Baseball

There are moments here that make you question why you ever came to Peace Corps in the first place, and then there are days like the day when we launched the great Beninese baseball experiment. By the time this gets posted it will have been 5 days since the first practice and we’re not sure has Steve has stopped smiling.

Flashback to our arrival in July and our gloves strapped to the outside of our carry-on luggage. Of course the leather monstrosities were going to get a bit of attention from every kid who saw them. We even tried playing catch a few times with varying results, but struggled to explain how the back and forth fit into the larger game.

However , the history of baseball in Benin took a major leap forward in the past few weeks with two very important discoveries:

1) Jaren’s find of “Le Baseball,” an illustrated instructional book for kids about the American Pastime (with forward by then Cincinnati Reds outfielder Eduardo Perez!)

2) Collin’s location of the much-fabled Parakou baseball bag containing a complete games worth of gear. Mitts, balls, bats and a full set of catcher’s pads. We had heard some things were donated but for months could not locate them. With Collin’s realization that the giant green bag on top of the workstation bookcase and a timely official sign out, we were in business.

The book was incredibly helpful in explaining the game and helped Steve immensely in that he now had to make up half as many French words as in previous attempts. Lord knows he’s got no problem making up words, but at least now we know if any of these kids ever tried to talk baseball with anyone else, they wouldn’t be arguing balls and strikes over the “dish from the house” (asiette du maison was the best he could do for home plate).

First practice was a partly cloudy Thursday morning and the assembled group (both boys and girls with interest solicited by Eric at school and elsewhere) met in the concession to go over the basics before we got started.

Steve prepping for the briefing

No QUESTEC here

Funny Side Story: That wall doubles as the backside of our latrine. Over the last week both of us have been using the facilities and heard kids on the other side of the wall giving lessons to their friends. It’s pretty hilarious to be doing your business and all of a sudden hear a bunch of Nagot with baseball terms in French sprinkled in.


After the tutorial we went up to an elementary school nearby to use the terrain. The older kids had the day off for exams but the petites were still in session. We of course heard some ruckus from the kids as we walked by the class buildings but for the most part things were under control. After asking permission from the director, we were drawing out bases in the dirt and had the players line up for some catch when the little kids were let out for a 10 minute break. Well, to say the place was swarming with khaki-clad school kids is actually an understatement . It was more like locusts descending. With few options left, one of the older kids grabbed a bat and just started chasing/ threatening anyone under 4 feet. A bit crude an approach, but effective as we had our field back.

Trying to put what we had learned into action we simulated play a bit. Everyone got a turn to bat and field as Jaren and I barked out only vaguely understood advice on seemingly asinine rules. Some understood batting but not throwing, others the reverse. The pitcher’s side arm motion was sort of a cross between Dan Quisenberry and penguin flapping its wings. Many would leave first base on a hit to stop at the second baseman, not second base. At one point we had to chase a baby goat off the field. All in all a good but very poorly played game.

Finishing the first day, we knew the first big test was going to be how many came back for the next, and were pleasantly surprised when just about all who could (some had tutoring and far be it from us to pull a kid out of school for practice) showed.

Second practice was more formal. Steve went through fielding again and then hit balls around the diamond as the kids threw out ficticional runners. After that we split into two groups and Jaren taught half a dozen a basic pitching motion as others continued to run through more complicated fielding drills (“my boys executed a perfect 3-4-1 double play and my heart nearly exploded with pride”). Fielders were charging balls, pitchers were developing some command and consistency of motion – lord they looked like honest to god baseball players (you know, minus the fact that all were in flip-flops and half the boys were wearing women’s pants).

Third day was even better. After realizing that the same motion that moved the ball 20 feet could move it 50, our games of catch became long toss very quickly. And the in game simulations got better to the point where 2 teams of 6 we able to play an inning against one another. We are beside ourselves with excitement.


So what’s next? Well, given the steady increase in interest, we think we’re going to set up a formal club that should double as a league. We figure if we can get six teams we can play a schedule for about a month before changing things up. More importantly, we’re going to use the club as a force for good –not distraction -- in the community. Because we have the luxury of using the Peace Corps equipment for now and can use the field for free, there is no need pay to play. Instead, we’re going to work with the Center for Social Promotion (Jaren’s office) and each kid is going to have to give up a designated amount of community service hours to join the league. Nothing too taxing, but enough to keep the baseball club in the good graces of the community and give us the extra hands to get some projects done around here.

And what happens when someone else requests the equipment? Well, odds are at some point in the near future we’ll post some sort of appeal to collect old equipment for donation, or even try to hook up with one of our respective hometown minor league teams for something more organized.

