My life has been awfully transitory lately. I am constantly on my way to or from one place to another, this occasion being no exception. I have been hopscotching my way across northern Benin, going from one fete, one market, one meeting, all in hopes that I will eventually make it down south. I can't tell how apparent I've made it over my rambles here, but I travel quite a bit, but nothing is as daunting as the Bus Down South. We are quite isolated up here in north; once you're here, the idea of having to travel south is enough to make you want to never go past Parakou (which is already quite a trek). But tomorrow morning, six a.m. sharp, will find me squishing myself in an overheated, overcrowded, overly-long eight hour bus ride to Porto Novo. I know, you must be thinking: what can POSSIBLY be worth such a hike? There at least better be ice cream and a pepperoni pizza waiting for you at the finish line! Alas, there will probably be neither of these things, but something better. NEW VOLUNTEERS!!!!!!
I've been awfully cavalier (here at least; in person I'm sure I'm downright obnoxious) about all these landmarks I've breezed past - six months in country, one year, being elected the task of training new volunteers, the arrival of new volunteers... But these have all happened, sailing past in that weird blurry-too-fast-sometimes-sluggish pace known only to Peace Corps volunteers. And now here I am, on my way to mold the young, uncorrupted minds of the innocents new to Benin. Oh the darlings, how lucky they are to never have been proposed to, offered second or third wife position, cussed out a taxi driver, drunkenly call home wailing, thrown rocks at goats who poop in your house, crashed on a zem, had their computer smashed by an 18-wheeler full of cotton, found animal corpses in their house, been bitten on the face by a spider, traveled halfway across the country with malaria, yelled at their close mate, cried with their close mate... They have also never watched The Sound of Music with a bunch of nuns, experienced the glory of an overindulgent market day, been overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers, cried happy tears over a well-timed letter, eaten an entire box of cheez-its in one sitting, held a new-born baby/kitten/goat, cooked a meal for a wary Beninese neighbor, had a song made up and sung for them by a bunch of dancing mamas, received jewelry/a round of applause/a handful of yams or eggs, had heartfelt lying-on-the-floor chats or six-way spooning cuddles under the stars. (Unless they have, in which case good for them! Maybe.)
Anyhoo, it has me thinking a lot about what I'm going to tell them about my time here. I remember this time last year we were frothing at the mouth with questions, brimming over with insatiable curiosity and that odd mixture of self-doubt and self-confidence. And so, here is a weird mixture of advice and thoughts about how to live in Benin.
When people yell at you/scold you/tell you you're not good enough/compare you to another volunteer, only wallow enough in it that it makes you better. Unfortunately, this happens a lot; this culture is particularly brusque, and honest, and not that understanding to the volunteer experience. This has happened to me on multiple occasions, and it sucks. A lot. But it also makes you better, if you let it. Take their advice with a grain of salt, allow yourself a small amount of self-pity, call a friend and get mad that they don't sypathise with your position as a stranger in a strange land, then get over it and take their advice (to the extent that you can). It's kind of a purification by fire type of thing. Let it make you better, not bitter.
Embrace that moment when your leg goes asleep in a bush taxi. Riding in bush taxis are kinda sucky until you get the hang of it - but trust me, there will come a time when you are thankful for the squishyness of the fat mamas crammed in that tiny space with you. You'll probably never miss it in the way you'll miss couli-couli (crunchy friend peanut sticks) but there's a kind of comfort in knowing that if you do get in that car wreck you just know is imminent, you are so completely wedged in that you aren't going anywhere.
Savor every rain, cherish every chilly morning. Le saison chaleur (the super super hot dry season) is real, and it's really rough. However, you're not gonna die. There might be many sleepless nights when you are sure you will, it is just too hot to go on. But you will. You might be extra cranky, especially when a friend from home calls you and tells you its raining and snowing.
It's okay to not like the food. You can admit it - boiled flour is just not that good. And fermented boiled flour is even worse. You might be one of those people that just doesn't like ignam pilee, the sticky mashed yams served with some weird (maybe not tasty) sauce. It's fine. I'm by no means a picky eater, I will eat almost anything, and I have finally come to terms with the fact that Beninese food just isn't amazing. And while that's not ideal, it's okay.
It's not okay to not like bisap. Oh bisap, that delicious sugary-flower-juice-tea. Frozen in a little plastic bag and sold at markets or on the side of the road, or even in big bottles that you slurp down too fast... it's just too good. Actually, an amendment: It's not okay not to like frozen things sold in sachets. I've yet to try anything not delicious - frozen yogurt, frozen flavored water (even the green ones that just taste like green), and especially sulani, our northern delicacy, a sweet frozen kinda vanilla-y milk. Mmm, so good.
