it is really December

I have nothing profound to say but I can not believe the time is going by so fast.

Freedom AT last

I am woken up each day by the sound of the roster outside by window, women preparing food for the day and children getting ready for school. The smell of smoke in my nose and I see day light in the cracks of my window. I am slow to get up and reminded of the liberty I have to set my own schedule. I get up and head towards the bucket that holds water that I got from the well and start washing myself. Afterwards, I pour myself a glass of boiled and filter water and I think of ways that I will entertain myself for the day. I make something quick to eat and I adventure out of my house for yet another day without direction. Before I leave the house I grab by moto helmet which how people I never met identifies me with the

PeaceCorps. On my walk to my destination I salute people that I pass. Producing foreign sounds that I am not sure anyone understands when I attempt to say Hi in a local language. There are over five languages outside of French that is spoken in my town. I have found that many people understand Bonjour but many of the older women I pass will only greet me back in their native language. I walk away confused as I am overwhelmed with the languages spoken on my walk to work or a friend’s house. Some people greet me by saying Bonjour others Bienvenue and at times I get people yelling English words in excitements that I will respond back. PeaceCorps or being in a foreign place can put you on an emotional roll coaster. It even harder to have to temporary give up the comforts that I had in my everyday life. But I am seeing that the comforts I came to love came at a cost. The cost of freedom and at least here I have time to clear my head, to grow and work on what I want from life. Today, another PCV came to visit me for the day. I reminded me how cool my little town was. We walk over to the waterfalls right outside of towns and went swimming. Being surrounded by such beauty was peaceful. I might not be able to reach comfort in this town but I sure do appreciate my experience.

Life in a foreign town called Tanguieta

I started this journey in a town called Porto Novo. At six o clock in the morning all my belongings were loaded up on an old wagon like car and we were off for a nine plus hour voyage to Tanguieta. The ride was not bad; I had my driver stop a few times to buy fruit on the side of the road. Time to time there were tins in the middle of the roads forcing cars to stop for local police. One of the police wanted money from me and wouldn’t let us pass unless I gave it to him. He just ended up holding traffic because I refused. After ten minutes of my driver making a fuss and yelling “this is not a good representation of our country” we were able to go pass. This reinforced one of the many motivators to get people to not do something bad; one people hate public embarrassment. If all in doubt yell and cause attention to the situations. The other is bad karma largely because most people believe in voodoo. Tell someone god we be the final punisher of their actions and you wish sickness upon them. But if they persist you can attack their upbringing and say that their parent should be embarrassed to have raised them to become this way.

Normally, I would catch a bus from Cotonou or Porto Novo to Nati or Taguieta. Horrible images of the Greyhound go through my head when I think of a long bus ride. Yes, the ghetto hound has left an ever lasting impression on how I view intercity bus rides. When I was told that there are no other options to get to post I was quite anxious. The buses are air condition and astonishing comfortable considering the road conditions. The roads are filled with pot holes and the driver spends most of his time weaving around what should be continuous paved road. There is assigned seating so I didn’t feel that my space was being violated like I do on other forms of transportations in Benin. The buses are pretty well kept up and most of the seats still have the plastic on them. If I had to take a guess they are used buses from what looks like China or France.

The few times I made the trip by bus I ended up sleeping for most the voyage. Part of my motivation for sleeping was to escape from the CORNY and poorly produce West African soaps or music videos. I was uncomfortable to watch the TV because my facial expressions said a thousand words leaving people to stare and reminded them that I was not from around here. I don’t think that everyone enjoyed what was one the screen but it was nothing new to them. Sometimes, I would wake up to find the same thing playing. Gosh, I wish I could explain the madness but it is one of those things you have to see yourself.

After getting off the bus the waiting beginning to get a taxi to take me to Tanguieta from Nati. There is no time schedule, the taxi leaves when the vans packed. Don’t imagine that I am waiting on a nice yellow car. A bush taxi is recycled mini vans or wagon from the 70-80’s. They can be recognized by looking for the most undependable car trying to load a large amount of people or things. A van that should only fit 12 people magical has 20 people or so taking off towards my destination. In order to squeeze into the van there is one rule “as long as the door shuts”. May times I would be forced to sit with one thigh on the seat and the other lifted onto the next person lap. Children are on their parents lap and young men are hanging from the sides, back and tops of the van. Chickens, goats, cows and any other thing needed to be transported are on the roof of the van. I can remember having to stare at a chicken being hung by his legs, hanging on for his dear life, as he blocked my window. Seat belts are just a deceitful illusion that anyone considers safety, ”la bra”. The only bearable seat in the van is next to an open window; where I can attempt to escape from the overwhelming body odor. Not ever last person in the country smells but for those who do they make a statement. Leaving me with an internal fight to combat my desire to either vomit or not breathe.

