Friday, December 26, 2008

Merry Christmas!


Me and my new puppy, Yovo, wish you all a very merry christmas. It was a quiet affair here, filled with a very boring church service in Mina, Annie's Mac & Cheese, and an unexpectedly depressing bollywood film. Oh, and glug and cookies with the Finns. All in all, not half bad.

Though, if you tried to call and couldn't get through, blame the fog that apparently screws with the cell networks this time every year, making my phone think it's in Togo. Hopefully it will all be better soon.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

more photos




Hey gang - I just posted some pics to facebook. Really, facbook should allow me to create a feed to blogger but they don't seem to (does anyone else know how I could make that work?). In the ;eantime, here's a preview for you to entice you to check out the pics next time you're on facebook.
That's me dancing in Togo and the sunset in grand popo, at the beach across the street from my house.




Monday, November 24, 2008

Togo or not Togo



Yesterday, I went to Togo for the first time. It literally is over the river and through the woods (or rather, palm trees). It’s actually pretty cool – we went down this little path I have always seen but didn’t know where it led, and suddenly there was a tiny river, maybe 20 feet wide, and a little boat ferrying people back and forth. I maintain that it couldn’t be that deep and you could probably walk across, but I did not take up my friend’s challenge to try it.

We went to Agba Na Ke, which is where the king lives. Though he’s in Togo, he is the monarch for the people of Grand Popo. GP is a weird little inlet on the map into Togolese territory, and it was only at independence that it was really considered part of Benin. So, as is the story with so many former colonies, the Xwla and Xweda people were divided between two countries, though the language, culture, and religion are the same and they are separated by 20 feet of water. There are some who now dispute the monarch’s authority in Benin, but most people acknowledge that Agba Na Ke is an important site in the history of the people of this area.

In any case, we did not go to see the king. Instead, we went to what I thought was a funeral, but might just have been a party. It was very cool – It can be hard for me to access “traditional” Beninese culture in Grand Popo because there are so many tourists and so people either assume they know what foreigners want to see or they just ignore my presence. Plus my house is situated in a pretty barren stretch of land – mostly hotels and overpriced restaurants directly around me. Anyway, it was cool to be able to experience a little bit of the fete culture of Togo. For example, when we arrived, they poured a little bit of alcohol on our feet to welcome us from our voyage. Hosts always offer water, so we took a sip of that. Then it was time for a shot of gin (at least it wasn’t sodabe). And finally, a plate of food (nevermind that it was only an hour or so after lunch).

Then, someone brought out a small statuette and I got excited – maybe I was going to see a real live voodoo ceremony! He then brought out baby powder and sprinkled it in what looked like a very ceremonial and occult fashion. Then, he very seriously placed the statue in a bucket and a towel over the blanket. The ceremony began…and ended with him miraculously pulling candy out of the statue. What I had taken to be a ceremony imbued with meaning was in fact a magic show. He proceeded to do tricks making money appear and disappear. He did a really gross trick in which I had to spit on my hand and then he made the spit move to the other side of my hand. I just hope that it was my spit that we were working with the whole time (I think saliva is gross…this was not my favorite trick). It was almost comical because he took himself incredibly seriously – one would think that David Blaine himself was there. In the end, he finished up and left and we all danced (including me – shocking, no?). Americans automatically look dumb dancing to traditional music. No two ways about it. But it’s a great source of entertainment to others so I swallowed my pride and flapped my arms with the rest of the women.

And that is the story of my afternoon in Togo. Borders are still strange to me because as Americans, we think of borders as things that are really far away and/or sites of heavy-handed state control and/or places of illegal activity. But borders can really be little strips of river that people don’t really pay attention to (except for the time change between here and Togo, which seems ridiculous) and crossing can be as normal as going to the weekend market on one side of the river or the other. Ok, enough philosophical musing. I’ve gotta go do real work (meaning reheating my dinner from last night and hoping I don’t give myself food poisoning…food storage is a bit tricky without a fridge in 90+ degree heat).

