A few villages in the northwest, near the Togo border, have a coming of age celebration for their boys. There just so happens to be a volunteer who lives in one of these villages and she invited us to come and join in the festivities.
La Fête de Chicotte or whipping fete occurs around the end of October every year and according to new country regulations they are now on weekends so children will no longer miss school. So early morning Saturday Oct. 25th the 14 of us who arrived the night before left in a van to go to a neighboring village. Tired and a bit groggy (we were ready by 6am) we arrived and were soon carried off to pass the time at the King’s home. It was said that he was well into his nineties, had several wives and dozens of children (I don’t really believe he could have been in his nineties… maybe, or maybe he just felt that old; without birth certificates no one really knows). We were given choc, a local beer made from millet; drinking at 8 am is actually a common occurrence in country.
At the sounds of drums we parted from “his majesty” and went to a small opening where the men were arriving from the different corners of the village, each wearing a specific attire to represent their allegiances as well as their year in participation: first, second, third or completed. The men of all ages, even the 5 year olds, formed a revolving circle around the drums. Their feet were wrapped in a type of bangle that contained small beads which produced a rattle when their feet hit the ground with force. The stomping fell into the rhythm of the drums, controlled, without rushing as they concentrated on their contests to come. Surrounding them were the retirees: fathers, older brothers, uncles… there to give support and guidance; they also happened to be dressed in drag looking better than most women could in a mini-skirt.
Once enough people had gathered the whipping began. Crack, crack. Crack, crack. It was heard all over. The drums stopped and the men dueled with whoever was closest to them, a sort of musical chairs. Each gave two flicks of the whip while their opponent protected themselves with a make shift shield that was really a long stick with a handle at the middle. This could only suffice a bit and the blood became to seep from define lines of where the whip had cut into the flesh of the arm or back. The opponent was then given their chance of two whips. Crack, crack. The supporters sometimes had to step in to prevent a continuation of frapping when the contestants would get caught up in the moment. The drums would start up again and the men would fall into their circle, each time it grew larger as more arrived.
This was just the warm up. From there we followed the mob to the soccer field. It became difficult to see with the whole village there and everyone trying to get a glimpse. Women supported their brothers, boyfriends and sons. Little boys eyed them and stood just a bit taller, anticipating their day to come. Here at the arena only two at a time dueled and this was more of a presentation for the King and other elders. Crack, crack. I could only see with my ears, but that was enough. Crack, crack. It didn’t last long, maybe until 10; but I’m sure the fete-ing lasted the duration of the day.
We returned back to Kate’s house and awaited the festivities to come on Sunday. So we passed the time with a bit of Cranium and just enjoyed each other’s company catching up from the last time we saw one another. That night the boys began getting ready by making trips to all the houses. We would hear them coming from the distance, chanting in a way that represented the mood for this fete, almost with a dreadful ring, perhaps it was just my imagination for I couldn’t understand any of what was being said. Some just chanted “l’argent, l’argent” or “money, money” but we gave them candy. This lasted for hours. It was after 10pm and most had gone to bed and the chanting had died down a bit. A few of us were left on the terrace setting up our beds; outside is the best place to sleep to feel the coolness that comes with the setting of the sun. All settled in, (trying not to worry about scorpions after we just killed one) and already drifting into sleep I could hear chanted. Louder and louder it came. They were really close to the house I knew, but it wasn’t until Megan exclaimed something that I sat up. The gate was hinged closed; but that didn’t create any type of hesitation. I was taken aback to see a line of teenage boys in costume chanted and stomping their feet up on the terrace. It was almost scary. We had to shoo them back off the porch and give them candy before they would depart. Luckily we slept afterwards without any more visitors, neither boys nor scorpions. The whole night resembled a version of Halloween and it just so happened that Halloween wasn’t that far away.
Again we arose early. Grabbed some power bars donated by Lindsey who was finishing up her service and headed down the road. We waited for the men to arrive. After some time, they began to approach from one end with the rising sun at their back. In front of us they joined the others who gave from the opposite end and veered off into an overgrown patch, trampling the weeds and creating an opening. It turned into one big free for all. There was no order. Just the snapping and cracking of whips. They still maintained the two hit rule, but that was one of the few similarities than the day before.
Down the road was another mob of people that we joined. There was no set place for combaters or observers, so we were continuously changing our position trying to avoid getting in the way. But with this we could also get better views. At one point I watched a younger boy in a spar with a much older, intense man (probably late teens, early twenties). The elder didn’t block the boy’s hits (I also noticed the whip was changed to one with less power) but he sure did give it back. The younger blocked himself well, but I was memorized by this teaching moment between, what I like to believe, bothers.
Each battle was finished by the retired men, probably family members, they grabbed the tips of the whips and promenaded the contenders around until meeting up with someone else to challenge. It was a horde of half dressed men either in drag or loin clothes, multitudes of whips, cheering women and more baby powder than… well I’m not sure what but the white dusting on black skin gave an effect to the scenery .
From there we gathered at an arena where the battles would be presented in front of the King. Being Kate’s home we were given front row seats. I only regret not getting a video at this great opportunity. Being up close without a rumble of people I had the ultimate experience. Crack, crack went the whips. Muscles rippled as the men both took and received the forceful strikes of the whip without a slightest wince when the sharpness cut through the unprotected skin creating a dark red strip that would without a doubt leave a scar.
Again like the day before, it didn’t last long and we soon went to the King’s house. There we drank chouc again. But this time a whip was given to Heidi and Rut who each took turns flicking their arms to hit the shield of the opponent, giving the villagers a little spectacle in return. I was surprised when the whip was handed off to me and eager at the chance as well. Crack, crack. I didn’t hold back knowing that my inexperience was something the man in front of me could handle. It was exhilarating. I could fully understand how one could receive a hit and not cringe, so much adrenaline the pain wouldn’t start until the day after. No worries, I didn’t receive any hits in return. It wasn’t that I was a wimp; I just didn’t have a shield.
We bid our farewells and thanks to the King and shortly took off in different directions to our villages or towns around Benin. The cultural weekend was definitely a highlight and I’m glad I had the chance undergo this experience.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
On the Other Side of Togo
Wow, I can’t believe it’s already December and I have yet written about… well anything lately. I will try to bring you up to date with what’s been going on with me here in Benin. I’ll start with my trip to Ghana….
While I was in Porto Norvo as a trainee for the new volunteers this past summer, I randomly struck up a conversation with Emily who was also working and getting ready to COS (Close of Service). We got on the topic of her COS trip and after a while it was decided that I would join her and Adrienne on the beginning of their trip, I would go to Ghana with them.
To get ready for the trip all I needed to do was get VISAs for Togo and Ghana, and luckily it didn’t take more than 2 hassle free days. Before leaving I had to work the last week of the training which ended with the newbies Swearing In as volunteers and a celebration for the 40th Anniversary of Peace Corps Benin. Adrienne and Emily accompanied me the last night of working stage (the training) and we took off early the next morning.
