If it seems too good to be true...

The internet has been down at work over the last few weeks, so I've been going to the cyber a lot with Bernadette and Mathieu. Not much time to blog with Mathieu sitting beside me, telling me what websites to check and asking me if I'm done writing my friends. I can't wait to be home with an internet connection!!

Being at the cyber is always interesting. How do I adequately explain what the guys *do* at the cyber here? No, they don't surf for porn or anything like that. They basically swindle people out of their money. They all do it, and they do it all day. It's their job. Dupe one person and you're in it for hundreds of Euros, thousands if you do your job really well.

They scour the internet for email addresses, using businesses, mailing lists, etc. looking for people to send mass emails to. A little bit more sophisticated than, "I live in Africa and need someone to cash my dead rich uncle's cheque."

They "fake sell" everything from dogs, cars, apartments, property, you name it. You hear them on the phone with people, calling them to say that they've received their order, and it'll be in the mail just as soon as they receive their money transfer. Did they need the transfer information again? Or that construction has begun, did they receive the pictures they sent? It's going very well.

The men on the phone are very literate, very convincing. "Des escrocs, des arnaqueurs," says Mathieu. "Ils font du n'importe quoi. Les Français se laissent faire parce qu'ils vivent chacun dans leur petit monde et personne ne demande des conseils à ses voisins."

He says that we're able to be dupped because we don't know a deal that's too ridiculously good to be true. That, and we don't bother to ask a friend or neighbour, "Is this the best way to go about buying something from overseas?"

I loathe these men. But I'm not really allowed to. When your country educates you but can't give you work to do... one does what one can to afford to live.

What really bugs me is the dishonesty of it. The dishonesty and the resourcefulness that could be used for good, not evil.

And the fact that you'll see children in cybers doing the same thing. It becomes a family business passed on from older brothers to their younger siblings. I sat beside an 8 year old boy in a cyber, who was chatting with far away men pretending to be some young woman... "xoxo hearts and kisses" "when can we meet? do you miss me?" I wonder how long it takes for them to ask, "send me money for my plane ticket to visit you."

Buyer beware.

The best! I was apartment hunting and saw an ad in Now Magazine. Beautiful apartment on Bay Street near Dundas. Huge! $700 a month, included a bunch of stuff. The picture was too beautiful to be an apartment on Bay Street, but I decided to email the person and see what the deal was.

Thanks for your email response. The Apartment is still available for rent on 761 Bay Street, Toronto, Ontario M5G2R2, ready for move in at $700monthly. ready for move in. I inherited the Apartment from my late father. (Awwwww...) I lived in the Apartment with my younger sistser, i but presently now i am in West Africa and i will reside here for some time due to my current assignment. I just need someone with an open heart, love and clean to occupy the Apartment and put all my worries off concerning the maintenance of the Apartment for, since i am not residing there for now. I left behind some Facilities and electonics like satellite TV which you have to pay for the subcription, and a sony DVD player, air conditioning, alarm system..

The kitchen is fully equipped with all necessary cooking utensils, a refrigerator-freezer, four-hob and oven, microwave, dishwas her and washing machine. Also the keys to the Apartment are right here with me, and the lease document.......... Which i can send to you after all necessary agreement has be accepted.. Also i will like you to know that the rent charges is not really the issue , but your absolute maintenance of my Apartment, because that is the only valuable property my late father left behind, and it also took him so much time and money to put all those facilities in place..

Bedrooms: 1
Bathrooms: 1
Beautiful open floor plan
Plenty of storage space
Bedroom has walk-in closet
In-suite laundry
Outdoor Balcony, North West facing
Parking for one vehicle
Bike storage

Amenities include:
Gym, weight room & cardio
Billiards room
Meeting room
Pets are allowed
smoking allowed

Terms: Lease Terms:1,2,3,4,5 6 to 12 months and 12 to 4years leases and more available Please, call me as soon as possible if you are really interested in having my Apartment

Regard

Benson adams

mobile .........011-2347081917857

ha!

things i hate vs. things i love

First, the immigration paperwork is DONE. I think. I hope. I hope I did it right. I hope we were convincing enough so that Immigration Canada thinks that Mathieu and I are for real, so I can see my husband again soon. If anyone has immigration paperwork advice, now's the time to give it. I sent everything home to my parents... which was a hoot.

We went to DHL this week (Tuesday) because there's someone at our Regional Office in Ghana who's going home to Toronto on Sunday. I figured, it'll be cheaper to send it to Ghana then to send it to Toronto, and far more secure, so let's go that route.

Package to Ghana from Benin: 68000F CFA ($161cad) and the package will arrive on Friday at the latest.
Package to Canada from Benin: 71000F CFA ($168cad) and the package could be there as early as Thursday, and at the latest by Monday. RIDICULOUS.

It's a fairly big package full of immigration-worthy wedding pictures, relationship pictures, and 109 pages of forms, phone bills, emails, passports, etc.

I know it's 109 pages because we had to copy the entire file before we sent it. And I stood there as she copied page 1, opened the lid, took page 1 out, put in page 2, made sure it was in the corner, closed the lid, hit print. If print didn't work, she would flip the photocopier on and off really quick and hit print again. Opened the lid, took out page 2, put in page 3, etc. etc. ETC. At the end I swore I would never be angry at the photocopiers at work ever again.

I love photocopiers with feeders!

So needless to say, I sent the immigration package straight home to MOM&DAD where they'll put their teacher eyes on it and hopefully catch any glaring bureaucratic mistakes (and hopefully my mom won't pay too close attention to my spelling and grammar...)


Less than ONE MONTH to go before I get on a plane to go home. I had a bit of a fit last night thinking about it. In one month I get on a plane by myself and set out to settle down again in Toronto.

Mixed emotions, as you can well imagine. I can't wait to have a huge salad made of fresh vegetables, I can't wait to see my friends, to walk around Toronto's streets, but I'm not so eager to come home to an empty apartment, and to talk to Mathieu through a webcam and on our crappy cellphones for months.

Life in Benin is hard and getting more and more frustrating, if anything. I love being with Mathieu, but I can't wait to get out of this country. I care for these people, I care that their children are not in school and that most everyone lives way under the poverty line. But I just can't be here anymore.

One month is going to go by too fast, and not fast enough. But probably too fast. 4 weekends, 28 days. sigh.

My African Wedding

I must say, that was probably the easiest wedding I've ever had (or attended I suppose, seeing as this is my first wedding). I'm sure it would've been much more fun if my friends and family had attended, but what can I do? That's what I get for getting married in Benin.

I'd love to post pics within this post, but the internet is wonky... You'll have to bare with me. If you make it to the end of this blog entry, god bless you. It's really long and I only make it to the ceremony. No info on the reception or the following day where we took Maman to the beach. You can check out the pictures on my Flickr site.

The night before the wedding, Mathieu was going to sleep at his mom's house and I was going to sleep at Bernadette's. She and I were going to do each other's nails and drink rosé and be girly. Mathieu was going to do some "traditional" stuff with his mom. "Elle va me laver," he said. I was kind of bummed - why wasn't I getting "washed"? What was this "washing"? Shouldn't we be doing it together??