But for now, we’re just reveling in having introduced the game. The kids have been pouring over the pictures in our old Sports Illustrateds, and as soon as we find a DVD player were going to show the recording of Game 2 of the World Series Jaren’s parents sent over (everything here is on VCD, not compatible unfortunately). Oh yeah, no uniforms or team names yet but you can bet the house on the fact that every team will be sporting socks rouge and there won’t be a pinstripe in sight.

The Perpetually Moving Target of “Development”

It was not too long ago that Peace Corps volunteers had no way to communicate with loved ones other than a cassette recorder and some stationary. Now there are cell phones in most volunteers' pockets (although some have to hike to the top of a hill to get service) and most can send email with some regularity (not to mention the act of blogging, but we’ll leave that polemic for another time).

We are happy to report that here in Tchaourou the target has shifted again. Announced a few weeks back, the commune of Tchaourou will be getting its first cyber cafés as well as internet connections to the city hall and the main offices of each of the 7 arrondisments in the country’s first experiment with e-governance. The connections – if we heard right – will be the equivalent of standard DSL service and connected to the fiber optic cable in Parakou.

Also, some of the regional high schools will be getting labs some of the high schools to spread the internet savoir-faire (allegedly private residences can pay for a connection, although we’ve heard only one guy in town is getting one).

So what does all of this mean? Well, since the announcement we’ve been asked near every day by someone to teach them to how to surfer (yes, the actual French verb) and do the email. There is surely plenty on the internet that could help people out with business (thinking technical information for metal workers, mechanics or electricians) , social development (health and well being info) and education (everything in the world), and so how could we say no?

So the meaning of our “work” in Peace Corps has changed again, looking less and less like the old notion of what Peace Corps work is. And you know what, we’re fine with that because we know the community is better off for it.

World AIDS Day Event

The last few weeks were spent preparing for a big AIDS event here in Tchaourou for World AIDS Day. I spent some time making calls to local organizations to see what could be donated because the CPS did not have a budget to do or buy anything. We would take any donation…condoms, AIDS tests, phalluses, etc. Lucky for me, I got in touch with the right people. I not only had 432 condoms donated from one organization that included 10 phalluses to practice application, 200 more from another NGO, plus 200 female condoms but also received 100 free AIDS tests. With all these materials we needed to mobilize the community. We were able to recruit 25 community peer educators, student leaders, and involved artisans to divide and conquer to “sensibilise” the commune of Tchaourou on HIV/AIDS.

SIDE NOTE: “sensibilise” or “sensibilisation” is the act of educating the community at a grassroots level on specific issues.

The 25 leaders were separated into 4 groups to sensibilise the main zones in Tchaourou to discuss what is HIV/AIDS, how is it transmitted, what are the ways of prevention , and what is the importance of getting tested. Over the course of 2 days of sensibilisations, we reached out to 1, 042 people and all 100 of our free tested were administered. Fortunately, or unfortunately, there were not enough tests for the demand. But, one organization agreed to return in 2 weeks to administer more tests FOR FREE! To share with you the results of the test of the 100, 4 came back positive. All 4 can receive care and support from the government including ARVs, specific dietary supplements and emotional outreach.

After the event, the group leaders reconvened to discuss the difficulties and successes of the event. Successes include the high interest and seriousness of the community on the issue, the desire to be tested, and the involvement of the community in mobilizing. Difficulties include demonstrating the application of a female condom, practicing male condom applications with maturity among participants (ie men in the crowd) and lacking identification of group leaders giving the sensibilisation (i.e. no t-shirts, armbands, etc). With all these comments in mind, we are going to do the exact same event again in two weeks, but better!

Stay tuned for the details of AIDS event No. 2…

The Neighbors Here

We’ve now been in Tchaourou for close to two months -- as long as we were in our stage towns – but we have yet to introduce you dear readers to our new neighbors. Pictures included where available.

To the right:

Eric - Even at 14, still one of the most worldly Beninese we've met. Wants to be an ambassador. Likes eating foreign food. Speaks English and Spanish as well as French and a handful of local languages. And has an impressive capacity for creative thinking, something not many are known for here.



Steeve (aka Steeve Noir, Tipu, Jumeaux) - 9 and fast friends with us. Steve and Steeve play up the whole name twins thing a lot, and he's always up for a walk through town.


Valerie - A relative from the Attacora region, in Tchaourou for the school year. Very much like a 15 year old American girl, which is to say there is far more self confidence than your average 15 year old Beninese. Gonna make something of her life if it kills her mentality.