As I look out the window, I know that I am entering my town when we start going into the mountains. Right outside of town is a small water fall and a stream of water. Sometimes you can see women carrying big bowls on the head filled with clothes they just washed in the stream. Little boys are herding live stock to and from the stream to get water and men are washing their cars or motors. Shortly after passing the stream the road goes between two large mountain rocks that marks the entrance of Tanguieta. There is only life on a mile stretch of the main road that let you know that you are in the center of town. On this stretch of a mile you will pass a large catholic church, numerous small stands selling food or phone credit, couple of one floor building that are stores or offices and an Italian built hospital. There are three unfinished structures that are three or four stories tall. I have yet to identify what will be their uses. You will see tons of guys hanging around different areas in green and yellow shirt on moto which is Tanguieta form of a yellow taxi. There are many people hanging out doing various things around the main area of town. It is a ghost town between the hot hours of noon to 4pm. The rest of the town is houses and bushes on unpaved dirt roads.

I am by far in a different world. It is funny how time allows you to become accustom to things. I never considered myself a city girl until I moved here. I found the hardest adjustment was to trade my love for the shimmer city skyline for a clear view of the stars. And as much as I enjoy looking up and gazing at the stars, I cannot share the same love for the pitch darkness that forces me to use a flashlight to guide my way through the bushes leading to my house. I have found it hard to leave a friend’s house after the sun falls because it is a little too dark for my comfort. I feel restricted to only being active during day when the sun is out because even in the protection of my house the current in my electricity is not strong enough to produce dependable light. The town lacks entertainment for someone that is use to 30 plus miles of things to do back in Los Angeles County. When you can claim to be bored you are just that, bored.

I am reminded by the locals that I do not live in the bush but at times, I beg to differ. I am guessing the bush is classified as the place that has no markets or places to get food and the only thing you could spend your money on is the only widely available thing “beer”. I have electricity and a phone signal and since I live the “cher” life internet. Yes, life could be worse or more rural but this is still a large adjustment. Even with electricity, running water (which I don’t have) and etc it is the inconsistency that get to me. I cannot help to want a warm showers, running water, toilet or a place to sh*t where mosquitoes are not trying to bite my ***, food that is a bit more diverse, my native language and electricity with a consistent current. It is hard to be here when I left my life back in the state and beside it occasional disappointments it was an awesome life. Living near my family, great climate, amazing friends and at the end of the day it will always be the place where my heart is.

I am here now and forced myself to find things to do and people to hang out with. Life is starting to pick up and there are fewer boring days. I remember the first few weeks living in Tanguieta I was bored out of my mind. I was entertained by sweeping my house or sitting out in the only cold climate, the rain. I spent my days trying to consider all the justifications for going home. I had many but I still felt like I should give it a few more weeks before I made a hasty decision. I am finding some enjoyable things in the slow small town life style.

What do I do? That is the question on a lot of people minds. For those who have the image of me saving babies or chasing down Simba in the Lion King for a photo then you will be disappointed that my life here is not that exciting. I am a business volunteer sent to my town with possible ways that I could help generate economic growth for small and medium size entrepreneurs. I was requested by the mayor of the town who has no set plan on what they want me to do but they expect me to help somehow; this leaving me with the burden and freedom of figuring out what I can do for work. I am spending the first few months researching and identify areas to improve business practices and think of ways I can help. I spend a week going to people workplace ask them questions, see if they have an accounting system or a place to track money, see if they understand the concept of profits etc. I guess the goal is to teach business practices I see that could help improve business practices for people in my town. I have also identified a project with a National Game Reserve right outside my town. They want me to teach hospitality English, work on marketing (publicity and promotion), photography and varies other small project here and there. What is awesome with working with the parks is that they work with all 23 villages surrounding the park. I can help generate money to a larger amount of small enterprises by expanding their clientele and helping improve business practices.