The taxi picked us up at the house we were staying in, not a usual occurrence. The taxi was also a very nice, very new BMW; the only BMW I have every sat in actually and we were the only ones in it besides the driver. This is not the norm of travelling. Usually the 4 door sedans are packed with 4-6 adults in the back (that doesn’t include children) and 4 in the front including the driver (one time there were five- all adults). If you’re having trouble imagining this, there is someone who shares the driver’s seat an d straddles the stick shift, a seat I absolute refuse to sit in (it’s not for the ladies). Doors only open from either the inside or the outside, never both. Window knobs have been taken off to squeeze in more people and therefore a tool is needed to roll them down, if available. It’s normal that the car needs to be pushed, forward or backwards in order to start and sometimes a 2 hour ride can turn into almost 4 with multiple stops to let people out or pick others up. So this spacious BMW with only the three of us was a nice way to start our vacation.
Travelling from Benin’s capital to the Togo/Ghana boarder only took a few hours, Togo is not very big. After crossing the border we took a tro-tro, a van/ minibus which tend to be reasonably spacious, took us into Accra. Arriving in Accra was like being back in the states. There were highways, billboards, cars not being held up by duck tap, designated places for trash, I could keep going. It’s was amazing the contrast of development from Benin, which I had just left only a few hours ago, to Ghana; a country leading the way to development in West Africa.
So what does one do when arriving into a city that resembles America? Eat of course! We headed straight for the Sports Bar “Champs.” Just your typical sports bar, flat screen TV showing the latest in sports, pitchers of beer and pool tables, it wasn’t surprising the other customers were either tourists or expats. The menu was overwhelming at first, more than my normal choices of pâte, yam pile or rice. Even writing this entry 3 months later I still remembered everything I ate on the trip… kind of pathetic I know.
In Accra we went to the Artisan Market where we saw most of the same crafts found in Benin, fabricated for tourists but interesting no less. We even meet someone from Burkina and shared a few words in French, something that made his day, enough in fact to give us petite cadeaux. Adrienne hooked us up with a drummer, Liman, who at first seemed a pest, but she gave him a chance and luckily so because he gave the three of us a drumming lesson. I love to drum! The rhythm comes easy to me and I could get lost in the beat. At one point he told me that I hit the drum like I would my boyfriend who cheated on me. He got that right.
That night we met up with some other Benin volunteers who also happened to be in Accra to celebrate Adrienne’s birthday. It was decided to go for pizza. I can get lost describing the food, but you have to understand going a year with real cheese only on occasion, less than once a month, you’ll remember when you get it again. I had a pizza with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, etc. We topped the evening off with ice cream, yum!
The next day we headed out to Cape Coast. We soon found out that with the nice highways, pickpocketers come as a package deal. In Benin I haven’t had any problems with pickpocketers, normally I give the driver my bag, he puts it in the back and I don’t have to think about it again. In Accra, people were all over us, so much that locals took it upon themselves to look after us, one actually rode the few hours with my bag on top of her lap. It was sweet and amusing, I had taken precautions already with my bag to avoid such problems, but sometimes you can’t refuse help.
After our first night in Cape Coast we met an incredible woman from Washington State, Kathryn Roe. She lives in Cape Coast for 6-8 months out of the year helping students with school contributions in order to graduate with a high school diploma. The time she spends in the states is to raise awareness and get people to sponsor students. She has more students than sponsors, an easy thing to occur when so many are in need. You should check out her website, www.nas.com/africa, she is one of the few expats that understands the reality in making a contribution to the lives here, most people just give money to build a school or orphanage not thinking of the need or someone to run it afterwards, a concept that makes me bang my head every time I’m asked for money, presents, a ticket to the United States, etc. Kathryn is no stranger and understands the workings inside and out, giving her time above all else to provide the opportunity to deserving students in order to have a chance at an education.
Meeting Kathryn was definitely a highlight. Not only is she inspiring, she gave advice as to what we should see in the area and had us over for meals more than once, in which we would get into a conversations that were hard to cease. So in Cape Coast we went to the Kakum National Park and walk along the canopy walkways. Not sure how high up they we were or even what purpose they served, but they were very very high and luckily none of us were afraid of heights. We also visited the slave castles where the Portuguese and eventually the British had captured/ bought slaves and packed them like sardines into rooms for months on end with food given once a month in order to continue their dreaded lives. Women were picked out like animals in order to serve the wants of the European governor whose chamber was above their dungeon. Standing in the room where the women were kept, the only light shines from the door window, I looked around me and even though this castle has been abandoned centuries ago, I had the feeling that the walls and floors were still soiled with the blood, sweat, urine, feces and tears of the poor souls entrapped there. I’m not usually a sentimental person (as my friends know I don’t normally cry in movies) but I felt the presence there and I can’t begin to understand what human being could put another through such terrors.
Our time in Cape Coast was brief and I would love to go back for a longer duration. Take some drumming or traditional dance lessons, go to the neighboring towns for traditional ceremonies; who knows?
Next on our stop was Kumasi. We stayed at the Peace Corps Workstation at a time where Ghanaian Volunteers were also making use of the place to stay. One of them took us out to her village 3 hours away. Because of the distance we only stayed there for a night. It was nice to see the similarities between PC Benin and Ghana as well as the differences. Her village was more like Benin than what we saw in Accra, no electricity, running water, etc. Yet the houses, being a Habit for Humanity community, were set up in resemblance to the suburbs. People had lawns and property was finely distinguished between neighbors. Also a side note: Ghanaians in this area hang up their clean underwear to dry outside; this past year my underwear has been hung up on my mosquito net for it is not okay in Benin to let them dry outside.
On our way back to Kumasi, we stopped and got what was said to be the best pizza in Ghana. I couldn’t argue. The fresh veggies and mozzarella cheese won me over. Kumasi was a headache trying to get around. We went to an Ashanti Kingdom museum to see the artifacts of the Ashanti Kings who are known for their gold. But we couldn’t find the sword in the stone, really there is a sword stuck in a stone that is said will bring upon bad luck to whoever removes it. This is so strongly believed that they built a hospital around it instead of removing it. We also became adventurous and went to the market which is said to be the largest of West Africa. The hassle and bustle was enough after spending only an hour we bought some batiks made in the area and headed back to the workstation.
The next day I took the trip back to Accra by myself while Adrienne and Emily continued their trip around West Africa. You could guess what I did once I got back to Accra… yup I ate! More specifically hamburgers, ice cream and coffee, yummy! I also met some English girls staying in the hostel with me so I joined them for dinner and listened as they reminisced about their past 6 weeks living in Ghana and how much they were looking forward to going home.
On my way back to Benin I was not as lucky to get into another BMW. Instead in Lomé I was greeted with the typical taxi and the typical wait for it to fill up with passengers. During the wait women came up to the car selling everything you could imagine and the women waiting with me just kept buying for the sole sake that the items were cheaper. I even took part buying clothes for my 1 year old neighbor. It was a bonding moment as well as a true cultural experience seeing the three of us, all from different countries with different languages and all sharing in the joys of shopping, a true trait among women.
My 12 day trip to Ghana was a nice experience that has only expanded my taste for travelling. I’ve already set my calendar for my Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger trip…
While I was in Porto Norvo as a trainee for the new volunteers this past summer, I randomly struck up a conversation with Emily who was also working and getting ready to COS (Close of Service). We got on the topic of her COS trip and after a while it was decided that I would join her and Adrienne on the beginning of their trip, I would go to Ghana with them.