When he saw that I was interested and sad that I hadn't been invited, he told me to come along. "On va aller chez maman la nuit - il faut se laver la nuit." Weirdo rituals the night before my wedding? I only hoped my skin wouldn't turn green or something.

I told Bernadette she would have to wait for me to return. She told me to go do whatever I needed to do.

Around 9pm, we arrived at Maman's house and hung out in the living room to watch TV. I kept looking at the clock and thinking... anytime we want to get this ball rolling, I've got girly stuff scheduled!!

Maman talked to Mathieu and blessed us (she often will start to pray and bless us, and the only way I know what she's doing is that Mathieu will suddenly look solemn and start saying "ah-min" after everything she says).

Suddenly the power went out. Maman stopped and we hung out waiting for the power to come back on. I played flashlight games with my cellphone's flashlight with Aïsha and Tania. The lights came back on and maman started her business again. Her son Jean brought in this white powder in a bowl, and I wondered if we would have to eat it or something, but nothing came of it.

Outside, it started to pour. "Oh no!" I thought. The rain means we can't leave for a while -- when it pours, you can't ride on a motorcycle.

Mathieu says that Maman says that the rain is a really good sign. It means God is happy with our union. I like making God happy. A happy God is a good God.

We watch some more TV and then Mathieu says, "Ok, we're gonna go wash now." I follow him into Maman's room where he starts to undress.

At this point, I start to get a little worried. Do people know what we're doing tonight? Or are they just going to walk into Maman's room while we're doing this? But I know Mathieu wouldn't let random people see me naked, so I get undressed and follow him to Maman's on-suite bathroom.

First, you have to understand that there's no running water at Maman's house. They have to get water from the well, so there's often lots of garbage bins full of water to flush the toilet and to bathe. Maman's bathroom doesn't have a shower or bath either. Her bathroom is comprised of a sink, a toilet, and lots of large bins of water. The pipes are all there to be connected to the city line, but it's the next step on her to-do list.

Those of you who wonder how you bathe without running water or a bathtub: take a large plastic bowl and fill it from an already-filled large bin of water. Dump it on your head. Lather your body with soap, and dump another bowl-full of water on your head. Repeat until squeeky clean.

That night, however, there was a new large bin in Maman's bathroom. This bin was filled with a yellow-ish water and there seemed to be stuff floating in it. I had to keep repeating to myself, "Don't ask, just breathe, don't ask, just breathe..." Mathieu dunked the bowl into the water and then dumped it on his head. He flung the plastic bowl back into the bin and rubbed the water into his skin like he was lathering it with soap. Then he dunked the bowl back into the water and dumped it back on his head. Little pieces of leaves would stick to his shoulders. The water smelled like medicated tea. He dumped water on himself one more time and stepped aside.

My turn.

I did as he did, except I didn't dunk the bowl into the bin with as much vigor, so as to avoid the leaves and "stuff" that were in the bin. Yellow water was all I needed, thanks. I dumped the water on myself thinking, "oh my god oh my god oh my god, don't inhale, and close your mouth!!" I "lathered" myself like Mathieu did and went again. This time it really drenched my hair and totally covered my face and I threw the bowl back into the bin and lathered again. The third time happened and then I realized that Mathieu wasn't toweling himself off.

"Il faut rester mouillé." I scolded him a little for letting me wear a white blouse and khaki pants to this affair (we'd gone to meet some "friends of the family" that he calls aunt and uncle eariler in the evening, and he told me to dress up for that), so he let me put on the traditional shirt he was wearing (which is nice and warm and kinda flannel-y) and I got back into my khakis. My hair was drippy and I was generally uncomfortable, but whatever.

Outside, it was still pouring. We went back into the living room and Maman smiled at us. Mathieu then told me that there was a part 2 to the washing, but we had to wait a while and I should just lie down on the couch and watch some TV. We snuggled on the couch and I fell asleep for about 45 minutes til he woke me up again. By now it was past 11:30pm and the house was completely quiet. It was still raining.

I quickly txt'd Bernadette to let her know this "ceremony" was on-going, and she txt'd back that there was no problem.

Mathieu led me out into the courtyard where Maman had built this large concrete cylinder with a large bowl up top, filled with "water". The concrete cylinder was decorated with "cori", small white seashells. There is also drippy brown liquid carefully splattered on it. Took me about a week to figure out it was animal blood. I'm not very quick.

Again I was worried someone would walk outside while we were doing this. Everyone's front door leads out into this courtyard, but there were no lights on and I suppose everyone was sleeping. It was dark and raining still, and the rain made it very cool outside. Plus, I was still wet from the previous "washing".

Mathieu got naked first and dunked his hands in the "drinking water" position into the bowl of water atop the concrete cylinder. He poured the water on his head and lathered, as before. I think he did this 3 times until it was my turn.

It was darker here than in Maman's bathroom, so I had no idea what I was pouring on myself. It didn't smell and I didn't see any weird colour in my hands, so I like to think it was plain old "blessed" water. When we were done, we put our clothes back on and went back into the living room. Maman smiled again and then headed outside to wash herself.

By the time we finished it was midnight and still raining. We fell asleep on the couch and woke up around 1am. Mathieu said, "Ok, let's go." We couldn't hear the rain anymore, but when we got to the end of the courtyard we saw that the rain was still falling quite heavily - just more quietly.

Mathieu unlocked the door to his room and we decided to sleep there. We'd never slept a night in his room before -- and it showed. There were no sheets, except there was some fabric laying around and there were pillow cases on the pillows. The mosquito net had been left up for months and was kinda gross, but he wiped it off and brought it down. He swatted at a few bugs while my eyes closed.

Just before I fell asleep I remembered that I should probably txt Bernadette. z z z z...

I woke up at 4am in a panic. OK! WE HAVE TO GO NOW! Mathieu grunted and I realized he wasn't going anywhere. I repositioned myself and went back to sleep til about 6am. I could hear some action in the courtyard outside and I really wanted to get a move on since I had to do all the stuff I didn't get to do the night before, like paint my nails and um, paint my nails? Drink wine?

Again, I relaxed. 15 minutes later Mathieu was ready to leave, but not before turning on his stereo full blast so that the whole house was filled with music. I thought, "Oh no, won't everyone be annoyed at having music this loud this early?" but no, just me. Everyone else was bopping their heads and getting on with their day.

As soon as we got home I showered. Washing myself with random liquid and then spending the night in a no-fan no-aircon zone made for a very gross Maria. I decided to wear my Hello Kitty tshirt and jeans for the getting-ready morning and Mathieu told me to pick something out for him. I love when he wears his greenish tshirt with his grey cardigan and jeans - so cute! At 7:30am we called Bernadette to see if she was up and about. Actually, I told Mathieu to call her cuz I didn't want to wake her up!

She asked if we'd had breakfast and invited us over for some yogurt and nut-granola. She made us coffee and gave us a couple fancy new cups (we've been drinking our coffee out of glasses) as a wedding present. Bernadette did SO much for us, we hardly needed another present, but she'll get them back when I move back to Canada, so it's actually a present to herself. :)

After breakfast I stayed at Bernadette's while Mathieu went to run some last minute errands. She started to do my nails and then let me know that she wasn't actually used to do doing nails. I laughed and told her to hand me the brush. I spent all of first year university learning to give myself manicures, so I'm pretty much an expert.

