How Many Men does it take to cut a Pineapple?

So I made it traveling through Cotonou for the first time again alive (though not entirely uneventful) and worked stage (training) in Porto Novo for 2 weeks. Peace Corps puts volunteer trainers up in a pretty swanky house (ie-electricity and running water) and gives us lovely per diem so it was a not-too –shabby stint

Last Sunday I was out looking for pineapple for breakfast with Heidi (because constant fried food and palm oil and street-food that I eat since I can’t cook in Porto Novo was wreaking havoc on my digestive system) but we were unable to find any. We saw two girls selling bread on the side of the road and asked them where we could find some. When they told us that the women only came out to sell that at night we just replied jokingly that we wanted some right now and the girl got up and decided to walk us to the woman’s house who sells them. So we walked off the main road into an area of mud-brick houses and came across 2 men milling about who looked quite surprised to see two yovos in their midst.

The girl told them of our pineapple needs and they brought some out and proceeded to hand them to me after discuter-ing the price. Seeing as how we don’t have any knives in our house we asked them to cut them for us (normally when you buy a pineapple they cut it up and put it in a little black plastic sachet manufactured en masse in Nigeria to go for you without even asking) and this was the response that we got.

The man looked at us and replied “There aren’t any women here right now.” That was followed by a brief pause in which I believe Heidi and I were contemplating how to proceed while focusing on not dropping our jaws in utter disbelief. The men handed us the pineapple again, indicating that WE were women and should just take it. We explained to them that we didn’t have any knives at our house and that really threw them for a loop and they started talking in local language about what to do. Heidi jokingly but also seriously asked “Quoi, tu n’est pas capable?” (What, you aren’t capable?) to which they repeated the fairly obvious observation that they were in fact men, not women. Finally the seemingly more competent of the 2 walked away, in what I assumed, would be an effort to go find a knife. Then we stood around in fairly typical awkward Beninese silence waiting for him to return and what had he found? Not a knife….nope, he went and found a woman to cut up our pineapples for us.

The woman had the less competent of the 2 hold a plate with a black sachet wrapped around it so that she could cut the pineapple onto it and pick up the sachet to hand us after she had finished. But it was really amusing to watch her scold the man for putting the sachet on it the wrong way and she finally just took it from him to do it herself completely. Oh, Benin.

I actually had a really interesting conversation with one of the facilitators (Host country national contract workers hired to train trainees during stage) who was my first language teacher last summer. I was running a session for the trainees about how to make soy cheese in village and we were waiting for the water to boil when I recounted to him the pineapple story and he laughed. He admitted that he, himself could not cut pineapples because he always cut his hand and his wife had to do it for him (she is a midwife). But then we got into a more serious discussion about the role of women here and it was really powerful to hear him concede that the women of this country walk around with “Benin’s economy held in a basket on their heads.”

Working stage was a really good experience for me, I think. Seeing all of the new arrivals made me realize how far I have come here in my French, my coping with daily trials, interrelations with other people both Beninese and American, and in just knowing Benin in general. I had started to take for granted how much I already knew here and how comfortable I was in my daily life and I think it was good to be reminded of when I first arrived here and hadn’t a clue what was going on. I am kind of hoping this group will breathe new life into PC Benin because we could use it, I think. They officially swear in as volunteers on September 25th.

It was really nice also seeing my host family while I was down in Porto Novo. They are hosting another stagiere this year and had a little shrine to America up in their house when I came in. Maman and I spent the afternoon cooking together and it was really nice just talking with her and hanging out with the kids.

So far only one of the new group has decided to ET (early terminate) and leave Benin, which is pretty impressive compared to my group at the same time. Unfortunately, another health volunteer that came in with me has decided to leave country and so it’s sad to see her go, and hard to lose another one of our own.

It is however, incredible to realize that I have been here now for almost 14 months and pretty soon am officially more than halfway done, no matter how I slice it with departure dates. Talking to the new trainees made me see that too. They are talking about how 2 years is so long and it is…I remember freaking out about that prospect when I got here last year. And it is crazy to think that after I have been home for almost a year they will still be in Benin. It is so exciting to think of how far we’ve come—that I only have one more chaleur and harmattan left in Benin (thank god), one more Christmas and Voodoo Day, that within 8-9 months I will be attending my COS conference (Close of Service Conference) together with the rest of my training group—the first time we will all be together since having sworn in as volunteers nearly a year ago.

Only 12 more months or so until I can meet my new cousin, Ella--I am so excited. Congratulations Aunt Annie and Uncle Tom!!! I’m glad we took the picture with all the girl cousins and A. Annie!

Until next time!

Vive L'Independence! Vive Le Benin!

August 1^st 2009 means it is officially my second Independence Day in Benin. It is strange to realize that I am hitting “round 2” of my life here. Strange to think that I already blogged about Independence Day in Benin one time before: granted I was knocked out with a 102 degree fever last Independence Day so it wasn’t overly memorable, but it did happen. I’m coming up on my second and last Holiday season in Benin, Voodoo Day, long dry season…etc. It is exciting and still a little sad at the same time.