To get ready for the trip all I needed to do was get VISAs for Togo and Ghana, and luckily it didn’t take more than 2 hassle free days. Before leaving I had to work the last week of the training which ended with the newbies Swearing In as volunteers and a celebration for the 40th Anniversary of Peace Corps Benin. Adrienne and Emily accompanied me the last night of working stage (the training) and we took off early the next morning.
The taxi picked us up at the house we were staying in, not a usual occurrence. The taxi was also a very nice, very new BMW; the only BMW I have every sat in actually and we were the only ones in it besides the driver. This is not the norm of travelling. Usually the 4 door sedans are packed with 4-6 adults in the back (that doesn’t include children) and 4 in the front including the driver (one time there were five- all adults). If you’re having trouble imagining this, there is someone who shares the driver’s seat an d straddles the stick shift, a seat I absolute refuse to sit in (it’s not for the ladies). Doors only open from either the inside or the outside, never both. Window knobs have been taken off to squeeze in more people and therefore a tool is needed to roll them down, if available. It’s normal that the car needs to be pushed, forward or backwards in order to start and sometimes a 2 hour ride can turn into almost 4 with multiple stops to let people out or pick others up. So this spacious BMW with only the three of us was a nice way to start our vacation.
Travelling from Benin’s capital to the Togo/Ghana boarder only took a few hours, Togo is not very big. After crossing the border we took a tro-tro, a van/ minibus which tend to be reasonably spacious, took us into Accra. Arriving in Accra was like being back in the states. There were highways, billboards, cars not being held up by duck tap, designated places for trash, I could keep going. It’s was amazing the contrast of development from Benin, which I had just left only a few hours ago, to Ghana; a country leading the way to development in West Africa.
So what does one do when arriving into a city that resembles America? Eat of course! We headed straight for the Sports Bar “Champs.” Just your typical sports bar, flat screen TV showing the latest in sports, pitchers of beer and pool tables, it wasn’t surprising the other customers were either tourists or expats. The menu was overwhelming at first, more than my normal choices of pâte, yam pile or rice. Even writing this entry 3 months later I still remembered everything I ate on the trip… kind of pathetic I know.
In Accra we went to the Artisan Market where we saw most of the same crafts found in Benin, fabricated for tourists but interesting no less. We even meet someone from Burkina and shared a few words in French, something that made his day, enough in fact to give us petite cadeaux. Adrienne hooked us up with a drummer, Liman, who at first seemed a pest, but she gave him a chance and luckily so because he gave the three of us a drumming lesson. I love to drum! The rhythm comes easy to me and I could get lost in the beat. At one point he told me that I hit the drum like I would my boyfriend who cheated on me. He got that right.
That night we met up with some other Benin volunteers who also happened to be in Accra to celebrate Adrienne’s birthday. It was decided to go for pizza. I can get lost describing the food, but you have to understand going a year with real cheese only on occasion, less than once a month, you’ll remember when you get it again. I had a pizza with green peppers, onions, mushrooms, etc. We topped the evening off with ice cream, yum!
The next day we headed out to Cape Coast. We soon found out that with the nice highways, pickpocketers come as a package deal. In Benin I haven’t had any problems with pickpocketers, normally I give the driver my bag, he puts it in the back and I don’t have to think about it again. In Accra, people were all over us, so much that locals took it upon themselves to look after us, one actually rode the few hours with my bag on top of her lap. It was sweet and amusing, I had taken precautions already with my bag to avoid such problems, but sometimes you can’t refuse help.
After our first night in Cape Coast we met an incredible woman from Washington State, Kathryn Roe. She lives in Cape Coast for 6-8 months out of the year helping students with school contributions in order to graduate with a high school diploma. The time she spends in the states is to raise awareness and get people to sponsor students. She has more students than sponsors, an easy thing to occur when so many are in need. You should check out her website, www.nas.com/africa, she is one of the few expats that understands the reality in making a contribution to the lives here, most people just give money to build a school or orphanage not thinking of the need or someone to run it afterwards, a concept that makes me bang my head every time I’m asked for money, presents, a ticket to the United States, etc. Kathryn is no stranger and understands the workings inside and out, giving her time above all else to provide the opportunity to deserving students in order to have a chance at an education.
Meeting Kathryn was definitely a highlight. Not only is she inspiring, she gave advice as to what we should see in the area and had us over for meals more than once, in which we would get into a conversations that were hard to cease. So in Cape Coast we went to the Kakum National Park and walk along the canopy walkways. Not sure how high up they we were or even what purpose they served, but they were very very high and luckily none of us were afraid of heights. We also visited the slave castles where the Portuguese and eventually the British had captured/ bought slaves and packed them like sardines into rooms for months on end with food given once a month in order to continue their dreaded lives. Women were picked out like animals in order to serve the wants of the European governor whose chamber was above their dungeon. Standing in the room where the women were kept, the only light shines from the door window, I looked around me and even though this castle has been abandoned centuries ago, I had the feeling that the walls and floors were still soiled with the blood, sweat, urine, feces and tears of the poor souls entrapped there. I’m not usually a sentimental person (as my friends know I don’t normally cry in movies) but I felt the presence there and I can’t begin to understand what human being could put another through such terrors.
Our time in Cape Coast was brief and I would love to go back for a longer duration. Take some drumming or traditional dance lessons, go to the neighboring towns for traditional ceremonies; who knows?
Next on our stop was Kumasi. We stayed at the Peace Corps Workstation at a time where Ghanaian Volunteers were also making use of the place to stay. One of them took us out to her village 3 hours away. Because of the distance we only stayed there for a night. It was nice to see the similarities between PC Benin and Ghana as well as the differences. Her village was more like Benin than what we saw in Accra, no electricity, running water, etc. Yet the houses, being a Habit for Humanity community, were set up in resemblance to the suburbs. People had lawns and property was finely distinguished between neighbors. Also a side note: Ghanaians in this area hang up their clean underwear to dry outside; this past year my underwear has been hung up on my mosquito net for it is not okay in Benin to let them dry outside.
On our way back to Kumasi, we stopped and got what was said to be the best pizza in Ghana. I couldn’t argue. The fresh veggies and mozzarella cheese won me over. Kumasi was a headache trying to get around. We went to an Ashanti Kingdom museum to see the artifacts of the Ashanti Kings who are known for their gold. But we couldn’t find the sword in the stone, really there is a sword stuck in a stone that is said will bring upon bad luck to whoever removes it. This is so strongly believed that they built a hospital around it instead of removing it. We also became adventurous and went to the market which is said to be the largest of West Africa. The hassle and bustle was enough after spending only an hour we bought some batiks made in the area and headed back to the workstation.
The next day I took the trip back to Accra by myself while Adrienne and Emily continued their trip around West Africa. You could guess what I did once I got back to Accra… yup I ate! More specifically hamburgers, ice cream and coffee, yummy! I also met some English girls staying in the hostel with me so I joined them for dinner and listened as they reminisced about their past 6 weeks living in Ghana and how much they were looking forward to going home.
On my way back to Benin I was not as lucky to get into another BMW. Instead in Lomé I was greeted with the typical taxi and the typical wait for it to fill up with passengers. During the wait women came up to the car selling everything you could imagine and the women waiting with me just kept buying for the sole sake that the items were cheaper. I even took part buying clothes for my 1 year old neighbor. It was a bonding moment as well as a true cultural experience seeing the three of us, all from different countries with different languages and all sharing in the joys of shopping, a true trait among women.
