Other People Football

Greetings faithful followers, I apologize for my absence. Life is Kerou hasn’t been very exciting. That being said, my life that just took place in South Africa was an experience I’ll be sharing with you and, quite possibly, any children/grandchildren I may ever have.

Before I landed in Benin I knew I would be going to the World Cup in South Africa. Being in such proximity to a global event of this magnitude was an opportunity that I just couldn’t pass up. It’s true that I’m not much of a soccer fan, but events like this are so much more than just the sport they highlight. It’s literally a global gathering of sports enthusiasts and people of varying backgrounds and cultures. It’s an opportunity to meet people whom you may never have the chance to meet in the “daily grind.” It’s a chance to see faces, hear languages, and share cultures with those from all corners of the world. Literally.

During the first few months of my service I’d talked with some of my buddies and it was decided that Richard from Chicago and Doug from Brazil/Oklahoma would be my traveling mates. Richard is a genuine guy from the Midwest. He’s open-mindedly religious and painfully nice. Doug is reserved, but enthusiastic. He may have lived in Oklahoma, but he is decidedly not from there. We all love sports. We all love having a good time. And we all were looking forward to having a sharing this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Planning our trip was a bit difficult as we all had to word together to get things done. Unfortunately for my friends, I don’t have internet and therefore couldn’t do much of the preparation. Doug and Richard both have Internet at their posts and, thankfully, took on the burden of getting the game tickets, reserving plane tickets, and finding places for us to stay (We’ll talk more about this later.)

We somehow managed to get dirt-cheap plane tickets to Johannesburg, the only thing is that the departure city was Accra, the capital of Ghana. Much to our luck, there is a Peace Corps presence in Ghana. So, we had some correspondence with people there that could help us if we needed. Also, Ghana is only one country over; about a seven-hour bus ride from Cotonou, which is Benin’s economic capital. Traveling through Togo was pretty uneventful, save for the 50 stamps and the onerous processing we had to go through with our passports. I mean, honestly, why must this be so complicated for just traveling through a country. You’d think we were trying to declare citizenry in this country there were so many documents to fill out. I think we were at the border for about 30 minutes getting stamps and paying money. The only problem that arose was when we were about to enter Ghana. We were standing at the border station working on getting our exit stamps to head into Ghana at the Togo office and we decided it would be a good idea to take a picture. Rich, Cara (a girl who was traveling with us) and I lined up and Doug snapped a photo. Unfortunately a security officer was walking behind us and he got caught in the picture. Well, this turned out to be a matter of national security and Doug had to work with the border patrol officers for about 45 minutes to get his camera back. Frustrating, I assure you.

So, we finally made it to Accra. Compared to Cotonou, Accra is about 25 years ahead of them development wise. There are movie theaters with new releases. I saw the new Iron Man movie and new Toy Story. There were malls. There are paved roads everywhere. It was the most developed city I had seen in almost a year. We felt like a high schoolers because we spent almost all of our free time at the mall. (Let’s go to the mall!!!) Aside from the developed areas, though, it was easy to realize that you were still in a developing country. There were shanty houses, polio-stricken beggars, and bush taxis aplenty.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at 11 pm. Unfortunately it started raining and when it starts raining the pulse of the city comes to a grinding halt. We planned to leave our hotel two and a half hours before our flight thinking that would leave us enough time to get to the airport. Think again. We were literally sitting in traffic about a mile from the airport. Sitting. It was a parking lot. Not to mention it was raining. So, we’re sitting there watching the time pass, along with people on the street, but we weren’t moving. It was getting dangerously close to the time when they would stop letting people check in. What could we do? The only thing we could. We got out of the taxi, in the rain, and ran. We ran all the way to the airport access road and flagged down the next available taxi. Thankfully there was a taxi turning onto the airport road from the parking lot we were just on. The driver was extremely nice and we told him that we would pay him entirely too much if he drove recklessly and got us there in enough time to catch our flight. Well, let me tell you that he may not have driven on the proper side of the road for the entire journey, but we made it alive and well. Check in was chaotic as most of the passengers for our flight were not-yet checked in. People were rushing around the airport frantically asking if Flight 207 for Johannesburg had departed. Thankfully they had delayed the flight in anticipation of their delayed passengers.

