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…