Then she left to go to the Cyber to print out "something" and I went to get my hair done around 11am. Mathieu was already at the salon and kept calling to see where I was and why I wasn't getting a move on. I had to keep reminding myself that this wedding was important for him because it was his family and friends... mine were far away and it's probably why I had more of a "whatever" kind of attitude.

Then the guy who was lending us his car arrived and wondered where the girl who was supposed to decorate it was. Apparently he thought it was a bad idea for us to decorate the car at Maman's house because it had to be a surprise. So then I had to make calls back and forth between Mathieu who just wanted things to go HIS way and Jean who thought it was a horrible idea and wanted things to happen promptly and his way. By the time we arrived at the hair salon, we'd decided he would drive the car to Marie-Joséphine's house nearby and Caroline (Diana's older sister and Mathieu's niece - who is older than he is) would go decorate it at her house. Everyone was fine with that and I went in to get my hair done.

The ladies stared at my head and were excited to give me something "different". Oh no. Not something different. I explain to them that my hair curls naturally and goes into ringlets naturally. They understood I wanted ringlets and showed me curlers. I told them that my hair curls without curlers. I explain that I have these little flowers that I'd like to put in my hair. One of the ladies starts to do little braids and little sections on the side of my head that I really like. I start to relax, thinking that whatever they do I can fix later.

Four products later and when I try to fluff my hair my hand comes out incredibly gunky. One lady does these spikey things down the side of my face and then starts to flatten these curly-type flat bangs on the front of my forehead. I'm not sure I can adequately explain how stressed I was getting. Then they tell me to sit under the dryer. And sit. And sit. I could feel my hair hardening with every moment. I wanted to scream. MY HAIR ISN'T SUPPOSED TO HARDEN. I wanted soft curls!! SOFT CURLS!!

I touched my face and the spikey "side-burn" things were completely stuck to my face. I started to have some sort of panic attack. The lady sensed it and let me out from under the dryer. I sat back down in the chair. The lady who was going "let's make you different" crazy said, "Que tu es jolie!" OOH no. NO NO NO NONO.

"Ce n'est pas du tout ça que je voulais." Sorry ladies. Get the water out, and grab that diffuser over there and we're going to do this my way. We can do "different" some other time. NOT on my wedding day.

I left feeling much better about the whole ordeal. I left knowing that I could still make it look even better once I got home.

Mathieu was done about the same time I was (looking very dapper), and we walked back to Maman's house. It was 1pm and Caroline was supposed to have been there at 11am to decorate the house and the car. She was no where to be found. Several calls later and finally she was there and then she was off to decorate the car.

Mathieu and I almost got into an argument over all the decoration craziness, but then we realized that we were arguing over stupid stuff and relaxed again.

Mathieu's brother Alphonse drove us home to get ready. I went over to Bernadette's who lives behind us, and Mathieu stayed home. "Do you know how to tie a tie?" I asked. Nope.

I had asked Jean to buy Mathieu a plain white tie and hankie. I was sad that Mathieu's dad wasn't around to help him on our wedding day. I told him he could probably ask Jean-Paul, our driver, when he came to pick me up.

At Bernadette's I fixed my hair some more and grabbed her scissors to make some adjustments to the haircut I'd gotten on Thursday (another time when the man stood there and stared at my head for 5 solid minutes, not quite knowing what to do). Soon my hair was as close to perfect as it was going to get, and I had to leave it alone. I got half dressed and started to apply makeup.

Soon it was 3:30pm and Jean-Paul was knocking at our door to see if we were ready. FIVE MORE MINUTES! I frantically grabbed the nail polish to give all my nails a final top coat, so that they were all even and pretty. One last sip of wine, and one last look in the bathroom mirror. Through the bathroom window in Bernadette's apartment you can see into our apartment (fairly clearly, actually). I could see Mathieu walking around with his nieces getting stuff ready. Soon JP was knocking at the door and helping him on with his tie. He looked so dapper from afar, I couldn't wait to see what he looked like close up.

Finally I was ready to go and Bernadette and I hopped into the car with JP. It was 3:50pm, but Mathieu hadn't left yet.

As we drove along the road, we noticed a bicycle in the middle and a girl was laid down on the road, a splatter of blood under her. Someone was helping her up and off the road. I quickly prayed for everyone's safe arrival at my wedding and hoped she would be ok.

Knowing that we were ahead of Mathieu, we parked the car a little further away from the City Hall office and waited in the air conditionned comfort. It was a beautiful hot sunny day.

Marie-Joséphine, my Director at work and the other witness at our wedding (besides Bernadette), was awaiting our arrival and quickly had a conference with Bernadette while she stepped out of the vehicle to take pictures of our ride.

Soon the actual wedding photographer pulled up beside our car and started to snap pictures of me in the vehicle until Mathieu arrived and he went to greet him. JP moved our car forward and pulled up to the wedding hall. Another wedding was just finishing and it was a wedding much like ours - a white girl to a Beninese boy, except there were a ton of white people outside this wedding.

A wave of jealousy washed over me as I longed for my friends and family. I took comfort in thinking that I looked better in my white suit than her in her big white dress and let the car move forward til she was out of sight.

Mathieu opened the car door and helped me out of the car, except when we got in the hall, we were the first ones there. So we sat where we were supposed to sit, as did our witnesses, and waited as the hall filled up. Oh Benin -- no one is ever on time here.

By 4:20pm, 2 ladies had already come by to see if we could start the ceremony, but Mathieu's mother was still not there. Mathieu kept asking for family members to find out if she was on her way. Fashionably late, she arrived around 4:30 and finally the ceremony started.

The photographer and videographer did their thing throughout the ceremony. The "Chef d'arrondissement" Brice Chanhoun (pronounced Chaoun) did a great job on officiating, although I wished he had spoken more Fon considering the amount of people in the room that barely spoke French. He went through all the rules in Benin around marriage, talked about our responsibilities towards one another. He asked Mathieu if he was marrying me willingly and asked me the same. Then he asked me to talk a bit about why I was marrying Mathieu. So I said a little shpiel and the ceremony went on -- but I totally got gyped!! He never asked Mathieu the same question!

Finally he asked the witnesses to give their little bit of advice to us. Marie-Joséphine talked about commitment and how each of us was representing each other's country. Bernadette spoke about how beautiful our relationship was, and then she invited Marie-Joséphine to read a message from my mom, she read a message from my dad (in English, translated by Marie-Joséphine) and then a message from Pierrette, my nanny growing up, my 2nd mom. Tears welled in my eyes but I managed to keep myself under control. No one in attendance actually knew me or has known me for over 5 months... a very strange feeling.

Rain rain rain rain rain

I have a BIIIIIIIIIIG ol' blog entry about my wedding day, and the pre-wedding "lavage" that Maman gave us. Stay tuned. I'm still writing. Summary: I missed my friends and family, and looked fabulous. Mathieu is so dreamy. swoon!!

It's been raining every other day for the last few weeks. When it rains, IT SUCKS. It's beautiful as long as you get to stay home. The wind is cool, it sounds nice... except for the thunder and the car alarms that go off cuz it's raining so hard.