Claude - 18. Older brother of Eric and Steeve. We had been told he was at seminary school for the first year, but showed up at the beginning of the school year needing to retake his HS exit exams (not a shocker, less that 20% pass nationally).



Deborah - 14, had been rescued on the border where she was intended to be someones arranged bride. Sweet, quiet, and just learning French (she's a 14 year old in what is essentially the first grade), having her around is a good insight into the mindset of traditional living here.



Isabelle - 6 year old under Nicole's care, also from the Attacora. Can nearly always be found in front of our door coloring with sidewalk chalk or asking how to say something in English. She was so quiet when we first arrived but now we really struggle to get her to shut up. Not to say we don't enjoy it as she keeps us laughing when asking where she can buy Jaren's hair (unable to conceive that someone can naturally have strait hair, she's convinced its a weave) or trying to say "water balloon" in English.

Nicole - Jaren's boss and head of the Center for Social Promotion. Also our next door neighbor and mother of some of the above mentioned. Here she is presenting backpacks and school supplies to orphans a few weeks back, one of the many programs she administers throughout the commune. Very fun, very modern in her world view and a force of nature when it comes to getting things done here. We're very happy to be in her orbit.

Grandmere – an absolute force of nature. At 67, Nicole's mother lives with the family here in Tchaourou but originally hails from the Nattitangou/Atacora region (same as Valerie and Isabelle). She speaks mostly French, and speaks it well as she learned from the French themselves.

Grandmere spends most of her time tending to a multi-acre garden across the road from our concession where she grows the usual local crops (tomatoes, onions, beans, okra, hot peppers) as well as some pretty unusual ones (lettuce, mushrooms, cucumbers). It is truly amazing to watch her work, spending most of the day bent in half working the soil with a crude hoe and a tin can of water. And while she claims to be a simple woman of the land seems to have a real awareness about the connection between food and nutrition.

Best of all though has to be her incredible animated nature and sense of humor. Every morning we go through the same verbal two-step, she greeting us for the day by calling us “my child”, asking how we slept, asking how her other “child” slept and then being genuinely relieved when she hears everything is ok. We get into all sorts of chats about subjects mundane (seching vegetables for the season seche) and complicated (inter-religious conflict in Benin), for which she’s always got a memorable answer.

She’ll sass you inside-out for asking a question she doesn’t want to answer (the “I’m just a simple farmer” defense when she doesn’t want to deal with someone) or for asking a question you should already know an answer to (“Of course you should get me a second bottle of Tchuck Eric, why do you even ask such a ridiculous question”). We could not have imagined her if we wanted to, and feel lucky to know her.

To the left:
Chef
Head of the Arrondismant (kind of like being the mayor). Very much a classic back room politician, horse trading in the local watering hole on a Saturday afternoon. Definitely a powerbroker in town, but with the shadow of the President looming, I'm getting the feeling he's being asked to deal with a whole pile of problems and requests he's never had to before. The town is becoming a development petrie dish for the country and he is at the center of it.

Mama
Wife of Chef, she sells sleeping mats and used bottles in the market to pass the time. Very nice, very traditional (still pummels her own I'ngames, no domestic workers in sight). Has been a great market ambassador for us as well.

Najem
12 year old son of the above pair and budding shortstop. Video forthcoming.

Others in the area:


Kasim, Pierre, Innousa and Abel - President (Mechanic), VP (Welder), Treasurer (Tailor) and Secretary (Electrician) of the local artisan bureau and with whom Steve works directly. Very nice guys and clearly intent on seeing things improve, we're working together now to create programs to teach basic management to the local small business owners.

Often naked little girl A and Often naked little girl B – These two live in the concession next door and about two weeks ago started showing up in our concession sans clothes. Neither speaks French, so most of our interactions involve making faces and noises. Also, Steve can’t get over the feeling A looks like 76ers point guard Andre Miller even though he only vaguely remembers what Andre Miller looks like and knows for certain that Andre Miller is not a 4 year old girl.


Salu, the head of the local butchering operation – very sweet guy, happy to answer any of my asinine questions. Making things better his wife LOVES us because we gave her some oranges when we first arrived and despite a lack of French, falls all over herself to greet us when we walk by. They also have a kid about 12, Wahab, who Steve has played a little baseball with, might make a good outfielder.


Rachatou - Local high school student in the last year of a Peace Corps scholarship program, we were able to help cover her school fees, books and supplies to finish high school. She's on the math and science track at school and is hoping to go to University in Parakou to study agronomy.

