My "Neighbor kids" Katherine, Lorainne (Ma petite Gateau, and Ariel (Pate Noir)

 
 

Living my life like it’s golden!!!

I’m coming home from being home!!!! I am busting up out the village and heading back to my birth place. The motha frickin yea-area! That’s right folks. Coming home!

It is with much sadness that I leave Benin. I love it here. Yeah it’s stressful and hard and my daily life here is full of challenges but I love Benin. As an African American, I know my roots. All of them. I am proud to be an American. It’s my country. Built by my ancestors. Native African and Native American. I have never appreciated my American heritage as much as I do right now. But, like a tree that had been up rooted for years, I have taken my ancestral roots and replanted them in Benin. I am an adopted child that has found her motha Africa and I have to tell you that it is a BEAUTIFUL thang!

When I first got here, I had a hard time here living without the network of friends and family that is so dear to me. But, I have built up a network of family and friends in this country that will always hold a special place in my heart. Here, I have become friends with women that carry huge Basins (tubs) of corn on their heads and while toting babies on their backs and with African people who have lived decadent lives; filled with more richness and splendor than I have ever known.

As a descendant of slaves, I have no idea where exactly my ancestors came from but Benin has embraced me as her long lost infant and I have willingly accepted her love. Does that mean that I dismiss my Mississippi and South Carolina roots. Hell no! It means that I have reintroduced (if that’s a word) them to their original environment where they have pushed and thrived for almost two years now. Just by being myself, working hard, sincerely devoting myself to my spiritual development and expressing myself as the fabulous Black legacy that I am, I have been able to touch the lives of people in my local community in ways that I could never have imagined before coming here. As Jilly from Philly (Jill Scott) said “I am taking my freedom… wherever I choose to go… it will take me far”. In my case, my freedom took me to Benin where I have lived and worked my ass off for almost two years and now it is taking me back to America where I will start the next chapter of my life.

A man who is like a brother to me here told me that I am not the first American who has ever come to Benin and I am certainly not the last who will. But, he said, I have integrated myself into the community in a way that very few people can and am someone that this community will never forget. That has to be one of the greatest compliments ever paid to me because I know that he meant it. In response I told him that I could not even express my gratitude and appreciation for the unconditional love and acceptance that his family has shown me and that they could never know how much richer my experience has been just because of knowing them. Now let me tell you that this man has two wives, nine children and lives in a two bedroom apartment with no running water or plumbing of any kind. Yet neither he nor any of his family has ever asked me for one single thing. Some people who live in developing countries sometimes see friendships with westerners, (whom many assume to be rich) as lucrative liaisons; using their friendship as a guise to win financial support. You will even find those types of people in America if you really think about it. But I have been blessed with many friends like him, his wives, and children who have accepted me for me. Not for what they think I can do for them.

When my sorors came to visit, the communities that I lived in welcomed them with open arms filled with so much love. Many people told me later that it was the loving kindness that I have shown their families that motivated them to make my sisters feel at home. I had people calling me from all over the country hoping to have the chance and the honor of hosting my visitors who, quite obviously, meant so much to me. Some people who have very little were willing to give the little that they have just to make people that are dear to me feel welcomed. They were even more pumped that my family from “La Bas” (abroad) was Black! In a place where most people don’t even know that African Americans exist and the only images of African Americans that they get (if they get any) are negative or ridiculous, that meant a lot.

That being said, I have to share that I am so pumped to be celebrating my 30th birthday in September. I just don’t understand people who sulk about their birthdays because I sincerely feel that I just get better and better and my life gets richer and richer with each passing year.

As for my Postcards from Benin, there are many more installments left to read. My Blog was just a tester and a teaser. Stay tuned for the much cleaner and more complete version to come.

Can’t wait to see you alls. I would love to hear from you. If you want, you can reply to my message at worldlysistah@yahoo.com.