When you wake up on a work-day and it's raining, you know you can sleep in. It's great. The roads flood like crazy. It's horrible for people's cars, never mind if you ride around on a motorbike. Taking a moto-taxi anywhere is hugely difficult.

The mud is fun too. Remember that every other road, if not the majority of roads are dirt roads. Mmmmm mud.

Anyway, immigration paperwork calls. And dinner with Mathieu. The internet has been hella crappy lately, so forgive the lack of updates and communication...

Wedding Bells

Preparations are in full swing here in Benin. We made an appointment at the Mairie du 12e arrondissement where the Chef de Circonscription, Mr. Brice Chanhoun, will perform the ceremony on Saturday, June 6th, at 1600 hours. His secretaries’ eyes got bigger when they saw that it would be a white-lady wedding. I have to say I’m getting really tired of people thinking I’m rich. Every time anyone gives me the price for anything I have to wonder whether it’s the actual price or whether they’ve doubled it because of the colour of my skin. Should I be flattered or insulted? Regardless of what I “should” be, I’m annoyed.

I met a lady at the Novotel pool on Monday. My new friend and colleague, Bernadette, took me for a “bachelorette” day. We went to the spa, to the market to buy shoes, and then the following day was spent lounging by the Novotel pool, drinking fruity drinks and getting a nice tan.

So this lady in the pool comes up to us and asks where we’re from. “Canada,” we answered. “Well duh,” she said, “Where in Canada?”

Toronto.
“Really? Me too!”
What brings you to Benin?
“Oh I just got married on Saturday!”
I’m getting married on Saturday!
(Congratulations are exchanged. She points to her husband who is lounging by the pool, filling out papers.)
“We tried getting him a travel visa, and they rejected him, so in February, he called me in Toronto to ask me if I would marry him, and I agreed. My friends and family wondered whether I was crazy and whether I could really trust this guy… but I brought my son with me on this trip, and when he met my husband he said, ‘Mom, he’s everything you said he would be.’ We’re going to do another wedding in Canada with everyone.”

I laughed. My story to a T, with a few subtle differences – this lady could be my mom, she met her Beninese man in London, England, and they’ve been ‘seeing each other’ for the last 2 and a half years. The fact that this fairly well-travelled and well-off man’s travel visa was denied put me at ease. It’s not just Mathieu, it’s everyone who has a hard time.

The fact that she was a week ahead of me in this whole process has been helpful. I’ve stayed in contact with them to be able to find out more about the immigration process, which is also quite annoying. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork…
I want to get all the forms filled out and sent as soon as humanly possible. The faster we send them, the sooner we’ll get a response, the sooner Mathieu can come to Canada. This time the paperwork will be ridiculously complete. They want details? They’ll get an encyclopedia of them. They want to know how our relationship has evolved since we met? I am able, thanks to my journaling, emails, pictures, and record of txt messages sent, I can basically give them a play by play.

I’m a woman on a mission.

First things first however, we need a marriage certificate. Outfits are pressed and pretty, cake has been ordered, food is being prepared, we’re good for music, Maman’s house has a fresh coat of paint, my work colleagues are all pumped and have their speeches prepared (people LOVE to make speeches here – they LOVE it)… OH! And fear not: the photographer has been hired and there will also be a DVD made. As much physical evidence as possible that Mathieu and I are married and that this is for real.

Getting nice emails from friends and family has been delightful – keep them coming, more proof! More proof!! Sigh… oh Immigration Canada…

Tonight, Bernadette and I are hanging out and Mathieu is spending the night at his Maman’s house. This will be the first night we’ve spent apart since… February 17. When we were counting days and figuring stuff out, I realized that we will be getting married only 4 months after meeting one another.

I can hear you all saying, “Maria, are you just realizing this now?”

I really feel like I’ve been with Mathieu for years. It feels like I’ve been in Benin for years. Have I really only been here less than 5 months?

Bernadette and I submitted a proposal and a report to have our “Consultancy period extended”. Makes me sound so important. The request was accepted and with a bigger budget, so the next month should be better on my bank account. I can’t wait to get back to work to have an actual income, but at the same time, I wish Mathieu was coming with me.

First we have to send our immigration package to Mississauga, who will take a look at it and if they believe us and if everything is properly filled out, they’ll send it to the Canadian Embassy in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire. Those lovely people will have another look at it, and if they believe us or if they don’t, they’ll either call Mathieu in for an interview, or just send a letter of rejection or acceptance.

Thoughts and prayers are welcome. Wish you were here… The next time you see me, I’ll be a MRS.

WEIRD!!!

Not Sure What to Say

I haven't written in a while, and I'm sorry about that. Since the end of April, a girl named Bernadette from Toronto has joined me at work and she's been a bit of a saving grace. Someone to keep me in check and someone to bounce ideas off of. Working with her has been great.

Life has revolved around getting work done and hanging out with Mathieu. Nothing much exciting... oh, except maybe the fact that we're getting married next week.

Yup, I've lost my mind. Africa does that to you, it seems. Mathieu makes me smile and think and I don't ever want to let him go; and since the government won't let him visit, then I guess I'll just have to make them let him immigrate.

I told everyone at work today and they were very excited and happy! One of our witnesses, the Director where we work (and a very wise lady) spoke of Mathieu representing Benin and me representing Canada in our relationship - we have to keep up the good names of our country.

Anyway, Mathieu just called to say the tailor is ready to meet with us with the changes he made to my suit. I'm getting married in a white suit -- I always have been a bit of a tom boy.

To all those friends and family who are discovering that I am getting married through my blog and are a bit confused or sad or frustrated or weirded out or something, feel free to write me.

I hope we can have a big "after-party" with tons of friends and family when I get back and Mathieu is able to join us -- hopefully by September. Hopefully before the colours start to change!

Although he's had 26 years worth of summer - he's due for a little cold.

I'll be back with more updates AND PICTURES soon, I promise!! xo

Bribing Customs, Traffic Jams and Getting into Canada

(The internet here is still being annoying. Sorry for the lack of updates, but I can't handle wasting what little time I have in a cyber waiting and trying to send messages - it's really infuriating!!)

What a week. Mathieu and I left for Ghana last Monday to do a bit of tourism, so I could meet with some important dude who's with the company I work for, but mostly to apply for a tourist visa so that Mathieu can come home with me in June.

Yup, the girl who swore up and down that she could never fall for a man in Africa has fallen for a man in Africa. Maybe I never expected for an African man to make so much sense. Maybe my preconceived notions and prejudices towards what being 'African' means were wrongly squewed... because if anything this trip has, again, just solidified my belief that we are all the same in this world. All bastards and saints; all confused, searching and finding. All of us hoping for the day when we have a little more cash in our pockets and fewer worries in our heads. (preachy moment: I believe we are being herded to the edge of the world, where everything we own and everything we wish we owned pushes us further away from everything we are and everything we love.)

The difference, I suppose, is in the cultural norms and what is generally accepted here, like polygamy and cheating (but perhaps cheating is expected and accepted in Canada too? Take a mental survey for yourselves...).

But like everywhere else in the world, not everyone accepts what is generally accepted and not everyone follows cultural norms. There is no 'normal', there are just a huge bunch of people trying to make due.