Still slightly bitter about my experience last year, I decided to fete it up this time around for Le Premier Aout to make up for it. Benin gained its Independence in 1960, making this its 49^th anniversary. Every year the government puts on one big national celebration or fete and the location changes on a yearly basis. This year they chose to have it in Lokossa, the regional capitol conveniently located approximately 30 minutes away from Dogbo via bush taxi.

Several friends of mine were heading down here yesterday for the celebration and I decided to meet up with them so I taxied over this morning. Being a Beninese occasion, the fete involved much standing around waiting for things to happen. But when they did, it was interesting to see. The government had been putting in a lot of work to get ready for the past year so it was really cool to see the final culmination of their efforts, especially since I pass through Lokossa each time I go to Cotonou. They really “beautified” a park in the city, constructing cement benches, walkways with lights, and even a fountain of tiles in the Beninese flag colors. There is this thing in the center of the “park” in Lokossa that I am pretty sure is supposed to be the base for an as of yet unfinished monument. Pretty drab since my being here, the government had it retiled in red, green, and yellow for the occasion.

Today tons of flags were flying all over Lokossa and there was an extreme military presence (unfortunately the uniform doesn’t deter some tenacious gents and I had to walk in front of a line of soldiers and listen to “tu es jolie, non?” to which I now flatly reply, “oui, je sais.” –“you are pretty, eh?/ yes, I know”). It was pretty amazing to me to see such a sense of national pride, actually. Everyone that I came across in Dogbo and Lokossa were really excited that the fete was here. My maman in Porto Novo called me to wish me a bonne fete (She is excited because next year for the country’s 50^th anniversary the national fete will be in Porto Novo meme) and was telling me that this was the 49^th anniversary. She asked me what year we had just celebrated in the states and I had to pause and admit that I didn’t even know off the top of my head. I’d be willing to wager that most Americans don’t. So I guess I was really pleasantly surprised. It was fun to feel the charged excitement of all the Beninese in the air.

Pictures: The car with President Boni Yayi (he's the one all the way to the right, waving; battalion of women

There was a parade that included all branches of the Beninese military (very impressive to see them all in their uniforms and I was surprised to see several large battalions of women as well). The highlight of the parade was definitely when a truck came by containing a standing President Dr. Boni Yayi waving to the clapping crowds (he looked a lot younger that I thought he would from pictures—granted—mostly pictures printed on Tissu here that people wear for political events). I guess coming from an experience where I have seen the measures used to protect our President it was surprising and interesting to see the Beninese President just sashay out in public like that. I mean, I suppose he was technically surrounded by the military, but still. The women across from me were holding wooden guns…doesn’t exactly inspire fear.

After he passed, our little yovo contingent turned back toward the park where there were 2 helicopters making a show of turning on and off. It seemed like most Beninese people were pretty enthralled with the display. Personally I was just happy to see that they existed because I had thought that I saw them a few days back and thought maybe I was losing it It’s not like you see planes and helicopters ever here unlike at home where my house is under a flight path. That was actually something to get used to again. When I got back to Benin I kept thinking a plane was flying overhead when I had to remind myself that it was thunder because no planes ever fly overhead here. This past week when I heard them, I was really thrown.

Picture: The helicopters

There was a lot of music and dancing, and a voodoo day like display of national themed zangbetto dancing. Once again a lifting of the zangbetto revealed nothing underneath and we are still speculating how they pull it off each time to do that. It is maddening! Afterwards we went out for delicious igame pilee with sauce d’arachide and “fromage”—that is pounded igame with peanut sauce and wagasi (igame is kind of like a potato—this bland root that is the staple of Northern cuisine in Benin. Igame pile is actually a northern thing, and thus northern volunteers tend to whine about how much it costs to eat it down south, along with the wagasi since cows are much more plentiful with the Fulani people in Northern Benin. Wagasi costs about 100CFA down by me for one piece and up north can cost about 25CFA). All in all, I’d say I had a pretty swanky Independence Day the second time around and am very happy about it. Tomorrow Michele and Angelina are coming over to spend the night so we can start planning out our Christmas trip to Mali—trekking in Dogon Country and mayyyyyyybe visiting Timbuktu if Al Qaeda stops kidnapping westerners in the general vicinity by that time.

Oh, I almost forgot. Today marks the first time since July 5^th that I rode on a moto. I wouldn’t really call it a great first ride since the streets in lokossa were crazy during the fete but I live to tell the tale for today. I decided to ride the high (huh, pun not intended) and took a zem back from my marche as well just to see how it felt zemming around Dogbo again. I was sure to wear my helmet. It was interesting to see the meat in my marche for the fete. Normally I can find meat only on marche days (except for like Christmas and stuff, apparently like Independence Day) at one place—the meat section where whole cows are hung off large butcher hooks and they honk off pieces for you when you order. Today though there was chicken already killed and plucked sitting out partout with flies in the marche. I probably should have bought some but I wasn’t in the mood to cook it.