Not So Blind After All

I taught a class in a language that I don’t even speak well. The teacher or “facilitator” for our Fon (the local language) class wasn’t able to make it to class. Teacher attendance or the lack thereof, is a challenge that we have been facing at the women’s center for quite some time now. We have a facilitator that is upset because we can’t afford to pay salaries. She is constantly saying “Je ne gagne pas RIEN ici.” meaning “I’m not getting anything out of this”. The directrice of the women’s center and I have tried to remind her that she can be proud of helping to empower the women of her community; opening doors to them that would otherwise be closed. But, that message ain‘t working. Now, many of the women in her class either come late or don’t come at all because they expect her to do the same. So, in the meantime, we fill in where we can. Usually if a facilitator doesn’t show up the Directrice for the women’s center teaches the class. Fortunately, the facilitator for the Fon class has a pretty good attendance record. However, one day, she had to take care of a problem with her child so she shortly after arriving on a Zemi, (one of the Beninese motorcycle taxis), she told me that if she could take care of the problem quickly, she would return at little late and teach the class. But, if the problem was going to take longer, she would come right back and just give the students a homework assignment. Anyway, thirty minutes after the class was supposed to have started, she still hadn’t returned. The “animatrice” or social worker at the Centre Sociale (or center for social services) where the women’s center is housed is named Dou-no which is means that her oldest child’s name is Dou. (I call her Tracy-no because she always looks out for me.) Anyway, she suggested that I tell the women to just read on their own and hope that the facilitator shows after all. I walked over to do just that but after delivering that message to the women in the class, they looked at me with puzzled faces and said “you’re here…What’s wrong with you ? Why can’t you teach the class”. I thought about it for a second and said “OK, let me go get a book and I will find an exercise for us.” Oddly enough, my local language speaking skills are minimal but I can understand quite a bit and read really well. Luckily, the women were in the process of learning to read their language so I was well poised to assist them.
The women were so pumped! We had a great time. I even added in some American style teaching tactics like telling everyone that they were doing a good job and having the class clap after every person had their turn reading aloud. I helped them to recognize the different characters and their sounds and they helped me pronounce them with the proper tones. Some people have a hard time believing that I am not Beninese because being African American, I look a lot like the people in this region. Some are even convinced that I know the local language but am trying to be boougie and not speak it. During class I overheard a couple of women whisper to one another in local language that they knew I could speak the language all along. Of course it didn’t help that I happened to understand that phrase and answered them by saying that I really don’t speak Fon that well but just happen to be able to read well. It was yet another high point in my service here. Life here is so interesting but after the initial romanticism wears off and you really settle into living life in West Africa, things start to look a little different. I see so many social issues and so much poverty it’s ridiculous. It gets downright depressing sometime. But at the same time, I see some of the most beautiful people that I have ever seen. Huge old women with bosoms that look like they weigh 400 pounds but with some of the smoothest, clearest skin I have ever seen. There is a lady that lives next door to my friend Celine’s sister. This woman has to be at least 75 and is even missing some teeth but she has beautiful high cheekbones, a complexion as brown and smooth as the richest milk chocolate, and always greets me with a smile.
That being said, some days I absolutely hate living here. Just the day to day struggle to get basic life tasks like shopping for food or even crossing the street is a constant source of stress. And let’s not even talk about the celibacy. Some days I wake up and think to myself… “What the hell am I doing here? What am I thinking?!?” But then my little 5 year old neighbor Loraine will come to tap lightly on my screen door saying “Tanti Twahci” (Miss Tracy) just to see if I am awake and ready to play with her. Just when I am at the end of my rope and ready to pack my bags to leave, some sweet little old lady stops me on the street at random and I end up having a 20 minute conversation with her about the weather and the ever rising price of tomatoes which instantly warms my heart and reminds me of why I love living here so much. Every time I get to a point where I am convinced that the majority of my fellow volunteers are immature, self absorbed, close-minded, jerks, I run into one of my favorite volunteers. It is usually someone that prior to my coming here, I would never have thought that I would have anything in common with but who has turned out to be one of my favorite people in country. It’s like every time God presents me with some great challenge, it reminds me of how much love I have in my heart and that I can withstand any challenge if I tap into that infinite source. I think that many people who visit West Africa do others a great disservice when they return to the US and share this fairytale-ish, hyper romanticized vision of life in Africa. They make it seem like as soon as you get off the plane, people rush to you with open arms shouting “Welcome Back oh lost child of Africa!” immediately presenting you with tribal cloths, jewels, and a new name complete with at least five syllables. I call it “mothaland madness”. Sadly enough, many people are afflicted with it and some local people have learned to capitalize on it. Often by calling you “Brotha” and “Seestah” while charging you 10 times the cost of the cheap assed trinkets and beads that are constantly being shoved in your face. Don’t get me wrong. Not all people here are like that. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But I have seen it often enough to call it common. Hell, my first time back from Ghana, I was also afflicted with Mothaland Madness because deep down inside I was too embarrassed to admit to people back home that things weren’t at all what I thought they were going to be. It is usually easier to live in a delusional state than it is to face facts.
For me, the most beautiful aspects of life here are often intermingled with the most trying. Watching society treat Beninese women like crap is hard but has given me a rare glimpse of the true strength and resilience of the African woman in her ability to persevere and determination to find ways around the system to create a better future for her daughters. I see many of the same qualities tha tI have seen in my mother, aunts, and grandmother. Often when I wear the local clothes, use the local language, and speak French with a Beninese accent, I am subjected to just some of the harsh treatment that local women have to suffer like being talked down to, sexually harassed, or even pushed out of the way as if I don’t even exist. Anyone who knows me will know right off that I am not good at keeping my mouth shut, standing by, and accepting whatever poor treatment I get. The experience in itself has given me an even deeper respect for West African women. It is a lot easier to tell someone where to go than to center yourself and go to a place of strength within you. I really get a lot of opportunity to practice that skill. Knowing how to center myself and remain in a positive place within myself is a skill that will help me immensely no matter where I am in the world. That being said, I do recognize the value in being confident enough to be able to tell someone exactly how you feel and reminding them that they can’t take advantage of you or treat you like a child just because they, for whatever reason, perceive you to be weaker than them.
Some days, I can’t imagine ever leaving. I love my huge, beautiful house that only costs $40 bucks a month to rent and getting dressed up to go to the open Marché with my friends to buy my weekly supply of tomatoes, onions, beans, and beesap (a local punch-like beverage made from boiled flower petals). I’ll always remember showering in my roofless, outdoor shower while looking up at the stars and singing showtoons to keep the roaches away (it really works). Working to help preserve a language which has existed for thousands of years and helping young girls to feel empowered just by standing up for myself in a way that many women in my community would never do makes it all worth it. Working to support a people that may very well have the exact same blood running through their veins as I do makes me feel like I am definitely in the right place doing what I believe to be the right thing. I have found a new type of strength within myself out of necessity. Without it, I would not have been able to last here as long as I have.

