be quite slow, and it will be difficult to read everything… I hope everyone is well and congratulations if you actually read this entire post. A tout a l’heure…