Wound status. Apparently wicked moto burns and post accidental cuts all over my feet are nothing. It is apparently a blister and a mosquito bite that are currently threatening to take me out. Frankly, I’m getting tired of having to walk like a putz. I had this bite on my lower leg that I scratched and it is now quite infected. I woke up this morning and it was throbbing, oozing pus, and flies kept landing on it at the fete—that can’t be good. Then I had these monster blisters…and when I say monster I mean HUGE…like take a ping pong ball, cut it in half, and stick each on the back of my ankles (it was from going out for a walk in my sneakers for the first time since being back here). Unfortunately, one of them popped and was looking red and oozing quite a bit. And then there is my toenail, a continued malodorous and oozing source of pain that also attracts flies like meat in my marche. Fortunately, my own wound care skills have really improved since coming to Benin and with a little conseil from my mom, I think it’s going to be juuuust fine. On va voir. A bientot!

By the Way...

I am putting up a picture of the girls with their diplomas. I meant to write this in the other post and then just got distracted with my marriage proposal story. Thank you to everyone for being so supportive of me--from prayers, to thoughts and well-wishes-- after my accident...from family to friends, colleagues, and the cherries...I really appreciate it.

From Mildew to "I do"

So I am officially out of the medical unit., which is good considering that it was driving me crazy. I am used to being alone most of the time here and I spent over 2 weeks constantly surrounded by a flurry of volunteers passing through Cotonou on their way to vacations or ending their service. I love seeing other volunteers but that was just too much. I couldn’t really walk for the majority of my stay there because my feet were so cut up and I wasn’t ready to get back on a zem so my movement for those two weeks was confined to hobbling around (because I swear, being a yovo in Benin doesn't draw enough attention to me...i need to add bandages and a limp) in about a 2 block radius away from headquarters. The only thing to do during the day was read, watch movies, or sit on the computer…all a novelty when you visit Cotonou maybe once a month but not after day 4 nevermind 14.

After a few days the intensity of what happened seemed to diminish. I stopped replaying it every few minutes in my head. But then every time that I thought I was doing just fine something would remind me about the accident. The following Sunday, for example, I put on the dress I wore that day for the first time since the accident and realized the whole skirt section of it was entirely shredded from dragging along the road. I had a cut on my thumb also that wasn’t healing and was surprisingly irritating considering its small size. A few days after that (about a week and a half after my accident) I finally was able to pull out a small shard of glass that had been jammed in there. I’m still shaken up enough that I haven’t zemmed yet still. It is inevitable if I am going to stay here so I should probably just bite the bullet and try it out in Dogbo before I’ll have to in Cotonou or Porto Novo. But anyways...

I’m fairly certain that the nail on my left big toe is destined to fall off. I think it was just too damaged after the impact. It keeps oozing blood and well….ooze… from underneath and is an opaque white color. Every time there is pressure on it, it hurts and yet it feels oddly detached. So I am sure it is only a matter of time before my feet look like my grandpa’s, which for those of you who haven't seen them...well...just be grateful. :)

At any rate, coming back to Dogbo for some reason seems to have snapped me out of the funk I was in when I got back to Benin. All of a sudden I was really happy to be in my house in my town. It was great to see everyone, especially my neighbor, Rosine. I was surprised at how many people in my neighborhood had heard that I was in an accident. They were all pretty glad to hear that I was okay and that I was back. Most of my marche mamans just thought that I had been traveling though and when I told them what happened they all dropped their jaws and made this little sound of exclamation and tongue clucking that only exists in Benin…well, maybe in West Africa.

Rainy season is in full swing here (a fact that I was lamenting since I spent most of rainy season in the states and the medical unit and it happens to be the coolest time of year in Southern Benin...it seems like a missed opportunity) and I am starting to realize that the grass really IS always greener on the other side. Of course trite punning aside, it’s actually amazingly green here right now. Southern Benin never gets too brown because it is a tropical climate and perpetually humid as opposed to up north, which is far more arid. But by the end of dry season all greenery flanking roadsides was covered in a thick layer of reddish brown dust and plants were much smaller. As soon as the first rains fell here everything started growing back in full force. But anyways, when I was in the height of dry season here I really was hating the heat and the constant layers of dust that covered everything in my house. All I wanted was one cool rainy day. I’m not sick of the rain. I think it could rain almost every day and I would never get tired of it. But with constant extreme humidity and persistent rainfall come several annoying issues.

1. Mud…oh, the mud is partout.

2. My laundry takes about 3 days to dry and at that point smells kind of funky.

3. Mildew. The mildew is aussi partout. My whole bedroom reeks of mildew. I stripped my bed and washed my sheets only to realize that it is actually my mattress that still smells. My wall hanging in my room gets wet when it rains since there is a leak in my roof above that wall, so it too is starting to smell fairly awful. But the worst is my clothes. All the clothes in my drawers are starting to smell and it isn’t as if washing clothes here is a piece of cake. And they smell all mildewy by the time they dry now anyway.

But apart from the mildew's acerbic attack on my nose every day, I’ve been having a pretty good time since being back in Dogbo. I took a lot of pictures of people in Dogbo before I left for vacation. While I was home, I had them printed and brought them back to give to people, a job hadn't finished before my little sejour in Cotonou. So i went out the other day to give the girls that I worked with at the cyber their pictures. They started shrieking with excitement when they saw them and were SO happy to have copies (there was a group shot for each of them and then each of them struck a pose as well in an individual shot). They invited me to a ceremony Saturday to celebrate their finishing up their "apprenticeship" with computers at the cyber, which had me really excited--not the ceremony...honestly after a year here I can officially say that beninese ceremonies tend to be boring and extremely awkward, especially as the lone yovo...but to be invited to participate with them and included in their celebration made me really happy.