My 12 day trip to Ghana was a nice experience that has only expanded my taste for travelling. I’ve already set my calendar for my Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger trip…
Saturday, September 6, 2008
What Am I Up To?
I’m sure there are quite a few of you who are curious as to the work I have been doing lately. I have been here a year and it might be assumed that I am well established in the work that I will be doing for the duration of my service. Well not exactly. At least it hasn’t been without its challenges.
My main goal/objective/work (whatever you want to name it) is to teach health topics such as the importance of proper hand washing, when and how long to breast feed, etc. with the women in the village. And usually volunteers partnered with a health centers already have an audience with women who come to baby weighings, but my health center didn’t have baby weighings when I came. We didn’t even have a baby scale until I found one last month when I went to the Ministry of Health. Before we weighed the mothers as they held the babies and subtracted their weight- not very accurate. Also women forget or don’t have the time or just don’t want to come unless I hand out cadeaux (presents). The bouille demonstration I did was during a baby weighing and that was slightly successful because women spread the word there was going to be free food (well it’s the same in any country, people always come to free food). Since then, they realized bouille was not a monthly thing and numbers have dwindled.
So to overcome this I started a project my supervisor had mentioned during one of our in-service trainings called Care Groups. What is it? Well to start I surveyed the village and I did this with Etienne (an apprentice at the health center and my very own translator). We mapped out all the houses of women with children ages 0-5 and pregnant women. This was not an easy task considering women spend most of their days in the fields, voyage frequently and are referred to by several names (Maman Raima is also Maman Amidath, la femme de le major, and Pascaline- it’s a bit confusing). With the names and maps we grouped the Mamas in 10s based on where they lived. Each group selected a Leader Mom who then meets with me and Etienne once a month to learn a health topic. Between meetings the Leader Moms make household visits to each mother in her group, sharing the information she learned. She also takes notes if there are problems or questions and gives oral reports during the next session with me.
So far Etienne and I have only met twice with the Leader Moms, once to go over their roles, responsibilities and the objectives of the project and the second to discuss proper hand washing and diarrhea. This was accompanied by a hand washing demonstration and we made an oral rehydration salt drink that is given to children with diarrhea. I have a good vibe from the Leader Moms and can’t wait to get back to see the project evolve. (Currently I am working with the new volunteers during their training. It has also been an interested experience. I noticed how far I and the other volunteers have come since when we first arrived in Benin.)
So that’s what I have been spending my time doing. It’s been a great way to get to know each member in the village and names have been becoming a little less confusing because now I know that Maman Raima is Maman Amidath, as well as Maman Worou, la femme de le major, Pascaline and Rissikatou, also someone who makes a great peanut sauce with igname pilé.
My main goal/objective/work (whatever you want to name it) is to teach health topics such as the importance of proper hand washing, when and how long to breast feed, etc. with the women in the village. And usually volunteers partnered with a health centers already have an audience with women who come to baby weighings, but my health center didn’t have baby weighings when I came. We didn’t even have a baby scale until I found one last month when I went to the Ministry of Health. Before we weighed the mothers as they held the babies and subtracted their weight- not very accurate. Also women forget or don’t have the time or just don’t want to come unless I hand out cadeaux (presents). The bouille demonstration I did was during a baby weighing and that was slightly successful because women spread the word there was going to be free food (well it’s the same in any country, people always come to free food). Since then, they realized bouille was not a monthly thing and numbers have dwindled.
So to overcome this I started a project my supervisor had mentioned during one of our in-service trainings called Care Groups. What is it? Well to start I surveyed the village and I did this with Etienne (an apprentice at the health center and my very own translator). We mapped out all the houses of women with children ages 0-5 and pregnant women. This was not an easy task considering women spend most of their days in the fields, voyage frequently and are referred to by several names (Maman Raima is also Maman Amidath, la femme de le major, and Pascaline- it’s a bit confusing). With the names and maps we grouped the Mamas in 10s based on where they lived. Each group selected a Leader Mom who then meets with me and Etienne once a month to learn a health topic. Between meetings the Leader Moms make household visits to each mother in her group, sharing the information she learned. She also takes notes if there are problems or questions and gives oral reports during the next session with me.
So far Etienne and I have only met twice with the Leader Moms, once to go over their roles, responsibilities and the objectives of the project and the second to discuss proper hand washing and diarrhea. This was accompanied by a hand washing demonstration and we made an oral rehydration salt drink that is given to children with diarrhea. I have a good vibe from the Leader Moms and can’t wait to get back to see the project evolve. (Currently I am working with the new volunteers during their training. It has also been an interested experience. I noticed how far I and the other volunteers have come since when we first arrived in Benin.)
So that’s what I have been spending my time doing. It’s been a great way to get to know each member in the village and names have been becoming a little less confusing because now I know that Maman Raima is Maman Amidath, as well as Maman Worou, la femme de le major, Pascaline and Rissikatou, also someone who makes a great peanut sauce with igname pilé.
My Friend Mireille
Well it’s been a while since my last entry. I’ve made attempts several times to write but never managed to come up with something I thought worthy of its own entry. So I figured I would compile a few events focusing on my friend Mireille. I met her at the health center. She’s a midwife who received her training through an apprenticeship and gained her skills through the many deliveries that have taken place at the health center over the past few years. Watching her work is amazing. This woman of 23 years only reaches my shoulders in height and perhaps weighs 100lbs. She knows her way around the delivery room. With no other presence in the room she manages to deliver the baby, cut the cord, in some cases provoke a silent newborn to begin crying, clean, weigh, dress the newborn, deliver the afterbirth and aid the mother to recovery- not a simple task. This petite young woman is at ease and confident in the delivery room.
Mireille lived at the health center with her sister, Parfaite. Their schedule revolved around school and patients coming into the health center. Most often you would find Parfaite studying or Mireille tending to a patient; sometimes a woman in delivery would come in and if I was around I would be invited to watch. (There are rules against volunteers getting involved with any blood contact, so I’m only permitted to watch.) Mireille takes complete responsibility for her younger sister, provides meals, school supplies and whereas in other families the younger siblings would be responsible for all household chores, they split the tasks allowing Parfaite to take advantage of free time to study. I admire both of them and naturally I was pleased when my homologue selected her to join me for a seminar way back in April.
So we travelled together to Lokossa to attend a nutritional recuperation seminar. For 3 days we listened to a representative from DC explain the objectives and execution of this specific strategy (all in French mind you). During the seminar I watched Mireille, the youngest and least experienced of the counterparts, gain confidence and break out of her shell. We would spend our free time together on the hunt for some dinner or just chatting in her room (she gave me some history of the health center before I got there); this is when our relationship expanding outside of the health center realm. When we returned back to village I would spend more time with Mireille and Parfaite at the health center and I was accepted into their niche often joining them for lunch or dinners if I was around the health center, which was practically every day. We would also be accompanied by Jazz and Phillipe, two other strangers to the village who were drawn to Mireille and Parfaite by their hospitality and because they were of the same ethnicity.
