Sweet Heavenly Jesus It's Hot Here

I don’t know if you’ve heard this before but it’s real hot here in Africa. And, I know what you’re saying, “it’s hot in America. I know it’s hot. You’re close to the equator. Duh, Brandon, you’re retarded for not knowing how hot it was going to be before you went.” But, let’s be honest, I had an idea about a lot of things before I got to Benin. I knew there would be a lot of bugs, I knew travel would be a bit difficult, and I knew it would be hot. But, as with all the things I thought I knew before coming here I had NO FREAKIN’ CLUE how intense they would be. The bugs are huge, I’m lucky if the taxi I’m in DOESN’T have a cracked windshield and there aren’t 20 people inside, and I might be on the surface on the sun it feels so hot.

I’m not all that savvy with Celsius, but I do know that 40 degrees is not cool, not even tepid, and the temperature, I’m assuming, floats somewhere around 35-45 degrees daily and constantly. I’m not all that sure about that because I haven’t found a thermometer yet in Kerou and I can’t check the weather app on my Blackberry that I don’t have.

When the electricity goes out here in Benin, which happens often, I am forced to light my little living quarters with gas lanterns and candles. Thankfully the lanterns are made of metal, because everything else around here is melting. I have a picture posted that shows how my candle has melted on the bottle-turn-candlestick unlighted. It’s not that it’s turned into a pool of wax, but the candle has bent all the way down to the bottle and looks like a sad cartoon character. All of the chocolate that you all have so graciously sent me has melted in which the containers they were sent. But, fret not, it’s still delicious and I’m still eating it. Karina’s father sent me some lotion to help my feet that are so dry they’re cracked and bleeding and it was more of a crème; it could now be put into a spray bottle for application. If wood melted I’m sure all of my furniture would be in a puddle on the floor. Speaking of furniture, everything around here seems to trap the heat of the day and they radiate it in the evening when I need it to be the coolest. My mattress emits so much heat it could be attached to a thermoelectric generator to power a small boat, or charge a plug-in hybrid. My pillow is like a little portable heater, and, I’m not joking, the wooden chairs that I had made, which are literally make of sticks, radiate heat at night a cause me to sweat. My walls that are made of concrete emit so much heat that I have to sleep in the middle of the room to avoid it, it’s the only thing I can do. We’re not supposed to sleep outside do to security risks, but it’s becoming a more welcomed idea as the season progresses.

All of this heat and all of this sweating means I have to drink a lot of fluids. In America the only hot drinks I drank were, uh… I didn’t really drink any hot drinks. I steep tea and let it sit until it’s chilled; and let’s be honest, those who know me know that I shouldn’t be caffeinated with coffee. So, to handle my addiction to cold drinks I buy little plastic baggies of cold water almost hourly. When I say little baggies of water I actually mean little plastic bags of water. I also buy little baggies of this stuff called “Beesap” which is not bees’ wax, and is not tree sap; nor is it a combination of the two. It’s actually boiled hibiscus leaves, a bit of pineapple, and some sugar. It’s quite delicious, and I had no idea you could even make a beverage from hibiscus leaves, let alone something this delicious. Surprisingly, I drink a lot of cold Coca Cola. Another sidebar, before coming to Benin the only time I drank soda was when it was mixed with something else while out on the town, and said soda was usually Sprite. (BY THE WAY PEOPLE, IT’S SODA NOT POP, deal with it.) Now that I’m here, the sweet and salty mix of an ice-cold Coca Cola literally defines the idea and sensation of refreshing. I don’t understand why Coca Cola has a different taste in America. I actually do and I’m scared of early onset diabetes, but I wish American Coca Cola was this delicious. From time to time I drink a nice ice-cold beer, sometimes it’s not so ice cold, but nonetheless refreshing. Another refreshing little drink is mixing a bit of Coca Cola with your beer. Don’t hate. Finding refreshing beverages isn’t too difficult if there’s electricity, but Some volunteers don’t have electricity in their villages. I feel for them. I can’t imagine what I would do without something cold to help fight this heat, especially because we have to boil our water to get rid of harmful organisms. I want you to imagine this: it’s one trillion degrees, you have no air conditioning, no fan, walls that radiate heat, and no source of cold beverage. That’s rough.

The body is an amazing thing. I don’t know why, or how, but even though I’m from the northeast and I love the cold, snow, and layered clothing, I’ve adapted to the heat. I don’t know if I would call it comfortable, but the sweating actually helps. And, it’s not an overwhelming, body soaking, passing out humidity. Thankfully in the northern part of the country it’s a dry heat. It’s kind of like Arizona: hot and dry. But, I imagine there are a lot more air conditioners and pools in Tempe than in Kerou.

Everyday is a battle here in Kerou: I’m fighting cultural differences, I’m fighting unattentive students, and now I’m fighting jock itch. I’m really not sure which part is most difficult, but I’m doing all that I can to chill out and get the job done.

A Whole New Year

Kerou, Benin

A whole new year.

A whole new year in a whole new job in a whole new house located in a whole new town in a whole new country. There’s a lot of newness going on in my life. Not mention new friends, new food, new cat, and new rectal adventures.

I chose to pass the New Year celebrations in Kerou. I felt that if I were going to end the aforementioned new year in this village in the bush I should start it here. I felt it was the proper thing to do. 2010 will be my “year in the bush,” and I’m finally starting to feel happier, no, more excited about it. The first three months were difficult, but now I’ve figured out how to live here. I’m a creature of habit who likes to shakes things up from time to time and I’ve found a routine in Kerou. I’m starting to feel at ease in my job, my house, and my life.