Sooned – Nigerian man who greets us in Nigerian English every time we walk by his store selling clothes. “How it is?” can be heard from 50 yards away whenever we’re in town (yeah, Nigerian English is English only in name. While much of the base vocabulary is the same, the sentence construction is so screwed up it is barely intelligible.)

He just opened a second shop selling motorcycle parts – turns out you can bank on the fact that any shop selling any sort of manufactured good from abroad is owned by the Ibo (Nigerian tribe). The third largest market in Africa is in a Nigerian town not too far from here, so they buy up some inventory and (in a manner of unknown legality) bring it to Benin for resale. Most importantly, he explained all of this to us in English (again, relatively speaking)

Valentin – local welder, let Steve play with a welding torch…

Some Random Pictures

Just a few images, splash some color on our otherwise monochromatic reports.

Our protagonists in meme tissue

Turns out the Beninese cannot live in a world where Steve is spelled with fewer than three Es, and Jaren obviously requires two As

Ryan Vroegendewey, living a Coke commercial

"Often naked neighbor girl B," sporting the latest hairstyle

Sunset from Chez Nous

Tissue

It's been mentioned a few times, but here comes the difinitive tissue post. Colorful fabric worn in both traditional and modern styles, we've bought some and will inevitably pick up some more.

Below are a few pictures from a day at the marche, and for the full set (as well as Steve's host brother holding a goat), go here.

Jaren’s Birthday Season

Jaren’s November 4th birthday this year presented us with a bit of a problem, as that was the day Steve was due in Nattitangou for a conference and for the time being Jaren didn’t have permission to leave Tchaourou for more than a day. We originally planned to have her get permission to come for the conference and spend time with another health volunteer in the area, but Peace Corps policy unfortunately could not make an exception for her so we were stuck.

Far be it from us to let something as mundane as a calendar stand in the way of a celebration. Considering she comes from a family in which birthday’s are recognized in “seasons,” we just started the festivities early. Eric next door originally approached Steve mid-October about wanting to surprise Jaren with a cake, and by the time November 2 rolled around it became a full blown surprise party.


The cake:

The organizer and birthday girl:

As for her actual birthday, Steve returned from Natti with an armful of gifts
(as well as a cold) and we celebrated well with a series of feasts, heralding the arrival of Jaren’s 27th year with great fanfare.

Bad Things

So this blog is meant to give you dear reader a look at life here in West Africa and our experiences therein. To date it has been a lot of “super happy fun time” pictures and stories that we’ve eagerly wanted to share, and in doing so this blog has doubled as our collective journal of what has been largely a “super happy fun time” living here.

However, in the interest of fairly presenting our subject matter and paying respect to the cathartic power of journal writing, it is sometimes necessary to present some sad or unpleasant things as well. I’m sad too say this is one of those posts, but I hope that if presented right it can give a better appreciation of life – and the value of life – here in Benin.

The following story may be considered graphic and upsetting. If you don’t want to read it and skip to the next post we promise we won’t hold it against you. Trust us, we wish we didn’t have to go through it either.

Narrative by Steve:

“Coming back from Nattitangou last week I took a bus to Parakou, from where he then grabbed a taxi south to Tchaourou. Nothing about the situation was unusual about the trip – the taxi drivers yelled “5500” at me as a greeting (story for another time), there was a lot of waiting before departure, and too many people were crammed into the cars.

As it goes with bush taxis, every person in the car seems to be going somewhere different and so the 49km drive that should take half an hour takes twice that long. The ride was entirely uneventful for the first 3/4, so much so that I got lost in a Newsweek article about Alan Greenspan and barely noticed the car had stopped to let out yet another passenger in Gbebe. Gbebe, for those who don’t know (read: just about everyone on the planet), is a small farming village straddling the two-lane highway no more than 10km north of Tchaourou. There are literally hundreds of towns just like it on the highway here, places where -- despite the installation of asphalt -- daily life takes place on the side of the road. People are all over the shoulders selling stuff, drying food on the exposed blacktop or just walking a straight line as the fastest way between two points.

Well, as the woman sitting next to me was about to start wailing, today was the day. In the middle of a sentence about Greenspan’s affinity for Regan’s conservatism, I heard a sickening thud, screeching brakes and the shrieks of hundreds of onlookers. In the time it took me to get out of the car and look back up the road, the whole town started running full speed toward where the two boys had been hit by a taxi coming up over the hill at full speed.

One was hit full on and was not much more than a pile of formerly attached limbs by the time the crowd reached him. The other it seemed was relatively better off in that the car had not hit him square on, instead throwing him some distance and – at least from what I could tell – into the side of a parked cargo truck.