Anyway, we went to Ghana on the bus. What a trip. The bus was supposed to leave at noon and ending up leaving at 3pm. No air con, so the windows were open, which was really fun when we were following a big truck on a dirt road. I had to get 2 visas for the ride: one to get through Togo and one to get into Ghana. My passport is all stampy - I feel so international.

The road from Benin into Togo is beautiful -- it follows the beach almost all the way from Ouidah, past Grand Popo which is near the Togo border. The big city in Togo is called Lomé. Looks and feels a lot like Benin. There is a huge market there where you can get tons of stuff that comes out of their port and into the market. Might be coming back to do some shopping... Adidas for $5? sure!

The border was easy to get through (I tried to take a picture of the Benin/Togo border sign but I was quickly told NO PICTURES NO PICTURES and I don't like to mess with big black men holding automatic riffles) and on we went after about an hour stop in Lomé to pick up a ton of other passengers making their way to Accra in Ghana, and Côte d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast) and Abidjan, the big city there. An interesting mix of accents and people... I was the only white girl on the bus. The driver and his friends started to play Bob Marley - we travelled on his birthday, May 11th.

Togo is the smallest country ever and takes about an hour to cross. Maybe less. Finally in Ghana, and what a pain in the ass. Emerging nation = even more annoying bureaucracy -- developed enough to be modern and thorough, but developing enough to still be corrupt.

Which reminds me... all the way from Benin to Ghana, we'd have to stop at these customs check-points where the cops stop vehicles. Often though, if not always, it's just a question of slipping the officer a few dollars and you're back on your way. God forbid you can't afford a few West African Francs or Ghana Cedis, cuz it can mean a huge delay in your trip, especially if you have a lot of bags packed in the car. My dreams of road tripping through West Africa in a Land Cruiser were dashed - ug. Not worth the bother. I can't imagine how much money these guys would expect if they pulled over a car full of white kids.

So we're at the Ghana border. Mathieu, who could've just as easily used his Beninese National Identity card, used his passport to accompany me through the borders. Once in Ghana, they had customs forms to fill out, which reminded me of the forms you get on the plane on the way in to Mexico or when you're coming back on the plane into Canada. The ladies scanned our passports (oooo!) asked us where we were headed (I invented an address in Ghana, although we stayed at the Bani Guesthouse/Hostel, a real place), and sent us on our way. Their English/African accent was cool and I was excited to be in an anglophone country.

We got back on the bus and drove for a while. We got stopped at another check point and since by now we'd been travelling for 9 hours, I really had to pee. Everyone had to get out of the bus and there was a bathroom at this checkpoint, which cost 50F ($1.25) to use it... except when I got in it was a dirty stinky urinal-type just-pee-on-the-floor and I couldn't deal. I went back outside and told the dude, "listen, I'm gonna need my 50F back because I need a toilet to pee." He laughed and pointed behind him where there were 4 toilet stalls. God bless Ghana.

We finally arrived in Accra (pronounced Ac'crA) at 2am. The never-ending bus ride. My bum was killing me. Mathieu was really nervous about where this hostel was and where we were going, especially since he doesn't speak English or the local language, Ashanti. My friend Gord in Toronto had told me to call his friend Gavin who teaches at the University, and he had been nice enough to rent us a room in the residences for 30cedi or a little less than $30 a night.

We got there fine, except the girl at the desk didn't have a reservation for us. The administration probably had one, but obviously the office wasn't open at that hour. She found us a room with a bunk bed and we crashed. We had to be at the Canadian Embassy at 7:30am and the taxi driver had told us that traffic in Accra was ridiculous during rush hour and that we should leave at 6am if we want to be there for 7:30am.

He wasn't kidding. Accra has real roads with curbs and painted lines and overpasses and everything. Obviously though, they don't have enough. People are used to sitting in traffic for up to 2 hours a day - IN the city.

The city looks like a mix of north Montreal and Cotonou, some high rises, what we north americans would consider regular architecture and normal looking homes and apartment buildings, both ghetto and nice. Then around the corner are shanty hoods with outdoor maquis restaurants serving fish and pounded igname, and ladies selling things on their heads, men standing in traffic selling random stuff. The major difference is that there are very few motorcycles in Accra. Everyone has a car and drive very nicely, probably cuz they know they'll be stuck in traffic for HOURS no matter what they do. There aren't very many touristy things to do unless you like chillin on the beach, which I'm kind of over by now. We found a museum I'd seen on a map except it was totally empty and the windows were broken and it had scaffolding inside.

The food wasn't too expensive and neither were the taxis, although comparatively, the taxis were ridiculously expensive to what one pays in Cotonou. They don't have counters so whether you're sitting in traffic for 2 hours or not, the driver states his price and that's it. Of course, when they see a white girl get in the price goes up considerably... I hate negotiating, but it worked out alright.

We arrived at the Canadian Consulate or High Consulate or whatever you want to call it around 8am. The guards at the door made us leave all our electronics (iPod, camera, USB keys, cellphones, etc.) in a little locker at the door and made us walk through a metal detector. There were tons of forms to fill out above and beyond the forms we'd already filled out. Then we had to go make a copy of his passport down the street and come back. Then Mathieu went into another section where apparently the lady took all the paper's he'd brought and sent him on his way, telling him to come back at 2pm.

When we came back at that time, we waited around with 20 odd people until everyone got herded back around 3pm into that same room and were each handed either letters or visas. Mathieu came back with a letter telling him his temporary visa was denied for reasons X, Y, and Z, and if he wanted to resubmit a request, his situation would have had to change drastically and of course, he would have to resubmit the fee and forms.

I was really surprised. I thought it would be so much easier... we really don't let people into Canada very easily, which I suppose is a good thing, but in this case, not so good.

Apparently there was no one we could speak to, and any appeal would have to be made by email, which we did that night, in a decent cyber café we found about a KM away from the residence we were staying in.

Uber-bummed, we headed back to the residence where we rushed to pay for our room and find out if there was a room we could stay in for another few days to see if we could change the minds of the Consulate or find another solution. The admin people were very nice and the room was suddenly only 15 Cedis and the new one they gave us had a great TV too, but to Mathieu's dismay, no French channels. Happily though, the cafeteria had great and cheap food and there was a football game on TV later that night - that lifted his spirits.

On the Wednesday, I had an appointment to meet with the important dude from work, and it went really well. It wasn't an official visit, just a "I happen to be in town", but it's always good to make a good impression.

What else can I say about Ghana? Not too much. People are people, cities are cities... and cities are rarely representative of the country. Hopefully one day I'll get to see a bit more of Ghana.

Leaving Ghana was a debaucle. There was no bus leaving for Cotonou until 10pm and we wanted to leave around noon. Plus, Mathieu was insisting we take a bus or a big vehicle that could easily traverse the bad roads. Eventually we found some dude who was leaving with 3 other men to go to Nigeria in a Volvo station wagon, and could drop us off in Cotonou on the way. Four people in the back and 2 in the front for 6ish hours. Ug. The longest part of the trip is between Accra and the Ghana/Togo border. Once there, we had to fill out another one of those customs forms and then move into another room to get our passports stamped.