I arrived Saturday morning at 9am like the invitation said, though only God knows why. I mean, really...i've lived here long enough that I should have known that the ceremony wouldn't start until well after 11AM. I got there and the girls were all in meme tissu outfits, looking very shnazzy. They were going to a buvette to get chairs to set up and I went with them to help, lifting some chairs against their protests that "madame" shouldn't be doing that. It's like doing all my own handy work around my house...i think it sends a positive message. But anyways, i was sitting in the cyber lamenting the fact that after over a year of living here i was foolish enough to leave my house for a Beninese function without a book when my bored fiddling with my phone was interrupted by one of the men who works at the cyber. I know him and said hi and then I noticed that he was standing with another man, considerably older than him who I did not know. The older man didn't speak at all except to say bonjour. I guess I don't always...or ever...exude any sort of friendliness that would encourage conversation when a man comes up to me in this country though. The guy that I did know held out an envelope and said that the second man had wanted to talk to me when I had some time. I looked at the envelope and he was pointing at the man's name which was written on it. I was a little confused and thought maybe he was just showing me that so I'd know his name. I thought maybe he didn't speak French and wanted this guy to translate for us...and I figured that it had something to do with money because in Benin...it usually does. I looked around the room that still had no guests in it and told him I had time then to talk if he wanted and the second man looked a little flustered. The first man said no, I should take the letter, and I looked at the older guy and told him if he wanted i could take it, read it later, and get back to him, and he nodded. The girls were sitting next to me and he didn't seem to want to talk in front of them. Again, I thought, prooooooooobably money. So i took the envelope and went back to playing a game on my phone.

Curiosity ever being a weakness of mine that was at the time encouraged by being bored waiting for the ceremony, I opened up the envelope a few minutes later just to see what it was about. My eyes stopped over the "objet" section which is the french equivalent of "Re:" What was his object you ask?

Proposition de Marriage.

Andddd the envelope got re-shut. As most of my friends and mom know...any sort of unwanted male attention tends to send me into hyperactive irrational panic mode. I felt my heartbeat skip a beat and this sick feeling settled into my stomach. When I first came to Benin, I did not do very well with the sexual harassement. Every time a man made a lewd comment, or I got "ma cheried" I would kind of squirm up inside and feel really uncomfortable and vulnerable. Over time I got over it. I learned how to come up with quick quips to shut men up and put them in their place, and stand up for myself here. I also learned when it wasn't worth it to even bother and to instead just ignore them. For the most part now, if a man starts hitting on me I walk away and maybe tell them to shut up and respect themselves. I don't however feel physically ill when it happens.

This situation however, brought that feeling back because while I've gotten marriage proposals before from men and their mothers I've never gotten such an official one. I mean, this man wrote out his qualifications to be my husband and was telling me how much he loved me....a girl whose name he doesn't even know. For me, coming from my culture in the States, it was beyond absurd. I felt a lot better when I left the cyber and felt in control again. I reminded myself that it doesn't mean anything because it takes two to tango, and if i have my way I will never see him again, nor will I respond to his request--I will merely tuck it into my journal for safekeeping in case I end up a spinster so that i can remind myself that at one time someone did want to marry me...even if he was at least twice my age and didn't know me at all.

Anyways, other than that, the ceremony was very nice and I was still happy to celebrate with the girls! A la prochaine!

Blink...

...and everything can change. In an instant; The blink of an eye; the second it takes to make a decision--the decision to sleep outside for a night, to go to a beach with your host family, to go out in Cotonou alone, to get on a zem, whether or not to put on your helmet; to take your eyes off a road. That's all it takes. If one single thing has really hit me in the past few months it has been the realization of how very true this fact is.

I feel as though when that reality hits you, when you begin to understand how serendipitous life really is--a mingling of singular instances, choices, and decisions--nothing becomes easier than playing the game of "what if"? It's just so tempting. How could I rewrite the past few months with only a few crucial moments of change. It's like those books I read as a kid with the "pick you own ending" theme. EVery few pages you arrived at a choice and whatever choice you made would change the ending of the story. I was never really good at reading those books because when I didn't like if they were turning out badly I would get annoyed, go back, and pick again. I just wouldn't accept the ending. I am a little bit anal retentive like that. I need to be in control. And how I wish I could have that same kind of power in life...but life just doesn't work like that, I've learned. So maybe I should stop playing what if for this past weekend.

