GLOW big or GLOW home, baby!

Oh man oh man… I don’t even know what to say. Today is Sunday, the day after Camp GLOW has ended and the day I had planned on returning back to village. In the grand tradition of not doing the things I thought I would, I am staying in Parakou for one more night to recover from ALL THE EMOTIONS. (I’m trying to say that in such a way that doesn’t sound like I dissolved in a puddle of tears in middle of the bank, but since that is what happened, whatever.)

Camp GLOW was amazing. Top to bottom, left to right, and every which way, it was absolutely incredible. Bethany and I brought six amazing girls from the Peonga girls club (my village is too small for a high school so I’ve been working in Peonga for all high school-y things.) Our journey began when we piled 13-deep in a 6 person car – just the beginning of the “things that would never work in America” list from this week. During the week long camp the fifty-something girls were divided into six teams, each led by two or three volunteers. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but Equipe Violet totally stole the show with our extra-loud cheering section (Devon and I) and our glitter signs and outrageously displays of spirit and camaraderie. Throughout the week the girls participated in sessions for nutrition, hygiene, feminine health, sexual harassment, Q&A’s with professional Mama’s from all over Benin, study skills and goal setting, and the occasional water balloon fights. (It just melted my heart to see these girls just soaking it all up like a sponge, to have someone to talk to, someone to ask questions, someone to play with.) It was the weirdest summer camp I have ever attended – the girls sang songs, like at any old camp I suppose, but the songs were about how if you get malaria you die. I taught a girl how to jump rope. (She was terrible but she loved it.) I mean, is there any girl anywhere in America who doesn’t know how to jump rope??? In America summer camp is extra fun because you’re away from home and doing fun things. In Benin summer camp is fun because you’re away from home and not doing unfun things – this is the first time these girls didn’t have to wake up 5 in the morning to sweep and pull well water and wash clothes and take care of babies. They got to have fun! And study! And be young girls who sing and dance and play!!

As if my heart weren’t melty enough, I taught yoga to an enthusiastic (and patient) group of young ladies. You can only imagine, I’m sure: Et maintenant, on va faire le chien. Et la chien difficile gauche. (Downward dog became difficult dog in french. To make things more interesting we had the tree pose, but then also the tree-with-strong-wind pose, and the tree-who-jumps-around-a-lot-and-giggles pose.) At the end of a very weird week, the girls presented their new yoga skills to the full camp, who seemed impressed but mostly confused. (The volunteers watching were especially confused: “that’s the weirdest yoga I’ve ever seen.”)

Not only did I have my lovely Peonga girls making me all proud-mama-bear happy, but then I had my team Violet girls (totally won the award for best team spirit!), and my yoga girls, and the exemplary girls chosen to come back next year and help. (Oh by the way, I’m helping to run it next year. Wooty woot!) So by the end of the week I am just SOARING on this we-changed-their-LIVES kind of high, and then yesterday I just crashed. I made a scene in the bank, I yelled at a friend, I called America and made ANOTHER scene, I sat in the rain and cried. And that is just SO indicative of what it’s like here, to go from soaring to wailing to drinking gin out of mayo jar to napping in the work station because you are just so emotionally and physically drained. I went HARD this week, and I’m so happy I did because Camp GLOW is by far the most amazing thing I’ve done in this country. Maybe that was the best I have ever felt about myself, who even knows. This country is just kicking my ass – hopefully in a I’m-being-refined-like-a-precious-gem kind of way and not I’m-being-whittled-away-to-nothing kind of way. 

If you are interested in taking a gander at some pictures, feel free to click here! A big huge thank you to everyone who donated to make it happen and to the amazing group of volunteer who came together and made it happen. 

Pearls (and dust bunnies and black plastic bags) of wisdom

Oh Peace Corps. Before I even started writing I heaved a great sigh... maybe for myself and my rollercoaster good attitude/bad attitude complex, maybe for living in a fishbowl culture that constantly requires self-examination and self-loathing, maybe because of my place in the volunteer culture (it's like summer camp but the stakes are higher and judgier)...maybe it's just me burping up olive juice because I just ate an entire jar of olives because I'm too lazy to go get real food.