Except we'd never had our passports stamped on the way in. Stupidly or ignorantly, once they'd scanned our passports and given us back our customs cards we'd just left and no one controlled us on our way out to make sure we'd been stamped. Whether they forgot to tell us to go into the next office or whether I just didn't pay attention; who knows.

Happily we still had the customs cards from the way in, which had been initialed by the customs officer, and I insisted about the fact that the ladies had scanned our passports, so we were in the system.

While we were discussing the situation, a white man with a French accent was getting his passport stamped (it wasn't a French passport) and asked me if there was a problem. I explained the situation to him and he said, "Soyez cool, expliquez bien la situation et donnez-leur un petit quelque chose et ça va aller." (Stay cool, explain the situation and give them a little something, it should go alright.)

By then the driver of our ride arrived to see what was taking us so long. We explained and when we told him we were thinking of giving them 5 cedis, he said it wasn't enough. Ten should do the trick though.

The customs officers were going back and forth from the computers and were saying that my story checked out, that they had found all the information and they were going to stamp us in (dated on the 11th) and out of the country, but we needed to step outside.

We stepped outside and I realized that this is where we could either wait forever or give them some money to make this go faster. The driver asked for the money we were going to give them, and he took Mathieu by the hand and told me to wait there. Bribery is best done among locals. Moments later we were on our way. Boy was I glad we had 10 Cedis left from the money we changed!

The rest of the trip went off without a hitch. We stopped at the Togo border and picked up some roadside fried chicken and fried igname which we ate in the car (moist towelettes are your friend). We got back to Cotonou around 6pm, exhausted and hungry and went to grab a bite to eat.

Since then I've been working like crazy. Life has gone into high gear in more ways than I have ever experienced before. It's both stressful and amazing, and it's making me think that I'll be extending my stay here a few weeks to make sure my work is well underway before I leave, and figure out another way to get Mathieu into Canada.

More on that some other time. ;)

Now I get to click "publish" and see if the internet will let me.

Hit "Pause" and try again

Sorry about that. Got malaria myself there for a bit. Got a bad fever, couldn't/didn't feel like eating, passed out in my apartment, went to the clinic at 3am, got some blood work done, feared for my life, got some medication, stayed in bed all weekend, felt better by Monday, went into work...

A new girl has arrived from Toronto to work with me - what a lifesaver. She's a great lady and we get along really well. She's helped me put my work stuff on hyperdrive, hence the lack of blog updates.

Note to self: you work better in a team.

On Wednesday a group of us left for a work-mission to talk to some school board people leading the monitoring and evaluation. Took advantage of the situation to also hit up one of Benin's National Parks, Pendjari. SAW ELEPHANTS! HIPPOS! eep! Lots of cool animals, lots of cool things. Got back on Sunday and have been busy busy ever since.

I'm still feeling feverish and tired. Malaria pretty much sucks.

In other news, it's rainy season. Rains almost every day and makes driving around HELL. Mathieu lost control and had to fall off his motorcycle the other day because he got caught in the pouring rain. Nothing serious, nothing damaged. Craziness.

I come home in a little over a month. I'm looking forward to highways sans huge pot holes!! Looking forward to a stomach that works normally again.

But for the time being, I'm really enjoying my work and the company I'm keeping.

Going to Accra, Ghana next week. Leaving on Monday and coming back on Thursday. More on that trip later! Gotta run!

ps - the internet here is poo, if i haven't said so before. I'm having lots of trouble connecting, posting, accessing Facebook...

Hit "Pause"

Sorry about that. Got malaria myself there for a bit. Got a bad fever, couldn't/didn't feel like eating, passed out in my apartment, went to the clinic at 3am, got some blood work done, feared for my life, got some medication, stayed in bed all weekend, felt better by Monday, went into work...

A new girl has arrived from Toronto to work with me - what a lifesaver. She's a great lady and we get along really well. She's helped me put my work stuff on hyperdrive, hence the lack of blog updates.

Note to self: you work better in a team.

On Wednesday a group of us left for a work-mission to talk to some school board people leading the monitoring and evaluation. Took advantage of the situation to also hit up one of Benin's National Parks, Pendjari. SAW ELEPHANTS! HIPPOS! eep! Lots of cool animals, lots of cool things. Got back on Sunday and have been busy busy ever since.

I'm still feeling feverish and tired. Malaria pretty much sucks.

In other news, it's rainy season. Rains almost every day and makes driving around HELL. Mathieu lost control and had to fall off his motorcycle the other day because he got caught in the pouring rain. Nothing serious, nothing damaged. Craziness.

I come home in a little over a month. I'm looking forward to highways sans huge pot holes!! Looking forward to a stomach that works normally again.

But for the time being, I'm really enjoying my work and the company I'm keeping.

Going to Accra, Ghana next week. Leaving on Monday and coming back on Thursday. More on that trip later! Gotta run!

Malaria

So, have I mentioned that little Tania's being a bit of a wuss lately? Extra clingy and whiney? Well, turns out it she has malaria. Pesky mosquitoes. She's had a fever which has been persisting and I was worried so I insisted that Mathieu tell his sister to bring her to a clinic. Call me North American, but malaria isn't something you self-medicate.

Let's all take a moment to thank Canada for Federal Health Care, despite its problems. We can whine about having to wait in Emergency for a long time, but at least, at the end of the day, you don't foot the bill (unless you have to get a prescription...).

By my standards, it wasn't very expensive - 7000F for the consultation and some blood tests, and some 7000F for the medication. $35 in total.

But when I got to the house after work yesterday, another little one, one of the twins (pictured at the amusement park eating popcorn) had a really high fever too. Wrap him up and ship him off to the clinic! They didn't give him the same treatment and I'm not sure if he had exactly the same thing as Tania, but they kept him at the clinic for a bit because his fever was too high. His visit and medication was a total of 7000F, a little under $20.

Tania's mouth was really pastey and full of sores. She looks thinner, poor thing. Mathieu tells me that that's how it is, when you have malaria... you can't eat and you just generally feel like crap. High fever, cough, aches and pains, and a useless mouth.

Hopefully they'll get better now. Sigh.

There are mosquitoes everywhere. It's the start of rainy season, so apparently it'll only get worse. Recently in the news, a Beninese doctor received a high award (can't seem to find a link) for developing a new and highly effective malaria medication. It's fairly cheap here, but it still affects way too many people.

Oh Africa.

museums, merry go 'rounds and music

So I mentioned in my last post that I managed to take 16 kids to both the Zinsou Museum and to the Village de Paques (which is also known as the Village de Noel, in December), an amusement park. I won't say too much on the day and will let the pictures do the talking. The kids had a great time and want to know when the next outing is going to be. I'm not sure I would take the wee ones next time, or if I do, I'll invite the other parents along so that they can help manage the crew. The little girl twin peed all over the floor of the bathroom of the museum, and my shoes. oops.

First, they all got dressed, which I've never seen. I tried to take as many pictures of them as I could in that state. The bus/van was a half hour late, and Mathieu and I went to the house an hour early to make sure they were all ready... Tania's mom had dressed her in a fancy dress, which wasn't appropriate and she was really uncomfortable, so we got her into shorts and a tshirt and she was much better. She hasn't been feeling well lately, so the dress must've just been torture. But more on her later.