Kristin, my postmate, had her mother with her in Benin this past week and she told me her Mom had brought a 4th of July "surprise" so I should maybe hang around Dogbo to celebrate. What's not to celebrate. It was my one year anniversary in Benin! I made it...I was jumping up and down congratulating myself and my friends on what we had accomplished. I wanted to be with my friends so I decided to come down to Cotonou instead for a soiree at the US Ambassador's house--a potluck where we were all bringing something (For the record...i blew everyone away with my supreme culinary prowess in managing to whip up pigs in blankets with a honey mustard dipping sauce--used vienna sausage from a can and made the dough from scratch. They didn't even last on the table 5 minutes...it was awesome). So Saturday was fun. Sunday I could have just packed up and gone home. But i didn't. I hung out with my friends for the morning and went to the new supermarche that just opened with them to check out all of the bonnes choses that we can never in a million years afford. Then I decided to extend my afternoon in Cotonou and stay for lunch. Some people decided to spend the night in Cotonou since it was 4 and I almost made the call to get permission to stay a third night away from post as well, when i decided to forget it and just get back to Dogbo. ANd that's what did it...but no point in thinking about it I guess. So i got my bags, and my full gas tank, and I went out to catch a zem. I hadn't been away from the bureau for more than 2 minutes when I felt it. This huge slam out of nowhere.

I have come so close to getting creamed when I have been on motos so many times here that I have lost count. I have seen a lot of accidents, several bodies on the side of the road as well, during my time here. But every time it almost happend I thought that it could never ACTUALLY happen to me. I mean really...what are the odds, right? But it did...and as opposed to THINKING that this could never happen, here is what I know now.

I know that it can happen. I know that when a car hits you at full speed straight on from behind and makes contact with your body, it hurts. I fell back onto the hood of the car and felt my head slam down as it rolled over to my right side and i realized that I was riding the hood of the car. Then I knew that i was in the air...perfectly aware of it happening as fast as it was. I could feel my skirt flutter up and was vaguely mortified. But that went away because then i hit face first, palms down, legs splayed on the ground and could feel my skin tearing at my feet and my palms and my arms and my legs as i slid forward across the road. It burned. I waited for it to be over. When i finally slowed to a stop I had to will myself to look over my left shoulder; to see if the car had stopped. Because if it didn't, i knew that was it...i had landed several feet in front of it, right in its trajectory. But it did stop. When the car hit, in that very first instant, i remember this split second of confusion as to what it was, and then anger at how anyone could be so stupid as to ram into me directly from behind when we were going straight, not cutting people off, and being completely cautious. But that passed. When I realized I was on the hood of the car and we were still moving, all i wanted was to stay on the hood of the car because I was alive, and i was safer up there. If i fell to the ground, I thought, all bets were off. As i hit the ground and was sliding, every second i just kept thinking this hurts so much, but I am alive in this second, for now. I am alive, I am alive, I am alive, please let the car stop. I was actually disconcerted to see how much clarity someone can have in such a distressing situation. It made me think of Kate.

I pulled my helmet off and pulled my skirt down over my legs and then i got up but my whole body was shaking. I saw the zem driver splayed out face down and felt relieved when i saw him lift his head. And then I was surrounded by people taking my things, taking me, to the divide in the road, telling me to sit, yelling about as they do here. I lost sight of the zem and couldn't recognize him. I took my bag to find my phone, shocked, but singularly obsessed with doing the one thing I remember Peace Corps telling us to in this situation. Call the medical duty officer. My hands were shaking and it was hard to find the phone and press the buttons. And then my thumb was sticky on the number pad with blood as I scrolled through to find his number. I remember calling people ridiculously. I couldn't breathe well...I shouldn't have called. I wasn't in a mind to talk. I needed to make sure someone would feed scout. I knew I wouldn't go back to dogbo tonight and was annoyed. THen I remembered the gas tank because someone put it down next to me. So it didn't explode. That's lucky. I had lost sight of that while the accident happened. Then my bookbag. How did that even come off of my back? And Shit...my computer is inside. Then my bag that Carie gave me for my birthday. The strap was ripped. How can someone ever remember French in a situation like this. I look down at my feet and they are covered with blood and dirt, and stinging. Where are my shoes? What/Quoi? Mes chaussures. Ou sont mes chaussures? They ran back to look for them...they were several feet behind the car. Flip flops don't stay on well and they were hell to slide back on over the cuts. I looked at the car. THere was a dent on the hood where I landed and no one was inside. Who was the driver? I didn't want to be surrounded by people so I took the ambulance back to Peace Corps headquarters and was met by my AO and Security officer and we waited for the doctor to come. Shock started to wear off a little and pain started to settle in more.

And that is where I am now. In Cotonou in the med unit. You can not imagine the bruise on my butt where the car hit me. It is perfectly violet...ther is no variation in color. Large and painful, and one of my right ribs hurts, but it isn't broken. The pain in my neck is diminishing and the sting of the cuts isn't as bad as it was the first day or two even though it still hurts. I don't cry every 5 minutes or so like i did for the first 2 days. But the reality of what happened is still there. I haven't left my American bubble of headquarters surrounded by volunteers who make me smile and feel a little better, except for getting xrays and ultrasound appts. When i have left it has been in a PC SUV, a little tank that makes me feel safe. But even pulling out of the bureau and driving in the streets of Cotonou, all i think is "Ugh."