Mireille lived at the health center with her sister, Parfaite. Their schedule revolved around school and patients coming into the health center. Most often you would find Parfaite studying or Mireille tending to a patient; sometimes a woman in delivery would come in and if I was around I would be invited to watch. (There are rules against volunteers getting involved with any blood contact, so I’m only permitted to watch.) Mireille takes complete responsibility for her younger sister, provides meals, school supplies and whereas in other families the younger siblings would be responsible for all household chores, they split the tasks allowing Parfaite to take advantage of free time to study. I admire both of them and naturally I was pleased when my homologue selected her to join me for a seminar way back in April.
So we travelled together to Lokossa to attend a nutritional recuperation seminar. For 3 days we listened to a representative from DC explain the objectives and execution of this specific strategy (all in French mind you). During the seminar I watched Mireille, the youngest and least experienced of the counterparts, gain confidence and break out of her shell. We would spend our free time together on the hunt for some dinner or just chatting in her room (she gave me some history of the health center before I got there); this is when our relationship expanding outside of the health center realm. When we returned back to village I would spend more time with Mireille and Parfaite at the health center and I was accepted into their niche often joining them for lunch or dinners if I was around the health center, which was practically every day. We would also be accompanied by Jazz and Phillipe, two other strangers to the village who were drawn to Mireille and Parfaite by their hospitality and because they were of the same ethnicity.
Things were going great. I found a best friend in village that I would spend most of my time with and who was guiding me along some of the unknowns is village. I would be entertained by Jazz and Parfaite asking questions as they prepared to take their exam at the end of the year and if they were to pass they both would leave to complete the second cycle of high school that is not offered in our village. Parfaite and Jazz did pass their exams they we among the few who did. So I was preparing for Parfaite to leave but then I was informed Mireille would also be leaving. Tired of being waken up at all hours of the day to receive a patient and being told "no" every time she asked for a pay raise, she took it upon herself to leave in search of better pay for her long hours.
She parted when I was out of town. Luckily we had a petite fête before I left to celebrate the end of Parfaite and Jazz’s school year. My first day back was difficult, actually it was miserable. My best friend was gone, I almost felt like I was starting over again. However in reality I was more integrated into my community than I thought and quickly remembered all the other friends I have in village and who I greatly enjoy being in their presence. Mireille now works for a health center far north of the country and I’m unsure of how it’s working for her even though she calls and says all is well and I hope it is. Parfaite is staying the summ er with her parents and plans on moving in with her brother to complete the next cycle of school. The two of them have made a lasting impression in my service so far and I can’t wait to visit them in their new locations.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Bouille
As I was walking around village I came across a mother, Delphine, who I see at our monthly baby weighing sessions. She was in the middle of bathing her eldest, a 5 year old standing in a basin of water, when she stopped me. Her arms were still covered in suds as she beckoned me over, wanting me to see that she was getting the ingredients ready to make the enriched bouille, or porridge, that I had demonstrated the week before.
In preparation for the cooking demonstration I went around collecting the ingredients needed. The tasks involved me going to the neighboring town with one of the apprentices, Gaston, on their market day. The market was so vibrate, by no means large, only larger than my own, therefore having a bit more of a selection. Women were perched under trees or where ever they could find shade to sell their produce; tomatoes that we can’t find in my village, palm oil a deep color of red, and various other goods. When buying the corn, millet, peanuts, and soybeans needed, women would fill the basins until a pyramid is formed and anything added falls off the sides. And as always there is the joy of discuteing or bargaining for prices. Gaston, being a man and never having to purchase food at the market, helped by finding a female relative nearby to discuté for us.
After purchasing the necessities we had to grill them before the demonstration, nothing here is a simple task. So the mid wife of the health center, Mireille, helped me grill. We got all set up when a woman in labor came in. But that didn’t stop Mireille. She helped me grill while checking up her patient and halfway through she left to deliver the baby, talk about multi tasking.
The ingredients were bought, grilled, mixed and taken to the mill; we were ready. When the scheduled baby weighing day arrived, we waited for about 2 hours, only 3 women came. Not being enough to make a pot of bouille we sent the mothers away with a task; bring back other mothers. The next day after waiting about an hour, in other words on time, a wave of two dozen mothers came with their babies strapped to their backs.
Merielle and I weighed the babies. With no proper scale, Mamas mount an adult scale holding their baby, then give me their baby and we calculate the weight of the baby. (I love weighing babies this way, they’re usually sleeping and so cute! However it’s very inaccurate, but I’m working on getting a proper one.) Then we let the mothers to making the bouille. Two left to fetch water, a few started the fire, and when the fire was started and the water arrived, that’s when we discovered it, a hole in the cauldron. Yikes! So much for being prepared. Immediately heads turned towards Maman Chabelle, a regular who makes large quantities of food to sell and therefore had a cauldron large enough.
With an intact cauldron the rest of the session went well. Mothers had a chance to socialize a bit, take a break from their normal routine of going to the fields. I revised some of the topics that we previously mentioned and explained what the preparation went into making the bouille. They all turned their noses when I mentioned soybeans, even though their nutritious, they had a bad rep for a bitter taste. Luckily, we had sugar.
Babies got fed, Mamas ate too and the left overs were partitioned. Free food is always a favorite no matter what the culture. Overall the session was a success, and the session the following week went well too; but I can’t help to wonder if the Mamas listened or if they took away the importance of proper nutrition for their children or if they just left with free food. I’m sure it was that way for many. So when I saw Delphine preparing the bouille I was touched, she became an instant favorite. I even shrugged the fact that her twins who are only 4 months should be breastfed exclusively until 6 months, at least they were getting an enriched bouille.
In preparation for the cooking demonstration I went around collecting the ingredients needed. The tasks involved me going to the neighboring town with one of the apprentices, Gaston, on their market day. The market was so vibrate, by no means large, only larger than my own, therefore having a bit more of a selection. Women were perched under trees or where ever they could find shade to sell their produce; tomatoes that we can’t find in my village, palm oil a deep color of red, and various other goods. When buying the corn, millet, peanuts, and soybeans needed, women would fill the basins until a pyramid is formed and anything added falls off the sides. And as always there is the joy of discuteing or bargaining for prices. Gaston, being a man and never having to purchase food at the market, helped by finding a female relative nearby to discuté for us.
After purchasing the necessities we had to grill them before the demonstration, nothing here is a simple task. So the mid wife of the health center, Mireille, helped me grill. We got all set up when a woman in labor came in. But that didn’t stop Mireille. She helped me grill while checking up her patient and halfway through she left to deliver the baby, talk about multi tasking.
The ingredients were bought, grilled, mixed and taken to the mill; we were ready. When the scheduled baby weighing day arrived, we waited for about 2 hours, only 3 women came. Not being enough to make a pot of bouille we sent the mothers away with a task; bring back other mothers. The next day after waiting about an hour, in other words on time, a wave of two dozen mothers came with their babies strapped to their backs.
Merielle and I weighed the babies. With no proper scale, Mamas mount an adult scale holding their baby, then give me their baby and we calculate the weight of the baby. (I love weighing babies this way, they’re usually sleeping and so cute! However it’s very inaccurate, but I’m working on getting a proper one.) Then we let the mothers to making the bouille. Two left to fetch water, a few started the fire, and when the fire was started and the water arrived, that’s when we discovered it, a hole in the cauldron. Yikes! So much for being prepared. Immediately heads turned towards Maman Chabelle, a regular who makes large quantities of food to sell and therefore had a cauldron large enough.
