First of all, I would just like to explain to you how I got to have internet today. I took a twenty minute ride on the back of a zem, or one of the taxi-motorcycles that are the only forms of transport, piled three people deep. Then I went to one cyber cafe, whose internet was down. Then I zemmed to another internet cafe and negotiated the price of internet in French. Altogether, it probably took an hour and a half to find internet. I say that not in a bitter way, because it was kind of a hilarious adventure and I managed to find some lebanese food along the way; instead I say that as an excuse for why you I have been silent as a church mouse, and for that I am sorry and have this one excuse: I LIVE IN AFRICA NOW! And I really rather like it...
Africa is so many things, all fighting and scrambling to be the first impression on your mind: hot, then vibrant, then loud, beautiful, impossibly old, wonderfully kind, dirty, alive, practical, tired, full of growing things, skinny children, the freshest fruit, trash, laughter, moto upon moto upon taxi moto. Every moment is divided into two things: first the vision with American eyes, in which I look upon the event/person/task with unfamiliar eyes and compare it to America; and then there is the realization that of all the things I know, these capable women know how to do everything better than I (except perheps be idle or make compost). I say women because, although this society is incredibly, heart-breakingly patriarchal, while the men are off looking for second wives or driving cars, the women are running and feeding and washing this entire country.
And speaking of women, I went from being an only chid to gaining five sisters, a little brother, three darling little nieces, a princess mama, a jolly old papa, three chickens, two skeptical guard dogs, a skinny little kitten, and innumerable lizards. I’ve never been very girly, which my sister’s have picked up on, and they have taken on the task of fussing over my fluffy hair (all the more fluffy for the incessant humidity), gifting me with earrings and hair bows, and making sure all my new dresses are as kick-ass as possible. (Rest-assured this is true - every dress I’ve had made is better than the last, and this is a country that knows how to do clothes. Maybe they got that, as well as their language and their school system, from the French.) My little brother likes to boss me around in french and promenade me around the village, showing off his yovo to all his neighbors and friends. (Yovo is the term for white person, which is shouted from packs of wild children every where I go, as well as from uncles and neighbors and, occasionally, the other volunteers in various shades of irony and humor. The humor is slowly being seeped out of the term, however there is no malice - the villagers just like the novelty of white people.)
I live in the village of Misserete, which is posh in that it has electricity, and some of my comrades even have running water and televisions! Imagine coming to Africa only to watch James Bond in French! My family, with it’s gaggle of women, has a television, whose sole purpose seems to hold up the sullen photos of my family. For such an alive culture, the Beninois like to present themselves as stoic and mean in their photos, which can’t be farther from the truth as I’ve never met so many women constantly shouting laughter and jokes in a language I don’t understand. (My family, along with their scraps of French, speaks Fon and Goon. I know about 5 words in either language.) For you googlers out there, Misserete is about 10 miles outside of Porto Nove, the largest city in Benin and the place where you can find hamburgers and olive oil if you know where to go; otherwise its pate blanche and palm oil, all day everyday. (Pate blanche is kinda like grits without all the butter and salt and cheese that makes it good, and more solid.) There’s actually quite a few yovos in Misserete also, which is nice. All of the Environmental Action volunteers, like me, are in Misserete for training, so we got to school for nine hours a day and learn french, french, french, some stuff about gardening, french, and french, and then we’ll go grab a beer at the local buvette (the bar) and sit under the mango tree, gossiping and unwinding and talking about how EA volunteers are the best.
Obviously, being two months in, there are a million other things to tell, gossip and food stories and funny language trip ups and long bus rides and always being sweaty and dirty and making vegetables with my hand, but I'm afraid there is just not enough time. But, my dearies, I'm getting the hang of it and having as many adventures as I can, all so you'll know these few things about Africa. A teut a l'huere!
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