I have found Beninese people to be some of the proudest, most dynamic and interesting people that I have ever had the honor of knowing and living amongst. For every one aggressive, rude, sexist man that I encounter who makes me want to rip his arm off and beat him with it (I might need a bit of anger management), I meet at least 10 great people (men and women) who remind me of just how lucky I am to have to an opportunity to be here getting to know them instead of having them play a part in some distant romantic fantasy that I have about Africa. Some might say that me teaching a local language class is like the blind leading the blind. I say that my ability to see the beauty of life in Benin through the clouds of adversity which so often like to linger in my blue skies tells me that maybe I’m not so blind after all.

Hair today... gone tomorrow

I am going to Parakou this weekend for yet another Peace Corps event. I have really been trying not to complain but dog-gone if it isn't tough sometime. I look around me and see so much suffering but the women here hardly ever complain. While I'm touched and inspired, something has to be said for venting from time to time. A woman in town that I know pretty well decided to remind me, no scolded me one day.

Let me just say that I have been having some health challenges since I've been here and long story short, I'm really, REALLY anemic and have a protein deficiency. So, I have been taking supplements daily and trying to eat more iron rich foods. But even something as simple as eating better is hard because I can't get vegetables. I think that it is probably easier to get plutonium than it is to get carrots or lettuce in Savalou. And... well... I'm just going to say it. The food here SUCKS!!!! There are many countries in Africa where the food is absolutely wonderful. Benin is not one of those places. Period. I'll go into more detail about the food later.

Anyway, I have also toned down my schedule. Before, I was working on 9 different projects in town and around the country. I was working all day, through the reppot (three hour siestas between 12-3pm), and sometimes on weekends. I had to put my foot down so I decided to cut the amount of time that I spend at work and the number of days cause it was bringing me down. This change in my work schedule prompted the lecture on how "Beninese Women just keep going and working when they are sick." I was just like "Yeah, I noticed that" but in my head I was thinking "Yeah... keep going and drop dead at 42 of "natural causes". Hmmmm. Women here work soooooooo hard because they have no choice. I don't have the same type of constraints.

I swear, I wish people would at least TRY to keep their opinions to themselves. I know that I have some nerve saying this having always prided myself on being "honest". Now I really know why it is so much better to just keep it to yourself. Geeze Louise!

I walk past this braiding place everyday, one of many in Savalou. The women that braid hair there are sort of chicken heads but, whatever, I have always just tried to be cordial. The woman that owns it thinks that it is the bomb spot because it is pretty popular in town. But let me explain. Coiffeures (hair-dressers) in Benin have some... well... opportunities for growth and improvement with their ability to create cute hairstyles. In short... they're hair dumb. I have a Beninese friend who told me that before I came here but I didn't believe her. My friends from other African countries that live here have had me in tears (from laughing) while listening to their complaints about the terrible hairstyles that they have been subjected to wearing. Also, there is a widely held belief that whatever is white (from the western world or having to do with white people) is better. Straight hair and bleached skin, many feel, is mandatory if you want to look beautiful. Enter Tracy Brown. Beautiful, young, African American woman, a Peace Corps volunteer, who loves her dark skin and is especially proud of her full head of natural hair. People already don't know what to make of her because she claims that she is African AND American at the same time. WHAT?!?!? And to top it off, She doesn't straighten my hair.

Not only do I not straighten my hair but I refuse to and am of the opinion that it's not good for your hair of your self image. Especially the way that they do relaxers here; without running water. Anyone who has ever had their hair chemically straightened knows that running water is one of the most important components in the process.

Anyway, I have my hair in twists right now because after 8 months of tortureous braiding experiences, I have a little patch of hair that is getting a bit thin. So, instead of waiting until I look like I'm wearing a flesh colored, leather headband, I decided to give my hair a rest. This hairdresser took one look at my hair and was like "Your hair is not cute. When are you going to come back to let me fix it for you?" I was like "Ah Bon?" which is like saying "I heard that". Mind you, she is saying this while receiving a burgundy weave with that shiny, cheap, spun plastic looking track hair. The girl that is so lovingly installing this little bit of burgundy brilliance is wearing baby blur eyeliner and almost white "shimmery" lipstick. She kinda looked like the hooker from "Car Wash". Anyway, they do weaves and leave the tracks AND thread all showing. They don't even use weave thread here. I don't know if it's too expensive or un-available or what. No no... they use thick assed black thread that one might use to sew clothing. Not even the regular spool of thread that you get from the fabric store. No no, this is thread that has the same thickness as thread that you might sew jeans with. I swear, sometimes, all my strength goes into holding my tongue. And it's not just hair. People here press you about your religious beliefs and criticize you if they can't understand them, scold you for being almost thirty with no kids, and generally offer their unsolicited opinions on any topic that Americans tend to allow people to keep personal. Sure we in America have people that pry and are intrusive but folks usually look down on them for being nosy. Here, nosy is everybody's middle name. (tee-hee)

I feel like I should say something positive now because I think that I sound just a smidge irritated.

OK, let's see. I like being able to get my hair braided for six dollars. And I like that people here tend to be really sincere. I like the mangoes and the cute little animals that are sorta just running around loose (especially the baby goats). I like that people here view being skinny as bad and telling me that I need to fatten up (or I'll never get married).

Whatever! I'm still irritated. :o) I'm sure that it will be gone by the next installment. Tune in next time when you'll hear (or read) Tracy say "I really like it here!"