When I first heard that I would be flying Air Namibia to Johannesburg I was a bit anxious. My friend described my presumptions most accurately when he said he imagined I would be flying on a World-War II-era bomber with Ford Astro Van bench seats bolted to the floor and goats and chickens roaming about the plane. Thankfully, it was nothing of the sort. In fact, it was nicer than 90 percent of the flights I’ve taken in the U.S. Though, that may have something to do with the fact that I was on the same flight as the president of Ghana, who was also on his way to the World Cup. (Side note: coming from America, I thought presidents had their own planes. I mean, our president has NUMEROUS planes, which he brings with him everywhere, you know, in case one breaks down. Cause that happens.)

In Johannesburg we stayed with a distant cousin of Rich’s, Sandro. When we arrived we had no idea what he looked like, Rich didn’t remember meeting him at the wedding they both were allegedly at, and we didn’t have any pictures. And, our phones didn’t work in South Africa because they had Beninese SIM cards. We were just shooting in the dark. Not to mention the airport was swarming with people from all over the world whose planes had just landed AND their distant cousins who were searching for them. So, we went on a search to find Sandro with no idea who we were looking for. I kid you not, I was walking around the airport yelling “Sandro, hello, Sandro. Where are you? If you’re Rich’s cousin and your name is Sandro, we are here.” Thankfully we found someone who was kind enough to let us use his cell phone and we dialed Sandro’s number. Come to find out, Sandro looked at me and was like, “No cousin of mine would be caught dead with this guy.” (I was wearing air plane clothes and dressed for weather in west Africa, not the winter-like conditions that greeted me in South Africa.)

We spent our first day in South Africa catching up on some sleep, chatting with Sandro, getting to know the country, and walking around another mall. (I’ve not spent so much time in malls since I worked in one as a teenager.) The second night we were in Johannesburg we decided that we were going to spring for tickets to an opening ceremony concert the night before the opening ceremony. It was pretty cool as we saw acts from all over the world, as well as the Black Eyed Peas, whose songs have been all over our party play lists back in Benin. It was interesting hearing music from most of the countries playing in the World Cup. And, it was really cool just to be at a concert and feeling like I was in America again.

The next day we had to wake up and go to Rustenburg where were would be watching USA play England. Rustenburg is not a big city. To be honest, it’s not on most maps and was extremely difficult to find on Google maps. Because of this, hotels were not plentiful, let alone transportation out there. Beforehand, Richard had found us a place to stay on www.couchsurfing.com. The girl who had set everything up with Richard, Vicky, came to meet us at a McDonald’s and gave us a ride out to Rustenburg. Because of where we had found our lodging I fully anticipated that I’d be sleeping on the floor with my jacket as a pillow. As it turned out, we would be staying on a ranch in a villa in the back of their yard next to the pool with other World Cup travelers such as ourselves. We had our own shower, two bed’s, and they cooked us dinner that evening, and breakfast the next morning. It was actually nicer than staying at a hotel, and cheaper.

Before the game we had a little barbeque, or braai as they call it, before we went to the game. Because we didn’t have transportation Vicky said that she would take us. She is a writer for some blog and had to cover the game anyways and she had a few friends who were going to the game, as well. So, we all piled into the Land Rover Defender, one of my favorite vehicles in the world, and started off for the game. Because Rustenburg isn’t a large town, the traffic to the game was atrocious and we were stuck in a caravan of cars that stretched for miles. On our way there we saw a few Englishmen on the side of the road evacuating their bladders. I took this opportunity to haze them a bit and screamed, “Look at all of you bloody bastards! You’re all too pissed to play, (pissed is British English for drunk) and even your bladders are small!!!” It was quite ironic because about 50 feet down the road Doug, Rich, Vicky’s friends, and I all got out of the car to pee. As we were walking back a fellow football fan called us over to his car and asked if we would like a beer. “Of course,” we responded. He asked us what we would like and Richard said, “Whatever you got. That’ll work.” To which he replied, “You greedy f@#%ing American!” Thankfully he was just raggin’ on us and gave us some much-needed refreshments.