I've gotten into car accidents before...ironically the day i got accepted into Peace Corps I remember a car ramming into my passenger side door at Holy Cross. I have fallen off a horse before as i was getting on, but i got back on that horse. And i got back into a car again. So what is the difference here is what I have been asking myself. Can I get on a zem again? A very large part of me thinks "no." But not "can't"...just "don't want to." And it is all about control. When i got back on that horse I had other people there to take the reigns and ensure he stayed put. When i get in a car at home I am driving and in control or I trust the driver I am getting into a car with because I know them. In Benin, getting on a zem is tantamount to surrendering any and all control I have over my life. THe only choice I have is whether or not to put on my helmet, and if I were to be entirely honest, I would have to admit that there have been times at post, when I have chosen to not be bothered with even that. But when I get on zem, that is ALL the control I have, because he is driving, and I can't control the people around me. Nor can I control the roads--whether it is mud in the rainy season, or sand patches in the dry season, or just gravel strewn across a paved road in Cotonou that a moto can catch an edge on and spill over. I can only pick the zem, and THAT will lead me to my ending...good or bad, who knows? All i know now is that I can no longer be cavalier about zemming here in Benin. Subconsciously I always knew on some level that every time i got on a zem or into a taxi that it would possibly be my last ride. It sounds melodramatic but it is true...but like i said...it was so deep in the back of my mind...a kind of "what are the odds?" thought. I just don't know if that is something that I want to keep doing to myself every day here. I had already done the 'moto accident thing.' In february, before life in Benin seemingly went to seed, maybe ominously so, my moto spun out of control in mud with my homologue and i burned my leg and the moto came down on top of me. It freaked me out enough so that every time i got on a moto again i felt nervous especially on nonpaved roads. Now I don't know if i can imagine getting back on and i can't be a PCV in Benin without zemming. that is just a simple fact. I got in a car again, I got on the horse again, but I just have to wait and see how this will play out.

Like lack of control, I don't do regret well either. I think that everything that happens in life brings you to the next starting point and that there is no point regretting that. If I choose to finish my time here in Benin, I do not want to have regrets about it. So I am taking my life one day at a time and seeing where that takes me. I have lots of reasons to stay. I made lists; stay lists and go lists. I have a lot more sitting on the "Why to stay in Benin" side. The day before this happened I was talking to Duffy about plans maybe to meet up in Senegal. Life just gets so derailed sometimes. The fact that my stay list is longer might not matter at all if I can't feel comfortable getting back on a zem again. Because if there is something i know now...it's that I CAN get creamed again. There is nothing to stop it from happening again, and who is to say it wouldn't be worse next time if it did happen?

I don't like quitting...i don't think I've ever gone back on a big committment. ANd there is a part of me that thought for a long time that calling it now would be cowardly--I don't want to leave here on a sour note, that would just confirm peoples' worst predispositions towards life in Africa, because at the end of the day I still like Benin. EVeryone from work has called to see how I am, and both the man who hit me and the zem have stopped by here several times and called to see me and how I am doing. EVeryone around headquarters is asking how I am, and Basil in an instant without question, came to take scout and while he has absolutely no money and always "Beeps" Kristin or me (call, let ring once, and hang up so that you don't use credit and we call him back) actually called and texted me to see if i was okay. But I guess there is merit to knowing when you've had enough, and setting a level of risk that you are willing to accept. I just haven't figured out what that is yet for me. So day at a time for now...and I guess I will see where I end up.

Back to Africa...Troisième Fois

Despite the difficulty in saying goodbye to people (especially knowing I'll miss my new cousin and Jen being the most gorgeous bride ever) leaving home was surprisingly easier the second time around. Because of that, I have to admit I am surprised at what a hard time I am having now being back in Benin and adjusting to life here again.

Things that I miss from home:
1. The ability to just go out at night, whether with my friends or just for a walk around the block with my dog and have streetlights and not feel unsafe. The fact that there IS a nightlife in the States
2. The ability to just run out to a store to buy a quick but delicious cup of coffee for a pick me up.
3. Hot showers and feeling remarkably clean ALL of the time
4. temperate climate
5. Not being a minority or hearing the yovo song, not being sexually harassed and touched, and not being asked for things every five minutes
6. The feeling of cool crisp sheets and my really comfortable bed with so many pillows that i can just recline into
7. Lighting that is not flourescent
8. Not breathing in massive amounts of smog constantly and the remarkable ease of transportation and close proximity of stores and things.

Those are just the highlights of an extremely long list in my journal here and does not include the obvious like my family and friends. I think I just have to give myself some time to get used to Benin again and start repressing the things I love from home like I must have done last year but in the meantime it is very hard being back for me. Really, it fluctuates...one instant I am fine and the next I'll have this sick feeling in my stomach willing every part of me to put in the call to COtonou that says I've decided to call it in and ET.