It's okay to eat popcorn for dinner. Everyone knows it counts as a meal if you put garlic powder/chili powder/milk powder on it (maybe not all three at once...). But when your hair starts falling out (like, scary cancer patient falling out), maybe try to throw some veggies in there.
I've been awfully cavalier (here at least; in person I'm sure I'm downright obnoxious) about all these landmarks I've breezed past - six months in country, one year, being elected the task of training new volunteers, the arrival of new volunteers... But these have all happened, sailing past in that weird blurry-too-fast-sometimes-sluggish pace known only to Peace Corps volunteers. And now here I am, on my way to mold the young, uncorrupted minds of the innocents new to Benin. Oh the darlings, how lucky they are to never have been proposed to, offered second or third wife position, cussed out a taxi driver, drunkenly call home wailing, thrown rocks at goats who poop in your house, crashed on a zem, had their computer smashed by an 18-wheeler full of cotton, found animal corpses in their house, been bitten on the face by a spider, traveled halfway across the country with malaria, yelled at their close mate, cried with their close mate... They have also never watched The Sound of Music with a bunch of nuns, experienced the glory of an overindulgent market day, been overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers, cried happy tears over a well-timed letter, eaten an entire box of cheez-its in one sitting, held a new-born baby/kitten/goat, cooked a meal for a wary Beninese neighbor, had a song made up and sung for them by a bunch of dancing mamas, received jewelry/a round of applause/a handful of yams or eggs, had heartfelt lying-on-the-floor chats or six-way spooning cuddles under the stars. (Unless they have, in which case good for them! Maybe.)
Anyhoo, it has me thinking a lot about what I'm going to tell them about my time here. I remember this time last year we were frothing at the mouth with questions, brimming over with insatiable curiosity and that odd mixture of self-doubt and self-confidence. And so, here is a weird mixture of advice and thoughts about how to live in Benin.
When people yell at you/scold you/tell you you're not good enough/compare you to another volunteer, only wallow enough in it that it makes you better. Unfortunately, this happens a lot; this culture is particularly brusque, and honest, and not that understanding to the volunteer experience. This has happened to me on multiple occasions, and it sucks. A lot. But it also makes you better, if you let it. Take their advice with a grain of salt, allow yourself a small amount of self-pity, call a friend and get mad that they don't sypathise with your position as a stranger in a strange land, then get over it and take their advice (to the extent that you can). It's kind of a purification by fire type of thing. Let it make you better, not bitter.
Embrace that moment when your leg goes asleep in a bush taxi. Riding in bush taxis are kinda sucky until you get the hang of it - but trust me, there will come a time when you are thankful for the squishyness of the fat mamas crammed in that tiny space with you. You'll probably never miss it in the way you'll miss couli-couli (crunchy friend peanut sticks) but there's a kind of comfort in knowing that if you do get in that car wreck you just know is imminent, you are so completely wedged in that you aren't going anywhere.
Savor every rain, cherish every chilly morning. Le saison chaleur (the super super hot dry season) is real, and it's really rough. However, you're not gonna die. There might be many sleepless nights when you are sure you will, it is just too hot to go on. But you will. You might be extra cranky, especially when a friend from home calls you and tells you its raining and snowing.
It's okay to not like the food. You can admit it - boiled flour is just not that good. And fermented boiled flour is even worse. You might be one of those people that just doesn't like ignam pilee, the sticky mashed yams served with some weird (maybe not tasty) sauce. It's fine. I'm by no means a picky eater, I will eat almost anything, and I have finally come to terms with the fact that Beninese food just isn't amazing. And while that's not ideal, it's okay.
It's not okay to not like bisap. Oh bisap, that delicious sugary-flower-juice-tea. Frozen in a little plastic bag and sold at markets or on the side of the road, or even in big bottles that you slurp down too fast... it's just too good. Actually, an amendment: It's not okay not to like frozen things sold in sachets. I've yet to try anything not delicious - frozen yogurt, frozen flavored water (even the green ones that just taste like green), and especially sulani, our northern delicacy, a sweet frozen kinda vanilla-y milk. Mmm, so good.
It's okay to eat popcorn for dinner. Everyone knows it counts as a meal if you put garlic powder/chili powder/milk powder on it (maybe not all three at once...). But when your hair starts falling out (like, scary cancer patient falling out), maybe try to throw some veggies in there.