After waiting in the line for about a half hour Vicky decided it was time to use the power of her press pass and skipped through the line of cars. We got up to the security guards, she showed her pass, and we drove on through. It was a rock star moment. We got to the stadium energized for what awaited us: Americans, our national anthem, football, and crazy Brits who would be just as if not more obnoxious than we. I’ll assure you that we were not let down. As we made our way to the stadium there were American flags aplenty, riotous Englishmen, and lots of screaming and vuvuzela blowing. The game was relatively uneventful and ended in a tie. The only reason we actually scored was because the English goalkeeper let a horrible shot slip past him and go into the goal. It wasn’t because of our athleticism, nor was it because we were the better team. I love America. And I love sports, but we have a long way to go on the global stage with regard to soccer.

The next day we caught a ride back to Joburg with friends of the Bourhills. We had to rush to get to the airport as we had to catch a flight to Cape Town. I was super excited for this leg of the trip. I’d heard nothing but amazing things about Cape Town and was expecting nothing else but a beautiful and international city filled with an electric nightlife, fantastic dining, and breathtaking scenery. I would not be let down.

The flight from Joburg to Cape Town is quite pleasant as you fly over the heart of the country. It gives you the opportunity to see the landscape and vastness that comprises most of the country. Joburg is in the northeastern corner and Cape Town is in the southwestern corner. So, you bisect the country as you fly over. South Africa looks like what you imagine the grasslands of Africa to look like: high, brownish colored grass with a sprinkling of green from the trees and bushes that hadn’t dried out during the winter season. There are rivers that seem to carve out imagined boundary lines. Mountains that make it feel as though the rolling grasslands are hiding the bones of ancient giants. It was truly a beautiful sight.

As we descended into Cape Town we flew through some huge and fluffy clouds. It was pretty cool to fly into and then out of these big fluffy clouds. I imagined that I was out there among them touching their fluffyness. After popping out of the clouds you notice how Cape Town is situated. The terrain is rather flat a few miles out of Cape Town and there isn’t much out there. As we’re making our final decent the ground just drops out from under us, and crests down to the ocean. This is Cape Town. Its northern border is literally defined by the cliffs around it, other wise known as Table Mountain. At night, the cliffs around the city are lit from below and if there’s fog, which there was most nights, it’s like the city is tucked away in a hidden compartment sheltered from the savagery and underdevelopment that defines the rest of Africa. To be honest, Cape Town is not Africa. It is literally the farthest point away from being in Africa while still being on the continent. All throughout the city you can see its European roots: from the Cape Dutch architecture to the names of the streets, Long Street, Oranjezicht, Malteno Avenue, to the restaurants, Irish Bars, and shopping. I’m sure the World Cup being in town had a lot to due with the fact that almost everyone I spoke to was not from South Africa, but the city has a very worldly feel. It’s also a boating hot spot, and the Victoria and Arthur (I think that’s its name) Waterfront is replete with million dollar yachts, luxurious hotels, and exotic dining. At that moment, Cape Town was exactly what I needed to help me feel right again. We were lucky enough to stay with a friend of Doug’s cousin, who is a model. The house we stayed in was at the base of Table Mountain and over looked the city. Most of the people we lived in the house were models. They invited us to go out with them most nights and liked cooking dinner at home with us. They were extremely nice and a lot of fun to be around. It was a really international house. The guy who owned the place was German. One of the girls was from South Africa and the other was Brazilian. We met some Dutch, some Canadians, and some English throughout the week with our new friends. It was a lot of fun.