This year brings about plenty of new adventures in my life. The first thing that I’ll mention is that I’ve started getting my plans in order for going to the World Cup in South Africa. Rich, Doug, and I have purchased our plane tickets and are now looking for a place to stay and tickets to the actual games. The latter has been taken care of and the former is still taking place. If you know of anyone who lives in South Africa and would be willing to board three upstanding, easy-going, Peace Corps Volunteers for a few nights please let me know. (NOTE: We’re Peace Corps Volunteers, we’ll sleep anywhere, we’ll eat anything, and we’ll use the scariest means of “safe” transportation we must to arrive at our destination. The life of a PCV is a life where one must make sacrifices and do whatever one must to accomplish what one must.)

This new year also brings new directions in life. I guess. Those who know me know that I have an “idea” of where I would like my life to take me. I know I like technology, I know I like media, I know I like clean energy, and I know I like working in or around the government. I think a Masters degree will look nicely on my resume. So, I hope to be able to take my GREs while here in Africa. (Which is totally possible, you can take them in Ghana.) When I come back I’m sure I’ll need a little time to readjust, read as much engadget.com as I can before I go blind, and eat every single buffalo wing I can find in the Pennsylvania, Maryland, D.C., Virginia region. (Those who know me know I’m a fatty.) If you’re smart you’ll invest in blue cheese and celery. After a few months of rest and adaptation to my mother country, I’ll be ready to get back into the swing of things and progress with my future. But, I’ve gotten ahead of myself, we’re talking about this year not the rest of my life.

So, the speculation is over about life, my life specifically. I hope you’ve all had wonderful New Year’s celebrations and are back into your respective lives that you love. If you don’t like your life, change it. It’s that simple. Sometimes that safest thing you can do for your future is to hold your nose, step to the ledge, and jump.

Poo Plog

So, after the last post I thought I’d write something a bit….lighter. In this post we’re going to talk about not what goes into your body, but more of what comes out and the culture that surrounds it here in Benin and the Peace Corps.

Before coming to Benin I knew that I would probably come down with dysentery at least once, if not a few times. If you don’t know what dysentery is, google it. It’s not the best thing, and if not taken care of you can get seriously dehydrated and end up in the hospital. I also knew that I would be exposed to different kinds of foods that would, well, interact with my body differently than food did in the States. You know, sometimes you eat something and then your gas or poo kind of smells like what you ate, spaghetti with sausage being the worst for me. (This post is going to get really personal, so if you’re not interested you can skip this one.) So, I was fully prepared for some interesting bowel movements and a bit of sickness.

The Peace Corps, as I think I’ve stated in previous blogs, does a good job at preparing future volunteers, stagaires as we’re known during training, for most things medical. We have sessions on cleaning food, what diseases are most prevalent, how to do a MIF kit (you poop in a container so the Peace Corps can analyze it to see if you have parasites); all of this really builds an environment where talking about poop and your bowel movements feels comfortable, it’s really just a part of this massive experience. During “stage,” which is the first few months of training we all receive in Porto Novo, stagaires are being introduced to new foods and, to be quite honest, new bacteria. These new bacteria are often tolerable for Americans to handle and other times are quite the opposite. I thankfully while in Porto Novo didn’t have many problems. I actually have quite the tank for a stomach and don’t throw up or get diarrhea that often. (I guess that’s what five years of eating/drinking God-only-knows-what at Penn State can do for ya.) Others though were not so lucky.

I had a friend, whom we’ll not name, who said he didn’t have solid stool for the entire two months he was in stage. He would recount incidences where he would be in his outdoor latrine at his host family’s house getting sick (vomit and diarrhea) and his host family would be around the latrine yelling “doucement,” and almost praying for his recovery. (Doucement means slowly, or watch would, or easy does it, or pay attention in Beninese French.) After the first month his host family thought that his lower gastrointestinal tract was possessed by evil spirits and his host father would sleep outside of his door on a mat on the floor so as to protect him from said spirits. This sounds a bit loony. I mean, I’ve heard of some evil gas and I’m sure people have wanted to pray for me after smelling what I’ve done to the bathroom. But, having a family LITERALLY pray for your bowels is a bit different. So, as an added protection for my friends rectal haunting, his host father posted himself outside of my friend’s room and slept on the floor. Again, loony. I’m sure we’ve all had poopy issues before, so we all know that having problems with our lower gastrointestinal tract means that at any moment, day or night, we may have to rush off to the bathroom to evacuate ourselves. Well, my friend being the nice guy that he is didn’t want to wake up with overly protective sleeping father posted on the other side of his bedroom door and proceeded to “relieve himself” one fateful evening in the only ting he could find in his room at that hour: a peanut butter jar. So, imagine a man, he is a burly man, fishing around in his bedroom more than likely only wearing a headlamp for something into which to have diarrhea. Now, imagine finding a small jar of peanut butter, mainly empty, and deciding that you’re going to do THIS. If you know me, you know I love peanut butter, so I imagine couldn’t sully my longtime friend like that. But, my friend, not having any other options and being too nice to wake his host father to run to the outdoor latrine continued with the only option he found at three in the morning. He removed the lid to his peanut butter jar, placed in onto the floor, hopefully away from his clothing and bed, took down his pants, squatted over the jar, carefully took aim so as to not have an “accident” onto the floor, pray, crossed his fingers, and let go. He apparently had become quite the “sharksman” (shit and marksman combined) and managed to get it all into the jar. But, to be quite honest if you missed would you tell anyone? He said he then closed up the jar, set it by the door, and retired back to bed waiting until the morning to dispose of his…Jiffy Jar. I love that he chose to scar himself forever and poop in a jar rather than disturb his host father. But, without his amazing conscience I would have the pleasure of sharing this remarkable story.