Life in the GPo

There have recently been requests from my loyal readership to offer a bit more insight into my daily life here in the GPo. At the risk of boring you all to tears, here goes.

Right now, I’m trying to start an English club and a book club, both projects I’m pretty excited about. Today, I met with the English teachers of the local high school to get them on board with the English club, which was my first real experience with a Beninese style meeting (think lots of protocol and hierarchy). Overall, it was a successful meeting, though we did spend about half an hour talking about ways that previous English clubs have failed. I think that was to help us avoid pitfalls but it did seem a bit fatalistic at times. All in all, I think the English club is going to be fun – I have visions of playing Hangman and Scrabble and Simon Says. I’m also going to try my damndest (sp?) to get my hands on some “Schoolhouse Rock” so if anyone has it and can burn me a copy of some choice episodes, let me know.

Right now I’m working my way through a Ziploc of brownies that the PC Country Director made. She’s visiting all the volunteers and she always brings baked goods on her visits (awesome!). On account of the ants, I have to eat the whole thing tonight (this is not difficult).

Hmmm…took a break to read the SELF magazine the CD left with me. Am realizing now how terrible Peace Corps is for the health. Lets see…fresh vegetables limited to tomatoes, onions, occasionally carrots and cabbage. Oh, and okra and eggplant. Yum. Abundantly available are yams, cassava, white rice, and other calorie-laden starches. One of the main dishes here is pate, or cornmeal paste. Oh, and everything is cooked in oil. Deepfrying is a favorite cooking technique. At least I’m eating local. I’m resolving here and now to try and eat salad at least once a week and to attempt Pilates or some other time of exercise a few times a week. Though I bike everywhere, Grand Popo is completely flat and I’m pretty sure I’m not getting much of a workout. As I am not known for my willpower, we shall see how long this lasts.

Finally, my official project here is to work on stuff with tourism with the Mayor’s office. I wish I could be more specific, but alas, I’m not sure the Mayor’s office has a more specific idea in mind. For the moment, I’ve been talking to just about everyone and trying to get a sense of what is happening in Grand Popo already and what people would like to see happen. So, a typical day usually involves going to the Mairie for an hour or two, then heading off to pick up a survey from one of the hotels (I’m surveying them on their needs and perceptions of the role of the Mayor’s office in tourism). In the afternoon I will meet with a guide maybe or go to greet some official I haven’t met yet. It’s a slow moving life. Right now, I’m working on figuring out what it will mean to me to be “successful” so I can start figuring out if I am working towards success.

I don’t know if that clarified anything for anyone but I’m going to try and post less about bugs and more about my life in the future. Bugs are easy because I usually have a very strong and visceral reaction that doesn’t require much processing. But for you, dear readers, I shall attempt to dig deep and give you something interesting to read.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Jesus Ants

If I’ve spoken to you in the last two months, I have complained about the ants. Dear Lord, I have never hated something so small, so much. They get into never before been opened jars of peanut butter. They infiltrated the Tupperware with my sugar in it. They swarmed my freshly baked cornbread. I swear to God, I found an ant inside the screen of my cell phone. They are everywhere. They can even walk on water.

For a while, I thought I was outsmarting them – I would open a can of sweetened condensed milk, and (not having a refrigerator) I would put the can in a bowl of water. This was after putting a piece of cardboard in the hole and putting the can in a Ziploc bag failed to repel the ants. For a while, the system worked. Then one day I awoke to a can swarming with ants. I concluded that either they had divine help, or they were sacrificing some ants and using them as an insect bridge from the edge of the bowl to the can. The problem is that I am utterly powerless in the face of both scenarios. If God is on their side, I should just let them have the damn milk. And if they are so organized and masochistic so as to literally walk on the backs of their fallen comrades, well then, I don’t stand a chance.