I didn't think we'd all fit in the bus, but it worked quite well. I guess when you don't have carseats to deal with, piling 3 little ones makes it easier to squeeze everyone in.





We drove around for a bit because a lot of these kids don't get out much beyond their school and the house. We took them to see the Stade de l'Amitié (a big stadium in Cotonou) and l'échangeur (the grand new overpass built a couple years ago). Little Boris, Diana's little brother, was able to spell "échangeur".

The Museum was more or less kid-friendly. The guy showing the kids the exhibit did it in a very "school" type way, which was very informative of him, but when you have a group ranging from ages 2 to 16, you shouldn't really be spending too much time on each item, asking questions and trying to drag the answers out of the group. The got to colour, which was nice.





From there it was off to the Village de Paques. The museum was free, the park was not. And there were 18 of us!! Still really cheap comparatively. Entry 200F ($0.50), $9 total. Then, a little something to drink, 200F each, another $9. Plus one for the driver, of course.



And a little something to eat, popcorn, 100F or $0.25 per bag, either salted or sweet.



Then everyone got to pick one ride, 500F or $1.25 for a total of $22.50. Most of the boys picked bumper cars, the girls picked the swings on the merry-go-round (so did I, and my stomach turned for hours afterwards), and the little kids were relegated to the cars-on-tracks, much to the dismay of the older ones... I let Mathieu make the executive decision of who was too young...







After that, the crew was getting restless and our time with the van was running out so we hit the road (we paid 18,000F or $45 for 5 hours with a driver - and he helped with the kids), but not before everyone scored a second or third MTN hat. MTN is a local cellphone company.

Everyone was really happy with getting a free foam visor... and we all wore them proudly for the group pic (the oldest guy is missing, dunno where he went) once we got back to the house. Of course, I didn't manage to get the group picture before half of them were out of their clothes already...



Maman was just beaming at me on our return. She was very happy that I was able to do something like this with them and thanked me.



The kids thanked me too, but I told them we had to record a message for my parents who sent me the money to take them out. I recorded them a few times, they're so funny. One time, they said, "Merci Monsieur et Madame Le Blanc!" LOL! I repeated my parents names and they said it properly the second time. Too funny. Then they started rapping in French and everyone piped in, even the girls. It's actually really good.

Goes to show, kids are kids - no matter how rich or how poor, they all have favourite artists and sing them obsessively.

That seemed like a good idea... FOR ME TO POOP ON!!

The title is a reference to Triumph the Insult Dog.

One thing my mother warned before I left: Don't mess with voodoo.

There are many things in this world that we don't understand and therefore don't believe in. Ghosts, for example. Witchcraft, sorcery, voodoo, hoodoo... lots of people dismiss it as bullshit... but I live in Benin. No one dismisses it here.

**warning: gross stuff ahead. if you've just had lunch, or are faint of heart, don't read this!!!**

I was waiting for Mathieu to pick me up after work on Friday and I was reading the paper. The headline on page 11 of La Nation reads:

Les "gourous" de la mort -- Le fléau mystérieux qui décime la gent féminine (The Gurus of death -- The Mysterious Plague that is Decimating the Female Race)

The article goes on to say that women in love are being killed. Not by AIDS, not by cancer... I have to quote it for you to believe it:

Des prédateurs, ce que les Ivoiriens (de la Côte d'Ivoire) appellent les "gourous", ne sont que des personnalités mues par un souci effréné d'entretenir leur fortune qui font succomber à coups d'argent, leurs victimes en quête de gain facile et gagnant donc leur manger à la "sueur" de leurs cuisses. Le mode d'emploi trouvé par ces gros bonnets, les "grotos" comme on les appelle ici, est tout simple. Pour assouvir leur dessein lugubre, ces exterminateurs contemporains sans scrupule demandent à déféquer ou à uriner sur des filles ou vice-versa après avoir satisfait leur libido avec elles, en échange de faramineuses sommes d'argent. Quelques heures ou quelques jours après, les victimes commencent à sentir des malaises; une maladie "bizarre" s'installe et prend plusieurs formes. Puis, la suite, c'est le trépas en douce.

To translate basically. Rich and powerful men who want to keep or improve their richness and power, get intimate with women and then offer them absurd amounts of money to let them or ask the girls to... well... relieve themselves on the man or let the man do it on them. Days or hours later, the women fall mysteriously ill and die. DIE.

A "marabout" or powerful sorcerer is quoted in the following text, the article's continuation:

D.S., un marabout et exorciste à Abobo BC, très sollicité par bon nombre de footballeurs, d'artistes et de personnalités ivoiriens, a reconnu que "ça existe vraiment" et explique : "C'est une pratique que certains féticheurs (voodoun)conseillent à leurs clients. Soit, la personne défèque sur sa copine ou il demande qu'elle défèque sur lui. Ca peut paraître dégoutant mais, je vous assure que c'est un moyen infaillible pour avoir de la puissance et pour consolider sa richesse". Evidemment, cela n'est pas sans conséquence : "La fille qui accepte de se faire ch... dessus, est, dans 98% des cas, vouée à la mort. Ca peut prendre du temps. Mais, elle finira par mourir", confie le féticheur.

He explains again what I explained earlier, that in Ivory Coast, some clients of voodoo priests come to them for riches and power and they recommend this practice of not-so-golden showers to give them riches and power. The girl dies in 98% of cases, data which I'm sure has not been scientifically verified.

They quote one girl who politely declined a man's requests, despite the offer of 10 million francs or $25,000. Another girl whose friend died mysteriously discusses how they had laughed when she said that her boyfriend wanted her to pee on him:

"Moi, je soupçonne fortement son amant, une grande personnalité du pays qui lui offrait tout ce qu'elle voulait. Il y a un mois, AD m'a confiée que son amant lui avait demandé d'uriner sur lui après qu'ils eurent fait l'amour. On a bien ri. Mais, c'est depuis ce temps que ma camarade est tombée malade..."

They also quote doctors who looked at these patients and declared these diseases as "mal mystique".

How do you convict someone of murder?

I asked Mathieu how these guys can be punished since there's no way to prosecute them in any modern courts, and he assured me that karma's a bitch, although of course, he never could put it that way. I picture their faces shriveling up and them falling into a pile of dust, like in an Indiana Jones movie.

Anyway, I'm sure I've grossed everyone out thoroughly. Voodoo may or may not be a thing of the past, but certainly shouldn't be taken lightly. West Africa, and Africa in general, is very powerful.

The modern world underestimates itself greatly. We pride ourselves on our "intelligence" and our ability to make machines "Go", but these people can cure disease with plants and can create wealth with magic... poop.

Why, then, with all their magic, haven't they dug themselves out of the proverbial hole they're in? Perhaps for the same reason we have an economic crisis, or why we can't seem to put even a small lid on our consumerism to help out our environment... because there is good *and* evil in the world. The Good understand that using magic and powers for your own advancement will not lead to anything durable. And until the Good stand up to the Bad, until women stop taking money and gifts from men for "fecal favours" (lol, i slay me!)... until we really and truly stand up and speak out against that which we know to be evil... then evil will always win.