One evening we went out to eat in the downtown/harbor. We really had no idea where we were going and just decided to walk around and see what we would stumble upon. Before hand, while we were standing in the airport terminal I had seen an advertisement for a restaurant called the Belthazar. The ad said they had the best wine list in Africa with over 1200 wines from which to choose. They also had an amazing cut of meat surrounded by some delicious looking red sauce and leaks. As I stared at the ad drooling and waiting for my baggage I thought to myself, “Bring it, Belthazar. Cause I’ll drink your wine.” So, we’re stumbling around the waterfront and I walked around a corner and see some outdoor seating at a nice restaurant and five flats-screen televisions surrounding the dining area. (Watching the soccer matches is extremely important when you’re at the World Cup.) As I approached the host’s stand I looked at the name of this restaurant and low and behold it was the drool-worthy Belthazar!!! I literally had stumbled upon a gold mine! I ran back to Doug and Rich and told them that we would be eating there regardless of what they said. It was a nice restaurant and I think we deserved it. I’ve been eating rice and beans and red sauce out of an aluminum pot from the side of the road for a year now. I think that it’s time to eat some delicious meats, yummy salads, and drink some expensive wine.

We sat down and it was just as it should be: people waited on me hand and foot, there was water at the table that wouldn’t give me diarrhea, and fancy menus. At first we didn’t remember how to act. This being the first time we’d been at a restaurant of this caliber in almost a year. That being said, it didn’t take me long to remember the proper comportment and feel just as I did while dining out in D.C. After looking over the menu I decided that I would like an assortment of meats only found in South Africa. I ordered a spread of Wildebeest, Spring Bok (the national animal of South Africa, or, the mascot for their rugby team, of which they’re extremely proud), Kudu, and some other bok, with a Caesar salad. I had been craving a Caesar salad for about nine months at that moment and couldn’t think of a better way to start my meal. We ordered a few bottles of wine for the table, as well. When my food arrived I noticed that I would be eating my meat from a sword. Literally my food came to the table on a sword. I looked at the sword in front of me and looked at the four little hunks of meat placed upon it. I was giddy with excitement.

Living in the bushes of west Africa has taken some of my snootiness and desire to be surrounded by class and wealth out of me. Sure, this was one of my intentions of joining the Peace Corps, but as soon as I found myself in this once-familiar environment, things felt right again, right as rain.

The rest of our stay in Cape Town was filled with soccer, clubs, restaurants, models, climbing mountains, and going to raves. It was a most fantastic experience. Ask me about it when I see you again and I’ll give you the details that are a bit too sordid to be shared with the rest of the world.

After leaving Cape Town I feel terribly ill. I somehow contracted tonsillitis, and then after taking the medication to treat the tonsillitis, which killed all of the bacteria in my body, both good and bad, I got a fungal infection in my mouth and was bed-ridden for seven days. Thankfully this happened in JoBurg where there aren’t many things to do. Unfortunately I had to miss the Cote Ivoire vs Brazil match. This was a bummer because my traveling buddy, Doug, is Brazilian and I didn’t want to miss the chance to support the other team to ruffle his feathers.

By the time is started feeling better again our vacation was almost over. We were a few days away from our return to Benin and the US team had made it to the round of 16, which is the round immediately following the group stage. Somehow they had managed to tie enough times and not lose that we advanced to the next round. We then decided that we had to find tickets to the game because they were playing Ghana. The problem with this is that we would be traveling back through Ghana on our way home. That means that if the US won it could be a bit dangerous and if the US won we wouldn’t hear the end of it from every Ghanaian we met. So, we were sitting in the mall trying to figure out how to buy some new tickets and I said allowed, “God, you wouldn’t think it would be this difficult to get tickets to go see the US lose to the last African team in the tournament. All we need are three tickets.” Much to our surprise there was an Thai/American sitting behind us who had three extra tickets because his friends had just bailed on him. What luck?! He literally answered my question with I have three tickets. If you have a ride I’ll sell them to you. The game was in Rustenburg, so we called up our friends, the Bourhill’s and asked if we could stay with them. They were just as accommodating as before. The last night we were there, after the loss to Ghana, they had a braai for us. A braai (pronounced bry) is a South African cook out. They grilled up some ostrich, wildebeest, springbok, and regular cow. The meat in South Africa gives anything we raise in the States a run for its money, especially the exotic meats like wildebeest and ostrich. This was actually the first time I was able to eat solid foods without pain in my mouth from the infection I had, and let me tell you, if there’s anyway to introduce yourself back into solid foods, fire-burnt exotic meats you’ve never eaten before is SURELY a way to do it.

The return trip to Benin was a bit depressing. Going from the exoticism, luxury, and civilization we had acclimated ourselves to in South Africa to the underdevelopment of west Africa can really bring one’s spirits down.

If any of my readers have never been to a global event like the Olympics or the World Cup, I highly recommended it. You get a chance to see the way people from other corners of the world carry themselves, dress themselves, express themselves, and amuse themselves. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my life and will surely be something I share with friends and family ad nauseum.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I’m a big fan of cell phones, cell phone technology, mobile technology, and the laws that shape them. I lived in France and had the chance to see how a mobile communications structure outside of the United States functioned. In France there are a lot of prepaid phone plans, unlocked phones, front-facing cameras, and a nimiety of Nokias; I’m talking about the cool Nokias we don’t get in the States. Before coming to Africa, based on my previous research and experience, I expected cell phones to be unlocked, on prepaid plans, and relatively simple. I expected most of the phones to be made by the manufactures I knew and hopefully some that I didn’t. I didn’t know what to expect of the coverage, and I was hoping to see some mobile banking and credit-as-currency exchange. Checking out the mobile telephony world here in Benin has helped me discover a lot about cell phones, service providers and how things can function outside of a contract, but also about politics, globalization, and a first-hand account of the advancements China and India are making in communications technology.

In America you’re either “IN the network” or you allegedly “have more bars in more places,” you can be “on a 4g network,” or you can have a “top 5.” Whatever your case may be you usually only have one service provider. An exception is if you need two phones because work provides ones, or you’re a drug dealer/pimp who has a spare prepaid phone on which you do “business.” (I guess those reasons are actually the same.) Here in Benin the cell phone companies’ networks aren’t as developed, their coverage isn’t as comprehensive, and therefore the Beninese have numerous cell phones. For example, in the south MTN has the best coverage, but in the northern part of the country it’s Bell Benin and Librecom who get the best reception. Another reason the Beninese have numerous cell phones is because it’s much, MUCH cheaper to call someone on the same network than someone on a different network. Case in point, it cost the same per minute to call someone on a different network who is sitting next to you as it is to call someone an ocean away in America. Because of these reasons you see men, and sometimes women, with multiple cell phones. They carry them in their hands to show off that they can afford two phones. They also pull them out and hold them while being photographed. (Didn’t Sarah Palin pose with her two Blackberrys when she was photographed for Newsweek a few weeks ago?) Most of the time the phones that they have are two cheap Nokias, sometimes they have one nice phone and one not so nice phone, and the way you can tell if someone is a “grand homme” in society is if he has a phone that can support two SIM cards. So, because most people have numerous cell phones the first thing someone asks you when they get your number is what network your on. Which is bizarre, because you can tell what network they’re on by the first two numbers of their cell number. So, if your number starts with 96 or 97 you have MTN, if you have 99 you’re on Glo. It’s also interesting to see the marketing campaigns that then come out based on these two numbers. “New Number, New Life. Go for Glo. Start your life with 99.” We use cell phones as a status symbol in the States, in some circles, but it's much more obvious here in Benin.

I like it when companies take the time to do market research and then adapt products to that market. And, I’m sure this problem isn’t exclusive to Benin. But, the idea of having a phone with two SIM cards kind of confused me at first. How do I choose which SIM I want to use for the text I’m about to send? How do I choose which SIM I want to use for my phone call? Does having two SIMs mean that my phones uses more battery life? How do I choose which SIM I want to use when I go on the Internet?

Because I’m a technophile, and curious, I decided to purchase a “BlackBorry” from a street vendor. Copyright and trademark laws prohibit the sale of cloned phones in America. You can buy them over the Internet and have them shipped here, no problem. But, who wants to buy something from China/BuyCheapPhoneClones.com for a few hundred dollars with no warranty and no guarantee it’s going to work on the network frequencies we use here in America? (They use different cell frequencies in Europe and Asia than we do in the States.) Not being on the same frequencies means you’ll have more dropped calls, “less bars,” and limited access to non-phone features like Internet and music services. This gave me the perfect opportunity to try one of these clones out. And, firstly, I want you all to know that a Blackberry is INFINITELY more intuitive than a BlackBorry. The user interface (UI) on my Blackborry is made to mimic the UI my Blackberry Bold. It actually looks a lot like my Bold with regard to shape and weight. The phone itself has a nice feel to it, but when you start playing with its features you realize that it doesn’t have the technological maturity of a real Blackberry. (Anecdotally, when you’re typing a text message you have to wait at the end of each word until the cursor moves past the letter to hit the space bar or you’ll erase the newly typed letter.) I was explaining this to a Beninese friend and I told him that I don’t have that kind of time on my hands. I’m America, I want things the way I want them at that moment. Especially when I’m typing out a text message. I want the entire process to be as quick and effortless as possible. And this isn’t that. I’ve found that this lack of UI maturity isn’t specific to my Bloackborry and is common in cloned phones, like the Nckia and the Nokla my friends have. Aside from my Blackborry’s flaws there were some interesting features that we don’t get on our phones in the states. My Blackborry had a flashlight on the top, which is rather useful in a country where electricity isn’t expected/always there. My Blackborry also had a TV antenna that telescoped from the top. I was able to watch the local station (ORTB is the name of the station, which is similar to NBC or FOX) at any time during the day through my phone. Another cool feature, which shows up on some American phones, is an FM receiver. In Kerou, my village, and all throughout Benin, the radio is a really popular and effective means of communicating. Most people around town are listening to their local radio stations, and it’s how most volunteers transmit information to the community about workshops and public service announcements. Aside from their flaws, the knock-off phones here in Benin seem rather suited to address a lot of the needs of the Beninese.

(Choosing between SIMs when sending messages and making phone calls turned out to relatively easy as the phone prompts you before doing either. I guess my confusion was founded in my ignorance.)

I see cell phones from all the manufacturers we have back in the States, and definitely some new comers. I see a lot of Nokias. It seems that Nokia has the cheap-yet-sturdy phone market cornered. The phone that most of the volunteers, and most of the people, have is a simple phone, no color screen, black, and perfunctory, made by Nokia. One charge lasts for numerous days, and you could probably run it over and not worry about breaking it. As I’ve said before, a lot of manufacturers are doing market research to adapt their phones to developing markets, and here in Benin where electricity is mainly for the wealthy and even then it frequently goes out, a lot of phones come with flashlights. (There is an old Economist from about seven or eight months ago that details phone adaptation, the influence of Asia makers, and mobile banking. Check it out if you’re interested. It’s one of their special reports.) It didn’t surprise me that there were phones with flashlights, what surprised me is that the only recognizable manufacturer putting flashlights on their phones was Nokia; SonyEricsson, LG, HTC, Samsung, Kyocera, and Blackberry don’t have flashlights. Contrarily, all of the Chinese and Indian clones phones, and even their own labels, have flashlights. Is this because they did market research, or because in the developing world, regardless of where you are, people usually don’t have electricity and if they do it’s shoddy at best? This led me to start looking at the projects that India and China have funded here in Benin to see if they’re doing a better job at serving the development needs of Benin because they’re recently developed (or are developing) themselves, as opposed to western development projects that merely seek impose their own beliefs of development? The Chinese are building hospitals and roads. They’re training new doctors. They’re making products at affordable prices. It’s the same with Indian development. I think they might have some good insight into leapfrog development instead of following the same 200-year path that America took. For example, the Chinese are working with mobile carriers to develop their wireless infrastructures instead of laying telephone lines. That being said, China and India are also flooding the market with cheap batteries that get thrown into the street when they die, and I’m sure all of the products that get banned from the United States and Europe due to safety concerns end up here, as well.

But, fret not: America still has influence when it comes to telecommunications in Benin. Kerekou was the president before the current president, Yayi Boni. Kerekou was actually a dictator in Benin about 30 years ago and then ran for president successfully, twice. While doing some research about telecommunications in Benin before I arrived I came across a political timeline, which led me to some other information. But, it’s from the Internet so no one can guarantee its validity. But, it said that in the mid-nineties during Kerekou’s second presidential campaign, he had a substantial donation from an American telecommunications company. Shortly thereafter Bell Benin communications became a major player in Beninese communications. I haven’t found out too much further as information about company ownership is scarce. (Also, due to my position as an American government worker in Benin I cannot make political declarations or accusations on my blog.) Don’t we have a telecommunications company whose name had Bell in it somewhere? Just something I found interesting.

The Peace Corps has volunteers all over the country and they work in myriad sectors. Volunteers usually leave after their two years are up, but there are a few who choose to stay. Some find love. Some like living in a developing country. Some also see the opportunity to live comfortably with jobs that pay American salaries while living on Beninese budgets. For example, the rent for a beautiful house in the richest part of Cotonou is about $400 to $600 dollars a month. Some of the people who have stayed are working with global development agencies and one “returned” Peace Corps Volunteer works in technological development as a consultant. One day we were all sitting around chatting over beers and I asked her about mobile banking. Per the Economist article I mentioned earlier, many African countries are recognizing the benefits of mobile banking and how it can expand economical development and expand opportunities for the poorer citizens in society to exchange/save money more easily. I asked her whether she knew about mobile banking in Benin and she said that it was stalled out because in Benin anytime a company deals with currency exchange it must be treated like a bank. One major problem with this is that to have a bank account in Benin you must have state-issued identification, and to get this ID you have to have a birth certificate. In most developing countries child birth DOES NOT happen at a hospital. Those who do have children in hospitals are wealthier and those who do not are poor. Thus most children aren’t registered with the states and do not have identification cards. It’s the poor who would be using the mobile banking services the most because they don’t have access bank accounts. To be honest, they’ve probably never been in a bank, much less seen one.


Lastly, I wanted to talk about the culture of cell phones, how people use them, how I think they’re seen, and how that compares to American cell phone usage. In America cell phones are more and more becoming something other than a talking-into-and-someone-talking-back kind of device. We’re sending exponentially more texts than we sent two years ago, we’re updating our facebook status, and shaking our phones to find out which restaurant to go to tonight (Urban Spoon app for iPhone). In the not-so-distant future we’ll be accessing our Netflix and Comcast accounts to watch Avatar and Dexter anywhere we have service. Phones in America are becoming media consumption devices and advanced agenda/calendar/to do list/alarm clocks more than they are communication devices. Here in Benin phones are simple communications devices, but are developing at a rapid clip. Internet is just starting to become more available. Though most don’t understand what the Internet is. They don’t know what a computer does, nor how to use it, much less ever touched one. That being said, the Beninese use their phones to listen to the radio, as they come with FM transmitters, they can watch TV, as some come with analog TV tuners, and they use them as a status symbol, much as we do in the states. It’s rather common to see Beninese men and women walking around the village listening to music from their phones as though they were a boom box. People set them on the tables at the bars to listen to music. And, they’re all listening to the same four songs by the same people. (They love Akon here in Benin, and all over Africa, to be honest.) I don’t know the names of the songs but I know that I hear them all the time. Another feature that I come across a lot is the MTN “beep me” feature. As I said before, most phones are prepaid, and because of this people run out of credit all the time. But, they still want to talk to you. So, there is a feature through MTN that sends a message to someone saying that you would like to call them but you don’t have any credit. This is supposed to imply that you’re to call them back. (As you can probably imagine, this gets kind of annoying when the same people “beep” you every time they want to talk.)

All in all, cell phones are everywhere in Benin. Everyone has them. They’re cheap. They have multiple functions. And I feel that they’re going to be an integral role in Benin’s development. I think it’s really cool to see how people are just coming in contact with something we find so banal in America: a phone that just makes phones calls and sends text messages. Aside from learning about a country that is about five years behind America in mobile technology, I’m excited to get back to the States, get a new phone, and discover all the cool things I didn’t know I couldn’t live without.

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.