I have a few months to identify my primary project but I think I am going to choose Eco-tourism. My secondary projects will be formatting mirco financing groups, working with the women association and high school students. I am still in the integration phases and it is partly because my French is not extremely strong and I am new in town. I have no schedule and I come and go as I pleased. My only job right now is to make myself seen and explain to people that I am here to help. It takes a while because most people are aware you’re in town but have no idea why. They need time warm up to me and trust me with seeing their world and financial struggles.

Most people have a hit it and quit it attitude towards people that are not from around here. If you let them they will use you and suck you dry. The people here are not heartless but many do not see a reason to invest time into someone that has an expiration date. I do not blame them for their view and at times I have been guilty for thinking the same thing once upon a time. But this view of foreigners puts a division between those I will know and those I will not. I do not strive off of superficially relationship and for the most part I hate them. It is exhausting to be guarded and protective which is why I just don’t let people in who I do not perceive to be good person with good intentions. This is tricky because I did not come here to be best friends with everyone that I encounter but relationships and business partners are one in the same. It is hard to see poverty and have what I see as a cold shoulder. It not that I do not want to help the kids that are asking me for money for food or the lady who want to put her kid through school. I am learning that I can’t help everyone and I have to be protective of myself and money for my own sanity. I want to help and I can give up a meal or two for someone else to eat. The problem is not my will to help but there has to be some form of relationship before I can help. The PeaceCorps is a very interesting organization. They make sure that you are not paid more than the locals but give you little room to give money to projects.

Why? For people that hand out many without any foundation there are a lot of problems. People become aggressive and harass you on the streets, people stand outside your home and any sense of privacy vanishes. At least if the person you helped was a friend or organization there is a healthy wall that is built so that you can live your everyday life. If I had the means to put everyone in school and continue my own survival, I would but I don’t. With this being said I set aside a portion of my money a month for a time that I can invest in health growth for the community.

I spend most my time with the expats in town and met locals through them. There is an older American lady who lives in town. She has helped me out a lot with getting settled in. I have also found some Germans my age that I hang out and work with. I go to my neighbor’s house but I feel that the relationships are superficial. One of the girls is always trying to push some drunken man on to me as the leave the buvette near my house. She is in her early 20 and just had a baby and can understand why I am not interested in that life right now. At times she is annoying but I have to sit there for hours to keep my house protected. I have to make her think and my neighbors think were buddy, buddy so that they will watch out for my house. At times, I play games with the little kids that hang out near the house.

Ramadan is over and so is the “open mic night at the mosque”- Ravi

The first night that I spent with my host family I was trying to identify all the noises coming from outside my bedroom. I was so confused and the first few nights it was uncomfortable to fall asleep. I later found out that people pray at all hours of the night. They also leave their radio blasting with religious sermons that sound daunting, at first, when you don’t know the language. In addition people are active at night because it is hot in the day. The combination of the commotion at night contributed to the noises that once frighten me.

One night, my host family waited until I was in my room for the night. My host family was catholic and had some church friends over. closed my eyes to people singing outside my room in the courtyard. It was peaceful and pretty. Right before I was in a deep sleep the singing became chanting and then someone screaming. I could swear I woke up to hear them perform an exorcist. I guess I will never know because I stayed in bed for that culture exchange. By this time I was no longer afraid just felt a little awkward.

The mosques are one of the most beautiful buildings in the city. I did not mind living next to one until I saw the large speakers facing my house. Normally, I hear the call of pray a few times in the night but during Ramadan it was open night Mic. I was able to fall asleep but I was woken up at different hours of the night by the noises outside my room. It was as if different people were trading off being on the mic throughout the night.

At post, I hear kids playing the radio really loud throughout the day. I think I live near a buvette or a place they sell local bar. But in the night all I can hear is crickets. It is kind of too quiet at times.

Dreams-
It never fails; I always have a wicked dream after taking my malaria medication. Nothing alarming but it is some interesting times or should I say thoughts.

“Besides the smelly arm pits and the smug from the traffic the air is fresh.”

Most people toss their trash anywhere because there is no place to dispose of trash. I have seen in isolated areas trash cans but that was catering towards tourist. Even so people are really big on cleaning here and sweep the trash every morning. I guess it goes in a pile and get burned but I am still not sure how it works out. I only been to six places and things tend to be different in each town due to infrastructure.