At first I was angry – I threw things, screamed, and cursed at the ants. Then I was resigned – I tossed the sugar, stopped buying condensed milk. Next, I was defiant – they were not going to take my fancy (and expensive) granola bought in Cotonou away from me, even if it meant that I had to eat ants. Now, I am trying a tactic of all out guerilla warfare. I have an array of insecticides, all most likely illegal in the US and causing unknown harm to myself and potentially my future children. One is called “RAD” which stands for “Read a Dream” which not only is nonsensical but also has nothing to do with insects. It promises, “One touch kills vermin in the whole room!” It works well in the moment but doesn’t have the long lasting preventive power I’m looking for. So Sister Francisca (not really a nun, but it would be funny if she were) gets me some white powdered stuff called “Commando” which has the Ghana Standards Board seal of approval. It is multipurpose: you can use it on your garden, in your house, in your latrine, and to delouse your dog or fowl. Some volunteers from Burkina suggested filling cans with kerosene and setting them under the table legs. This might work, though I’m afraid that frequent power outages (and subsequent match/candle usage) might not mix well with open containers of kerosene.

So we’ll see whether these new plans work out. If not, I might need professional help by the time I’m done with my two years (sometimes I sing to them: “I hate you little anties/ yes I do/ you’re the worst creatures in the world.” You can make up the tune as you go along.) In any case, you don’t need to worry about me getting enough protein.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Ode to Talbots

I used to dread seeing a big, red box from my grandmother beneath the Christmas tree. Grandma hated sending money or gift certificates, but she also hated shopping at the stores I liked. Grandma subscribed wholeheartedly to the “it’s better to give than to receive” philosophy. She loved giving gifts, but only gifts that she herself would want. My mother, bless her heart, tried every year to convince Grandma to take a gander at Urban Outfitters or Anthropologie, but to no avail. Grandma’s favorite store was Talbots. The last present she gave me was a red boiled wool jacket from there. Because I’m a terrible person, I returned it without her ever knowing (I’m banking on a lack of Internet in the afterlife to save me from Grandma finding out posthumously). I got a hefty amount of store credit to a place I was sure I would never find anything for me.

As I began packing for Benin, I realized that my wardrobe was heavy on moth-eaten sweaters, skinny jeans, and holey t-shirts. Somehow none of those things seemed right for business casual in Benin, so I went shopping. My wonderful and amazing Aunt Joan came into Seattle for the day, and we hit the mall for modest, practical clothing. This could be Talbots’ tag line – I finally needed them! Despite my embarrassment, we managed to find some lovely things, which is exactly how my grandmother would have described them. In fact, she would have been so happy to go with me to buy these lovely things. I sent a silent prayer up to her as I handed over my store credit to the cashier.

I haven’t yet described laundry here, but it is an intense process, a physical workout that leaves me drenched in sweat, with blistered hands and sore muscles. It is a tripartite system – everything gets soaped and scrubbed three times, paying extra attention to collars, crotches, and armpits. [Tripartite is the wrong word I think…Someone who knows about these things come up with a better adjective please]. Granted, now that I’m on my own there is no one to enforce laundry standards, and I could just slop my shirts around in the bucket and call it a day, much like I hand wash delicates in the States. But I am here to integrate into the culture, dammit, and I will kill myself to do laundry like the Beninese if that’s what it takes. Plus, if Estelle in Porto Novo (who taught me to do laundry) found out I was skimping she would be horrified. Compounding the problem of rigorous washing, the detergent apparently errs on the side of caution and tries to remove everything, including all color, from your clothing.

So, my clothes have been subjected to this intense and damaging process for three months thus far. And all my adorable hipster T-shirts and skirts are desperately faded and worn (which is a look I would normally go for, but Beninese are pretty clothing conscious and it just doesn’t do). But my three Talbots T-shirts are in incredible shape – holding up in color and construction. And I finally realized that Grandma wasn’t just stubbornly buying me what she wanted me to wear (though that was part of it) but also that she really wanted me to have a wardrobe of good things that lasted. Though she wasn’t thrilled about the Peace Corps idea (she had long harbored hopes that I would join the Foreign Service and become the Cultural Attaché to Finland) I know she would be glad that I am at least well equipped. Thanks, Grandma.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Naked Lunch


Today I found the largest bug I’ve ever seen with my own eyes (because I’ve seen with other people’s eyes??) inching its way towards my shower. It looks like it’s capable of flight so I didn’t want to anger it, which rules out killing it. It also is large enough that I’m not sure I can kill it – there are lizards smaller than this bug, and I would never kill a lizard. In short, it’s too close to being a sentient being. Plus it would make a huge and disgusting mess, which I will inevitably leave there as long as possible, if my treatment of the giant cockroaches I kill on occasion is any warning. I had people over for dinner yesterday, and I realized then that I should probably take more care to remove the bug carcasses from my house before inviting guests.