As he surveyed the scene trying to make sense of what he had been witness to, I was amazed to find that for every person wailing in despair, there was another who was relatively unfazed by the happening. The man to his immediate left was even greeting an old friend he had run into in the fracas, a bit surprising to me given the way Americans generally perceive tragedy as, well, sad.

Before this really had a chance to sink in, the crowd started moving in mass toward me and the car. The second boy was apparently still alive enough that the crowd thought it worth getting him to the hospital, and the car closest was ours. The man carrying the boy got in the back seat, along with two of the other passengers, and in the front were the driver, me (sitting on the console) and two others. I got the navigator’s seat because he was the only one who knew where the hospital was in Tchaourou, and in turn was given the secondary task of keeping the driver calm and focused on driving.

The boy was mangled pretty bad, face pretty much shattered and while there was still something resembling respiration going on (audible by the gurgling), it was pretty obvious there wasn’t much hope. In retrospect, I am thankful for all the violent television/ movies/video games I took in over the years as the gruesomeness of partially crushed skull was not so overwhelming I couldn’t keep my wits about me (take that Tipper and the rest of the Parents Television Advisory Council!) and talk the driver to the hospital.

Remember the guy who greeted his friend back in Gbebe? Well, reflecting the general attitudes to trauma and death here, he decided it was more important the taxi drop him off before going to the hospital even though he lived only a few hundred yards away, as did another woman. When we did get the kid to the hospital the doc took a quick look at him and told my driver he could take him up back up to the surgery center in Parakou but doubted the kid would make it. I gave him my driver some money to take the kid back up, but I don’t know if he ever did. I walked the short walk back to our house through grandmere’s garden where I ran into Isabelle getting water. She ran up to me smiling, grabbed my zemi helmet and started telling me about the coloring she had done while I was gone. It was only then the gravity of the whole afternoon hit me, and the hug from Jaren was much needed.

The next day Jaren was talking with her boss Nicole about the incident, and Nicole confirmed that the second boy had died at some point. For the next couple of days I thought a lot about what had happened (obviously), trying to put everything into perspective.

Mostly I thought about the way death is treated here. In Azove I had seen some of the funerals, festive processions we would confuse as parades in which the dead were celebrated. But those were old folks who had lived long lives and were being celebrated by their surviving families for what they had done, where as these kids who hadn’t done a whole lot and would be buried without much fanfare. Kids are not raised thinking they can be and do anything, and without that “what might have been” remorse the loss of a child here doesn’t seem to be a terribly sad thing outside the immediate family.

The emotions that do seem to surface are anger and conflict between those still living a traditional life and the proponents of progress. People in the village complain constantly about cars driving fast on the highways and often times on market day the townsfolk will use trees and other debris to create a sort of slalom course to slow cars down. To be in a car going through one of these, you can understand why the villagers do it but also why it’s a huge problem – they’re trying to change the entire world around them instead of changing anything about the way they conduct their own affairs.

Instead of calling for speed impediments (official or otherwise) that would slow traffic on the country’s most important commercial road, it would seem more logical to promote safety by making the villagers recognize that this is not like the red dirt road they’re used to, that it’s not okay to dry their tomatoes on the shoulder and that they do need to be absolutely vigilant when crossing.

The reason I can seem to be thinking about it so much (thus the journal entry) is not so much the grotesqueness of the accident or that children were involved. Its just the way it seemed so inevitable that something like this would happen while at the same time the actual incident seemed totally random, that these kids just sort of lost the highway lottery. In that sense, the indifferent reactions of some of the onlookers and absence of a sense of loss are more understandable -- life is valued facing backwards, by what was and not what the might be, and by judging those kids up to that random moment the sense of loss isn’t so great.

Or maybe I’m just rambling because this post doesn’t really have a neat ending, a moral or an outro. Sorry.”

While it was probably more important that this post was written than read, we hope for those of you who did read it that you got a little better understanding of life here.

Then there was the time a papaya tree fell through our roof

Turns out, when an larger papaya tree has a full compliment of ripe papayas, the weight can be so much that the tree just tumbles over... and into our back kitchen.

Luckily we don't use the area for cooking and there was little in it at the time. Still, we've got about two dozen papayas to share so come and get 'em.

Zemi Helmets: The Finished Product

The stickers have arrived and we’re up and running. Jaren is tooting around Tchaourou with a giant “W” on the back of her casque, and Steve has instituted a new policy of giving himself a Buckeye on the 21st of every month served (we landed on the 21st).