Anyhoo, hello my darlings! Sorry I've been the worst blogger ever, I'd like to say its because I've been busy (which I have) but really I just don't know what to say. It's so hard to paint the picture of living in Benin when your only colors are black and white, and you only get to paint once a month, and when you do get to paint you're so overstimulated by city life (I wish you guys could see Parakou so you know how ridiculous a statement it is to be overwhelmed by Parakou, of which about only half the streets are paved) that you don't even have the energy to find real food. But a couple of things happened/are happening/will happen that have me thinking about what I've learned, what I've done, and what I can do. Obviously there is humongous merit in the projects and the actual things you've accomplished, but for right now I'm really talking about my attitude, and the peculiar brand of street skills I've picked up. I have a great deal of people to thank for helping me along to this place of semi-self assurance and lessened cluelessness, but there were a few little nuggets of knowledge that really stuck with me, as you'll see.

Nugget #1: "If I just go out and try to do something, even if it completely fails and no one shows up, I feel accomplished." Any volunteer who reads that statement will be nodding their heads - constantly we are setting meetings, or trying to go somewhere with someone, or trying to have a girls club, or making plans to meet the mayor, and no one shows. It is quite possibly the most frustrating thing on the entire planet (among the 3000 other frustrating things here) and it usually comes attached with a feeling of guilt and failure: because I could not make this thing work, I have failed. But really, this is not a reflection on you, at all. As long as you are trying to get things moving and shaking, most of the times that's all you can do until someone hitches them self to your wagon to help things along.

Nugget #2: "You know it's time to go when all of your electronics are dead." The person who said this is such an outstanding badass and has gone through two computers and an ipod (probably amongst other things) in this country and doesn't even care because she is too busy saving babies to watch orange is the new black. I look way way up to her, partly because I have already lost my very own tv-watching device. But there is so much truth in this statement: she is (very very sadly) about to leave and here I am, halfway done and halfway through my electronics. The irony is certainly not lost on me. There's a term that Peace Corps Benin loves to throw around: bien integre. It's french (obvs) in praise of integration into the host society and I'm doing really well in the fancy things department. Just give me a few more years and I'll be sleeping on dirt floors and pooping in the bushes.

Nugget #3: "No wonder everyone thinks we are incompetent. We have literally had to relearn how to do everything. You think we know how to eat with our hands without being disgusting? How to chop vegetables without a cutting board? How to hand wash our clothes? No wonder no one takes us seriously, we are more incompetent than their four-year-olds." This is in regards to how a volunteer feels during training, and pretty much constantly. You got a bruise from falling on your bike? 'Your white skin is just so much more fragile.' You want to go to the well and pull your own well water, because it makes you feel strong and independent? Your five year old neighbor physically pushes you out of the way. People will come behind you and redo everything you just did. You are constantly reminded how different your life was than any child's. About 130% you feel guilty about that. About 25% of the time you still feel entitled to complain. (And then you feel 100% guilty for complaining that your iphone just broke.) About 95% of the time you have to actually pause everything and remind yourself that this is the real world, not the cushy life you left behind. Sometimes it feels better to remember that you can go back to it whenever you want. It never feels better to know that the people in your village never get to leave, that there's not a two year limit to the suffering and difficulty. All of the time you feel guilty: that you were born in America, that they weren't, that two years isn't enough, that you will barely make it two years before crawling back to America where things are shiny and fun, that you have to leave your village for work, that you have to leave your village for fun, that you have to leave your village to not go crazy, that you can't pack up your entire village and take them back with you, that some days you can't wait to leave them behind.

I had intended to save the whole guilt thing for another day but there it is. I described it best in a letter to a friend (my own little nugget, if you will!): it is like being in an abusive relationship, this country. You're never sure if its healthy, your friends say you've changed, you kind of hate it and it seems like it always hates you, but you love it. You want to walk away from it -- like a lot -- but you just can't quit. You can talk shit about Benin all day long but the second someone who doesn't know says a word you get defensive -- it's only okay when I say it, because I love it and I want it to be better.