Continuing with the Poo Plog I want to revisit the fact that we’re all dealing with lower intestinal adventures and while in stage we spend most of the day/life with our new friends talking about the things we’re experiencing and really founding lasting relationships. Anyone who knows that relationships rely on trust and really opening yourself up realize that this means you have to make yourself vulnerable. I want to tell you that opening yourself up about your bizarre bowel movements is SURELY making yourself vulnerable. And, it’s not just our fellow stagaires who are talking about their bowel movements, the current volunteers are telling us about the digestive fun they’ve been having for the past two years. I would like to pass along a few of those stories.

As I said before, during stage we having medical training that teaches about health related issues we’ll face during stage and our service. During this we learn how to poop in a container to send along to the Peace Corps medical office while at post; not to be confused with pooping in a peanut butter jar so as to not wake up your host father. These containers help the medical office identify illnesses and assign the proper treatment. We’ll, if you’re a volunteer like me and you’re posted in the middle of nowhere, getting to Cotonou is literally a two-day journey. Cotonou is where the medical office is located in the main Peace Corps office. So, to make sure his “sample” got to its appropriate destination, one volunteer paid a taxi going to Cotonou from his post, rather close to me, actually, to take his little turd to the medical office. Yes, that’s right, his number “two” got a “one-way” ticket to the medical office in the sky. I can just imagine the little poopy getting its own little seat next to all the other Beninese people, putting on its seat belt and listening to its iPod rocking out to Miley Cirus (of course it’s going to listen to shitty music, tee hee) as it traveled all the way from the northern part of the country to the southern part. Oh, the crap we have to deal with in the Peace Corps. J

Continuing with our volunteer-submitted stories about poop. Being a teacher means you have to be punctual, come to class, and, to be quite honest, you always have to be there. There are a few exceptions like when you’re so sick you can’t move. It happens. But, a little bit of loose stool is not something to keep a dedicated Peace Corps volunteer away from his or her job. Much to the detriment of this next volunteer. As you’re all probably well aware when you have a case of the runs when you have to go YOU HAVE TO GO. It’s like, “I’m going to shit RIGHT NOW.” That being said, when you’re in front of a class of 70 students and they’re actually paying attention to you you kind of want to remain doing what you’re doing and hopefully get to an activity where you’ll have time to leave the class for a moment and “take care of business.” So, when nature calls you want to ask it to hold on just one or two more minutes. Well, that’s what this volunteer did. He thought that he could just squeeze out a little fart and gain a few minutes to get through his lesson and then run off, literally run off, to the latrine and relieve himself. Well, he gambled… and, he lost. He tried to squeeze out a little fart and squeeze out a lot of shart. According to the one who told me this story it was enough that it came out of the bottom of his pants and he had to leave school at that moment. Can you imagine the students looking up at the teach while he’s trying to give a lesson on irregular verbs and lifts his legs just a little while he’s talking and then makes an irregular face and abruptly stops as you hear something irregular hit the floor. That something was his less-than-solid stool and, I PROMISE YOU, his dignity. Well, whatever is left of it. I have taken note of this and know better than to gamble in a situation where I have crappy odds. Tee hee.

I actually, have quite the opposite problem. When living in America I ate enough fruits and vegetables that I went to the bathroom quite regularly. To be honest it was numerous times a day. I ate lots of fruits and vegetables. Here, especially in Kerou, I don’t eat that much fruit. To be quite honest, I’ve been here 3 weeks and I’ve only had two oranges and two bananas, that’s it. It’s really rather desolate up here. I eat tomatoes and some chili peppers and a few onions, but that’s about it. Because of this I might poop once or twice every three or four days and it’s more likely that I have gas. I sit down and nothing happens. I just fart into the bowl. This is rather alarming for me. I used to poop ALL THE TIME. Now, I feel like Neil: lucky if I take the Browns to the Super Bowl once or twice a week. And, to be honest, I want this stuff out of me. I don’t want it in there. Poop is supposed to come out. It’s like I’m constipated, and, if you know me, you know I generally have trouble keeping things in, regardless of what it is.

Moving right along, I don’t really think about what other animals poop looks like. I just don’t. I have a million other things to think about. But, you kind of have an assumption as to what the animal’s poop should look like in relation to their bodies: kittens have little poops and elephant poop is large enough to sled on. Right? Well, here’s one for you, what does goat poop look like? I thought it would be a single turd, you know, normal, and be in relation to the size of its body. Which, the goats here are a bit smaller than goats elsewhere in the world so I thought his turds would be a bit smaller, golden retriever-sized turds, if you will. Well, just so you know, goat turds look like blackberries, or, raspberries. They’re like little rabbit turds all clumped together and they come out while the goat is walking along. I swear to you, it blew my mind. I was riding my bike trying to avoid this midget goat and, wait for it, REALITY SHIFTED. I was looking at the goat trying not to hit it and all these little blackberry-esque turds start trickling out of his little butt. I literally stopped my bike and was like, “really? bunny-like goat turds? Who knew?” Apparently I did not. You know I didn’t stop with this goat. I had to know if all the other goats pooped like this. It’s not like I was running around town chasing goats waiting for them to poop. I would actually just pay attention to them as they pooped. And, yeah, bunny-like turds all around. I’m a teacher and teaching you about bunny-like, blackberry-esque goat turds are my lesson for the day.