In other news, we had the longest power outage of my sejour in Benin – almost a full day (from about 6pm to 10 am the next day). On the plus side, it meant that my guests only saw a couple of the dead bugs in my house. I also learned a nifty mosquito catching technique – put a candle in a tin can, hold flame to mosquito, mosquito jumps into tin can and dies. We caught one that was full of blood, and you could see its distended, red belly glowing in the candlelight. Pretty disgusting.

UPDATE: the giant, unidentified bug can indeed fly. I vanquished the evil beast though - it landed on a broom which I promptly threw out the door.

Electric Koolaid Popo Test

Strange, Larium induced dreams last night; the strangest was probably one where Dell had set up a large tent about 20 feet from my door and the four people working it were Gtown people…Even stranger was that I wasn’t surprised to see them, or a Dell tent in the middle of my street in Benin. Of course, I was busy trying to get home with wads of cash with a bunch of sketchy people following me.

So I’m blaming the Larium for my weird dreams and restless sleep, but it could well have been the Sodabe I drank last night with dinner. The family at the Methodist church near me invited me to eat with them. I was excited – I’m really trying to befriend families because I’m so sick of the only people I know being young, single men (what kind of parallel universe am I in? Six months ago at the Evans School I couldn’t even fathom that thought…) Anyway, I guess I went in with lots of assumptions – I was prepared for the sisters to be slaving away and the men to be sitting watching TV. Instead, it was the oldest son directing the action of the preparation; his sister made pate (pr. “pot” – white paste made from corn flour; actually quite yummy with good sauce); he cleaned fish and fretted over the sauce; his brother chopped onions. He explained every step of the way: “Now I’m adding tomato paste in addition to the fresh tomatoes because I want the sauce to be really delicious.” (He might have said “to be really sweet” because the slang word for delicious (or cool) is also the word for sweet, much like in English). Then the real surprise – I expected that the family didn’t drink at all because they are religious but that is just not the case. Apparently, you take a shot of sodabe (local moonshine) before eating. Mama, bless her heart, knocked hers back like a champ while I was gagging a bit (though I think they gave me more than others). Next, a strange cocktail of citronella, sodabe, sweetened condensed milk, sugar, and ice. I felt a little bit like I was drinking mosquito repellant, but it worked to keep me from being bitten at least. Finally, wine in a box. We sat in the courtyard on mats and ate from the same bowl with our (right) hands – I felt like I’d finally arrived in Grand Popo. Though, I am pretty incompetent at eating with my hands apparently, and managed to drip red oil all over myself and drop bits of pate everywhere. Despite the mess, I went home contented that I had successfully navigated my first dinner invitation. Now to find a way to keep the invitations coming so I don’t ever have to cook for myself…

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Bight Makes Right

(Sorry, this Benin-themed pun thing might have gone too far with that title...it doesnt even make sense really, but I'm hungry and short on time)

A very smart lady just chastised me in a letter for not updating my blog, so here we go. Not that I have any readers left, since I’m sure you’ve all got better things to do than check if I’ve gotten my act together and updated this thing.

As I turned on my computer to write this, the power cut so I’m typing in the dark by lantern light, which is all a bit strange. I just came back from an art opening at the Finno African Cultural Center – an exhibition of the cover art of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, in English, French, and Finnish. What it has to do with Finland or Benin , I’m not quite sure, since the books are by a Scottish guy raised in South Africa and all take place in Botswana . But these are the little mysteries that keep my life interesting (like why the heck is there a Finno-African Cultural Center across the street from me?)