With an intact cauldron the rest of the session went well. Mothers had a chance to socialize a bit, take a break from their normal routine of going to the fields. I revised some of the topics that we previously mentioned and explained what the preparation went into making the bouille. They all turned their noses when I mentioned soybeans, even though their nutritious, they had a bad rep for a bitter taste. Luckily, we had sugar.
Babies got fed, Mamas ate too and the left overs were partitioned. Free food is always a favorite no matter what the culture. Overall the session was a success, and the session the following week went well too; but I can’t help to wonder if the Mamas listened or if they took away the importance of proper nutrition for their children or if they just left with free food. I’m sure it was that way for many. So when I saw Delphine preparing the bouille I was touched, she became an instant favorite. I even shrugged the fact that her twins who are only 4 months should be breastfed exclusively until 6 months, at least they were getting an enriched bouille.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Safari Benin Style
Back around March, right after my last entry, I went on a little safari with 6 other volunteers. We hired a guide to drive us through Park Penjari, we sat four people on the roof while three others sat in the SUV. Our guide made it the responsibility of those sitting on the roof to be on the look out for animals, of course that’s what we were doing, but after some time would pass and we wouldn’t have spotting anything he would open the driver door and stand up to get a better look. Yes the car was still in motion, yes we were a little frightening sitting on top of a SUV notorious for rolling over while our driver had one foot stretched to reach the gas peddle (and he would occasionally hit the accelerator), one hand on the steeling wheel and the rest of his body hanging out the door. He would even turn to speak to us, leaving his eyes off of the winding and bending dirt road. Over all it made for a good time.
We spent the repos or breaks between noon and 3 and the nights at the hotel located in the park. Most of the people who come are French tourist so the personnel laughed as we crammed all 7 of us into a room with one double bed and looked with puzzlement as we ate our packed lunches and dinners- something the guides would do, not the guests.
By the end of the second day we had seen plenty of baboons, deer, antelope, hippos, but we were still on the search for elephants and lions (there are no giraffes in Benin, oh well). Then, unexpectedly while at a watering hole we heard an elephant in the distance, so we rushed back into the car and drove out like madmen. There was a family, about 3 big elephants and 3 babies. Sitting on top of the SUV our presence made the elephants defensive and protective of their young. And when the engine made a noise to move forward the elephant made a charge at us, stopping maybe 20 yards away making her intentions aware. So we sat in idle watching the family graze and wonder, each foot step taken was leisurely, never leaving us out of their sight until they were well enough away.
The next morning, our anxieties had dwindled a bit, being satisfied with the elephant sighting that it took a second or two to recognize the two lions that we before us as we drove. They’re much bigger than I was expecting, but being startled then soon dispersed into the forage before getting a good picture. Our guide blamed us for making too much noise when we spotted them, even though it was him who screamed “where?”
Even as we were about to leave the Park and send some time at the waterfalls that are a bit south, we came across another elephant. I could watch them all day long with their slow motion and their tusks moving every which way. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.
We spent the repos or breaks between noon and 3 and the nights at the hotel located in the park. Most of the people who come are French tourist so the personnel laughed as we crammed all 7 of us into a room with one double bed and looked with puzzlement as we ate our packed lunches and dinners- something the guides would do, not the guests.
By the end of the second day we had seen plenty of baboons, deer, antelope, hippos, but we were still on the search for elephants and lions (there are no giraffes in Benin, oh well). Then, unexpectedly while at a watering hole we heard an elephant in the distance, so we rushed back into the car and drove out like madmen. There was a family, about 3 big elephants and 3 babies. Sitting on top of the SUV our presence made the elephants defensive and protective of their young. And when the engine made a noise to move forward the elephant made a charge at us, stopping maybe 20 yards away making her intentions aware. So we sat in idle watching the family graze and wonder, each foot step taken was leisurely, never leaving us out of their sight until they were well enough away.
The next morning, our anxieties had dwindled a bit, being satisfied with the elephant sighting that it took a second or two to recognize the two lions that we before us as we drove. They’re much bigger than I was expecting, but being startled then soon dispersed into the forage before getting a good picture. Our guide blamed us for making too much noise when we spotted them, even though it was him who screamed “where?”
Even as we were about to leave the Park and send some time at the waterfalls that are a bit south, we came across another elephant. I could watch them all day long with their slow motion and their tusks moving every which way. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Harmattan to Chaleur
During the months of December and January the air became a little cooler, it’s called Harmattan. During this season the winds came down from the Sahel of the Sahara Desert. The mornings are hazy; sand ligers in the air while my neighbors sweep the area in front of our house. The villagers would shield themselves from the cold by staying in their homes until they had no choice but to start the morning chores. Babies were dressed in knitted hats, jackets and booties. Others wore sweatshirts, pants under pants, down jackets; one day I noticed Tayé (an apprentice) wearing a jacket made for firefighters- how it got to Benin beats me.
I too felt the chill. There were some nights when I needed to sleep in a sweatshirt and socks. The mornings I would wake up, make a cup of coffee with my French press and crawl back into bed with a book- I loved it! You are probably wondering how cold it actually got, well… my thermometer never fell below 70 o, not cold by our standards but hey, it was at least 20 o cooler than normal.
Too quickly the days grow hotter. Harmattan was coming to an end. The transition to chaleur or the hot, dry season meant an end to mornings drinking hot coffee and a beginning of profuse sweating. Tomatoes have become almost impossible to find and basins are piled up at the pump; women spend hours waiting for water. However, this is also the season for cashews. For the risk of sounding dumb, I never knew cashews grew on trees- huh. They grow on the bottom of a cashew apple, a fruit filled with juices that stains your clothes, but are so delicious!
One day walking around, I was beckoned by one of the men who work at our “gas station,” in other words a little shack where they sells gas and do some moto repairs. The men were in the process of cracking grilled cashews and asked if I wanted to join. Of course I did! So I was offered a tiny stool, handed a wrench, and with minimal explanation I began cracking. It was quite a sight for those passing by to see me, in a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt, sitting with a bunch of men covered in soot around a pile of cashews. I soon learned the secret- eat more than you put in the finished pile, something I was glad to do. After this little pow wow, I was invited to stay and eat bouille (a gruel, porridge like thing made from corn flour and lots of sugar). That afternoon I was just one of the guys.
I too felt the chill. There were some nights when I needed to sleep in a sweatshirt and socks. The mornings I would wake up, make a cup of coffee with my French press and crawl back into bed with a book- I loved it! You are probably wondering how cold it actually got, well… my thermometer never fell below 70 o, not cold by our standards but hey, it was at least 20 o cooler than normal.
Too quickly the days grow hotter. Harmattan was coming to an end. The transition to chaleur or the hot, dry season meant an end to mornings drinking hot coffee and a beginning of profuse sweating. Tomatoes have become almost impossible to find and basins are piled up at the pump; women spend hours waiting for water. However, this is also the season for cashews. For the risk of sounding dumb, I never knew cashews grew on trees- huh. They grow on the bottom of a cashew apple, a fruit filled with juices that stains your clothes, but are so delicious!