Now, I know I’ve talked about some funny things, but I want to cover some not so funny things, which might actually turn out to be a bit funny. Most, but not all, families have latrines. Latrines are really just little out houses with holes, hopefully deep enough, that when people poop and pee into them it’s deep enough to not come out over time. Then they seal the latrines over with concrete when they get full. The entire idea is gross to me, but I guess wastewater removal hasn’t made its way to Benin. I mean, you’re just leaving the poo and the pee in the ground and let nature sort it out. Well, sometimes these latrines are entirely too close to their wells. Which is where most of me neighbors get the water they drink, cook with, and use to clean themselves. Drinking dirty water, regardless of the dirt is a leading cause of preventable illness around here but I guess that information is just not passed along and/or received. Another note, I guess latrines are saved for the adults because little children just poop and pee right on the pathways we walk/drive/ride our bikes on. So, at any point in the day I’ll be riding my bike and some little kid will sit down and got potty. Notice I didn’t mention that he or she took off his or her pants, that’s because most of these little kids are naked as a jaybird. Naked as the day they came into this world in the middle of the street pooping and or peeing. You know the creepiest part is when they look up while they’re going potty and yell, “hello, white person, hello,” of course in their local language, with a huge smile on their faces waving their hands frantically. Totally creeps me out. Continuing with the pooping wherever, if you’re on a bus traveling for long distances and you have to go to the bathroom there aren’t rest stops like there are in America. The bus just pulls over and the guys, mainly, just walk to the side of the road and relieve themselves. Mainly it’s just pee, but a few fellow volunteers have recounted stories where they had to find a tree out of the way, lean against it, and let it all go. I wonder what they wiped with? Though this is kind of funny, it’s rather disturbing and sanitation in this country could go a long way with regard to maintaining over all health of the country and avoiding many avoidable illnesses.

I was listening to an NPR podcast a few days ago and they were talking about space-aged toilets in Japan. Apparently, they have toilets that play music, automatically put down the seat for you, and have sound machines to mask the sounds of your pooping/peeing/farting. Japan is like a magical place in comparison to Benin where kids pee in the street and Peace Corps volunteers poop into peanut butter jars.

I hope this reaches you well in the States. I miss you all immensely.

Adjusting to Kerou

All throughout the Peace Corps application process I knew my adjustment to my village would be difficult. I knew that I had become quite habituated to my technologically advanced life with my iPhone, then NUMEROUS Blackberrys, and my MacBook that was constantly connected to the Internet—as was I through my numerous communications devices—my large, flat screen television (Thanks Lajuan and Ian) which was recording television programs at my whim, and the fantastic public transportation system that helps the Washington Metro area thrive. I also had become quite comfortable living in an area where I could dine at restaurants featuring food from all corners of the planet from Thailand to Ethiopia to Mexico. I had a nimiety of friends from all sorts of different cultural backgrounds and who hailed from different parts of the country, not to mention the world. To be quite honest, I was living the dream. With that life came a lot of temptations, some of which I wasn’t able to cede. These temptations could have led me down a path into a life and a person I didn’t want. I knew that the Peace Corps would be a welcomed distraction from those temptations and would help me to NOT become the person I had seen in my future. Also, I knew I did well at Penn State, I was involved, I got good grades, I could get recommendations from my professors, and the Peace Corps would be another assurance to help me secure a position at a top university for a masters and potentially a doctorate. (That’s right, I might become a doctor. But, not one of those save-your-life doctors, just the kind that pontificate about things they’ve spent too many hours studying. The kind that suits my personality.) I have certain goals for my future and I want to know that I’ve done all that I can to assure that future. Life rarely goes according to plan, but there’s nothing wrong with having an idea of which route you want to take and making sure there’s enough fuel in the tank to get there.

Thus, I’m in the Peace Corps in Africa; Benin, to be exact; Kerou, to be even more precise. Kerou is large enough that I have electricity, which is a lifesaver. I wouldn’t be writing this blog posting without it. It’s small enough that I don’t have paved roads, which are about two to four hours away, depending on which direction you go and the state of the vehicle you’re in. I also have to walk about two football fields to get to running water. Which, isn’t as bad as you think, I make the neighbor kids fetch my drinking water and the water I use to clean my dishes and wash my hands. I have a well just outside my door where I get my shower water and toilet-flushing water. (Side note: children in Africa are viewed a bit differently than they are in the States. They’re seen as a way to help the family prosper—as in do chores, around the house and serve the older members of the family. In America we seen them as our future, and it’s not that they aren’t seen that way here, there is just more importance placed on older members of the family to younger members. It may of something to do with the child mortality rate and or the importance placed on the paternal role in society.)

These few characteristics of Kerou should help shed some light on the difficulty I’m having adjusting to a Beninese style of living. While living in Porto Novo during training my new friends surrounded me, I had the Internet at my fingertips, there were numerous places to eat, and I could watch a television in the morning. I had markets I could go to everyday to get the things I needed, and, to be quite honest, though it was a change from my Logan Circle living (Logan Circle adjacent), it wasn’t something that made me change the way I lived dramatically. I was just a bit less “connected.”

Living in Kerou is completely different than living in the States. In the States it’s extremely easy to let your environment dictate your social development and generally happiness with your life. If you’re feeling lonely you can call up a friend, meet for some coffee or a beer, go to a movie, go bowling, sweet heaven, you can just walk down the street and find something to do. In Kerou, I have to make myself happy and actively go out and find things to occupy my time. I have to create everything on my own. As I said, American society gives you things to make you happy, here I have to find out what makes me happy and then make it happen. Essentially, I have to create my own happiness. I know it’s something we here about as we grow up, “look for what makes you happy and then do it,” but here you ACTUALLY have to do it, or you’ll go nuts, or read eight books in three months, as I have already. Taking this control of yourself and your own well-being might be the hardest and more important development for Peace Corps volunteers. I think it’s aspect that makes or breaks a Peace Corps volunteer and I hope I have the right attitude. I have realized this already and am doing what I can to address this.