Ehdahboe!

Current reading list:

The kitchen gods wife............ Amy Tan
Clock without hands.............. Carson Mccullers
Eldridge Cleaver................. Eldridge Cleaver
The Economist

Favorite song right now:

On va gater le coin ............. Kaysha
(My work partner and I love this song so much that we put it on in the women's center and 1/2 dance and 1/2 work. Ya gotta love it!)

Things I miss:

Good food, dating, BBQ Ribs, privacy, cheap magazine subscriptions, celery, costco, ranch dressing, ovens, and cheese

Current Mantra:

I think Popeye said it best "I am what I am and that's all that I am" which is more than enough!" I added the last part. :o)

Why? Why? Why?

I have been in this struggle with myself for some time now. I am constantly searching for the truth about who I am. I so often remember all of the stupid things that I have done or said or say things that cause these horrible misunderstandings between myself and other people. During those thoughts, I feel like I am suffering the same embarrassment that I suffered in the situation originally. It's like these thoughts and memories just won't leave and they are really getting on my nerves. I don't want to be a "bag lady", hurt my back or miss a bus or anything like that. (reference: Erykah Badu) :o) I think about all the mistakes I've made in my personal and professional life. I swear these thoughts are like an irritating ex-boyfriend. They just won't go away. I know that I'm not the only person with this problem cause if I was, Iyanla Vanzant and Dr. Phil would be flipping burgers at Mickie D's. They would be STRAIGHT unemployed. The weird thing is that I know that these things aren't worth thinking about. I have other things that I could be spending my energy on but these thoughts just don't seem to want to go away. Why? What's the point? There is no point. And the worst part about it is... I'm a great person. I'm kind, loving, caring, I try to be honest and considerate. All of these great things. But for some odd reason, even with my recognition of these facts, I still have these thoughts.

OK, I know that this is weird and has nothing to do with this journal entry but I have a question. What purpose do Roaches serve on this planet? Can somebody tell me?!? I just took a short breat to make a "pit stop" and had to sweep two huge roaches out of my latrine. I have to tell you that I was looking at their disgusting little bodies and trying to figure out exactly why there are here. What do they do for the world and what do they eat in the wild? I know that in urban areas they live off of crumbs that people have dropped or manage to get into a box of cereal or bisquick from time to time but what do roaches in the Amazon eat and exactly what is their purpose? Where do roaches fit in the grand and beautiful circle of life? I think that God would not have made them if they weren't important for something? It (God) would not have made it so easy for them to reproduce in great numbers if they weren't somewhere in it's great plan. Oh well. I'll just have to keep killing them until I figure it out. Actually... I will probably continue killing them even after I figure it out. But now there is a conflict, If I truly believe that all things are God's creations, who am I to despise God's creations? God's perfect creations... created perfectly... for whatever they were... created for. Then again the same could be said for mosquitoes and fleas, and even for George Bush. Geeze Louise, believing in God is a big responsibility. I am constantly forced to look at myself and my beliefs and try my best to live right. It's hard, but not half as hard as it would be if I didn't know God.

Which brings me back to my original topic... Me!

I have to get it through my thick head that I too am one of God's perfect creations. Created perfectly for whatever it is I was created for. But sometimes, reminding myself of that fact is a bit hard. Oh well, I'll just continue to leave it with God> I am sure that just like my times of spiritual bliss and pure unadulterated joy, my doubts and fears are all a part of that greater whole.

Anyway, recently I was sent an Email stating that the husband of one of my sorors was killed in a car accident. I could not believe it. I still can't. And I don't know what to do. At this point in time I don't even have words to express how I feel. They were such a cute little family. She is my age, married with three children, and has been with this man for years. She has three kids and is really a kind individual. How could this have happened to her an her family. I genuinely believe that everything that happens in this world happens for our good and that God does everything for a reason but its times like this when my belief system is challenged the most. I have the utmost faith in God and know that it guides and directs my every move and every move of all the people on this planet. But at times like this, when tragedy strikes, I am afraid that I have trouble believing that. I know that often, I don't see the good in a situation until a long time after it has passed and sometimes I don't ever figure out what the point of something is. But I always keep the faith and know that God is good all the time. I just have to hold on to that right now and continue to pray for stregnth for my soror and her family.

But that's too clean of an ending. I still feel like crap. The odd thing is, no matter how crappy I feel, deep down inside my soul, there is always a little light shining. Shining and reminding me that God is with me. I remember when my sister got sick a couple of years ago. That was one of the hardest times of my life. I remember feeling so hopeless. Everyone in my family was looking to me to handle things that needed to be taken care of with her. While feeling like I needed to be strong for everyone else, I didn't feel like I could be strong for myself. I remember going back to my apartment in San Jose after two days of worry and confusion and living on about two hours of sleep. I was physically tired and what's worse, emotionally tired. I was in my room praying and saying God please just send me somebody on this earth that can help me and then I just started to weep a bit. Through my sobs, almost out of nowhere, I could hear my roommate Candra's TV in the next room. I thought about going to talk to her but it was late and even though she is one of my best friends I didn't want to bug her with my issues. After much deliberation, I finally made the decision to just go in and talk to her because I didn't know what else to do. I sort of crept into her room and she was asleep so as calmly as I could I said "Candra, Candra... I just need to talk a bit". I explained how was feeling, all the trouble that I was having with Kaiser, the HMO from HELL. In the middle of telling her everything, I started to cry uncontrollably. I had never cried so hard in front of anyone. Candra came and held me and by the end of my crying jag, she was crying too. My friend loves me so much that she felt my pain as her own. Not only had God sent me that somebody I needed, God gave me the awareness to know that the somebody I needed was always there and that I had to do was open my heart and see them. It was after that time that I realized for the first time, I truly felt and internalized for the first time in my life, that no matter what I need God is always here for me. God is here for me in the form of Candra and all my friends and family that helped me through that time. Here for me in the form of my ability to shed the healing, soothing tears. God is here for my sister in the form of all her friends and family that were and always will be here for her. And I am knowing that God is here for my soror. As a matter of fact, in the form of everything that supports her.