The Things We Miss

While our lives here are full of new adventures and interests, we are not so blind as to realize that life marches on back home for the ones we love. In the past three months we’ve missed weddings, births, bar mitzvahs and all sorts of other happy events. Its been tough, pretty much the hardest part about being here, and luckily we’ve been able to rely on correspondence from friends and family to stay relatively in touch.

But there is also this. As of this morning, the Red Sox are off to the World Series against the Rockies, who were a sub-.500 team the week we left and lost a series in Denver to the lowly Royals the week before our wedding. The Patriots are undefeated and this year’s edition may be the best team of the dynasty so far. The Celtics have completely reinvented themselves with the Allen and Garnett deals and are among the title favorites in the NBA. And not only was this the year that Washington and Ohio State went head to head in college football (thus dividing our young household down the middle), but now the Buckeyes are the top ranked team in the country.

Somehow we get the feeling the sports gods are taunting us.

Les Freres Super Mario

Example #287 of globalization in action. Walking through town the other day I heard a sound that I could immediately identify on its own but refused to believe I was hearing in the current context. It seemed to be coming from a tin roof structure walled off from the street by an oily sheet, surrounded by a whole lot of people doing nothing. I figured it was a figment of my imagination, an accidental confluence of audible inputs that brought back a childhood memory. Then I heard it again from the tin shack, unmistakable for any American between the ages of 20 and 40 – Mario in a warp tube.

Forgetting everything I was supposed to be doing at that point, I made a direct line for the shack where I found two boys with a beat up TV playing the original Super Mario Brothers. Turns out there is a cottage arcade industry here, kids being charged 50 francs (about 12 cents) to play until they hit game over. Well, with 50 francs on the line I can assure you these kids play as if its life and death, knowing absolutely every nuance to the game – secret stars, level warp, invisible coins – and do not let anything distract them from the mission at hand. Not even the white man speaking broken French in astonishment that here he is in West Africa going through an unbelievable bout of cognitive dissonance can draw their attention.

And you know what, fair play to the person who figured out he could make some francs as long as the power doesn’t go out. Now if I could figure out the Nagot for Super Tecmo Bowl…

Food with a Capital “F”

While we’ve made an effort to update the Food File (see right), we think it’s necessary to say a few words about the general food situation.

The classic images of famine many of us associate with Africa don’t necessarily apply to here, but that’s not to say malnutrition isn’t an issue. Put in the simplest of terms, the culinary options are boundless and only limited by the unyielding stubbornness and/or indifference of the locals. We eat very well while just about everyone else eats the same three meals every single day. They choose to eat Pate (essentially Elmers paste, corn flour suspended in boiled water through 2 solid hours of stirring) with a primarily tomato paste sauce seasoned with powdered chicken stock and palm oil. This stuff is just awful, fills you for the sake of filling you. The Beninese also eat that and In'game Pilet, which is only a slight improvement over pate as it was at least a tuber to start with. The gigantic, furry potato that is an In'game, when petrified in a large wooden mortar by two mamas using pestles the length of golf club. Usually served with the same red sauce as well as a couple of pieces of fried wagashi cheese (ricotta with the water -- and flavor -- pressed out).

That said, we're eating well seeing as how we know what we're doing a bit in the kitchen. Our first week here in town Steve had a bunch of time on his hand and the 1964 edition of the Joy of Cooking, which he proceeded to read cover to cover. It was a great primer for cooking here because a) it traded in ingredients at there most base level and b) there were far fewer of the kitchen gadgets available so the tools involved are available locally.

Overall, eating tons of fresh tropical fruit, using the In'game in the millions of ways one uses a potato, and the meat is so fresh I have to wait for the cow to finish bleeding out before I can order (making things better, because they over-cook everything, all meat is priced the same. 1400 francs for a kilo, regardless of cut. Put another way, we can get an 8oz filet minion for under a buck.)

All in all, we’re having the most success with meals that actually come from our traditional family recipes. With the ingredients available, most traditional Jewish and Norwegian food can be reasonably replicated.

Things We Never Thought We’d Get Used to Seeing

Things We Never Thought We’d Get Used to Seeing:


- A commercial truck with 20 horned steers barreling down the highway, with men in hammocks suspended above the cattle.
- Straight men walking down the street holding hands.
- Children bathing in a puddle, and just being glad they’re using soap.
- Buying a bottle of peanut oil in the market (already in a used beer bottle), only to have the woman selling it pouring it into a thin black plastic bag.
- Watched one child slap another on the head with a closed pair of scissors and thought is “Wow, where did they get scissors?”
- Beef being sold not from a butcher counter but rather from a tray on a woman’s head (not where we get ours because of Steve’s budding friendship with our local abattoir).