Another serious adjustment is the pace of life. Life in Africa just moves at a slower pace; it moves at a slower pace because everything takes more time. It takes 20 minutes just to start cooking tomato sauce, as I have to soak the tomatoes in bleach water just to kill and parasites on the skin. Then, though it’s not hard or time consuming, I have to light the flame on my little gas stove with a match, which is far more advanced than any other stove in Kerou, I promise you. From that point, I just cook away to my hearts content. It’s the preparation that so time consuming. In DC I could go to one Whole Foods and find all the necessary ingredients, and, let’s be honest, some things I didn’t know I needed, in one place. In Kerou it’s a multi-hour adventure just to get the things I need to make dinner. I have to plan things out. I’m surprised I haven’t started making charts. (Anyone who has seen me at work knows that I make lists. I have lists for lists and lists on lists. It’s one of the tactics I’ve developed to help with my ADD. Which is non-existent here. There isn’t enough to distract me from what I’m doing to even HAVE an attention deficit disorder, though I still make lots of lists.)

Being a technophile, it’s been a bit difficult. But, there are some saving points. The phones here are interesting. I love communications technologies and just seeing the different kinds of phones they have here entertains me. Because cell phone providers don’t cover all areas and it’s cheaper to call people on the same network, there are cell phones that have numerous slots for SIM cards. I’ve seen some phones with up to three slots. (And some people who don’t spend the money for a fancy phone with three phones, which I think they think is “baller.”) Which is kind of cool. Also, most phones here have flashlights on the top. Though they have electricity in my village, and 70 percent of the areas in Benin, the current cuts out frequently, usually when a lot of people turn on their lights and when there are storms, you know, when you need electricity the most, and thus have handy lights at their convenience.

I have also been able to keep abreast of what’s going on in the world as I have befriended some people who work at the local hotel bar, which is right down the “street” (dirt path where children pee and poo on a daily basis) from where I live. The bar has a television and I watch French news and the African Voice of America channel. (French news carries a lot of American news. Everyone wants to know what’s going on in America, whether they like it or not.) But, it’s not like having the Internet in front of you and constantly refreshing my google news and CNN.com homepage. I also can’t check my “buddies” GChat or facebook statuses ad nauseum.

Some parts that have been even more difficult: for some reason unbeknownst to me, I have sudden and almost overwhelming feelings of sadness. They’re fleeting, but nonetheless there. They were more frequent when I first arrived in Kerou, and as I have adjusted, they have become less frequent. I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t ACTUALLY realize what I was getting myself into and how much I loved my life in America, or some other reason. I can only speculate. They occur at random moments and, as I can tell, have no cause. When I start to feel this way I try to get out of my house and go for a bike ride, listen to music, or go read a book at my hotel and drink a beer. We were told all throughout training that there would be some serious ups and downs through your time in the Peace Corps. You don’t really know the severity of what they’re saying until you experience it on your own. Another difficult area has been social inclusion. In America if you can’t find a social group to relate to you’re not looking hard enough. Other than Karina, I’m the only American within 75 kilometers. And the Beninese are nice, it’s just a lot easier to sit down with your peers and talk about life when you don’t have cultural and linguistic barriers to overcome. Thankfully I do have a post mate. She is definitely going to make my experience in Kerou infinitely better. (Not to mention she’s rather attractive and buckets of fun. CORNY ALERT – she’s a little bit of sunshine in Kerou on an otherwise cloudy day.)

There are a lot of things that will take some time to adjust to. And, for that matter, be difficult to readjust from when I return to the States. Which will happen, fret not. I like what I’m doing and growing accustom to Keroise life, but nothing will make you love America more than living somewhere that doesn’t compare to it.

I know I this post has been a bit “down in the dumps,” but I want people to know what it’s really like in the Peace Corps. This blog is also serving as a journal for me to chronicle the “ups” and the “downs” and the “happenings” that will help me realize the progress I’ve made throughout my “sejour” here in Benin.

Fret not faithful followers, Brandoni will make it out of his Peace Corps experience a stronger man, both mentally and emotionally. This experience will teach me the benefits of a slower pace in life. It will show me the importance of creating worthwhile relationships with people who are different from me. I hope it’ll help me find some humility, but I doubt it. But, if nothing else, it’ll help me create the person I want to be instead of the person society dictates I should be.

The Birth of Mr. T.

We’re all aware that I’m here in Benin and I have no idea what I’m doing. Jokes. Actually, I’m a teacher. To be specific, I’ll be teaching English. We’re also well aware that I like being the center of attention. In my future, I would love to be a college professor and I feel that if I can teach kids in Benin to speak English I could probably teach some Americans. It might be a bit presumptuous of me, but… I like being presumptuous.

I’ve been in training since I arrived in Benin. I’ve been learning French, I’ve been learning how to live in Benin, I’ve been learning how to haggle in Beninese markets, I’ve also been learning the Beninese educational system and how to function properly in it. The Beninese classroom runs a bit differently than an American classroom. The most obvious difference is the lack of educational supplies. In America we have all of the luxuries associated with advanced and multifaceted learning. We have computers, flash cards, I think there’s something called a “magic board” which is like a chalk board but is magic, (I think it records what you’ve written on it and has the capability of emailing it to the students, or some other space-aged thing.) and numerous other educational tools to help students with all sorts of learning characteristics learn all the wonderful things that are out there to learn. Contrarily, there isn’t anything in a Beninese classroom but students, a teacher, and a blackboard. To be honest, they don’t even have books. What we kind of have are photocopies of books that the teachers get and then use as a guide to help teach. The students then copy whatever is on the board into their copybooks. Honestly, they’ll copy anything you write on the board in the exact same way that you write it. If you leave too much spacing between letters it’ll show as two different words in their copybooks.