I am remembering a time when I was inconsolable, even after I came to realize that God was, is, and always will be here for me. I can remember God everywhere or rather reminders of God's presence in my life. I might be in the grocery store and all of a sudden a feeling of despair would come over me. I would stop myself, take a deep breath, and look around me. I might see a box of all and think "yeah, that's right, God is my all!" Or be at the gas station thinking about how many crunches I need to do to get rid or the "natural fanny pack" that had recently and mysteriously attached itself to my abdomen. Someone would walk up to me and say "You look really beautiful today" then just walk away. I would say thanks then stand there thinking "Darn right I do and God made me that way! Praise God!" It was during the most hellish time in my life that I was awakened to the fact of God's constant presence in my life. Of course I'm not happy that my sister got sick and I won't lie and say that I don't have my down times (like when I sit around thinking about all the mistakes that I have made). But no matter how rough it gets for me here, no matter how frustrated I feel with my life in a foreign country, I am centered in knowing that God is always here for me in some form or another and that I am one of It's (God's) perfect creations... perfectly created... for whatever it is I was created for. Throughout my time here in Benin I have had to call upon that belief on a regular basis. I miss my family and friends, I hate the food,(yes, I am using the word "hate"), and I am having trouble with the language. The language issue is especially troubling because I have always considered myself an articulate person, so having trouble expressing myself has been a great challenge. But all in all, I just keep the faith, try to stay centered in love, and keep writing.

Tune in for the next exciting episode of Postcards from Benin. Same bat time, same bat website...

Current Reading List:

Another Roadside Attraction Tom Robbins
Manchild in the Promised Land Claude Brown
The Bible Various
The Screwtape Letters C. S. Lewis

What I Miss Right Now:

Tea time with my daddy, the Victoria's Secret clearance sale, closets, nightclubs, celery, step shows, soup, BBQ Sauce, H&M, coffee shops, insect free living, collard greens, traveling with Sharee, High heeled shoes, Girls nights in with my friends, fresh veggies, microwaves, Jamba Juice, Martinis, tha hair shop, efforts at political correctness, outlet shopping, ebonics, fast food

Doin' the "can can"

I am sometimes surprised at how resourceful I have become. I have a hole in my douche (shower) for water to drain outside. This drainage "system" is great except it invites stuff from outside into my house. The last volunteer that lived in my house just sat some kind of jar lid over the hole at night to shut out the light which attracts the little visitors in the first place. But, I saw a FAT roach (like he had been eating cornbread and greens) in my douche one night. As soon as I saw him I went looking for something to kill roachzilla. Upon my return, I saw him slide under the lid to his own little critter safe heaven. I yelled down the drain after him telling him not to come back and to be sure to warn his friends of the dangers of venturing into my house. I've heard that roaches tend to be unreliable so I devised a safeguard. I made a drain cover out of a tomato paste can. I cut one end off of the can and used my hammer and a medium sized nail to poke holes in the other end. Then, when "installing" my little piece of brilliance, I discovered that the can was fitting a bit snugly in the hole. So, I proceeded to "resize" it also know as hammer the hell out of it until it fit securely into the hole. I am so proud of myself!

I must be honest and state that I can't take full credit for the tomato-paste-drain-cover idea. I saw it at Jim's house in Dogboe. But I am still proud of myself for actually taking the initiative to make it myself. Plus, the custom resizing job... was all me.

As a matter of fact, you can do many, many amazing things with old cans. I don't have an oven here which is sad because anyone that knows me well knows that I love to bake. Well... no problem! Did you know that you can make your hot plate into an oven by using a big pot, some sand, and three tomato paste cans. Yeah... For real.

Here's How...

You cut both ends off the cans, throw some sand in the bottom of the pot, and place the cans in a sort of triangular configuration (or whatever best supports your baking pan), put your baking pan full of tasty goodness on top of the cans then set it... and forget it!

Well... actually... more like set it and don't worry about it for a while because it takes a while for stuff to cook this way.

Fine, fine. I doubt that Ron Poppeal will be selling the sandpot baking system on a latenight infomercial anytime soon but I still think that it's pretty neat. If you think about it.

What else.... Oh! I have used old coffee cans for holding pens and other knick knacks and have even made instruments out of them for the neighborhood kids. Not to mention that due to my bad luck with intestinal parasites and other stomach issues, Peace Corps medical offices are constantly receiving "Petite Cadeaus" or little presents from me also know as "samples". The item that I lovingly refer to as "My Official Peace Corps Projectile Specimen receptacle" (in laymens terms... a tuna can) comes in very handy.

Maybe I should have kept that to myself. But what story about the Peace Corps experience would be complete without a bit of toilet humor.