The Work

Sure, it all looks like fun, but what are you actually DOING over there with our tax dollars?

Jaren:

I am working with the CPS (Centre de Promotion Sociale) here in Tchaourou, where my main objectives are to: 1) reduce malnutrition among women especially pregnant women and children; 2) promote better hygiene and sanitation behaviors and; 3) provide support to People Living with HIV. Though I just started working, I am already assisting the local hospital with baby weighings, which determines if a child is malnourished or not. If a child is malnourished, it is my responsibility to educate the mother on the appropriate nutrition to increase its’ weight and overall health. Another immediate project is an overall health assessment of the village. I am observing health behaviors throughout town and will present this information along with possible solutions (education, projects, trainings, etc) to the town officials after 3 months.

Future projects will include educational seminars on HIV/AIDS, instruction on better sanitation and hygiene practices to market women, and production of a moringa garden to harvest as a recuperation supplement for the malnourished.

A typical baby wieghing

Steve:
More management consultant than the antiquated notion of what a Peace Corps volunteer is, I am working with the Artisans Collective -- a deceiving name because very few are actual artists. Rather, its essentially the equivalent of the SEIU, an overarching umbrella union representing every manner of manual labor. I develop programs to teach management (accounting, marketing, planning), as well as consult one-on-one with artisans on specific projects.

I'm also interested in working with the national Chamber of Commerce on some branding projects as they are an organization with a sadly low profile. I may also try to develop a class on business journalism here at the University in Parakou business school. Considering this is one of the 10 most corrupt countries in the world, sunshine can be a hell of a disinfectant.

Oh, that and I've spent a good bit of time hanging out with our local butcher getting to know what the inside of a cow smells like. Nice guy, although the cow probably doesn't think so.

Market on market day - the economic heart of Beninese life

Home in Tchaourou

Chez Nous. Take the main road north out of Cotonou five hours and then ask for the white couple. That would be us.

We live in a concession (walled in lot a little less than an acre) with two other families. To our left is the Chef d’Arrondisment - the mayor by American standards - and to our left are the Opposi family, the matriarch of which happens to also be Jaren’s counterpart.

For some general pictures of the place before we moved in, check the old post from our first visit. However , we’ve made a few changes, the biggest of which being the complete swap of the living room and kitchen. In addition to now heating our food in a room twice as large (thus cutting the amount of sweating down to “everpresent,” a vast improvement over “swimming pool”), it also gives us a proper guest room in the back.

The other change is the status of the latrine, which was vastly improved with one simple addition:
Before and After





And now Steve can get some thinking done, although the shower is still out of the equation. Without plumbing, whatever pondering he might do in the shower is really just time he’s standing like an idiot naked and wet in the back yard.

Day One, Met the President

... which needless to say set the bar pretty high for day two. So we’d been in town for just a few hours, all in the house moving furniture and putting stuff away. Being Monday, it was market day and we thought we’d head out to pick up some basics. Well, after 45 minutes of wandering, we couldn’t find it -- partly because everyone we asked said it was la bas and pointed in a random direction. For the unfamiliar, the two things you need to know about la bas is that the best possible translation into American English is “yonder,” and it is used by the Beninese to describe every place that is not close enough to touch. We didn’t know if we were looking at 10 feet or 10 miles, but such is life here in Africa.

So wandering off a side street onto the main road, we are greeted with two SUV’s with flashing lights, neither of which is a common site around here. Jaren made some off handed crack like “Maybe it’s the Boni Yayi out for a walk” at which I chuckled, but after a few seconds we realized it actually was the President out to shake some hands and kiss some babies.

Again with the disclaimers: What follows is simply a description of a brief salutation of a sitting head of state, specifically the state of which we are technically an invited guest. No political preference is contained there within.

Turns out given the pace of the procession and our location, there was only about 5 seconds between our arrival on the street and the President’s passing. Needless to say, when the man who grew up in this town saw two white faces looking back at him, more than just a handshake was in order. Dr. Yayi stopped, offered brief salutations in French to which we replied in kind, and then flat out asked us why we were here. We told him we were with the Peace Corps and that we were living here in Tchaourou. He didn’t seem to believe it at first, that we lived in Tchaourou, not Parakou or another larger area, but he did seem genuinely pleased. He inquired about our work, and the responses about business development and health education appeared to please him even more.

Then came the coolest part:

YAYI, Dr. Boni, President of the Republic of Benin and former head of the West African Development Bank: “Eka Bo.”