Life in Grand Popo goes well. I’ve been here three weeks, and I think I have received nearly 100 marriage proposals so far. At this point, I’ve woven an elaborate tale of the fiancé I’ve left “la-bas” (back home), who was sad to see me go but understands that this is what I need to be doing right now. He’ll probably come visit, so if anyone wants to pretend to be my fiancé, I could really use some help before two years is up. It is a bit frustrating though – no matter who I talk to or how un-romantic our conversation seems to be, it always turns to whether I’m married and whether the person can drop by sometime to see me. The poor, stuttering water meter reader got the brunt of my frustration the other day as he struggled to hit on me despite his speech impediment. I rolled my eyes and said “Do I owe you money for my bill? Because if I don’t, you should go.” To his credit, he did turn around and go. Hopefully he doesn’t jack up my bill as a result (really, if I’d been thinking ahead, I could have gotten free water for the rest of my time here. Hindsight…)



Despite the marriage proposals (or maybe because of them?) people here are really welcoming and generally helpful. For example, the woman who sells me fruit every week stopped me as I left the house last week and essentially said, “You’re wearing that shirt with those pants?” She phrased it as, “When a sister sees another sister making a mistake, she has to say something.” I went back in and changed. Now that I don’t have Kate or Sophie to tell me when things don’t match, I’m at a loss, and must rely on the kindness of strangers (or fruit sellers…this fruit seller is actually a midwife from Ghana who couldn’t find medical work here and so has to sell fruit instead…I’m overwhelmed sometimes by the unfairness of life).

Now, I’m waiting to head out to a Ramadan party, or rather, an end to Ramadan party. There aren’t many Muslims in Grand Popo, but apparently they go all out for the end of Ramadan. And it’s a national holiday, so the mayor’s office wasn’t open and I got to hang out at home and do laundry and go to bizarre art openings across the street from me. So all in all a good day, and as good a place as any to end this update. Continue to write letters and emails and make phone calls, if you all can afford to in the wake of the economic disaster that apparently is the US right now. I only hear the worst, so you should call to reassure me that I’ll be able to find a job in two years when I get back (or will I be better off learning how to work the land here instead?)

Monday, August 11, 2008

Pictures!












Clockwise from the top: the ocean at ouidah, me with a snake around my neck, the door to the pythn temple that the snake came from, and a rooster, looking very pleased with himself.

One month later...

It has been exactly one month since I left the States, so it seems a fitting time to offer something of a State of the Liz address.

I am trying something new today, to encourage my writing: typing on my laptop in my room and uploading when I’m done. This setup is contributing to a weird sense of displacement; I’m listening to a KEXP podcast as I write, but I can hear the drums and singing of an African church service in the background. I’m not sure if I should have a cup of coffee and a bagel next to me or rice and red sauce to keep me going. But that is a lot of what this past month has been – odd juxtapositions of old and new, Western and African (recognizing that both those terms collapse a whole lot of diversity into one word), and in some ways, good and bad.

First of all, there is stage (pronounced stahje), which is our training period and is a bit like summer camp and middle school all rolled into one. There were great times in both, and also horribly awkward, why-can’t-I-do-anything-right times too. We’re in class from 8am (that’s right, folks: I get up at 6:45 every morning and I ride my bike to school) to about 6pm (with a 3 hour lunch break in there so we can take a nap – I’m a big fan of cultures with institutionalized napping). Mostly language (French) training but also a fair amount of cross cultural (e.g. what is sodabe?), technical (e.g. accounting for illiterates), and practical (e.g. how to fix a flat tire).

[By the way, the question of what to eat has been answered – someone just knocked on my door and offered me a plate of rice and red sauce. Guess I’ll have to wait a couple of years for that bagel and coffee.]

