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.
Monday, August 11, 2008
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).
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).
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