It seems that many cultures do not use toilet paper and prefer cleaning themselves with water after going number two. Benin is no different and you will not find many people that use toilet paper. A bathroom etiquette that gets on my nerves is men pulling out their “John” anywhere to go to the bathroom. Most don’t even try to find a discrete place to go pee. In most small areas sanitation is a major issue. In larger towns it is not as much as an issue.

Before coming here I was afraid that the country was going to smell. I guess the unpaved dirt roads reminded of my trip to a village in India. We are limited to what we know and we tend to associate the unknown with something familiar. Besides the smelly arm pits, the smug from larger towns traffic or the trucks on the highway the air is clean. Cars here do not have to pass smog check and being here shows me the importance of a smog check. It took some time getting use to the polluted air in places like Porto Novo or Cotonou. I am posted in a small town but in Benin it is known for being a larger town; I guess living in the LA area for over five years this is heaven in terms of fresh air.

“Yovo- Did I hear him call me white”

Yovo is a word to describe someone that is not from the area. Some argue that is only directed toward people that are white making the direct meaning a white foreigner. It is suppose to carry a negative connotation behind it. I have found the problem with American trying to determine its meaning is that locals have different opinions. Another problem is that most locals are ignorant of the world’s diversity making anyone not from Benin or other West African countries white. This leaving out anyone that is not from here and does not identify with being white which is a vast amount of the world’s population. What’s even more interesting is that everyone here clearly knows I am black but due to my skin being a little lighter maybe mixed, maybe, but I am still introduce as the blanc person or maybe it is because I was raised in a western society. I guess i will never realy know. Blanc is white in French. This leaves me to believe that color is not a universal classification for a person’s identity. I guess it not that much as a surprise since Chinese in South Africa can choose to identify their ethnicity as being black. Americans tend to associate being white with people that have Anglo-Saxons features leaving out other parts of Europe, Asia, South America and North Africa. Most people in Latin America identify with being white and the millions of other culture contradictions going on in the world. It is no wonder that people here are confused.

An end to a new beginning, the start of a new journey.

September 25, 2009 marks a new beginning. I have officially took my oath and sworn in as a volunteer for the PeaceCorps. I feel exhausted, confused, and elated. It was a proud moment to stand next to my fellow volunteers and recite the country’s oath so help us god. As I look in every direction, I could immediately see people who were wearing the same clothe. In Beninese culture, it is standard to wear a uniform for major events or to symbolize unity. It is called men tissue and for the program I was in the renamed our tissue to the baller tissue. I am a business volunteer and the SED program decided to buy tissue that had planes, boats, and money as the clothe pattern. I was glad for training to be over and to catch up on some sleep. But I could not help to feel a bit sad that I was going to be separated from the comfort of having Americans in the same town.

I have endured more physical, mental and spiritual growth allotted in one short period of time. Overall I am excited about being here but it is complicated. One parts of me is aware that these two years will go by fast and that I can create some awesome memories during my service. Here are my positive reasons to stay: I will never have the chance to live in such a stress free environment. I lived in larger cities my whole life and this small town can’t compete with the city movement or life style. I can grow spirituality and after this experience I will feel indomitable. I can also take the time to set goals in life and figure out my next step. I can study for a graduate test and research possible career chooses. I can read more which has been a habit that I lost at some point. I am in a good environment to learn French. I can help people who may not know they need my help. In return, I could be helped in ways that I did not know I needed to be helped. I can assist the community with accomplishing their goals. I could learn about a culture and they can learn something about me. Lastly, I feel challenged and productive here which is one of the reason I wanted to join the PeaceCorps.

Another part of me wonders if this is where I want to spend two years away from my family and friends; away for contemporary comforts and true compatibility. Benin has a great peer support group but it hard not being near an English speaking native at times when you’re going through tough culture adjustments. This is a couple notches harder than a study aboard programs because of the living conditions. I was sent to a PeaceCorp hardship country and other places people serve resemble daily comfort they could find in the US. I feel like coming to Benin made me have to give up a lot of things too fast. I commend those people that did not travel before Benin and this is their first international experience. I might not be here if I did not travel before this. I was not ready to give up most my comforts but I was at least ready for the culture adjustment roll coaster. In my eyes this was the hardest country to adjust to but it also feels relatively safe. So the question is not if I can do it but will I want to do it. For now the answer is yes because the good outweighs the bad. I am a survivor and my body will adjust to this new environment in due time.