One day walking around, I was beckoned by one of the men who work at our “gas station,” in other words a little shack where they sells gas and do some moto repairs. The men were in the process of cracking grilled cashews and asked if I wanted to join. Of course I did! So I was offered a tiny stool, handed a wrench, and with minimal explanation I began cracking. It was quite a sight for those passing by to see me, in a clean pair of jeans and a button down shirt, sitting with a bunch of men covered in soot around a pile of cashews. I soon learned the secret- eat more than you put in the finished pile, something I was glad to do. After this little pow wow, I was invited to stay and eat bouille (a gruel, porridge like thing made from corn flour and lots of sugar). That afternoon I was just one of the guys.
(My neighbors Dione, top, and Prisca, bottom, grilling and cracking cashews.)
But the glories of eating cashews are not enough to win me over. Lately, I wake up sweating and go to bed sweating. Walking any distance longer than 50 feet and I’m drenched; after cooking I look like I’ve been sitting in a sauna. I stopped using my lantern as much because it gives off extra heat. And for a while, I would lay outside on my porch at night, waiting for my house to cool down a bit before crawling under my mosquito net.
Besides the continuous sweating, constant applying and reapplying of sunblock and the endless desire for something cold to drink in a village where refrigerators are few, I also have new habitants in my home trying to find shade. Spiders, geckos, and crickets I’m used to, even the really big hairy spiders I can deal with, but the scorpion I found behind my bookshelf- eeck! It took three swats with my sandal to kill it. I saved the remains only long enough to show my neighbors. The first thing they said was “ah kāy kāy” (the word for scorpion in Nagot) and that it stings man. Something I was well aware of.
Hopefully the rainy season will creep up as quickly as the chaleur did. Already it’s rained twice, both times only for a few minutes, but it was welcomed.
But the glories of eating cashews are not enough to win me over. Lately, I wake up sweating and go to bed sweating. Walking any distance longer than 50 feet and I’m drenched; after cooking I look like I’ve been sitting in a sauna. I stopped using my lantern as much because it gives off extra heat. And for a while, I would lay outside on my porch at night, waiting for my house to cool down a bit before crawling under my mosquito net.
Besides the continuous sweating, constant applying and reapplying of sunblock and the endless desire for something cold to drink in a village where refrigerators are few, I also have new habitants in my home trying to find shade. Spiders, geckos, and crickets I’m used to, even the really big hairy spiders I can deal with, but the scorpion I found behind my bookshelf- eeck! It took three swats with my sandal to kill it. I saved the remains only long enough to show my neighbors. The first thing they said was “ah kāy kāy” (the word for scorpion in Nagot) and that it stings man. Something I was well aware of.
Hopefully the rainy season will creep up as quickly as the chaleur did. Already it’s rained twice, both times only for a few minutes, but it was welcomed.
Monday, March 3, 2008
C'est la Vie
I've finally started my work at the health center and it has been going well. I talk to pregnant women and mothers of infants about proper nutrition for them and their children. I've learned about a lot of taboos that they have (for example its said that if pregnant women eat eggs they will have a miscarriage) and mothers often do what their told by the elders even if they know its wrong (when one mother’s month old baby was sick she was told by her mother in law that if she didn't give him water it would be her fault he died, so the mom gave him water, probably not clean, even though she new it wasn't the right thing to do). These sessions help me realize that behaviors are much harder to change than giving information and perhaps the moms won't be allowed to make drastic changes now, but I hope that when they become grandmothers they will be less likely to pass along false information concerning the health of their grandchildren. The sessions are translated by one of the apprentices for hardly any of the women who come speak French and sometimes not even the same language so the info has to be translated twice. Sometimes the apprentice takes over which inspires me that he could continue giving the sessions without me present- my ultimate goal.
The sessions also help me become familiar with more faces in the community and I get to see a lot of cute kids that come. Lately I see the same mothers at the market and noticed a higher level of interaction with them. And there are fewer questions as to why I'm here. But getting to know the women can have its toll.
Just this past Monday I had a pregnant mom come to listen to one of my talks. There were few that came that day and she understood French so I was able to have a conversation with her. She was 9 months pregnant with her third; however her previous children have died. So when she came back Wednesday and delivered a 6.5 lbs baby boy (large by Benin standards) she was thrilled. I saw her in the health center glowing and shortly after she took him home. Friday she came back to the health center, her son was pale, but she didn't let on that she was nervous. Later that day, my counterpart, the nurse at the health center, told me haphazardly that the newborn died.
3 pregnancies, 3 deliveries, 3 lives unlived.
I was lead to her house by one of the apprentices later that day to give my regards. I found her there, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face. You would think at a time like this my foreign status wouldn't matter, but no, I was still paid attention to when all the while I just wanted to comfort her. I couldn't understand what the others were saying but it sounded more like blame than support. Needing to get some air and hide my own emotions, I knelt down beside her and gave her a hug, the only gesture I know in times like these, and left. That day I cried in front of my college, something I don't think he knew how to handle.
It shouldn' t be that hard to introduce a new life into this world.
The sessions also help me become familiar with more faces in the community and I get to see a lot of cute kids that come. Lately I see the same mothers at the market and noticed a higher level of interaction with them. And there are fewer questions as to why I'm here. But getting to know the women can have its toll.
Just this past Monday I had a pregnant mom come to listen to one of my talks. There were few that came that day and she understood French so I was able to have a conversation with her. She was 9 months pregnant with her third; however her previous children have died. So when she came back Wednesday and delivered a 6.5 lbs baby boy (large by Benin standards) she was thrilled. I saw her in the health center glowing and shortly after she took him home. Friday she came back to the health center, her son was pale, but she didn't let on that she was nervous. Later that day, my counterpart, the nurse at the health center, told me haphazardly that the newborn died.
3 pregnancies, 3 deliveries, 3 lives unlived.
I was lead to her house by one of the apprentices later that day to give my regards. I found her there, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face. You would think at a time like this my foreign status wouldn't matter, but no, I was still paid attention to when all the while I just wanted to comfort her. I couldn't understand what the others were saying but it sounded more like blame than support. Needing to get some air and hide my own emotions, I knelt down beside her and gave her a hug, the only gesture I know in times like these, and left. That day I cried in front of my college, something I don't think he knew how to handle.
It shouldn' t be that hard to introduce a new life into this world.
Long Live the King
Not too long ago the people of a subdivision of my village A (it is required that we do not post the names of our villages) decided that they too were a village on their own, a village with an approximate population between 400-600 people. I’m not quite sure the need or advantage of having two small villages instead on one; but to the people of A2, it was essential. Of course members of village A were against the decision and forbid anyone from A2 from crossing the border. This dispute lasted a few nights with out me noticing anything until I was told about “la guerre” or the war as it was called. I was in no harm for I am neither considered village A or A2- I am both, but during the trifles some were sent to the hospital with wounds from beatings and one person even lost an eye from a thrown rock.
As with most family disputes la guerre didn’t last long and being their own village, A2 established their own market, a few stalls where people gather to chat, and they elected a King. The King selected comes from a royal blood line and is one of the oldest in the village. He is well respected and highly regarded even though he has little former education and is of the same occupation as most of the villagers. After being chosen he was required to remain at his home for a period of 9 weeks. After his “probation” was concluded there was going to be a three day celebration. As with most celebrations, people purchased “même tissu,” or same fabric and t-shirts that were made with an imprint of the King’s face. So, early on a Friday morning the celebration began, the King left his house and with a train of people following him, he made his way through the village to the newly established market which just happens to be outside my front porch. Noticing the commotion, I left my house to get a better look. Before I knew it I was pushed to the center of the mass of people where the King, dressed in the traditional “bomba” and wearing thick red beaded necklaces, prayed for me as he tapped me with his wand made from an animal’s tail.