All of this training is to prepare me for my teaching life in Benin. Appropriately, we have a few weeks of model school, which takes place at the school where I’ve been receiving my training. Model school, which is supposed to mimic the teaching environment in which I’ll find myself in Kerou, was the first time I had had real teaching experience. In college I tutored and worked at a learning center, but never have I been the actual teacher. This was the first time I was the one in charge of the scholastic development of not one, but 30 to 40 students.

Thus the birth of Mr. T., not to be confused with the 1980’s television bad-ass known for his gold chains and Mohawk. That being said, I have had a faux hawk a few times. I don’t drive a van, and I surely don’t use the phrase, “I pity the fool.” I pity plenty of things, a fool isn’t one of them. Mr. T. is an easy name for students to say, and, according to how often it’s repeated throughout campus, quite easy to remember. As you can probably imagine, I’m a rather animated teacher, I move around a lot, I tend to speak a bit fast, which isn’t the best for comprehension, and I like making my students laugh. I act things out, such as vocabulary, and I want to teach my students some cleaned-up rap lyrics. (By the end of my stay in Kerou I promise you 5^th and 6^th graders all over that town will be singing Biggie Smalls. You mark my word.) Students tend to remember me and there have been cascading eruptions of students screaming Mr. T. as I cross the campus. In one class, the week after I had taught a 5^th grade class, another teacher was teaching the present continuous and one student stood up and was like, “Mr. T. is laughing.” As you can probably imagine, my fellow Volunteers got a kick out of it.

So far I’ve been having a lot of fun teaching. It really feeds into my personality traits, and is something I enjoy. I like having to think on the fly to figure out ways of presenting the information in an accessible way. And, it’s a lot of fun being in front of these students essentially doing whatever I’d like. It’s kind of like I’m my own boss.

Model school is now over and i'll be moving to Kerou in a few days. I won't have people shadowing my classes and giving me advice. I'll be making the decisions, (scary, i know) and i'll be our on my own. Staging really has been a rewarding experience but it's nothing like what my real Peace Corps experience will be. I'm about to make the giant leap into the real Peace Corps life. (Also scary, i know.)

I've always known that teaching would be something that i would like, it's nice to know that my presumptions were correct.

Getting Around - Beninese style

So, as of this blog I’ve merely written about my experience here in Benin and nothing of general observations. I’ve essentially chronicled my time here, not given an assessment of what I’ve seen. If you know me, and or my professional life, you know that I’m intimately involved with transportation, and more acutely, clean-energy technologies and automotive efficiency. I’ve worked with clean energy transportation for awhile: I was in a hybrid vehicle building competition, I worked with the Department of Energy’s Vehicle Technologies program, I’ve given presentations on the advancements of automotive technology, and I’ve hosted events on clean public transportation. In brief, I like clean energy, I like transportation, and I like technology. Here in Benin, which I realize is a third world nation, I don’t find much clean energy. To be quite honest, I don’t think they care too much about their environment. Benin is struggling to just have enough to help its self along, let alone think about the future. Benin is very much so an in-the-moment kind of thinker not really looking too far into the future.

Most vehicles in this country run on diesel, which, of all the fuels, is my favorite. (Diesel inherently is more efficient, 30% to 40% more efficient, due to the higher energy-per-volume content of the fuel and how it’s combusted in the engine.) That being said, diesel was progressing in a clean energy direction in the States (Ultra-Low Sulfur Diesel, advancements in diesel engine and exhaust technology), but as you can probably imagine that technology has yet to make it over to Benin. In the United States we have fuel standards. These standards are assigned and then checked and regimented all throughout the country. In Benin, fuel is sold out of coke bottles and old wine bottles on the side of the street, for the most part. (I have a photo of a small gas station on the side of the largest road in the country.) That essentially means that there are no standards, you can find numerous things mixed in with the fuel (i.e. water, soda, oil, urine, etc.) and standards don’t exist. Also, most vehicles in this country are scooters and motorcycles. Most of the scooters are of the two-stroke variety and have their oil and fuel mixed together. What this does is increase the particulate matter content of the exhaust, which is already super high with regard to diesel, thus injecting the air we breathe with yummy-delicious harmful toxins and carcinogens. (Side note: all this great and yummy air that I’m breathing, and, specifically, the particulate matter in the air will be stuck in my lungs for the rest of my life.) Most large trucks are left over from the 60s and 70s and therefore have no exhaust treatment to clean/neutralize the exhaust. I’m sure you can all imagine the thick, black smoke that used to come out of tractor-trailers, multiply that by about three; also, the exhaust pipe comes out of the bottom of the truck, not out of a stack that shoots upward. That means if you’re standing/driving/riding anywhere near the trucks as it passes you you’re in store for a delicious exhaust-filled treat, which I’m sure has the same effect as smoking 30 packs of cigarettes. A fellow Peace Corps volunteer was recounting a vacation of his in Egypt after I asked him why he smoked and his response I feel is quite applicable: “It’s better than breathing.”

I’ve already brought up the idea of gas stations, which are merely side-of-the road shanties with coke bottles, wine bottles, and really fat wine bottles filled with fuel, which I’m sure they’ve mixed themselves. To display the price they place a gas jug in front of the gas shanty with the price displayed on the front in chalk. (It’s around a dollar a litre.)