Living with a host family has also been awesome but definitely takes adjustment – to a new schedule and a new group of people. Though my French is miles better than what it was, it’s still hard to communicate entirely in a different language. The kids are 3, 9, and 12 and they are adorable and awesome if way too energetic at times. The food is delicious mostly (with a few things thrown in that I’m still adjusting too – the infamous “sauce gluante” which has a bit of a mucus-ey consistency). I’ve resigned myself to the fact that women gain weight here and men lose it. Must have something to do with all the carbo-loading in the diet here. There are many fried things here, so I’m happy about that. AND, someone said that in the region I’ll be posted in has a lot of tofu. So I should be set.

On to that bit of news – After swearing in as a volunteer (until you finish training you are, appropriately, a trainee) I will be living in Grand Popo, pretty much as far Southwest as you can get with out being in Togo (which I can walk to Togo apparently). I’m excited because I will be on the beach, literally. Grand Popo is a resort area and poor fishing village (again, that juxtaposition) and probably one of the more developed tourist areas in Benin. This will be a mixed blessing – people will be used to white people, but as tourists, not volunteers. Also, everyone else will want to visit so I will see lots of people. In any case, living at the beach for two years can’t possibly be all that bad. No word yet on what kind of house I will have. I would much rather have electricity than running water I’ve decided – check back in a few months of hauling water and see if I’ve changed my tune…

What else to say, other than that the Beninese are incredibly welcoming and generous? The other day, we were buying oranges and a priest came over to talk to us and ended up buying the oranges and some sugarcane for us. In Beninese culture, for example, you should always have food in the house in case someone comes to visit. When you first arrive in anyone’s house, they bring out a cup of water for you (which, so far, we’ve had to decline since it’s not treated). So, while I’m nervous about integrating into my community, I’m not worried that people will be mean or unwelcoming, as long as I put in the effort. And on that note, I end. Anyone who writes me a snail mail letter will get one back (but I can’t promise the same for email).

Monday, June 30, 2008

Begin the Benin....

The big day is finally approaching - I leave tomorrow for Philadelphia, where I will meet up with the other folks in my cohort. On Thursday, we get on a plane for Benin! (well, technically to Paris, but then to Benin).

I've been trying to sort out how I'm feeling about leaving, and the truth is, I don't know yet. I have a feeling I won't know until I get to Benin, and maybe not a for a few months after that. I'm incredibly excited, but in the way you get excited before Christmas when you have absolutely no idea what you could possibly be getting as presents. It's hard to focus my excitement, since I really don't know exactly what I will be doing. I'm also very caught up in the minutiae of packing and leaving - how many pairs of underwear do I have? am I going to get a freaking shortwave radio? how do I drop 5 pounds from my suitcase without sacrificing an "essential" item? So I haven't thought much about actually being there.

Which is not to say I don't have plans for Benin. I am going to keep up this blog. I am going to write letters (proper, pen-and-paper letters. You will get one too if you write to me). I am going to try my hand at gardening. I am going to teach myself to crochet. In terms of being in my community, I am going to learn how to cook Beninese dishes. I am going to attend a voodoo ceremony (Benin is the home of the voodoo religion). I am going to ride my bike lots of places. I am going to get over my fear of motorcycles and get around on them. I am going to make a fool of myself trying to speak French and whatever local language they speak. I am going to try to dance (omg...me dancing? hilarious). I am going to work on my meeting new people skills. I am going to find out about Beninese NGOs. I feel a bit Stuart Smalley about the whole thing, but I think it's important to have some goals, and these seem like pretty manageable & concrete things to work on.

Oh, I realize that you might not even know what I'm going to be doing. As it turns out, I don't really either. I am a "small enterprise development" volunteer, which apparently means I could be working with local artisans, local entrepreneurs, an NGO, local government....the list goes on. I'm guessing that I will be in a town or semi-urban area and working with an NGO. Potentially I'll get to do some technology stuff (and use TTGO?!) as well. I would LOVE to work with an NGO that had some gender empowerment aspect to their work. It would be so cool to learn about what Beninese feminism looks like and how it plays out in organizational work. But

In a few days I will have much more interesting things to say and report. 'Til then, stay cool and wish me luck!