And now that you have ventured into the wonderful world of cans, I hope that you too will be inspired to turn your trash into treasure.

Current Reading List:

The Ugly American............................ William J. Leader + Eugene Burdick
A Problem From Hell: America and the Age of Genocide
Confessions of a Shopaholic.............. Sophie Kinsella
The Economist
The Island of Dr. Moreau.................. H.G. Wells


Hey, send me your "canned" thoughts, feedback, or whatever at worldlysistah@yahoo.com

A Day In The Life...

It amazes me how boring and run of the mill I tend to think that my life is. However, when I sit down and think about my life, especially here in Benin, it is pretty cool.

I live in a mid sized town called Savalou in the Collines region of Benin. Every morning at about 6am I am awakened to the sound of traditional brooms brushing across the red clay earth outside my window. Women here get up as early as 4 or 5 am to sweep. When I first arrived, my neighbors were amazed that I was not doing this as well. As a matter of fact they are amazed that I don't spend more time on domestic tasks. They have asked me why and said that they didn't expect to see the white volunteers doing anything but because my skin is Black, they expected it to be different with me. So I have to explain that we, Americans, don't tend to do those things here because we don't have to do them at home. It's about quality of life not color of skin.

Most of the roads in Savalou are dirt roads so the amount of dust that blows into your house (most people don't have glass in their windows... just screens and wood shudders) is maddening. I used to try to sweep right after I got up in the morning but I just got sick of it and said forget it. I'm just going to have to get used to living in my own private dust bowl. When I do finally get around to sweeping every two or three days, my neighbors stop to watch how much dust I push out of my door. The animals also have learned to chill by my door in anticipation of me sweeping because there is always some tasty morsel of a dead bug waiting for them. I think that the best fight that I have seen since I've been in country was between a chicken and a pig over a dead roach that I swept out one morning.

The chicken emerged victorious if in case you're wondering. :o)

Oh! I'm skipping a step. Just after I get up, I grab my traditional broom made of palm fronds (or something) and head outside to my outhouse or "latrine" which is about 100 yards from my back door. I live in a concession with another family (a husband, two wives, and lord only knows how many children). From a cultural standpoint, I have to "salue" or speak to everyone. There is a series of questions that you have to ask about how they are doing that morning, how well they slept, if their spouse slept well, if their kids slept well, etc. It's a good thing that I am a morning person or I would be in trouble.
When I reach my latrine, I sweep out all the dead bugs then do what I have to do. I have a squat latrine which, how can I explain this, is basically a cement hole usually covered with tile or sometimes just with small cement foot groves. In my case, I have a toilet seat plastered to 4 or 5 inch cement pillar. Squat latrines are great because using it is a bit more "natural". But the openness of the hole seems to cause more roaches to feel brave enough to venture out. But, of course, you know me. I think of everything so I have this godsend of an insecticide called "Crae Miraculeuse" or "Miraculous Chalk" which is basically 99 cent store boric acid in the form of a piece of chalk. You just trace lines in the corners, the cracks, and wherever else you tend to see bugs and it kills everything!!! Even rats and bats. It's great! Some of our environmental volunteers have given me flack about "disturbing the delicate ecosystem" and "wreaking havoc on the environment". I just look at them and go "ummm-hmmm... delicate ecosystem. ummm-hmmm... environment" But the whole time I'm thinking "Please??? Are you going to come kill the scorpions the size of mice that show up during the dry season??? ... I didn't think so...

(smile)

After I sweep and/or mop or whatever house work I decide to do, I get ready to "shower". I just moved to a new house (for reasons that I will explain sometime in the future) which has a "douche" or shower inside. My last house had an outside and uncovered douche. It was basically three walls made of stone bricks and a tin door. I really liked it because sometimes, if I showered early or late enough, I would find myself showering under the stars. The moon, stars and sky look so beautiful here. They look so close that you feel like if someone gave you a good boost, you could slap the hand of the man in the moon. Sorta like Stockard Channing in the movie "Six Degrees of Separation" when she slaps the hand of God in the Sistine (sp) Chapel...

Ooops! I rambling...

After my shower, I refill all my water buckets and pour some water from my water filter into a pot for boiling. I have to filter and boil water every day to keep from getting sick. The concession that I live in now has a "robinet" or a faucet in the common area so I can fetch my own water. At my last house, my neighbor had to get it for me from down the street and around the corner. To carry water long distances like that, you have to put it in a big basin and carry it on your head. Carrying water on my head was not one of the skills that I picked up while living in Frisco. So, instead of risking a tragic neck breaking, I let me neighbor help me out. ;o)

I usually have a breakfast of bread, cheese, and a hot beverage like tea, or Milo which is a really chocolatey breakfast drink that seems to be popular everywhere in the world except the US. It's really tasty especially on those chilly mornings when it gets down to 80. :o)

My trek to work starts at about 9:30-ish. The "Centre Promotion Sociale (CPS)" or health center where I work is about a 10 minute walk from my house. Along the way, I saluee the people that I tend to see working along the road. People are pretty friendly and are really excited that I am trying to learn the local language which is Mahi (pronounced Mah-hee). They always make me practice and have a great time correcting me and giving me new phrases which I can never remember but always try to use.