In Benin they have taxis, which are normally station wagons with orange license plates and far too many people shoved into them. To give you an example, my friend Catherine was in a taxi from Parakou to Kandi, both of which are fairly large cities, and she sat/was squished into her taxi with 13 other people. The mere physics of it defies all my preconceived notions of available space in a taxi, let alone how this encroaches on my idea of personal space. We like to think that back seats hold two MAYBE three people. No so much here in Benin. For the most part, they shove four people to a row, and sometimes five. Children sit on their parents laps, I’m not sure if they have to pay or not, and I’ve yet to see a taxi with air conditioning. So, as you can imagine the noxious odors coming from the diesel fuel, the exhaust, mixed with the lovely aroma of 12-14 people shoved into a station wagon with no air conditioning, not to mention the general lack of hygiene in Benin, can be a bit overwhelming. These taxis are mainly long distance taxis. You would only take a vehicle like this if you were traveling between cities. For traveling within a city, or from a larger city to a smaller village near by, you take a Zemijohn. A Zemijohn is a moto-taxi, or a dude on a motorcycle with a hat, generally. They are always men, I think I’ve heard of a female one time, they sometimes are crazy, and they always are trying to screw you out of money, well, in Porto Novo. Elsewhere in the country there are set prices for things. (I don’t know if I’ve covered this before, but, for the most part, you have to haggle every price in this country. Whether it’s a Zemijohn, or a woman at the market, you have to argue down prices and haggle to the best possible price available. This idea is a bit taxing, sometimes I just want to know what the price is an pay it while not feeling like I’ve been screwed over.) As I’ve stated before, most vehicles in this country are scooters and motorcycles and it might have something to do with the over abundance of Zemijohn drivers. They drive erratically, they speed, they cut corners, and sometimes they’re not sober. I have to take them from time to time, especially when I have to travel long distances through the city, but for the most part I enjoy riding my bike. It’s a tad safer. But, when you’re traveling away from your hometown you have to ride Zemijohns to get around. (Side note: Benin is the only Peace Corps country where volunteers are allowed to ride motos, per my staging director. And, that’s because it would be impossible to get around without riding on them. That being said, we HAVE to wear helmets or we’ll be sent home, no questions asked.)

I want to let everyone know something else about Benin. Everyone is horny. And, i mean this in the I-have-to-honk-my-horn-at-any-chance-I-get kind of way. It's as though a car/moto horn is how they exact their personal vendetta against placidity and calmness. I can't say this enough. People in this country honk their horn at every chance they get. They honk to let you know they're behind you, they honk to let you know they're in front of you, they honk to let people know they've arrived at an intersection, they honk to let you know that they've received your honk, Zemijohn drivers honk to let you know they see you, Zemijohn drivers honk to let you know they are around, and sometimes, I promise you I'm not making this up, people drive down the road honking at nothing. They just honk to honk. Honk. This country is honky-horn happy and it creeps me out.

Another form of transportation, and by far my favorite, is large tour bus. They’re usually air conditioned, they have an assigned number of seats, and, for the most part, are safe. I mean, we’re the largest thing on the road. You do have to watch out of the window at every stop to make sure no one is stealing your luggage, or, just setting it on the curb thinking that its owner is getting off at that stop. Buses in this country are the most expensive way to travel, but by far the most efficient and safe. I’m sure I’ll be taking lots of them.

Now we move on to personally owned vehicles. This is the first country I’ve lived in that didn’t have its own automotive country (U.S.A., France, Japan) and it’s kind of interesting to see what vehicles make it to this country. If you’re not a taxi driver and you’re not rich, you probably don’t have a car. That means, for the most part, it’s taxis and nicer vehicles. People drive Lexuses, Mercedes, BMWs, I saw a Cadillac Escalade, I’ve seen vehicles from all over the spectrum. But, for the most part, there really aren’t that many American vehicles over here. The aforementioned Escalade is one of about five gas-guzzlin’ machines I’ve seen make it across the pond. And, the vehicles I have seen have been pretty random. I’ve seen a Dodge Intrepid, a Buick Rendezvous, a Dodge Caliber, and a few others I can’t remember. But, all in all, it’s just a random mix of vehicles. I’ve seen a Volkswagen dealership, a Toyota dealership, a Mitsubishi dealership but I’ve seen no American dealerships in this country. I guess these American automotive dealerships didn’t see the Africa market as a viable option.

Transportation in Benin is all over the map. (he he, puns) We have crazy Zemijohn drivers, and thick, smog-filled air, and over stuffed taxis. Though some of the vehicles may barely work, let me assure you, their horns do. It really goes along with all the other things in Benin that are mind boggling and amazing, but it’s just one of the many things that makes this adventure worth every minute.

Literally, i'm living in the middle of the bushes.... literally.

August 31, 2009

Porto Novo, Benin

We received our post announcements a few weeks ago and I was told that I’ll be moving to Kerou, which is in the Atacora region of Benin. (For those looking at a map, it’s in the northern region, right in the middle.) Kerou is a medium-sized village known for its dairy products, yam pile (pronounced pee-lay), and for generally being a bit difficult to get to.

Growing up, as we’re probably all aware, I was an only child. As such, I normally got what I wanted. (That sounds horrible, I know. I couldn’t figure out a nicer way to phrase it.) So, when things happen that I’m not expecting it’s takes me a moment to adjust. It’s not that I’m inflexible, or throw tantrums when things don’t go my way, it’s just something with which I hadn’t dealt much in my early childhood development and is something I’m learning to deal with as I mature. So, when I first found out where I was going to be posted I was a bit disappointed. I was disappointed because I wasn’t really posted close to anyone I knew. I was in the middle of nowhere. (To give a general understanding of how remote Kerou is you must understand that it’s a two-day journey from Porto Novo, where I’m living now, to Kerou and for one of those days I’m not on paved roads.) Therefore, for a few days following my post announcement I was a bit, how should I say this, disoriented, as I needed a few days to step back, revaluate, and look at my situation from a new vantage point.