TICHY: Jaren, Peace Corps Volunteer and former head of the Central Valley High School Cheerleading Team: “Eka Bo.”

YAYI, Boni: “E ji da da?”

TICHY, Jaren “Dada.”

Even if it was just a brief conversation, Jaren was able to greet the President in Nagot, his native tongue. With a large smile on all three of our faces we shook hands again and he continued on with the procession.

We were honestly a bit star struck, totally forgetting to pick up groceries (good thing we brought some noodles with), headed home and contemplated what tomorrow had in store for us.

Life on the Road

This post actually starts on a personal note for Steve. For many years, Steve’s Uncle Ron, husband of his mother’s sister Ruth, has had a special place in Steve’s heart for his incredible capacity for spatial creativity. Nobody got more containers in a fridge or random items in a car than Ron. To the later, he once put a 12-foot ladder in a Geo Prizim, and with enough leftover space for the groceries to feed a family of six. Ron was the king of moving copious amounts of stuff using as little vehicular power as possible.

Note that last sentence. “Ron WAS the king.” After three months in West Africa, we have seen some of the most terrifyingly impressive displays of human ingenuity/ recklessness on the nation's highways and byways.

See this as a pretty standard example
:

This was our car heading to Tchaourou for the big move – petty by local standards:


Somedays you see station wagons with the trunk and rear seat filled to capacity with oranges (ah the humor that must be opening that rear hatch). Other times it’s 12x100lb sacks of grain on the top of a sedan, a sedan with no fewer than 14 people in the cab.

We, of course, take every precaution to be safe as prescribed by the Peace Corps and the embassy security officials. But Ron -- if you’re reading this -- the challenge is calling, how far will you go?

Swear-In -- September 21, 2007

The morning our official oath was taken, we had a lovely ceremony at the Ambassador's residence. Unfortunately, because of security concerns, no cameras were allowed in the ceremony proper and we have yet to get the official shots digitized.

We did, however, get some good group shots of the various sectors before hand.

Side Note - the Beninese never smile for photos, and for some reason think we're silly for doing so. Thus the reason why some look just a little too serious.

Teaching English as Foreign Language (TEFL)

Enviromental Advocacy (EA)

Information and Communication Technology (ICT)

Rural Community Health (RCH)

Small Enterprise Development (SED)

There ceremony itself included greetings from the Ambassador, the Country Director, as well as the Ministers of Health, Education and Tourism. We were also treated to the considerable MC'ing skills of Jacque Bio, head of Peace Corps Benin's Small Enterprise Development and Information and Communication Technology sectors.

Finally, short speeches were given in all the local languages, including one in Nagot from Jaren. While the actual speech wasn't audio recorded, we will make a recording of it and post it on this site.

Swear-In mustaches

The Small Enterprise Development sector this year is widely regarded as a little different than the rest. First off, we’re predominantly male, which is honestly a coincidence. There is also the fact that given the personalities involved, the group has a robust sense of humor and no problem with self-deprecating humor. That, dear reader, is the parentage of our most peculiar development to date – the swear in mustaches.

After a few weeks after arriving in Azove, it became clear that shaving was not really a priority for most of the group. Five o’clock shadows got grizzly and grizzly beards turned into sources of immense pride for the wearer. Some barbes were even given considered personalities all their own.

When time came to swear in, the group knew that looking like a scruffy group of hobos was simply not acceptable at an official function held in the Ambassador’s residence. They needed to be cleaned up without losing their fun-loving nature.

Thus, the mustaches.

Day in Grand Popo

Situated on the southern coast of the country, a few kilometers away from the historic slave port of Ouidah sits the small fishing village of Grand Popo. This is about as close to luxury as one gets in the parts, sparsely populated and totally lacking in the "boxed fun" that seems to come with developed resorts. After the rigor of our pre-service learning we were blessed with a day of R&R there.

What follows are a handful of pictures from our time there, sun but an unswimable surf. Enjoy!

The heroes of our tale

Some seriously wicked undertow makes the beach less than safe to swim in, so we didn't

We were 80% of the beach population that day



Relaxin'

Steve Meyers aka "Big-uh Steve"

Djohossou Family Picture

Our Beninese family.


L to R (ou bien au droit du gauche):

Front - Marius, Sylvie, Carole, Fidel, Emilie, Julius
Back - Isabella, Romeo, Jaren, Steve, "Papa" Antoine, "Mama" Henriette.

For their bottomless reserve of patience and kindness, we also bought the family a piece of our meme tissue (seen here and here). When we go back to Azove next year to visit, everyone in this picture should be wearing the same.