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.