I went straight from COtonou to Porto Novo to work at Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World, ou bien, LEs filles guident notre monde) for the week. It was a good experience but was hard for me because camp started on sunday and i got there on tuesday and was on guard duty all day so I never really got to know a lot of the girls there (it is volunteers who picked girls who show promise and potential in 6ième or 5ième--young teens). The week is geared to share information with the girls on women's empowerment and rights, health information, studying tips, career panel with beninese women, etc. IT is also just a time for the girls to hang out with other girls their age and be kids and do fun activities like necklace making, art stuff, etc. Seeing the girls progress over the week and make friends with each other was really nice, even though I know thye'll never be able to maintain the friendship...no real affordable communication for them so it isn't possible. I don't think they've ever had the opportunity to just cut loose and have fun playing with sports balls, and each other, etc....just being girls. Certainly, their brothers do...but they'll naturally be occupied with housework at home. In fact it took some effort to get them to stop trying to do the dishes after meals and let volunteers do them (the man who was working on the grounds of where we were staying was shocked to see white people doing dishes 'Why don't you just hvae the girls do it?' he asked us and we had to tell him that we were perfectly capable and that the girls could go play 'And yesterday,' he continued 'I saw a man doing dishes,' referring to another volunteer, Christopher. Well now, astute observation, Holmes...in OUR country...men tend to make themselves more useful with stuff like that.

I saw my host family while in POrto Novo and that was fun...Especially giving them souvenirs from the states! They are getting ready to host a new stagiere (trainee) for PEace Corps who will be coming at the end of July, and it made me realize how much work they put into getting the house ready for me. They popped a bottle of really sweet and not so great tasting champagne and made a toast to my return which was a very sweet gesture.

I thought I would be really happy to get back to Dogbo and just get settled but it has been an up and down affair actually. I was in a bad mood on the trip back because I had 2 difficult moments along the way.
1. During campl glow we had explained to the girls why it is important to not throw garbage on the ground like they are accustomed to doing and so for the week they threw stuff in garbage cans we provided. If a girl was found picking up trash she earned points for her team. Saturday afternoon after all the other groups left and it was just Kristin and I with our girls we looked out and saw the ground was COVERED in garbage. As soon as the camp ended it was like everything they learned didn't matter anymore because you took away their incentive. That sounds so small but I was SO SO very frustrated and discouraged and just plain angry as i went around picking up their trash. 'What's the point; why do we bother, who cares, what difference are we making, why am i here?' was the littany of questions running through my head. Kristin reminded me that we can't expect to change the world but if even one girl doesn't throw her trash like that anymore than we have succeeded. I used to think like that too but now I guess I have to work to get that perspective back.

2. WHen stopped at a light in Cotonou a man selling phone credit took my hand in his as it rested on the window. I pushed him off and took my hand inside the car and he reached in and touched me again so I yelled at him and Kristin hit him. he did it again and then I had to hit him and he still wouldn't leave me alone so finally the light turned green and we left. I was at least glad our camp glow girls from dogbo were with us so that they could see they can stand up for themselves and not have to deal with that kind of behavior here.

When I got home, outside of my house was a mess because the rain had knocked over a tree and I was really stressed about that on top of everything else. THen within minutes, Basil came over to say hi and welcome me back. He saw the tree and ran off to grab a machete, came back, and cleaned up everything for me before getting me water. THat really made a difference in my mood and I was really grateful to him. It was really nice getting Scout back too. My return has been pretty awesome in terms of people welcoming me back and noting i had been gone for so long.

BUt in general, being here is just hard right now. Our country director has been forced to resign and we are currently with only an interim acting country director. Our training staff is severely impacted by resignations amongst other things. One of my closer friends ETed (early terminated) her service while I Was home so she is not here anymore as did another volunteer. MOst of the training group ahead of us is leaving and some are suggesting that the new training group not be brought in at the end of july. WHile I understand where they are coming from I believe that to not bring them would be extremely demoralizing to us and that that will never happen.

I guess I never stopped and thought about how Kate's murder was affecting my work here, but it is. I don't do anything no without stopping to think, 'Well what does this mean for me...could doing this somehow put me in danger or make my community angry?' I've especially had to think of this regarding some articles i wanted to write for Bisou BIsou that i now think might be too controversial, and it proved extremely salient my last night of camp glow when a girl came to me and 2 other volunteers to solicit our help in dealing with her lousy home situation with her dad. Her dad never wanted her because he was divorcing her mother and wanted her to have an abortion so he hates this girl and doesn't support her like the 13 other kids he has with 7 different women. When we suggested living with her mother (or about 7 other suggestions that she found not workable) she told us she couldn't because her belief in Voodoo. HEr father sold her soul to one of the 3 voudons of the water. THe fetishers will use gris gris to kill her if she should go live with her mother, she believes and there is no convincing her otherwise. IT would be extremely inappropriate to suggest that those beliefs are not true to her. As much as i was moved to REALLY REALLY want to help her I can't possibly because I don't want to get involved with something like that and maybe put myself at risk with her family. The other PCVs feel the same way. We decided to contact the PC facilitator I often work with in Lokossa to have him help and speak to the girl since he is more culturally aware, but I do not want anything to happen to him either, and he IS connected to PC so that comes back to us anyway since we are the volunteers who live nearby.

I worry about all of the facilitators we have training new volunteers not because I think they are out to hurt us but because I think that they are friends with each other and giving events of the last several months, I think it casts a shadow on this coming stage. All in all, it just feels very constricted in terms of work here so I have to see how that progresses and if it gets better.

So at this point it is really one day at a time while I readjust here. Going to Cotonou on Friday for the weekend because there is a dinner at the ambassadors home that I will be going to, so I am looking forward to that. Will write again soon! Miss everyone from home!

There's No Place Like Home...