After speaking with a few people I learned that I’ll be located in one of the prettiest areas of Benin and directly between two national parks. One of the national parks has lions, elephants, and giraffes. I’m close to Natitingou, which is a beautiful city situated in the mountains of Benin. I also have some really cool people with whom I share my workstation, which means we’re close to one another. (A workstation is like a Peace Corps Volunteer office. They are located in large cities generally close to volunteers and they have Internet, a library, and there are beds so we can stay over night.) Also, I found out that I will have a post mate, whom I’ve not met as of this posting. Word on the street is that she’s pretty cool: likes to joke and laugh and is generally a good time. I like those kinds of people.

One week after we found out where we would be going we left for a post visit so as to check out our new living arrangements, make sure that if there was still work to be done to our housing people knew about it, and to meet some of our colleagues and see our new schools.

I made the two-day journey with my new director, who is my boss, and we made a stop over in Parakou for the evening. (The Peace Corps mandates that we do not travel at night for safety concerns.) I had dinner with my boss and his family (there are pictures of him, his home, and one of his sons in my pictures) and had the best sauce legume (vegetable sauce) that I’ve had yet in Benin. After leaving Parakou the following day we got off the Goudrone (the paved road that goes to the north of the country) and onto the terre rouge (red ground). This is the point in my journey where I said goodbye to paved roads, which I wouldn’t see again for three days. After nine hours in the car we made it to Kerou. It’s a fine little town. I stayed with Professor Bandele and his family while in Kerou. Professor Bandele is a math professor and has a laugh that sounds like Sloth from the Goonies. This by no means implies that he’s of a deteriorated mental state, his laugh just sounds exactly like Sloth’s. The following day Professor Bandele took me around the village to meet a few of my fellow professors, the mayor, the chief of police, I got to see the school grounds (pictured), and where I’ll be living for the next two years (also pictured). Living in a third world country one needs to never have their expectations of things set too high. One must also realize that one is living in a developing country (Benin being the ninth least developed country in the world according to our training) and be surprised when things turn out well. So, after my nine-hour car ride on dirt roads and seeing how some people live in this country I was a bit afraid of where I’d be living. So, when I arrived at my new house I was pleasantly surprised. My walls are a nice color of green, there are paintings on the ceilings, and I HAVE A TOILET!!!! The house is new, so I’ll be the first people living there, and, for that matter, pooping in the toilet. When I saw the plumber installing a real, not-squatter toilet, I jumped for joy. If you’re not aware, toilets in this country are a luxury and we were not guaranteed to have one. We could potentially have a latrine, which I had used for the first time seven hours prior, and I surely didn’t want that. I know any some point I will be getting diarrhea sick and I surely don’t want to have to do that in a latrine. I also want you all to know that I DO NOT have running water, I have to dump water down the toilet as it doesn’t “flush.”

After checking out my new abode I ate dinner with Professor Bandele and my director, as well as a few other professors. It was interesting. The next morning I fell pretty ill as I am not all that acclimated to the food in the north, also, if the vegetables aren’t properly clean it can be pretty bad for us Americans. (To be quite honest, we have pretty weak stomachs in general.)

The rest of this story is something that needs to be told in person or over the phone… Just know that at three in the morning I found myself in a field evacuating my lower intestinal tract and stomach wearing a headlamp and staring up at the sky looking for a shooting star upon which to wish. I mean, I was looking for a sharfing star! Quite possibly the most demoralizing moment yet… and if you know me, that’s saying something. The next morning I was taken to the hospital in Kerou and was given some SERIOUS antibiotics. All is well now. But for a few moments there the S.S. Tartanic was loosing steam and taking on water. Ha, actually… I couldn’t even keep water in. I had to drink a salt-water solution.

On another note, the sky at night in Kerou was absolutely beautiful (I had plenty of instances to see it throughout the evening). Due to the lack of lights, and electricity for that matter, there is no light pollution. I had actually never seen so many stars at night in my life. If anyone reading this sends me a package a star chart would be a wonderful surprise/addition.

After my less-than-enjoyable trip to Natitingou, from where I would be taking a bus back to Porto Novo, and after the 12-hour trip from Natitingou to Porto Novo, I never thought I would be so excited to see my mosquito-netted bed and wooden desk.

That was my post visit. Though I got really sick I’m excited to get there and be a resident of Kerou. I’m excited to teach at my school and I’m excited to have my Peace Corps life start. Right now I’m teaching in model school and having a lot of fun, but being a stagaire (trainer) is nothing like what it’s going to be like when I’m a volunteer. I’m excited to have my own students and my own house and my own toilet! It’s nice being in Porto Novo, I’m just ready for my service to begin.

My “Swearing In” ceremony is September 25^th, 2009. So, after that I’ll be moving to Kerou. When I know my address in Kerou I’ll have it changed on the sidebar of my blog. More than likely I will have things sent to Natitingou as I will have to go there quite frequently, Kerou doesn’t have a bank and no one in Kerou takes my VISA card. If you’re going to send something, don’t hesitate, it doesn’t matter where I am I’ll get the package.

Please take a look at my photos and let me know what you think. I’m sorry if it’s taking me awhile to answer emails. It’s not easy to get to the Internet. Also, it take a really long time for me to mail letters as the easiest way is to send them is with a volunteer who is ending his or her service. Receiving mail is easy. Sending mail is difficult. Emailing is probably the easiest way to communicate, though infrequent, but if you’d really like a letter please be patient with me. I’ve written them I just don’t have an easy way to send them.

I want to thank Mama D for her package. She won the race and was the first person to send me one. The soap is great. The soap that i find here leaves a gross sheen and it's hard to wash off when you have to use a bucket to take a shower.

Melf, you're the best. Thank you so much for my chocolate. You brightened not only my day but a few of my friends. lol, i loved my T-Bag. :-)

Know that someone in Africa thinks of you and misses you greatly…