At the CPS, we are opening a women's center which is the first of it's kind in my area and I work with the center's directrice. She is an incredibly dynamic woman named Augustine, who is originally from Cote Ivore but has lived in Benin for the past 15 years or so. The project was started by two volunteers that lived in Savalou before me and they did a lot of work to get the project started. Now, since they are both gone, I have inherited the project and am working with Augustine on phase two. Opening the center. We have planned the opening for May but will start classes in mid April. At the center, local women will be able to take classes in Alphabetization (Basic Literacy), Francaise Fundamental (basic French), Marketing, hygiene, and much, much more! :o) It's exciting because there is finally a place where women can come to learn the things that are important to them. Here, women don't really feel that they have a place in society. They are treated like they are just alive to serve the men so this is a great opportunity to help empower them.

I get to work at about 9:45 or 10-ish and work through the rappoe (sp) which is a three hour break in the middle of the day from Noon to 3:00. Kinda like siesta... but French. People usually go home, eat, take a nap, shower and go back to work. I can't handle such a big disruption in the day so I just work through it and in the evening, go home when I'm good and ready. :o)

We have an organization here called Songhai and they run a business in town which is an internet cafe, phone center, and sort of farmers market all in the same building. I usually stop by there once every week or so to order vegetables (must do one day in advance) and use the internet. It's hard to get vegitables in my area so I am constantly at Songhai trying to get whatever they have. One of the guys that runs the farm asked me exactly what kind of vegatables I want. I said "Look, whatever you manage to pull up out of the ground or off a tree... I'll eat".

Then I go home and change into a pagna which is a piece of fabric that you just wrap around you to walk around the house. I make it a habit to hang out with my neighbors as much as possible because they are nice and because they help me practice my language skills. Plus they remind me of my family in many ways so it helps with the home sickness. At my old house, the neighborhood kids used to come to my door to ask me to come out to play and it was often the highlight of my day. There is one little boy named Willie who would come and sit on my front steps every morning waiting for me to open my door and come outside to play "motos" with him. Motos is a game that he and I made up. We use clothespins or rocks or whatever we can find. We sit on the steps and push these items around on the ground pretending that they are motorcycles ("motos") or taxis while making car or moto noises. I used to love that! The kids love coming to my house because I am the only adult female that has time to play with them. I never realized how much, we in America, fuss over our children until I came here. People literally don't have time to do a whole lot of comforting. There are barely enough hours in the day to get basic life tasks like getting water or preparing food done much less soothing a child who has fallen down or hit his head. So, of course, when the kids hurt themselves, they come to my house because I hug them and fuss over them. The women just look at me and tell me I'm spoiling them but they like that I'm not afraid to interact with them and their families.

It is challenging being an African American volunteer because you look just like everyone else but you still come from a different culture. Don't get me wrong, there are similarities between my own culture and the culture here which are very refreshing to see but there are obvious ideological differences that exist. I refer to myself as African American. However, I have no idea where in Africa my ancestors are from and don't know any of the languages. The concept of being African without direct knowledge of your roots may not seem strange to us in America but here, people don't even realize that there are Black people in America so they have no idea what to make of me. The nice thing is that I am much quicker to bond with Beninois people that most volunteers (according to Beninois people). The postmaster who is like a uncle to me, asked me why it is always so much easier to talk to African American volunteers when other volunteers seem to only want to be bothered when they need something? I told him that I didn't really know and that one can't be sure of the reason. I said that my guess is that we (African American volunteers) may become comfortable in our environments a little quicker because we are interacting with people who look like us. So it's not as uncomfortable or intimidating. Also, culturally, I think that we (African Americans) tend to be pretty friendly and outgoing. We won't touch you with a ten foot pole until we have established that you are of good character but once we're comfortable with you, we will roll out the red carpet. Its interesting to see that here as well. But again, many things vary on an individual basis. I have to say that there are many advantagges to being an African American volunteer. But, I'll go into those in another journal entry.

Stay tuned...

I feel good about my work here. I am learning so much about myself and I feel like I am helping to broaden the horizons of a lot of people; ESPECIALLY the little girls. I have become a role model or sorts. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm outspoken and try to be open and honest about life. Some days, I feel like I'm cheating because I am learning so much from people here and don't feel like I'm teaching or contributing all that much. Then I look outside and see my neighbors and their children looking like they can't wait for me to join them for a chat. I have come to realize that this is a mutually beneficial relationship and that I am doing exactly what I want, need, and was meant to be doing... right at this moment.

For me, that is what life is really all about...

Things I Miss:
Talking to my friends on the phone frequently, spa weekends, walgreens, my mom's potato salad, watching old movies with my dad, bacon, the sale rack at the GAP, Jiffy corn muffin mix, Pine Sol, oreo cookies, doritos, Ernie (my dog), and Watching TV with my Aunt Minnie