Home was amazing...Really no words to adequately describe just how amazing actually. I loved packing up my house here for the trip, and going down to Cotonou was one of the more comfortable taxi rides I"ve ever had in Benin. Naturally all of the zems at etoile rouge were being fairly evil and refused to give me the right price, or first addressed me as 'ma cherie.' So I was really happy to be getting the heck out of Benin when one zem finally drove up next to me and agreed to take me to the bureau for 150 CFA, as it should have been...NOT 200CFA. Naturally the other zems that i rejected were all following me to tell whatever zem i DID find not to take me for less than 200 but this guy was nice. WHen he dropped me off he told me all the others were angry at him for taking me for 150CFA. I told him I knew but that that was the right price and so they were being unfair and dishonest just because i was white, and he agreed saying that he knew we came to this country to help them and that we shouldn't be treated like that by people. 'Oh,' I thought, 'a bright shining light in Benin that makes me think it will be okay coming back here afterwards.'



Going to the Cotonou airport to check in felt so surreal...seeing where it all started. The airport, while small, was bigger than I remembered...and there was an actual western advertising poster with Hilary Swank on it, which was so bizarre to see. I have to say that after a year in Benin plane food was pretty fantastic and I was thrilled that I could speak with the flight attendents in French! Paris left me just enough time to be completely overwhelmed by the smells and the stores of the airport and the intense security, and of course, le plus importante, to find myself a deliciously warm and flaky pain au chocolat the likes of which have never existed in Benin. SInce the croissant itself cost me more than I spend on food over the course of several days here, i decided to abandon the original plan of buying an accompanying coffee. In flight entertainment...FANNNNNNtastic. I LOVED watching music videos and some movies i missed while here the past year. I was so excited and wired for the trip that I didn't sleep for more than 2 hours, and I started to tear up as we descended over New York. Stepping off the plane and touching American soil felt great, but not nearly as good as when i saw my dad and then my Aunts and brother right after customs. Then my mom...walked into her office and she screamed a little and came running over to hug me while we both started to cry. She even wore her sunflower scrubs for me!



Seeing everyone from home...family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, was all so great and exciting and I ate amazing food (and bien grossied as everyone here has informed me...thanks a bundle, Bénin...American women just love being told how fat they got) and drank WONDERFUL margaritas. I forgot how much I love being home and in my house. Walking in for the first time was incredible...Everything looked SO beautiful and smelled fantastic. By the end of my stay home walking into the house felt just normal and regular so I am grateful to have the opportunity to see my home this way again. My room was redone by my dad and was a spectacular surprise and welcome. My dog was a putz who didn't recognize me at first but wasted no time making himself comfortable in our new digs once he realized who I was. And the giz aussi was taken by surprise and had to warm up to me before relaxing.



Going to a supermarket didn't overwhelm me like I thought it would. Some volunteers said they cried first time they were back in a supermarket but I was just excited to pick out bonnes choses to bring for myself and other volunteers. WHat really got me was walking into Lord and Taylors in NYC: THe shoe department first, and then seeing the clothes. THat was when i felt overwhelmed. Certainly not to the point of tears, mind you...but definitely stressed out and just overwhelmed by the sheer number and variety of really obnoxiously expensive things available for purchase there. I have clothes made here and see little shoe stands in the marche and that is it, so I was taken by surprise by that feeling.



A lot of people told me I appearred to have readjusted super quick and well to being back in the US but I don't really know how to respond to that. I mean...what was I supposed to do...dig a hole in my backyard for the bathroom? I fell back into my life there because that is my life and that is what i do in the U.S. It is not possible or practical to live how i do in Benin at home. BUt I don't think I looked at ANYthing the same way as I had before, ESPECIALLY the ease with which I could turn on a faucet and have hot and cold water that didn't have to be treated...I could just brush my teeth with it or drink it without boiling and filtering it first. Ice on hand and ready to go...a HUGE refrigerator...Scratch that...2 HUGE refrigerators and 3 freezers stocked with food to eat and no worry that the power is going to cut out every 10 minutes and maybe spoil your food. OH, and the glory of the washing machine. I like doing my clothes here most of the time but they just feel so much cleaner when they come out of a wash and dry cycle. I have to admit I was not equally enamored with the dishwasher. I couldn't help but not really see the point aside from when we all ate together and had a lot of dishes. But when it was just me putting in my breakfast dishes I couldn't help but think "this is so stupid...letting this barely dirty dish sit in here for afew days before washing it when I could just do it now." and so i did wash those by hand most of the time. THe feel of a good quality sponge in my hand that i knew was so easily replaceable by going to a store down the block (as opposed to a 3 hour trip to Cotonou to find a worser version) and washing a dish with soap and hot running water was a great feeling though i felt often at home that i was really wasting water. ALso using dishwear that was not plastic was pretty cool as well.


Toilets...my verdict??? ça va un peu. Loved using my toilet at home...When it came to using a public restroom at the restaurant near the mall or in the Penn station, well, to be entirely honest...I'd take me latrine any day as opposed to dealing with nastyness and urine on the seats, etc. But in short, home was incredible, and I have to thank my friends, family, and especiall my parents for making my 3 weeks there so memorable and enjoyable. I love and miss you!