The cluster of people soon broke apart as people sang and danced their way back to the King’s home. I too went along and looked back at the remains of the cluster to see people dipping their hands into a mud puddle created by water spilled by the King. It’s “girs-gris” they said or protection from evil. At the King’s home the women and a few men took off their sandals (that is if they were wearing any) sung and danced to the tapping of drums and bowing to the King ever so often. (The proper way to bow is to get into a pushup position and remain there until the King gives permission to rise.) After a while I was in need to wash up and eat something, but was informed to hurry back.
On my way back, the delegate, or elected representative of village A2, spotted me and dragged my by the arm to the King. There I removed my sandals and bowed (not an official bow, but my American attempt) as he prayed for me the second time that day. Afterwards the delegate beckoned for “Chou” a beer made from millet with a bit of sweetness to it. So, not wanted to be rude I took the drink and then I was whisked away by the delegate to go pay our respects to a family who’s “vieux” or old man recently died. There we were giving liquor (have I mentioned this was still before noon), I tried to politely refuse but he wouldn’t accept. So I slowly sipped the glass of liquor hoping he wouldn’t notice if I left the glass full when it was time to go. After this, the delegate was satisfied with my actions and left me to enjoy more of the festivities that day.
On the second day of the celebration, as well as the first, people would unexpectedly break out into singing and dancing while preparing food or waiting at the water pump. That afternoon there was a soccer game in which the players wore shoes that didn’t fit or no shoes at all. The King was the honored guest and made an entrance accompanied by the wise Mamas whom also wore the thick red beaded necklaces. The game ended in a tie and that gave enough cause to celebrate, again. (At the soccer game: kids crowding to get in the picture; drummers)
As with most family disputes la guerre didn’t last long and being their own village, A2 established their own market, a few stalls where people gather to chat, and they elected a King. The King selected comes from a royal blood line and is one of the oldest in the village. He is well respected and highly regarded even though he has little former education and is of the same occupation as most of the villagers. After being chosen he was required to remain at his home for a period of 9 weeks. After his “probation” was concluded there was going to be a three day celebration. As with most celebrations, people purchased “même tissu,” or same fabric and t-shirts that were made with an imprint of the King’s face. So, early on a Friday morning the celebration began, the King left his house and with a train of people following him, he made his way through the village to the newly established market which just happens to be outside my front porch. Noticing the commotion, I left my house to get a better look. Before I knew it I was pushed to the center of the mass of people where the King, dressed in the traditional “bomba” and wearing thick red beaded necklaces, prayed for me as he tapped me with his wand made from an animal’s tail.
The cluster of people soon broke apart as people sang and danced their way back to the King’s home. I too went along and looked back at the remains of the cluster to see people dipping their hands into a mud puddle created by water spilled by the King. It’s “girs-gris” they said or protection from evil. At the King’s home the women and a few men took off their sandals (that is if they were wearing any) sung and danced to the tapping of drums and bowing to the King ever so often. (The proper way to bow is to get into a pushup position and remain there until the King gives permission to rise.) After a while I was in need to wash up and eat something, but was informed to hurry back.
On my way back, the delegate, or elected representative of village A2, spotted me and dragged my by the arm to the King. There I removed my sandals and bowed (not an official bow, but my American attempt) as he prayed for me the second time that day. Afterwards the delegate beckoned for “Chou” a beer made from millet with a bit of sweetness to it. So, not wanted to be rude I took the drink and then I was whisked away by the delegate to go pay our respects to a family who’s “vieux” or old man recently died. There we were giving liquor (have I mentioned this was still before noon), I tried to politely refuse but he wouldn’t accept. So I slowly sipped the glass of liquor hoping he wouldn’t notice if I left the glass full when it was time to go. After this, the delegate was satisfied with my actions and left me to enjoy more of the festivities that day.
On the second day of the celebration, as well as the first, people would unexpectedly break out into singing and dancing while preparing food or waiting at the water pump. That afternoon there was a soccer game in which the players wore shoes that didn’t fit or no shoes at all. The King was the honored guest and made an entrance accompanied by the wise Mamas whom also wore the thick red beaded necklaces. The game ended in a tie and that gave enough cause to celebrate, again. (At the soccer game: kids crowding to get in the picture; drummers)
I was told that the third day was when I should were my outfit that I had made. So wanting to become well integrated I put on the meme tissu and went in search of where I should be. I found my neighbors, Prisca, Blandine and Dione (ages 11 and 12) feasting at the King’s house, but none of the Mamas that I was looking for, so I continued walking. Soon enough I was spotted (quite easily considering I’m the only white person) by the Mamas, the same Mamas from the New Year’s fête. They were in process of preparing the food in honor of the King and directed me to have a seat with the men. I noticed that the men were wearing the outfits from New Years, but I was assured I didn’t have to change because the women would be wearing the King’s tissu. Then the first Mama arrived, she was wearing her New Year’s bomba, almost immediately the response was take Rachelle home so she can change. The gesture was welcomed for it made me feel like an actual member of the “association” as they call us.
So I ended the King’s celebration eating pâte rouge, drinking cold beverages, listening to music, wearing même tissu with the people who have accepted me most into the community. A great way to end any weekend. (Me with Mama- my counterpart's wife, Pascaline, and their daughter, Amidath)
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Festivities in Benin
Well I hope everyone back hope has been enjoying the holidays. Christmas flew by here and besides going to church with the girls next door, nothing special occurred.
New Year's However was a different matter.
At midnight my homologue came to wake me up to wish me good health and prosperity (he did ask before hand if it was okay) and I joined him and his family to welcome the new year. I was given a plate full of spaghetti and sodas that I couldn't refuse before making my way back home to get a little more rest. The next morning at 7 am I went back over to his house to help his wife prepare food for the celebration. I mostly just watched as she and her friends made couscous with macaroni in a spicy tomato sauce and pate rouge with chicken and some other type of meat. Once most of the cooking was done we went back to our homes to wash and get ready for the "fete" at 3pm. There was about a dozen of us: the three apprentices at the health center, the men who work at the gas "station," my homologue's wife, three other Mama's, two guys who hang out at the health center and myself who partook in the festivities. We ate, drank warm sodas and beer, danced, and ate some more.
Around the time the sun was setting, a couple of traditional drummers came by and inevitably the Mamas started singing and dancing. We took off into the village, collecting people as we went creating a large group of women and children singing and dancing as the drums played (there were also people gasping at the fact the white girl was participating). We went to the house of the king where I bowed and was given a name ("Ta ta" or something like that) before heading back through the village. The whole time I had children clung to me, showing me the way to dance and helping me out with the singing. A few of them even invited themselves to come live with me. The whole time I felt more like a part of the community and less like an outsider.
It was by far the best New Years I have had. 
Pictures from the top: Apprentices Taye and Gaston behind a Mama, the apprentice Etienne and my homologue's wife all in "meme tissue"; Me with two Mama's, again in meme tissue (I know I look ridiculous smiling when nobody else does); My girls who live next door- from the left Blondine, Prisca, their brother Willy, Dione; the twins who also live next door- Kandayne and Taye (all twins are called that- Kandaynes are born after Tayes)
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