International Interment

Hey ya'll,

I spent the weekend a small town called Dogboe which is in the southern part of Benin about 2 hours outside of Cotonou. I stayed there with another Volunteer, Jim, who is a really nice guy. The funeral was in an even smaller town called Asove and it was, oddly enough, a great time. I know that we are used to funerals in the states being really somber and sad but here, that's not the case. This funeral was a grand celebration. The deceased is the Father of my host mom (the mother from the family that I lived with during "stage" or training). My whole host family was there along with about 300 people. I took a bushtaxi (a car meant for 5 but packed with 6-10 or more people) from Dogboe in the morning and when I arrived in Asove, I wasn't sure exactly where the funeral was to be held. I gave the taxi driver the name of the hotel and asked if he knew where it was. He gave me a gruff no, pulled the car over, then said "Get out here". I was like, "Is this the hotel?" and he says "No, but it's where you're getting out." I figured that it was as good a place as any since I didn't know where I was going and started my walk through town. I stopped and tried to ask a few people about the hotel and they just pointed in a general direction so I just kept walking and figured that I would find it. I finally saw a long line of cars and people walking down this alley and sure enough, that was the place. I walk into this concession of houses and there are hundreds of people dressed in all manners of beautiful African fabric. Now,you should know that for any special occasion, people choose and purchase matching fabric or "tissue" and get outfits custom made. A funeral is no exception. I remember hearing Christopher X, a minister for the nation of Islam, speak a long time ago, about the way that African American people take pride in their appearances. He jokingly stated that even during the depression, we were dressed in Brooks Brothers suits! This was definitely a testament to the African tendency to be dressed to the nines especially for a special occasion. And there were various decorative patterns of fabric depending on how you were related to the deceased (monsieur Agahai). Monsieur Agahai, age 84, was in the national army so he knew tons of people. He also practiced polygamy so he had about four wives and, if I understand correctly, each of the wives offspring and their families wore a different tissue pattern. I didn't buy my tissue in time to have anything made but my host family had a beautiful blue, cream and green pattern which looked absolutely GORGEOUS on their jet Black skin.

When I arrived, it took me a while to find my host family but I ran into some other volunteers. I sat with them and ate three delicious courses of rice, beans, fish and drank enough sweet, sweet soda like Fizzy and Fanta to cause the Diabetes council to declare my body to be in a state of emergency. People walked around the concession with these HUGE pots of food and just scooped the stuff in a mountainous heap onto our plates. People here eat SO much. Sometimes I swear it's like visiting my great aunts in South Carolina who have no shame about piling more food onto your plate because they have decided that you haven't eaten enough. :o)

I decided to break off from the other volunteers and find my host family. I have to be honest and say that I get a bit sick of hanging out with volunteers so I try to keep it short and sweet. There is a belief that exists in the Peace Corps, at least in Peace Corps Benin, that as soon as you get here, every one of the random people that you are kind of just thrown together with is now your new best friend. Jim and I decided that it's like some horrible arranged marriage that we won't be able to get out of for two years. (smile)

I finally found my host family and my Ma'man (mother) took me around to introduce me to everyone. I swear she had like 20 brothers and sisters and lord only knows how many aunts, uncles, and cousins. Often, titles like brother or sister are used with people close to the family but in this case, I was given a rundown of their lineage and they were all, definitely, blood relatives.

The day was filled with amusements. There were 5 or 6 different performance groups including live bands, and two or three groups of traditional drummers and dancers. I got up and danced with my host family and one of my host moms younger brothers grabbed the microphone and started singing along with the band. It was GREAT!!! Events like this always make me feel so much like I am at home with my family. People are so warm and accepting that sometimes I forget I'm not related to them (that I know of). I'll sit with my neighbors and friends and catch myself saying "Girl, you crazy!" or some other phrase that I tend to use with people of my culture that I'm close to. I recognize that there are cultural differences that exists but it's focusing on the similarities that helps me stay grounded. I was talking to a volunteer here who is Mexican about how much we miss being able to use our respective vernaculars or just relax with people without having to constantly field all of the cultural questions that they have been too afraid to ask all of their lives. On the other hand, I am glad that people feel comfortable enough to ask me about and discuss cultural issues with me. I think that it's this type dialogue that will allow us to heal ourselves of the cultural ills that ail us. It amazes me how culturally aware we, in America, have convinced ourselves we are. Although we are doing a lot better than many other countries in terms of our level of cultural understanding and willingness to be considerate of one another, I think that its important to admit that we do have have difficulty discussing culture be it ethnic, religious, sexual preference, etc...

...Culture and any other topic that may be a little uncomfortable for us to think about. That's just my own independent theory.

Anyway, just before I left the funeral, they were handing out candy bags that were made for all of the guests. I left thinking "Does it get any better than this???"

The rest of the night I hung out with Jim and really got to know him better. A young white guy in his mid 20s from the midwest, . He was a great host! We went to this two story bar in Dogboe with a open rooftop and I got to sample some great Togolaise (from Togo) beers that aren't very easy to find here in Benin. Then we went back to his house where he made fried rice and we talked for hours. I was amazed to find out that we have a lot of the same views on things and it was great to have someone to share my experiences with openly. I realized how much I miss my platonic male friends (the few that I have). For the most part, platonic male/female relationships aren't very common in Benin so my visit with Jim was quite refreshing.

Lately, I have been missing: Big Macs, Taco Bell (Mexican pizzas), green grapes, dating, Target stores, sausage, grits, instant oatmeal, FDA restrictions, laundromats, bootleg CDs, and jelly bellies.

I always miss my family and friends. Especially my mommy and daddy whose birthdays I just missed. :o(

My current life soundtrack:
Things Fall Apart by the Roots
Worldwide Underground - Eryka Badu
Bizet's Carmen - performed by Jessye Norman
Isely's Greatest Hits - The Isely Brothers
Verve Remix - Various artists

Books I read recently:
Essential Hughes - Langston Hughes
Still life with woodpecker - Tom Robbins
Emma - Jane Austin
Agnes Gray - Anne Bronte
Manchild in the Promisedland - Claude Brown
The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver