tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33791869369589740172024-02-20T03:08:43.453-08:00Brandon In BeninMy name is Brandon and I'm a Peace Corps volunteer teaching English stationed in Benin, which is located in western Africa.
If you know me, you know that I'm loud, funny, witty, and just a general good time. I like laughing at myself (and others) and am trying to see as much of this beautiful planet as possible.
I hope you enjoy what i have to say about my experiences and general observations about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-75786384197016100242011-11-01T14:35:00.001-07:002011-11-01T15:13:38.054-07:00Benin there, done thatAfter two years of pain, sweat, tears, elation, smiles, and no regret, I've finished. <div><br /></div><div>I packed up most of my house after selling most of my furniture. I gave away most of my clothing to Abib, lord knows he deserves it. I had a going away party with my friends, both Beninese and American. I ate my favorite meals. I drank my favorite tchouk and sodabi. I reminisced about the things i love, like wagashi, little kids dancing in the streets, too many holidays/having a lot of down time, and etc, etc, etc. It's hard to capture in words the incredible experiences I've had in the past two years. And, I also thought about all the things that drove me to the brink insanity, such as lack of respect for time tables and appointments, being screamed at in the streets because of my skin color, having people talk about me in front of me in a language they think i don't understand, pooping a millions times a day, and the horrible hangovers that La Beninoise will give you. I've honestly had every single emotion i've ever had during my service. And, some i had never had before. </div><div><br /></div><div>On my last few night in Benin I had great company. My friends allowed me to digress at every step to recount a story, be it of some guy walking up to me in the streets and asking me about money that was obviously from Korea (It said Bank of Korea on it) and having him refute me every time i said so saying it was Chinois, to the time i got licked by a monkey, to the time Kali got hit by a moto in village because she never looked as she crossed the street, to the time a dog tried to fight a dust devil, to the time i danced with the farmer ladies at this King's festival. Ashley, Jared, Suzi, Dave, and Sarah all did their best to console/encourage me in this nostalgic time. I'm eternally grateful. </div><div><br /></div><div>I feel as though I did so many things and nothing at all. Everyday i tried something new. Everyday i learned something new. And, everyday i failed at something new. I fell down a lot, literally. Though, not as much as Karina. I stepped in a lot of poo, both literally and figuratively. And i've laughed so hard i've cried and farted at the same time. My service has changed me in a way that i think calms me a bit. Inspires me to live a life with purpose. And, to always go out and try to find a way to give back at gain at the same time. I know that i'm a different person. That's obvious. I've lost a bunch of weight. But, it's the profound and humbling effect that giving myself up to something larger than me that will surely be a constant presence in my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Can I talk about specifics? Not yet. Can I imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't joined the Peace Corps? Yes. I see it all around me. Am i glad i served? Absolutely. </div><div><br /></div><div>The hardest part of leaving Peace Corps, and Kerou for that matter, is leaving the life behind I spent two years creating. The first year of my service I was trying to figure out/learn how to live as a Peace Corps volunteer in Benin. I came in as a bright-eyed Washingtonian who thought he might affect the lives of four or five people. I knew how to catch the subway, hail a taxi, set up a webinar, and coordinate national media events. Now, I'm leaving Benin knowing how to work with and speak to the Bariba, teach English, teach people how to build a windmill-powered water pump, coordinate a girls camp to teach about life planning, and to kill, cook, and eat a variety of bizarre animals. And I'm positive that i've affected more than five lives. I know this because I've taught new skills to people, I've encouraged people to continue their educations, I've encouraged fathers to pay for their daughters' educations, I've helped women take control of their finances, and I've taught new computer skills to eager learners who are ready to go out and put those skills to use. Sometimes you can sense the change and inspiration you've instilled in people. You can see it in their eyes. </div><div><br /></div><div>People ask me now that I've returned if i would do it again. Heavens, no. I did it once already. It was easily the hardest thing I've ever done. But, would I take it all back if I could? Never. Not one tiny second. (Well, maybe the time I fell into the open sewer and ripped my shorts and the entire main intersection in Pehunco was privy to my man parts. I guess I'd take that back. Though, it's an amazing story. Ask me about it sometime.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to thank all my friends and family for their unwavering support through this entire journey. I want to thanks those who sent me packages. A little contact with home was exactly what i needed through those tough times. I couldn't be luckier. I have the best family and friends a guy could ever ask for. </div>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-79041068761039803172011-09-06T03:35:00.000-07:002011-09-06T03:49:16.222-07:00Kamp Kerou – Where Kids Can!<div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">For the past year I’ve been organizing a girls’ youth camp<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">for thirty girls here in Kerou. The goal of the camp is to encourage young<br />girls to have and then achieve their goals, as well as teaching them about<br />sexual health and reproduction. </span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Thankfully I was lucky enough to partner with one of my good</span></p><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">friends Kimberly Sanders from California, who helped out with a lot of the<br />logistical planning and report writing. I prefer working on teams and she was a<br />great partner. I also had three other volunteers help out and be camp<br />couselors. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />Kamp Kerou consisted of 30 girls from CEF Kerou chosen by<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">their grades, class particpation, and overall personality. Nothing is worse<br />than having a camp where no one is participating in the activities, songs, and<br />games. I also employed the assistance of five female professors from my school.<br />These women were fantastic. They were just as engaged as the girls. They<br />encouraged the girls to raise their hands, gave anecdotes about things they’d<br />experienced as girls when they were the campers’ ages. Their experiences had a<br />profound effect on the girls. The counselors were able to show them that they<br />too had been in the exact same situation and had found a way to succeed. (Being<br />a school teacher in Benin is a very good job, especially for a woman.) I<br />wouldn’t have traded their presence for a million cfa. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />The week was filled with laughing and learning and playing<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">and participating. I truly believe that we helped to open the eyes of at least<br />a few girls who had never before thought they could become something other than<br />mothers. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) This could very well have<br />been the first time that someone, especially someone with stature such as<br />teachers, has ever told these young girls that they could dream about a future.<br />In Benin one isn’t really encouraged to dream to live above one’s family. If<br />you’re from a family of farmers, you’re to be a farmer, etc. They feel that if<br />you want to be something else it’s because you’re ashamed of where you come<br />from, or you think you’re better than your upbringing. (An idea that is not too<br />different from those that some have in the U.S.) We had a career panel with a<br />midwife, teachers, the school accountant, Peace Corps volunteers, and a local<br />business woman. The girls asked great questions from “How did you put off being<br />a mother to become a professor?,” to “What did your family say about you<br />leaving your family to go off and learn?,” to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>“How did you pay for your education?” You could really see the<br />excitement and genuine inquiry in their eyes. Another one of those moments<br />where you know you’re making a difference. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />At the end of camp the girls put on skits to show what<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">they’d learnt throughout the week. There were presentations on “Sex for Grades”<br />(which is an unfotunate reality of the Beninese education system), “Proper<br />Menstrual Hygiene,” and “How to Keep Boys at Bay.” All of the girls had a great<br />time with this activity. It was their chance to get up and give the<br />presentations instead of watching them. Most made us laugh, some made us tear<br />up as girls shared their experiences of losing their virginities as a frightfully<br />young age, and most made us proud. You’re never really sure if your audience as<br />received your intended message, let alone understood it. After seeing their<br />skits, it was clear that both had been achieved. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />At the very end we had a little dance with the girls and the<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">counselors. We all got together and showed off our moves. The girls showed us<br />how to dance properly Beninese style, doing the yam pile dance, and other<br />various village dance moves, and we showed them how to fist pump! </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />It is routinely said that camps are the highlight of a<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">volunteers service. The curriculm is usually your own. You’re not being<br />critiqued by Beninese inspectors. You’re teaching material you know in your<br />heart to be critically important to the development of your students, and is<br />not covered in the classroom, and more often than not, never broached in the<br />home. These camps are an opportunity for us to have direct contact with the<br />girls on a level that potentially could have the most profound effects. Kamp<br />Kerou was surely one of the brightest and most rewarding experiences of my<br />Peace Corps service. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br />I want to give the biggest THANKS I can give to all of those<br /></span><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">who donated to Kamp Kerou. Without your generous support this camp never could<br />have happened. Rest assured knowing that you not only helped us teach girls how<br />to achieve their dreams, but also plan for their futures, and you all paid for<br />another year of schooling that was surely not assured. You’re all heroes to<br />these girls. Thank you so much. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><br /></span></div>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-51840289798933856082011-09-06T03:27:00.000-07:002011-09-06T03:47:42.347-07:00Class Dismissed<div><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">My second year of teaching in Benin ended with little<br />fanfare, no parties, less than average drama, but with quite a bit of<br />nostalgia. </span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Year two was definitely easier, as I was more familiar with<br />the Beninese education system, the curriculm, and I didn’t have to teach 4<sup>th</sup><br />grade. I prefer my students be able to understand simple phrases like “I am Mr.<br />T,” and “Sit down and stop talking!” 6<sup>th</sup> grade students (4eme in the<br />Beninese system) are older, more engaging, and more experienced. This means, in<br />my opinion, you can be more daring and creative with the material, as well as<br />introduce teenage/puberty-related topics. Don’t forget that at this age some of<br />them are having children, working 20-30 hours a week, and, though not many,<br />some are contemplating leaving school and becoming full-time adults. We<br />broached topics such as alcohol, smoking, HIV/AIDS, sex, sexual health, healthy<br />living practices, and abstinence. It was obvious that some of the kids, because<br />they still are kids, were reticent to participate in class, but there were many<br />who were quite learned on the dangers of drinking too much and having too many<br />sexual partners. (I’m not sure I want to know why/how.)</span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">I had one class that was filled with bright students. And,<br />those who weren’t bright enjoyed participating. This class was literally the<br />highlight of my teaching week. We played games, laughed, learned, and generally<br />had a great time in class. My two favorite students were also in this class: a<br />girl named Faida, who was by far my best/favorite student (and is pictured next<br />to me on my Facebook profile picture), and a boy named Joseph, whom I taught<br />how to play chess. They were engaging in class. They participated daily, if not<br />too eagerly. They asked questions that demonstrated their understanding of the<br />material and desire to use/adapt/modify it to previous lessons. They encouraged<br />others around them to participate and rarely<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>disrupted the classroom. You could not have asked for better students. I<br />promise you, I will surely miss them both. </span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">After my last day of class I felt both joy and sadness. I<br />was excited to have completed the two years of teaching obligatory to my<br />service, I accomplished something; I struggled, I prospered, I tried, I failed,<br />and, for lack of a better word, I taught. I stood in front of 70 studnets per<br />class with two two-hour long classes a day and found a way to overcome so many<br />obstacles to imbue an understanding, if though merely cursory, of the English<br />language. Most days didn’t go according to plan, but I found a way to make it<br />work. Somedays I left skippy and jocund, others I left distraught and downtrodden.<br />But, looking back on my two years as a teacher, I wouldn’t have changed a<br />thing. I challenged myself to not let hardships overcome me and to always look<br />for a solution. Sometimes I had to reteach things three or four times, but<br />progression was made and I know my students are better for it. </span></div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span></o:p> </p><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Before teaching in Benin, it was my job to “teach” people<br />about advanced automotive teachnologies; to breakdown complex ideas and<br />concepts into digestable content suited for all. I think my experience in Benin<br />has heled me hone my abilities to break down different concepts and ideas<br />making them accessible to a different audience. I know that my teaching<br />experience has made me a better “teacher.”</span></div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><div></div></span><div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Will I ever be a classroom teacher again? Not sure. I’d love<br />to be a professor later on in life. I can think of nothing better at keeping<br />someone young at heart that surrounding themselves with the freshness of youth<br />and eagerness to learn one experience in a classroom environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div> </div><p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Thanks to all of you who’ve supported me throughout these<br />two years by sending markers and supplies. I promise you it was appreciated by<br />more than just me. </span></p><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"><div><br /><br /></div></span></div>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-44683684167266940762011-05-23T12:38:00.000-07:002011-05-23T12:43:39.780-07:00home = yenu (in Bariba)<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:windowtext">Many of you may have wondered over the holiday season what a typical home in Kerou looks like. In the States we all travelled to grandma’s house to celebrate the holidays, or some of us stayed at home to be with the new family we’d just started. </span><span style="color:windowtext"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A typical home here in Kerou is quite different from a one in the States, for many reasons. First, let’s start with the make-up of the household. There is usually one “Poppa.” He is the king of the castle and literally whatever he says goes. There is no real arguing with him. If he says jump, who say how high and how many times. Typically there is one main wife, who would have been the first, and their children. They live in the main house of the courtyard. More than likely, if he can afford it, he has a few children with her. If he’s a well-to-do man he’s invited her parents, as well as his own, to live in one or two room houses that are connected to the same courtyard. Remember, these houses usually do not have bathrooms, nor do they have kitchens. As shown in one of my earlier photos, a kitchens usually consists of three rocks over a fire to hold a cauldren. Most of the houses are made of mud with cement over top of the mud. This isn’t the best construction material as termites LOVE to eat mud and can usually eat through the cement to get to it. But, alas, c’est comme ca. (It’s like that.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Usually after a few years with the Poppa’s first wife, if he’s finalcially stable enough, and not a Chrstian, for the most part, the Poppa will find another wife. She is usually much younger than he and of the ripe age to have more children. In some instances i’ve seen him marry someone 20 years younger. She had ambition to become a successful woman in the community and unfortunately one of the only ways to do that is to marry someone with clout.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, now we have one family, let’s call them the “Idrissou’s” and there are the grandparents from both sides, if they’re still alive, the life expectancy here isn’t much higher than 50, a few sisters from either side of the family and their children if their father is absent. (note: men don’t usually support other men as men are to support themselves and as many members of their family who need it, the females and children, that is.) Then he has all of his own children, as well. This can lead to households up to 20 people. Now, don’t think that the Poppa is the only one making any money. For the most part, women do what they can to donate to the cause. Unfortunately most women in Kerou don’t have an education further than sixth grade. Therefore, their aide extends to selling things in the market, becoming a seamstress, and/or if they’re young/pretty enough becoming a bar waitress which usually leads to a bit of prostitution. If there are boys around the house who are of age to go work in the fields, or help out with Poppa’s business, perhaps he’s a mechanic, merchant, or farmer, they are required to do so. It’s not easy for one man to support 20 people. I know I have to use money that i’ve saved from America to help myself and i’m just one guy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:windowtext">Typically, when a man takes a wife, and he is financially stable enough, he moves into his own house/consession. And, in theory, starts his own concession.</span><span style="color:windowtext"> </span><span style="color:windowtext">(A concession is a group of houses/apartments with a surrounding fence of some sort. In these houses/apartments is where he houses his extended family) In the house there is usually a main salon, with one of two rooms extending off of that. There are no hallswalls, typically between rooms, just doors that lead into other rooms. Most of the time there is only one doorway leading out of the house and that leads into the courtyard. The courtyard is really like a big living space. Because of the extreme temperature, there is usually a large shade tree in the courtyard, underwhich daily life almost always takes place: cooking, dish washing, bathing (if you’re a baby), reading, studying, talking, and just plain old loungin’ around. Trust me, being under a shady tree is the most enjoyable place in Kerou. Yes, it’s stifling hot, but that’s because of the sun. There’s usually a breeze, so when you’ve found an escape from the sun with a breeze, you’re very much so in luck. Under a mango tree right at the end of the hot season might be one of the best places in Benin: you’re out of the sun and you have the most delicious fruit in the world hanging in front of you. Not so bad.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:windowtext"></span>In Kerou, many of the residents are related somehow, literally everyone is a cousin. Big events are quite literally a third of the residents of Kerou. Big family events are things like baptisms, funerals, marriages, and New Years. Men who are financially stable enough are expected to have big parties, kill lots of goats and chickens and provide meals for all of his family and friends. During holidays children from poor families put on their best clothing and walk around from concession to concession dancing and begging for money. In Muslims communities those who have are expected to give to those who haven’t. It’s a community that tries to help others out when it can. Which is a really cool thing. In America we’re reluctant to help others around us sometimes because we feel like we’re getting scammed, we don’t know them, or it’s just not in our nature. Don’t get me wrong, we love to donate, but i feel like it’s sometimes to those who are outside of our community. That being said, this is where faith-based communities really come together. It’s the same here. Those of the same faith help each other out whenever possible.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are many things about family life in Kerou that are completely different, from the family structure to where you live/eat/bathe. The idea that women aren’t seen has having a career-focused future, to children worked on the farm. But, there are a lot of things that span our two cultures, as well: family support, sharing holidays, and knowing where you call home. I miss mine and am eager to be apart of it once again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I miss you all deeply and will be in MY HOME very soon. </p> <!--EndFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:windowtext"> </span><span style="color:windowtext"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-875446641994234722011-05-23T10:07:00.000-07:002011-05-23T12:37:32.308-07:00A Functioning Democracy in Africa<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">There’s been a lot of upheaval around the world, especially regarding elections. Cote d’Ivoire was engulfed in a multi-month quasi-civil war, Libya has its citizens rising up declaring their desire for a democracy, the same with Egypt. That being said, there are many countries in Africa where democracies flourish, Benin is one of those countries.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As with many things in this country, the election was slow to start and took awhile to actually get up and running. One of the main culprits was a lack of voter registration. The literacy rate in Benin is rather low, and the rate of those with actual identification cards is even lower. This means that registration is impossible for some, difficult for most, The president, Dr. Thomas Yayi Boni, postponed the election to allow the Beninese citizenry to go and get their identification cards after many information campaigns headed be local election officials all over the country. In Kerou, there were lines of interested Beninois that stretched for “blocks” of people who were trying to get their voter registration cards. Ingeniously, the government declared that these registration cards would double as citizen identification cards.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After weeks of postponing and hemming and hawing around, the elections finally took place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In Benin campaigning can only begin two weeks before the election actually takes places. Unfortunately, the voting date got pushed back three or four times. So, the two-week campaign season turned into a month. All throughout the country posters supporting candidates such as Abdoulaye Bio Tchane, Salifou Issa, incumbent Yayi Boni, and Akuavi Marie-Elise Christiana Gbedo proclaiming their unique visions for the future and how they’ll be the ones to take Benin there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Historically, there are normally two rounds of elections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The first round is for all of the candidates, this year there were 14. After the first round, things are usually whittled down to the top two candidates, who face in a run-off. They usually find some of the candidates who haven’t made it to the second round and create alliances. Then the non-second rounders throw their support behind the second rounders in hopes of garnering influence from the winning candidate and hopefully a position in the new president’s administration. A candidate must get more than 50% percent of the vote to win. This normally doesn’t happen in the first round, with some candidates getting up to 30% and thus needing the support of the other candidates. If during the first round a candidate gets the necessary 50%, there will not be a second round.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This year we had such an event. Yayi Boni, the incumbent, got 54% of the vote in the first round. This is not a regular occurrence and garnered some attention from those of whom did not get enough votes. There were some protests in and around the capital, Porto Novo, and Cotonou, populated by people expressing their discontent with someone from the north; Yayi Boni is Bariba and from the same area and people who have taken me in. Yayi Boni has thus been sworn in as the president of the Republic of Benin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was exciting to see how a democracy functions in a culture that is so completely different from my own. In America, it’s taboo to speak of politics and for whom you’ll be voting. Here, you’re encouraged to talk about your feelings and political leanings, as long as they coincide with your heritage and tradition: Muslims are to vote for Muslims, Christians for Christians, Fon for Fon and Bariba for Bariba, et cetera. Having a dissenting view is looked down upon and might evince upbraiding from those closest to you. But, is that really so different from America? Oh, how I’ve been chided by family members for being a liberal. But, I’m surely allowed to vote for whomever I please without fear of reprisal. I’m not so sure that’s the case for my neighbors.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Elections are tricky things. Everyone has an idea about how the country should be led. Everyone is passionate about their feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In a democracy there is nothing more important than an election. We’ve seen that sometimes this passion can lead to violence and upheaval, but we’ve also been witness to how democracies are supposed to function: people vote, leaders listen, and the country moves forward. I’m glad Benin is one of those countries. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-28055817922452761832011-01-23T03:37:00.000-08:002011-01-23T03:43:01.446-08:00Christmas on the Beach<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Joyeux Noel!!! (Merry Christmas)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Meillieurs Voeux!!! (Best Wishes) Bon Fete!!! (Good Party)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The holiday season was just upon me and boy was it something. My best friend Steven has told me about these Christmases at the beach and I really didn’t understand their appeal until this year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last year I spent Christmas with my postmate. I decorated the house with snowflakes, pin the nose on the reindeer, and a naughty and nice list. (Def. on the naughty list, duh. As most of you are as well, I’m sure.) So, that means that I did the Christmas at my post, which is something you’re supposed to do at least once. Check. This year I decided that I would do something I bit more adventurous/relaxing/around more of the friends I’ve created this year. So, I got a bungalow on the beach at a place called Auberge Grand Po Po with Shannon. Apparently this was one of the first places built in the area, is known for its food, and when I called I asked about food and he informed me that this was a “real” hotel. I daydreamed that perhaps, at least, I’d be able to get a massage while drinking out of a coconut.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We got there the Monday before Christmas and were excited for a relaxing week on the beach eating good food and forgetting we were in Benin. I had just recently been passed Hunger Games and was excited to read it. We arrived to the usual taximoto/argument/overpriced turmoil usually associated with Zemijohns to find our adorable little white bungalow nestled a few meters back from the ocean in a coconut grove. Not bad.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first evening we decided to have dinner there. A few drinks beforehand on the little patio over looking the ocean: obviously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, we’re about two American-sized (American-sized beers are about half the size of the beers we normally drink) beers deep and the cute little waitress asks if we’d like to move upstairs to eat. We said, why no. I think eating right here on the beach would be just perfect. Thanks, we’ll just stay here. To which she replied that they didn’t do that. Didn’t do what I wondered. Apparently you weren’t allowed to sit down on the patio and eat. They refused to serve us our food at a table on the beach-front patio because they didn’t do that. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t understand stupid. I wasn’t asking to eat baby sea turtle off the forehead of a trafficked child. I was asking to eat dinner at the same table I was having drinks because it had a fantastic view of the ocean. Strike one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The days passed like the breeze billowing across the surf. I collected seashells. Did some beach yoga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Almost died trying to swim in the ocean. Seriously people, it’s not a bad idea to pay attention to the State Department’s travel warnings regarding swimming in the ocean in Benin. It was nearly impossible to get out and Shannon was literally swept from her feet by the undertow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A few times at lunch we wandered the beach road looking for places to eat and souvenir shops. We stumbled past a makeshift hut/stand thing when its patron yelled to us asking if we were hungry. Though we had already eaten, the hot sun was pounding on us and a cold drink sounded nice. Marcel, the patron, was a super nice guy offering us ice-cold coca colas and beers to help beat the heat. Marcel’s Pizzeria turned out to be one of of lunchtime hot spots as he made fantastic thin crust pizzas, accommodated all of our white-guy necessities, and was centrally located between all of the hotels where our friends would later be staying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After a few beverages we ventured out onto the road again looking for some keep sakes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The cool thing about this area is that most of the touristy stuff is actually made by the dude who’s selling it. That being said, the quality/usefulness of the products is questionable. A wallet made from a gourd hanging from my neck, yeah, not so sure. A wooden statue of an elephant, not sure that’ll fit in the taxi I’ll be forced into on the way home. That being said, I did manage to find a sweet bottle that was painted with mud and superglue. I got it filled with some of the locally made liquor, sodabi at this road-side stand I found the first time I was in Grand Po Po. (Side note, share this with your older relatives who may remember. Sodabi is similar to Jake, the liquor they used to sell during prohibition. Therefore, after prolonged consumption people have gone blind. I’ve heard of temporary blindness after bender one evening. And, everyone I know who likes sodabi is <i>just</i><span style="font-style:normal"> a bit crazy.)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After one day of lazily flouncing around the beach, building beach chairs, jumping in the surf, resting under a beach hut, we decided to rinse off by the pool. It was just after midday and the sun was pounding, it was a million degrees, and I had sand in most of my crevices. We head over to the pool and there’s a guy cleaning it and his hose is attached to the faucet we would use to rinse off. So, I ask the guy if we can get in to wash off and he could just suck up the sand then. Or, we could hang out at the other end of the pool. Also, don’t think that our sand would clog the filtration system because there isn’t one. It’s just a concrete hole in the ground with water in it. They use the hose next to the pool to fill it up. He said that we couldn’t and to come back in an hour. In an hour I would be irritated and hungry; and in an hour I wanted to be at Marcel’s eating a pizza and cooling off. As you can see, I was not happy. Call me a prissy American and I’ll ask you to come live in my concrete hut for 15 months and try to call me prissy again. I’m on vacation. ::stomps foot::<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After this I’d grown tired of the “real” hotel. On one of our earlier excursion we stumbled across an adorable little group of bungalows closer to where our friends had rented a place. So, we decided to move to the Saviors of Africa! Cuter rooms. No pool. Better service. Worth it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">While eating lunch one day at Marcel’s I noticed a clang clanging going on down by the beach. Marcel said that it was the local tradition of pulling in the nets everyday for the bounty. Apparently, everyday, except Sunday because the fish rest, men from all over the village come down in the morning and start pulling in the nets. This whole process takes about three to four hours as the nets are about half a kilometer, if not more, out to sea. I decided that I would go down there one morning and help bring in some fish. It sounded like the clang clanging was to a rhythm, which made me want to whistle/dance while I worked, and I decided to give it a whirl.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Normally you have to ask for permission before you take a picture. They get quite angry if you don’t. You usually have to pay. When you don’t ask permission you pay more. Sometimes they force you to buy them sodabi. Remember, always ask first.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I walked down to the ocean, attracted by the rhythmic banging, and asked if I could help. Of course. They love seeing the white guy do the work. Normally we’re just rolling around this country in an air conditioned SUV, unless you’re a PCV, then you’re smashed into a taxi/on the back of a zemijohn/sweating your balls off. I danced about as I tugged the line just like everyone else. They sang songs which I’m sure spoke of fish, women, and sodabi, and routinely got off the line to dance. Some of my fellow yankers were more serious than others. Some were obviously inebriated. Others looked respectable and family oriented. Each wanted his picture taken with a fevor unexpected given their insistence on me paying beforehand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After the second hour of yanking I grew tired and my hands hurt. I was trying to figure out why I had paid money to come down to the beach to do work. And, the hotel had called down to say that my breakfast was ready and we all know they clearly weren’t going to bring it to me. <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Around one in the afternoon the nets finally reached shore and we separated the catch. Women from all over town came down to claim/pay for their basin of fish. Apparently most of the men who pulled the nets in were from Ghana and are brought in to do the manual labor. All of the profits go to some consortium in Ghana, which is two countries over, and the men are paid monthly. I noticed that a after the nets were caught in representatives from the consortium arrived, gave the prices for the basins and larger fish, took the best catches, and left immediately.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later in the week some of my fellow PCVs arrived and we mingled, threw Frisbee, played games, and enjoyed the collective environment. This was the first time that the newest stage was allowed to take vacation, so you can be assured we profited from that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Christmas day came along and I exchanged gifts with some of my friends. Up in Kerou I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and I was looking for a hobby. I remembered that I had a friend who repurposed old cow horns into decorations, and that I had bought some jewelry made from the same material. I can do that, I thought, and took to creating jewelry for my female friends. I made a few bracelets, a necklace, and some earrings. It felt pretty cool making something that was this pretty by hand. I hope I’ll be able to continue making jewelry from other materials when I get back. I’m sure whatever school I go to will have an art class to meet my needs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After Christmas I went back to Kerou. Sometimes it’s pretty easy to get to Kerou, other times I have to take planes, trains, and automobiles to get home. Let’s just say that it took a car, a bus, three taxis, and two tractor trailers to get home. I was smashed in between kids, old women, PCVs, cotton, and at one point I thought I was livestock.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Being in Kerou for New Years was cool. I forgot that people don’t party on New Years Eve except at the stroke of midnight. Then the party begins. It’s not as hectic that evening, but New Years day is the real party. I went from house to house visiting my friends and colleagues. We ate lots of food, drank with friends, and danced the day away. That evening we went to one of the local clubs. (I know, I couldn’t believe there was a club here either.) Unfortunately the club didn’t have air conditioning, and it seemed as though it was nothing but students there. I decided that at my apartment was the best venue and returned.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Welcoming in the New Year in Kerou means that I’ve spent one entire year in my tiny village in the bushes. Among the many things I learned in 2010, how to actually live in Kerou was the most important. 2010 was the year I spent in Africa.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What does 2011 have for me. I’m sure new adventures and friends await; as well as reunions with the old. I have a sweet European vacation planned, and could potentially be ending the year in South America.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wish you the best of wishes. Know that I love you all and will see you soon.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">P.S. – there should be pictures up soon. Also, I’m still here for 7 months. I still need soap, shaving crème, chocolate, loose-leaf tea, and your love. The favor will be returned upon my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-81409039470589094852011-01-23T03:21:00.000-08:002011-01-23T03:31:33.483-08:0010 Things I Miss More Than Running Water<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">I chose this title because there are a lot of concessions I’ve made over here. I’ve given up a lot of things and I’ve been able to replace with other things. Not having air conditioning means I get a fan. I don’t have a ZipCar but I do have a bike. Simple things. But, there are some things that I miss more than I miss running water. Please, don’t be offended if you’re not on this list. It’s obvious that I miss my family and my friends. I miss holidays. I miss celebrations. Duh. This is some of the other stuff.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">1.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Brunch. I’m sorry Mom. I’m sorry Internet. I miss brunch more than I miss flushing toilets, the metro, and sexting. I miss delicious Bloody Marys, crab cakes benedict, fried chicken with sweet onion gravy, scrambled eggs and thickly cut bacon. I miss endless mimosas. I miss jarring to life at some time on Saturday or Sunday morning/afternoons texting my besties, putting some clothes on, and stumbling to one of my fav. brunch spots. I miss the Logan Circle Leisure Sports Association.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">2.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>My BlackBerry. A few years ago I ditched my iPhone/it fell in a pool. I decided to get a Blackberry. The feeling of the leather on my fingers as I updated my Facebook status was incomparable. I long to see that little red dot blinking at <i>me</i><span style="font-style:normal"> just to get </span><i>my</i><span style="font-style:normal"> attention. I miss my Google calendar that auto sync’d with my Blackberry Calendar. I miss BBM. Because I couldn’t take it any longer, I asked my mother to send my Blackberry Bold to me. The cell service here isn’t too bad. And, they advertise this phone as new, which it is not, on the billboards in Cotonou. I hope this implies MTN supports all of my required services. (Update-given the less than stellar electrical system in this country </span><i>and</i><span style="font-style:normal"> its questionable presence, i decided to stick with my w810i—it has a flashlight, infinitely useful, long battery life, the Bold comparably does not, and will more than likely die right as i’m leaving—instead of switching to my Bold. Maybe if the Guyana thing works.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">3.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>The Internet. I don’t actually think I can explain how much the Internet was a part of my life before my service; therefore, I am equally incapable of describing how much I miss it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">4.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Whole Foods. Monday night was my grocery shopping night. I would get back from working out and change out my bags and rush off to the Whole Foods a few blocks away between 14<sup>th</sup> and 15<sup>th</sup> on P. I would put my newly downloaded podcast about media on my iPod and shop away with the best looking shopping crowd in DC. This Whole Foods is in a particularly good looking part of the city. So, not only is the food nice to look at but the people are too. I got to pick out what delicious salads I would make for the week while learning about “the dismal state of health reporting on America’s morning news programs,” or about video games for the differently-abled. This shopping ritual made Mondays not so bad.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">5.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Drink Specials/Dance Parties/Night Clubs. $2 Skyy drinks. Philadelphia special: PBR and a shot of whisky. Two for One Top Shelf. Bliss. Shift. Black Cat. Town. Pants off Dance off. Hipsters. Awkward Dancing. Great hair cuts. Smart/Weird People. Those who understand this understand what I am going through. Those who do not, sadly, do not. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">6.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Mexican Restaurants/Chips and Salsa. Nuff Said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">7.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>The Metro. I lived two blocks from the Metro in DC. It was my main mode of transportation in and around the city. I was on the Yellow/Green line. This meant I could get to work in 15 minutes if train showed up right as I got there. Which happened. The Metro was romantic. It could take me all throughout the city, it was paid for, and there were other people to look at. Which could and did range from college students, to White House staff, to cooks at the Hilton. It’s clean and efficient. And, at times it’s funny. So far, it’s been my favorite regular means of transportation. And, you can go out with your friends and have as much fun as you want and have a safe way to get home. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">8.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Holiday Seasons. Jingle bells! Bat Man smells! Robin laid an egg. I love getting all dressed up for holidays. I miss dressing for International Talk Like A Pirate Day. It’s not everyday you get to wear a paper parrot on your shoulder during a staff meeting. I also miss getting together with family. I miss buying gifts for people. I miss eating too much. I miss falling asleep while watching “A Christmas Story.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I miss putting up stockings at work. I loved it when Mama D, my boss, invited us all over to make cookies! I miss Labor Day/Memorial Day weekends and the Fourth of July. I miss cookouts and Sam Adams. We definitely fete over here in Benin, but it’s just not like what I partied to in the States. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">9.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Racquetball. I’ve played sports my entire life. I like being in a league and the weekly competition. I picked up racquet sports in college and have been hooked ever since. I miss having my Thursday evening/Saturday morning racquetball matches against guys from all over the political/profession/age spectrum. I was playing in a league, so every match counted. I surely didn’t win all the time. But, I definitely didn’t lose all the time, either. And, I like the way racquetball makes my butt look. I miss having a regular outlet for the all-sport inside. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in">10.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>TiVo. Ok, it’s not just TiVo. I miss television, as well. I miss watching Big Bang Theory and then How I Met Your Mother on Mondays. Then, sometimes I would have to TiVo Dexter because of a date. Or that if I wanted to watch a movie I had ten movie channels and pay-per-view. Cash Cab. Mythbusters. Dirty Jobs. And, I could rewind and pause it at leisure. Granted, I’m watching a lot of television shows over here on my laptop, I want to be able to channel surf while eating some Chinese takeout. Guilty. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This list has been brewing in the back of my mind for a few months now. While all the PCVs are together for a meeting or haphazardly in the same workstation on transit, we/I like to talk about what’s happening in the States and what parts of my life I miss. You learn a lot about someone by the things that they miss.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And, as always, know that I miss you all terribly, especially my mother. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-28883931587111767772010-10-03T01:42:00.000-07:002010-10-03T01:45:08.942-07:00One Down, One, Maybe Two Years To Go::raises hands above his head as he looks over the crest::<br /><br />I think this is the beginning of the decent on this two-year Beninese rollercoaster. AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Ok. That was lame. But, I think you get the picture.<br /><br />Firstly, I want to thank all of those who sent me love over the past year. In all its forms. And secondly, I want to thank all of those who sent me tangible love in the form of packages, most expecially. The toothpaste they have here has more BPA than fluoride in it and the razors are sure to give me tetanus. I ate bacon bits for dinner one night and another night I just had croutons. I hope this exemplifies just how much I appreciate and NEED your love. :-D<br /><br />So, a lot has happened over the past year. I moved to Africa. I made new friends. I sharfed. I started learning a new language. I was a teacher. I, theoretically, taught someone something. I wore funny outfits to work. I saw a scorpion. I killed a scorpion. I jumped in a waterfall. I petted a lion. I met people from Uruguay. I ate wildebeest. I went to the World Cup. I learned to kill a chicken, eat with my hand, cook with a Dutch oven (hee hee), and poop in a little hole in the dark with a flashlight. It’s hard to imagine that just over a year ago I wore suits to work and worked out at a gym. Now I wear absurdly patterned clothes to teach in a grain silo and pull water from a well. To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it this far. But, with your support, and a lot of reading and yoga-ing, I have made it this far.<br /><br />After the World Cup ended I had to come back and do all my grades. Thankfully one of my coworkers returned a favor and helped me grade some of those exams. I have almost 300 students. I keep all my grades on my computer in a spreadsheet, so they didn’t need to be calculated. The work wasn’t too onerous, just tedious. I spent a few weeks here in Kerou eating yam pile and pulling water, then went down to Porto Novo to welcome in the new group of volunteers, a bittersweet experience. Welcoming in a new group of volunteers inherently means you’re saying goodbye to those who were here before you. To me, most importantly, it was saying goodbye to my postie and girlfriend, Karina. Not easy.<br /><br />I did my thing during training and taught the new PCVs how to teach in the Beninese system, what it’s like in Benin, what food to eat, where to buy great cheese (Dassa), what I thought I did right, what I know I did wrong, what is “sharfing,” and hopefully imbued the right tools and attitudes onto them so they’ll become great volunteers.<br /><br />Seeing all these new faces undoubtedly conjured memories of my training. Thinking about how I would be after one year in. How many lives I will have changed. How many times I’ll have had diarrhea. I remember just being in the initial planning stages for the World Cup and how excited I was; oh how the experience lived up to and exceeded all my expectations. I remember being excited for my new postmate and how amazing she turned out to be. It’s such an exhilarating time in your life: the training for a new adventure.<br /><br />Well, I had no idea my training would equip me with the tools to grow comfortable with a lot of weird things: having small farm animals not five feet from me when I eat, people picking their noses and not being totally grossed out by it, pooping in a hole. I can now choose which piece of goat I would like sliced off for dinner. And, I have been prepared to manage many a bathroom incidents including but not limited to: “bucket” disposal, fecal matter examination, stool sampling, and malarial slide preparation. <br /><br />This email is coming off kind of douchy, but I just want those out there to know what life is like for a Peace Corps volunteer. One has many successes throughout his or her service, starting a soccer league, teaching boys the importance of girls, having a student use the simple present correctly, but it’s the little successes, like making it to the toilet when you really didn’t think you would, having a friend at the bus station waiting for you when you arrive, and/or eating an omelet sandwich with lots of piment, that keep one alive.<br /><br />I have learned a lot of things while being here. But, I think I’ve not-learned/un-learned some things that I would like to know. Like, how do you post a song to your facebook? I want to use facebook places. I want to shake my phone and have it tell me where to eat. I want to get fashion advice from “The Situation” daily. I want to see TV shows as they happen. I want to remember how to play racquetball. I want sushi and seaweed salad. I may be experiencing something over here. But, I often long for things from home.<br /><br />That being said, I’m sure America will still be there in the next few years. And, to be quite honest, this place may never be the same again. So, I’m trying to extend my service for one year. I want to go to Madagascar. I was originally assigned to Madagascar but some crazy radio DJ ran for mayor of Antananarivo (the capital) and then staged a coup. So, yeah. But, things are apparently more stable now and something is calling me there. The lemurs. The scenery. The food. The culture. The unknown. Plus this will give me time to apply to graduate schools. And I surely need all the time I can get.<br /><br /> Friends. Family. You’re the safe harbor upon which I rely as I sail the S.S. Tartanic through unfamiliar waters. I want you all to know I love you and miss your terribly.Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-18693253600739621622010-07-30T04:03:00.000-07:002010-07-30T04:04:06.492-07:00Other People FootballGreetings 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-82391676404961504342010-04-27T05:35:00.000-07:002010-04-27T05:36:41.070-07:00Can 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />(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.)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.)<br /><br />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.Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-38883765995441487282010-04-02T23:59:00.000-07:002010-04-03T00:01:42.188-07:00Sweet Heavenly Jesus It's Hot HereI 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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-11198331206795706062010-02-04T15:15:00.000-08:002010-02-04T15:19:05.747-08:00A Whole New Year<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Kerou, Benin</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A whole new year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-21994940644296313862009-11-07T00:11:00.000-08:002009-11-07T00:14:05.179-08:00Poo Plog<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So, I was fully prepared for some interesting bowel movements and a bit of sickness.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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 <i>run off</i><span style="font-style:normal">, 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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', fantasy; ">I hope this reaches you well in the States. I miss you all immensely. </span></p>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-55764079350530595672009-11-07T00:03:00.000-08:002009-11-07T00:06:42.992-08:00Adjusting to Kerou<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-56865145928759737142009-09-24T00:48:00.000-07:002009-10-02T15:40:14.703-07:00The Birth of Mr. T.<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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<insert>. It might be a bit presumptuous of me, but… I like being presumptuous. </insert></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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<sup>th</sup> and 6<sup>th</sup> 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<sup>th</sup> 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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I've always known that teaching would be something that i would like, it's nice to know that my presumptions were correct. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-52610005591629924122009-09-24T00:29:00.000-07:002009-09-24T00:48:16.152-07:00Getting Around - Beninese style<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-6933051236731613182009-09-07T09:17:00.000-07:002009-09-07T09:21:45.897-07:00Literally, i'm living in the middle of the bushes.... literally.<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">August 31, 2009 </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Porto Novo, Benin</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My “Swearing In” ceremony is September 25<sup>th</sup>, 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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal">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. :-)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Know that someone in Africa thinks of you and misses you greatly…</p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-72913262732176269282009-08-14T09:33:00.001-07:002009-08-14T09:37:10.335-07:00Brandon in Benin<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">The 9<sup>th</sup> of August in the year 2009.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted, and here’s why. I don’t know if you’re all aware of this, but the availability of Internet in Africa is few and far between. And, let’s be honest, I’m a bit lazy. In America I was connected to the Internet 24/7, and I loved it. But, it was a part of the social environment. Everyone has iPhones, WiFi, and Internet capable phones. (I was a crackberry addict, I’ll be the first to admit it.) Here, things just aren’t like that. I’m reading a lot more: I’ve already finished two books and I’ve been here for two weeks. And, life is completely different. So, I apologize if sometimes it takes a week or two for some news. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I have a lot to explain here and I hope I can do it all justice. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I arrived in Philadelphia with my mother with a sense of anxiety: I was leaving all that I had known to venture off into a world with which I was completely unfamiliar. It was at this moment that everything I had studied, all that I had experienced, all that I was, came together to prepare me for 27 months of service in the Peace Corps that now awaited me. I know that fundamentally I’m not going to change. I’m still going to love laughter and I’m still going to try to squeeze every drop of fun out of life that I possibly can. But, the person I was and the person I’m going to be, starting from this point, are completely different. Coming to this realization is a bit difficult when you like yourself as much as I do. But, with all of this self-adoration comes a bit of self-reflection and evolution. I’m surely not, today, the best person I think I can be. Much has to change, maturation has to take its course, and I need to become something more in my own eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I arrived in Philadelphia with mother and Neil in tow. I went into the designated hotel and began to meet a few of my new friends. We all did the obligatory salutations and got to know each other. I was a bit apprehensive at first not wanting to overwhelm some people, and thankfully I met up with Jamie (<a href="http://www.jamieinbenin.blogspot.com">www.jamieinbenin.blogspot.com</a>) and felt as though I had a buddy to help me through these greetings. (There is a photo of her reading with a pair of wayfarers in my photos.) </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We all got some money from the Peace Corps and got a chance to go out and eat with all of our newfound friends. Thinking it was the last time I would get to eat some Mexican food, I took the chance to eat at a fancy Mexican restaurant called Tequilas. It was fantastic.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The following day we all went to get some vaccinations and left for Africa. The plane ride was long and I don’t know if you know anything about Charles-de-Gaulle airport in Paris, but it’s retarded. We landed somewhere on the tarmac and had to ride a bus, it felt as though, the entire way around Paris to get to the appropriate terminal for planes departing for Africa. In the terminal it was kind of stinky and the food was overpriced. But, we found our plane and left for Benin!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We landed in Africa in a bit of a furry. As you can probably imagine, things were a bit unorganized, but thankfully we met a Peace Corps representative named Iffy, yes it was a bit disquieting for me as well to give my passport to someone named Iffy, and moved into the baggage claim area.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This may or may not have been the biggest shit-show cluster f%ck I have ever seen. I hope I can paint this picture effectively. There are about a thousand people, literally a thousand, in a room built for five hundred. You enter the room and the conveyor belt comes out of the wall, extends halfway across the room, thus creating a funnel/traffice jam of people trying to find their luggage or an appropriate place to stand to find their luggage. (Let’s not forget that Africa is waging a war against air conditioning, so the room is hot, I’m sweating, so is everyone else, tensions are high as we hope to find all that we’d brought, and people stink.) So, we attempt to make our way to the conveyor belt and find a place to start collecting all of our luggage but everyone who is not a Peace Corps volunteer, there are only about 60 of us, has a cart and has created what I would imagine an L.A. freeway shit storm traffic jam of those carts around the belt. So, people are running over our toes, hitting us with carts, and then not understanding why people can’t move out of their way once they’ve gotten their baggage. It was at this moment I started to realize that common sense really isn’t just something most Americans are missing, this is a global retardation epidemic. Most of us get our baggage in around two hours of standing, waiting, and being generally frustrated. My one new friend Catherine has found out someone has stolen one of her bags that she had put into another bag for easier carrying. (She would later retrieve the bag after numerous return trips to the airport and hours of argument with Air France, though not all of the original contents remained.) As we walked out of the airport we were greeted with cheering Peace Corps volunteers, which was comforting. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we loaded ourselves into a few vans and, with the guidance of current Peace Corps volunteers, and made our way to St. Jean Eudes, which is a Catholic school/compound. Along the way Lucy, our PCV guide, answered our questions, tried to dispel any rumors, and informed us of a few vital tidbits of information. Looking out of the windows of the van I found myself in a completely foreign environment. Traveling throughout Europe has its own exoticism, but being in a country where dirt roads are the norm, laws seem to be merely suggestions, and people eat things I would never have considered food before hand carries an exoticism before now I’ve never felt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrived at St. Jean Eudes in the evening to the cheers of current Peace Corps volunteers and we hustled off to a dormitory and found our mosquito-netted beds. We unloaded our things and headed off to the buvette, (which is the Beninese word for a place you get drinks both alcoholic and non-alcoholic) which was on the Catholic compound. (I’m sure my grandmother is going to love that they were serving alcohol on the Catholic compound.) That evening we drank with our new friends, complained about the trip, and laughed as we got to know the new characters who would be playing the leading roles in the production known as “Real World Benin.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Our time at St. Jean Eudes was filled with classes on safety and security, health, language, and other Peace Corps-related topics to keep us safe and healthy. The Peace Corps does, if not to excess, everything that it can to maintain our safety here in Benin. It’s hard for some to understand the inherent dangers that come along with being in a third-world country. The value of life is exponentially diminished, hospital services are few and far-between, traffic control devices are merely a suggestion, and people are flying around on scooters and in vehicles that have century-old safety features. If you haven’t been in this environment before, let me assure you, it’s not the safest place on the planet. Therefore, having numerous classes and sessions on how to avoid the avoidable and what to do if something happens cannot be overdone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">While at St. Jean Eudes we weren’t allowed outside of the compound walls without an escort. Which, at first bothered me, then once I finally got outside I realized why. Being an American people instantly assume that you have money and therefore a potential target. Also, the French that they speak here is not the French I learned in school. So, having someone who knows the local language and traditions, and how to protect themselves is indispensable and necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We spent four days in Cotonou at the Catholic compound and then made our way to Porto Novo where we would be meeting our new host families. When we arrived in Porto Novo, which is the capital of the country, for all those who’d like to know, we ventured off to a sustainable, organic farm known as Songhai. I was a bit apprehensive. I had a picture of my new family, but surely didn’t know what they were going to be like. I had fantasized about the family dynamic hoping they would be laughers and talkers just like me. I knew I was going to have a few kids, three to be exact, and a new brother who seemed to be about the same age as me. Though, to be honest, Africans age so gracefully that I’m completely inept at guessing their ages from looking at them, let alone in a photo.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we entered the gathering area I noticed my new host mama immediately. She had a smile that would not end and we instantly connected and started talking. Thankfully she speaks French fluently, as I speak French pretty well. I sat down next to her and it’s been laughter and love ever since. As I’ve come to find out, we have a lot more in common than I would have ever assumed. She’s a Libra, single mother, was a teacher, has a son who has a Japanese wife (I was born in Japan), and served me green beans my very first night (green beans are my favorite vegetable). I honestly could not have asked for a better situation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As of now, my living situation is as follows. I live in a small little compound that has four little buildings. I have my own little building that I share with my host brother, Theodore. He leaves for work before I’m up and gets home after I’ve gone to bed. I have a normal-sized room, nothing enormous, and my own shower and bathroom. (BTW, there’s not hot water, so it’s cold showers all the time. Which, in five-billion degree weather, it’s not so bad. When you first step in a little WOOT WOOT helps you get comfortable.) I like my little space. For those who know where I’ve lived before, I’m used to small living quarters, and to be honest, I like them. It’s easy to find things, you don’t have much to clean, and everything is close. Another building is where my host Mama lives, the kitchen lives, and the living room. Just to the left of this little building, which is across the courtyard from mine, is another little houselette where my domestique (another word for someone who cleans around the house and makes all of my food and does my laundry), my grandmother, her mother, the three kids, and an aunt all live. I’ve not looked through this area as it’s not mine, but I assume it’s rather close quarters. The fourth building, which is to the right of mine across the courtyard is where Mikial lives. I’m not quite sure how he’s related, but he works hard and is never without a smile. The sense of community in Beninese culture is quite profound, which lends to many non-traditional living situations. Oh, I also have two mango trees in my yard, how freakin’ sweet is that?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, what’s my day-to-day life like? I wake up at 6:30 AM everyday, which is around 1:30 AM for you Americans, and head off to school where I study French, have technical sessions on teaching practices and methodologies, and culture lessons to learn how to shop in the market, what we can and cannot eat, the ins and outs of Beninese social dynamics, and then security and health classes (I’ve never talked about pooping so much in my ENTIRE LIFE). It’s kind of like being in college. I have two more months of this and then I’m off to my post, which I learn this Friday, the 14<sup>th</sup> of August. We get an allowance of 500 francs (which is about a dollar, U.S.) a day for lunch, which is usually a bean sandwich with hot sauce and a Sprite. (I know that sandwich sounds bizarre, and let’s be honest, the Beninese put the weirdest things on sandwiches, but bean sandwiches are delicious. I’ve also had a sandwich with spaghetti, eggs, cooked tomatoes and onions, and hot sauce, which was also pretty freaking amazing. The bread here is just like French bread in France, so that’s good.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m going to have an entire post on food here in Benin. I’ll have to give them one thing they sure are efficient. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Culture shock definitely hit me around day ten. When you’ve lived somewhere your entire life, who you are is directly related to your environment. Having all the conveniences of American life is nice and you don’t know how much you have until it’s on the other side of the planet. I joined the Peace Corps because I want to become something better. I want to be able to live and thrive in numerous cultures and situations. And, I knew it was going to be difficult, and right now it’s that time. Life changing events are never easy. But, as we’ve all heard, and I’m learning, it’s not the easy times in life that define you but the hardest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ll never forget, though, that I have the best family and greatest friends to be the wind in my sails on the S.S. Tartanic if I start to lose steam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-3304201342259310272009-08-14T09:33:00.000-07:002009-08-14T09:36:42.861-07:00<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">The 9<sup>th</sup> of August in the year 2009.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted, and here’s why. I don’t know if you’re all aware of this, but the availability of Internet in Africa is few and far between. And, let’s be honest, I’m a bit lazy. In America I was connected to the Internet 24/7, and I loved it. But, it was a part of the social environment. Everyone has iPhones, WiFi, and Internet capable phones. (I was a crackberry addict, I’ll be the first to admit it.) Here, things just aren’t like that. I’m reading a lot more: I’ve already finished two books and I’ve been here for two weeks. And, life is completely different. So, I apologize if sometimes it takes a week or two for some news. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I have a lot to explain here and I hope I can do it all justice. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I arrived in Philadelphia with my mother with a sense of anxiety: I was leaving all that I had known to venture off into a world with which I was completely unfamiliar. It was at this moment that everything I had studied, all that I had experienced, all that I was, came together to prepare me for 27 months of service in the Peace Corps that now awaited me. I know that fundamentally I’m not going to change. I’m still going to love laughter and I’m still going to try to squeeze every drop of fun out of life that I possibly can. But, the person I was and the person I’m going to be, starting from this point, are completely different. Coming to this realization is a bit difficult when you like yourself as much as I do. But, with all of this self-adoration comes a bit of self-reflection and evolution. I’m surely not, today, the best person I think I can be. Much has to change, maturation has to take its course, and I need to become something more in my own eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I arrived in Philadelphia with mother and Neil in tow. I went into the designated hotel and began to meet a few of my new friends. We all did the obligatory salutations and got to know each other. I was a bit apprehensive at first not wanting to overwhelm some people, and thankfully I met up with Jamie (<a href="http://www.jamieinbenin.blogspot.com">www.jamieinbenin.blogspot.com</a>) and felt as though I had a buddy to help me through these greetings. (There is a photo of her reading with a pair of wayfarers in my photos.) </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We all got some money from the Peace Corps and got a chance to go out and eat with all of our newfound friends. Thinking it was the last time I would get to eat some Mexican food, I took the chance to eat at a fancy Mexican restaurant called Tequilas. It was fantastic.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The following day we all went to get some vaccinations and left for Africa. The plane ride was long and I don’t know if you know anything about Charles-de-Gaulle airport in Paris, but it’s retarded. We landed somewhere on the tarmac and had to ride a bus, it felt as though, the entire way around Paris to get to the appropriate terminal for planes departing for Africa. In the terminal it was kind of stinky and the food was overpriced. But, we found our plane and left for Benin!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We landed in Africa in a bit of a furry. As you can probably imagine, things were a bit unorganized, but thankfully we met a Peace Corps representative named Iffy, yes it was a bit disquieting for me as well to give my passport to someone named Iffy, and moved into the baggage claim area.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This may or may not have been the biggest shit-show cluster f%ck I have ever seen. I hope I can paint this picture effectively. There are about a thousand people, literally a thousand, in a room built for five hundred. You enter the room and the conveyor belt comes out of the wall, extends halfway across the room, thus creating a funnel/traffice jam of people trying to find their luggage or an appropriate place to stand to find their luggage. (Let’s not forget that Africa is waging a war against air conditioning, so the room is hot, I’m sweating, so is everyone else, tensions are high as we hope to find all that we’d brought, and people stink.) So, we attempt to make our way to the conveyor belt and find a place to start collecting all of our luggage but everyone who is not a Peace Corps volunteer, there are only about 60 of us, has a cart and has created what I would imagine an L.A. freeway shit storm traffic jam of those carts around the belt. So, people are running over our toes, hitting us with carts, and then not understanding why people can’t move out of their way once they’ve gotten their baggage. It was at this moment I started to realize that common sense really isn’t just something most Americans are missing, this is a global retardation epidemic. Most of us get our baggage in around two hours of standing, waiting, and being generally frustrated. My one new friend Catherine has found out someone has stolen one of her bags that she had put into another bag for easier carrying. (She would later retrieve the bag after numerous return trips to the airport and hours of argument with Air France, though not all of the original contents remained.) As we walked out of the airport we were greeted with cheering Peace Corps volunteers, which was comforting. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">From there we loaded ourselves into a few vans and, with the guidance of current Peace Corps volunteers, and made our way to St. Jean Eudes, which is a Catholic school/compound. Along the way Lucy, our PCV guide, answered our questions, tried to dispel any rumors, and informed us of a few vital tidbits of information. Looking out of the windows of the van I found myself in a completely foreign environment. Traveling throughout Europe has its own exoticism, but being in a country where dirt roads are the norm, laws seem to be merely suggestions, and people eat things I would never have considered food before hand carries an exoticism before now I’ve never felt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrived at St. Jean Eudes in the evening to the cheers of current Peace Corps volunteers and we hustled off to a dormitory and found our mosquito-netted beds. We unloaded our things and headed off to the buvette, (which is the Beninese word for a place you get drinks both alcoholic and non-alcoholic) which was on the Catholic compound. (I’m sure my grandmother is going to love that they were serving alcohol on the Catholic compound.) That evening we drank with our new friends, complained about the trip, and laughed as we got to know the new characters who would be playing the leading roles in the production known as “Real World Benin.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Our time at St. Jean Eudes was filled with classes on safety and security, health, language, and other Peace Corps-related topics to keep us safe and healthy. The Peace Corps does, if not to excess, everything that it can to maintain our safety here in Benin. It’s hard for some to understand the inherent dangers that come along with being in a third-world country. The value of life is exponentially diminished, hospital services are few and far-between, traffic control devices are merely a suggestion, and people are flying around on scooters and in vehicles that have century-old safety features. If you haven’t been in this environment before, let me assure you, it’s not the safest place on the planet. Therefore, having numerous classes and sessions on how to avoid the avoidable and what to do if something happens cannot be overdone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">While at St. Jean Eudes we weren’t allowed outside of the compound walls without an escort. Which, at first bothered me, then once I finally got outside I realized why. Being an American people instantly assume that you have money and therefore a potential target. Also, the French that they speak here is not the French I learned in school. So, having someone who knows the local language and traditions, and how to protect themselves is indispensable and necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We spent four days in Cotonou at the Catholic compound and then made our way to Porto Novo where we would be meeting our new host families. When we arrived in Porto Novo, which is the capital of the country, for all those who’d like to know, we ventured off to a sustainable, organic farm known as Songhai. I was a bit apprehensive. I had a picture of my new family, but surely didn’t know what they were going to be like. I had fantasized about the family dynamic hoping they would be laughers and talkers just like me. I knew I was going to have a few kids, three to be exact, and a new brother who seemed to be about the same age as me. Though, to be honest, Africans age so gracefully that I’m completely inept at guessing their ages from looking at them, let alone in a photo.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we entered the gathering area I noticed my new host mama immediately. She had a smile that would not end and we instantly connected and started talking. Thankfully she speaks French fluently, as I speak French pretty well. I sat down next to her and it’s been laughter and love ever since. As I’ve come to find out, we have a lot more in common than I would have ever assumed. She’s a Libra, single mother, was a teacher, has a son who has a Japanese wife (I was born in Japan), and served me green beans my very first night (green beans are my favorite vegetable). I honestly could not have asked for a better situation.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As of now, my living situation is as follows. I live in a small little compound that has four little buildings. I have my own little building that I share with my host brother, Theodore. He leaves for work before I’m up and gets home after I’ve gone to bed. I have a normal-sized room, nothing enormous, and my own shower and bathroom. (BTW, there’s not hot water, so it’s cold showers all the time. Which, in five-billion degree weather, it’s not so bad. When you first step in a little WOOT WOOT helps you get comfortable.) I like my little space. For those who know where I’ve lived before, I’m used to small living quarters, and to be honest, I like them. It’s easy to find things, you don’t have much to clean, and everything is close. Another building is where my host Mama lives, the kitchen lives, and the living room. Just to the left of this little building, which is across the courtyard from mine, is another little houselette where my domestique (another word for someone who cleans around the house and makes all of my food and does my laundry), my grandmother, her mother, the three kids, and an aunt all live. I’ve not looked through this area as it’s not mine, but I assume it’s rather close quarters. The fourth building, which is to the right of mine across the courtyard is where Mikial lives. I’m not quite sure how he’s related, but he works hard and is never without a smile. The sense of community in Beninese culture is quite profound, which lends to many non-traditional living situations. Oh, I also have two mango trees in my yard, how freakin’ sweet is that?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, what’s my day-to-day life like? I wake up at 6:30 AM everyday, which is around 1:30 AM for you Americans, and head off to school where I study French, have technical sessions on teaching practices and methodologies, and culture lessons to learn how to shop in the market, what we can and cannot eat, the ins and outs of Beninese social dynamics, and then security and health classes (I’ve never talked about pooping so much in my ENTIRE LIFE). It’s kind of like being in college. I have two more months of this and then I’m off to my post, which I learn this Friday, the 14<sup>th</sup> of August. We get an allowance of 500 francs (which is about a dollar, U.S.) a day for lunch, which is usually a bean sandwich with hot sauce and a Sprite. (I know that sandwich sounds bizarre, and let’s be honest, the Beninese put the weirdest things on sandwiches, but bean sandwiches are delicious. I’ve also had a sandwich with spaghetti, eggs, cooked tomatoes and onions, and hot sauce, which was also pretty freaking amazing. The bread here is just like French bread in France, so that’s good.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m going to have an entire post on food here in Benin. I’ll have to give them one thing they sure are efficient. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Culture shock definitely hit me around day ten. When you’ve lived somewhere your entire life, who you are is directly related to your environment. Having all the conveniences of American life is nice and you don’t know how much you have until it’s on the other side of the planet. I joined the Peace Corps because I want to become something better. I want to be able to live and thrive in numerous cultures and situations. And, I knew it was going to be difficult, and right now it’s that time. Life changing events are never easy. But, as we’ve all heard, and I’m learning, it’s not the easy times in life that define you but the hardest.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ll never forget, though, that I have the best family and greatest friends to be the wind in my sails on the S.S. Tartanic if I start to lose steam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-86493166549285530832009-07-28T00:38:00.001-07:002009-07-28T00:38:34.936-07:00Home and Away<p class="MsoNormal">Aging and growing up implies a lot of things. I’ve hoped to mature a little. Take on more responsibility. Work towards accomplishing dreams and aspirations. Work towards a desirable future. Coming home has helped me to realize that I’ve moved towards all of those things. I’m glad that I’ve had the support structure of my family and friends to help me accomplish those things. Coming home has also shown me that I’ve grown beyond my roots. It’s shown me that though Dover, Pa was a good place to grow up, it’s not somewhere I could live. I want to see the world. I want to be surrounded by people who challenge me intellectually. I want to have the resources at my fingertips that will allow me to become the cosmopolitan man I desire to become. This realization by no means discredits my past. Dover, Pa is a good place for those who don’t want to be around foreigners. It’s perfect for those who would like to have a yard, raise a family in a peaceful and quite neighborhood. It’s a place where you don’t pay $15 for a martini. ($5 at Westgate Lounger, for all those interested; and that’s top shelf.)</p><p class="MsoNormal">Being at home has also helped me realize that even though I’m off to see every inch of the planet I can, I’m a product of small town America. Regardless of where I find myself I’ll always love picnics with friends a family, frozen dairy products, good music, and a cold beer (and people with SERIOUS mullets.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">My two weeks at home have passed and I’ve had a great time. It was awesome to get to see my mother. I laugh with no one on the planet like I laugh with my mother. It’s nice when you don’t have to watch what you say or care what is socially acceptable. You can just sit back, relax, and have fun. It was a joy to see my family, as well. My grandparents are exactly what I want them to be: doting, interested, and loving. I had a fantastic familial going away party, right down to the cake with bugs and snakes smattered all over it. Aside from family time, I got the chance to hang out with some friends who played an integral role in my teenage Tom Foolery. People like Jason, Billy, Justin, and Nikole. To be quite honest, it was a lot like hanging out with my family: no filter, nothing but love, and people who genuinely take an interest in you and what you’re doing; and vice versa. It was great to catch up. It was also reassuring to know that those whom I chose to befriend in high school maintained the same personality traits that drew us together so many years ago. We fell right into our same routines, Billy and I go back and forth intellectually, while also making fun of those around us, Jason and I talked about kickin’ ass and takin’ names, Nikki and I maintained our same flirtatious manners, and Justin and I laughed and competed at everything we could find.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I now feel that i can take on everything in front of me now that i've revisited everything that's behind me. </p><p class="MsoNormal">By the time this is posted, I’ll be in Africa.</p><p class="MsoNormal">A bientot mes amis… </p>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-37302384969054358722009-07-01T21:49:00.000-07:002009-07-01T22:45:01.947-07:00Packing, Reminiscing....<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I've finished work! Well, i've actually been finished for two weeks. Last week i spent my time planning things out, looking at the things i had to pack, and spent some time throughout the city. <div><br /></div><div>There are times in your life when you move from school, or home, or ::insert location here:: and things just seem appropriate but a bit uncomfortable. It's similar, to me at least, to the sensation that almost overwhelms me when i've come to the end of a good book. The end of the book is obviously the logical progression, and completing it is relatively exciting, but that surely doesn't mean i'm glad to reach its end. There's the anticipation when you feel the final few pages in your right hand, and then victorious feel of completing something into which you've put so much effort. But, this a victory is bittersweet. Finishing a book has all the rewards associated with completing anything which takes time and effort, but it also comes with the heartache associated with losing touch with all the characters and friends you've made along the way. Whether it's T.S. Garp or Steven Weaven, i've lost contact with someone who has unselfishly entertained me.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, one of the good things about packing and moving is that it forces you to go through all that you have. It forces you to see from where you've come; and, if you've been planning properly, where you're going. While leafing through my affairs i stumbled across numerous souvenirs: a few post cards from distant friends, affectionate letters from past lovers, and pictures of old friends. These souvenirs helped me to realize that it's the end of the book's job to make sure you don't forget about the first few pages that captivated you. Characters and plot don't just appear, they develop. </div><div><br /></div><div>Alas, I'm packing my life into some "Space Bags" (which are not as complicated as they sound, nor as space-aged), large plastic containers, and anyone of the numerous pieces of luggage i have amassed in my healthy obsession with thrift-shop American Tourister. When i moved from North Carolina, it was quaint and mildly depressing to see my life fit into the back of my Volkswagen Beetle. Today, it's equally as quaint to see my "life" gathered in the living room of my DC apartment. </div><div><br /></div><div>I move for Dover in just a few days and, as i've stated before, it's a bittersweet end to my stay in the District of Columbia. I'll not forget the Logan Circle Leisure Sports Society, Jazz in the Garden, Mr. Yogato, Georgetown Cupcake, U st, Zengo, Mien Yu, i mean... let's face it, All of Georgetown, and numerous other landmarks that welcomed me in. In my tenure, i'm glad to say that i've become a Washitonian and I hope that one day i'll make this my home, once again. </div><div><br /></div><div>A DC landmark once told me, "What's Past is Prologue." How right it is. </div><div><br /></div><div>Affectionately, </div><div>Brandon M. Tarbert</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Brandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3379186936958974017.post-26384425211978768102009-06-17T09:14:00.001-07:002009-07-01T22:45:24.966-07:00Getting My New Life Together<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Life is changing. My future is here. I'm ready.<br /><br />I have a few more days of work left until i'm free from the grasp of the DOE (Department of Energy) and onto new things. Life at DOE has been very educational. I've learned a lot about the "real world" and how i fit into it. I've learned a lot about clean energy, vehicles, and how the government plays a pivotal role in our automotive future's development.<br /><br />That being said, it's time for new things.<br /><br />Starting Monday I'll be in full "let's get ready to move to Africa" mode. I still need to buy luggage. (Which is a funny story. I was shopping for luggage and i was telling people that i need luggage that can withstand being thrown from a moving vehicle at any moment. Lord knows i don't need my underwear being displayed for all of the world to see as i arrive for training/my new post/anywhere else in Africa/the world to see.) I have two going away parties. I have friends to hang out with. I have to reminisce with them about all the great fun we've been having the past few years. I need to complete a few more documents the Peace Corps needs. I need to make a Will. I have to deal with some financial stuffs. I need to spend a lot of time with my Mother.<br /><br />It's a lot to handle. I'm ready.<br /><br />P.S. I want to thank all of those who have been supportive throughout this entire process. Getting into the Peace Corps is no easy thing, nor is it an easy decision. You all know that i love my family, friends, gadgets, clothing, and lifestyle. It's something i have/want to do for myself and my future. I want you all to know that i love you all and will do my best to keep in touch for the next 27 months. This is going to be quite and adventure and i'm glad you're along for the ride.<br /><br />P.S.S. I will be living in rather different conditions whilst in Africa and i would LOVE LOVE LOVE to get care packages from you all. I will make a list of things i would like to receive when i have a better idea of what i'll need. That being said, i will always need letters, pictures, bootleg DVDs of movies that are about to come out in America, and funny stories about my friends and family.<br /><br />Thanks again for everything,<br />BrandonBrandonisfunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01150003226134723315noreply@blogger.com0