A little preachin' for those who made it to the end of this post.


In other news, I took SIXTEEN kids to the museum and to the amusement park this weekend. :) More on that, and pictures, tomorrow. SIXTEEN. Started with 8, and then the family got wind of it. You know, I think I'll miss the kids most of all. They're pretty adorable! And really sweet! And very well behaved! I was impressed!

Taxis, Shrimp, and Bob

Last week I was feeling pretty beat. I have a general idea of the work ahead of me in the next 2 months, but everything keeps changing and moving around (infuriatingly so, but I’m breathing), so when I found out that contrary to my original belief, I didn't actually have to work on Easter Monday, I called Mathieu and told him to pack a suitcase. "I made a reservation; we're going to Grand Popo."

I asked my boss how one gets to Grand Popo, because following the falling-asleep-on-the-motorcycle trip to Ouidah, I figured we should take a bus or a car or something.

"You can take a taxi from Godomey," she answered. "It shouldn't cost you more than 1 500F CFA ($3.50)." Sweet!!

We finish work early on Friday, and I got the work driver to drive me home and wait for me to get a few more things together, change quickly and drive Mathieu and I to Godomey, which is on the outskirts of Cotonou, so we could catch a taxi.

When we got there, there were 5 or 6 random cars, unmarked except for the fact that they were all old cars, falling apart, with drivers shouting out different destinations. Lomé, Ouidah, Lokossa, Abomey... Of course, when they see a white girl they want to know where she's going and if they can rent out the car. 8000F to rent it out. Still cheap, you might say, but way more than 1500!!

We found a driver that would take us for 1300F and waited for the car to fill up. When we left, there were 4 of us in the back (a bigger girl, an older man, Mathieu and I) and 2 people plus the driver in the front (a student and a young military man). Wow, after about 45 minutes I was wishing I'd shelled out the $20 for our own private car, or at least a bit more so that there would only have been 3 of us in the back. Live and learn.

We drove along quickly and I managed to snap some fun pictures along the way of this village built entirely on the lakeside, or in the lake... boats and people milled around everywhere, even in the water.


There were a few scheduled stops and when we did the ladies selling nuts, water and other random food would swarm the car. I kept praying that the driver wouldn’t try to cram someone else in with us, but it seems no one else needed a taxi.

The military man up front got out first and left the 4 of us in back. Happily there was only about 20 minutes left to our trek, and soon the taxi was leaving us on the side of the highway in Grand Popo to continue on its way to Lome, Togo.

We stopped at a restaurant because I'd gotten off work at noon, packed, found a taxi, waited for the taxi to fill up and drove to Grand Popo ... and we arrived at 5pm. 1500F for fresh fish and a local pâte which is different from the stuff we found in Cotonou, grainier and red. Except when she got back from the kitchen, suddenly the price had gone up to 2000F. She let out an "Ah!" of disbelief when we accused her of changing the price because I was Yovo... but regardless, it was delicious.

Sidenote: they don’t speak Fon in Grand Popo, they speak Mina, the language they also speak in parts of Togo.

Then Mathieu and I got on a scooter in search of our hotel. La Maison Blanche had quoted me 25,000F CFA or $57ish for a bungalow beach-side for the night, negotiable, and Mathieu thought it was outrageous, so we went in search of something else. Having called around, I already knew that everything else was booked solid, but I let him try and we drove up and down the Grand Popo strip, Mathieu, the driver and me, on a scooter that had definitely seen better days.

On the way up and down the strip I noticed a raggae bar painted brightly in red, green and yellow... a definite stop during our weekend, I thought.

The Auberge, an old colonial house, was full, but there was a pool we could swim in for 1000F and a nice restaurant we thought we might eat at. Back down the strip to L'étoile de Mer, also booked, and not that nice anyway. Finally we went to La Maison Blanche (the website doesn’t do it justice and I didn’t take any pics of the bungalow itself, sorry), where we pretended not to have a reservation, and the manager (who also turned out to be a great chef) let us know that the rooms are both double, and are 25,000 for a family, but 15,000 or $35 for a couple. Sweet!

Mathieu was worried about security, and asked if they had any guards. Two, apparently, although I never saw any. Regardless, according to everyone Mathieu asked, Grand Popo is pretty sleepy and quiet and no one makes any trouble for anybody. "This isn't Cotonou," they'd answer.

We had a little look around, the beach was much more sea-shelly, less fine than Cotonou's or Ouidah's. I think I prefer Ouidah actually, but Grand Popo had more of a touristy feel. More hotels and places to hang out on the beach.

After sunset we had a bit of tea and pulled up some chairs to watch the many many stars come out, only to see the moon rising on the ocean. Sweet!

I wanted to go for a walk along the water, but Mathieu was worried we’d get attacked and asked a young man at the hotel to join us for our walk. Mathieu likes any excuse to talk to people, and started asking the young man a bunch of questions on Grand Popo, its origins, and what there is to do here. The young man, Godfreid (his mother is Nigerian, but he doesn’t speak English), was more or less knowledgable/helpful. Apparently he’s the chef at a local restaurant, and has been for a whole 3 months!

Saturday we had an omelette and some instant coffee with some pineapple juice, fresh, of course. Then we played in the waves a little, but the lack of any life guards or anyone who can really swim prevented me from diving into the water. I’m an okay swimmer, but the ocean is merciless.

We decided to walk down the beach to check out the menu at the Auberge restaurant and passed by some fishermen and their wives collecting the catch from their nets. Didn’t seem like their catch was much to write home about, but what do I know. One of the fishermen objected to my picture taking – “you should ask permission before you take someone’s picture.” I should know better!!


The menu at the Auberge was expensive and getting to the Auberge was difficult! The sand was burning hot and we had to run from shady spot to shady spot! OW!

On the way back we decided to jog because we’d ordered a shrimp lunch for noon and god only knew what time it really was. We sat down and ordered a tall bottle of water and were so pleased to see our shrimp arrive – super tasty too! Garlic shrimp! The seafood was probably the best part of the trip (except the crab Mathieu had that night – no meat).


Then it was time to go back to the beach to sit under a palapa with some beer to watch the waves and look for seashells from our shady spot.



After a while I started to realize that my skin was pretty burned. I haven’t had a sunburn in Benin yet, despite my time on the beach, so… I kinda stopped wearing lotion. The burn wasn’t too bad, but still owwie.

It was time to get in from the sun, and I went it to take a shower, which was hot because the reservoir is black on top of the bungalow… I haven’t had a hot shower in months! Very nice. I patted myself dry and we decided to nap for about an hour and then go take a walk around town to check out that Raggae bar I saw on the way.

It was a great little place called Lion Bar. There are rooms for rent and there were tents pitched sea-side. There was an elevated concrete dancefloor with lights all around and I thought it would be a really fun place to come for Bob Marley’s birthday on May 11th – a big deal for the youth in Africa.

The owner/DJ was playing some funky little tunes. We had already been drinking beer all afternoon and their cocktail menu was too fun to pass up. We danced a lot that afternoon. The tunes were fun. The owner was happy to have us.

Then Mathieu asked if the SDB or sodabi on the menu was the real stuff… Eau de Palme… the local hard stuff, but it’s actually very nice, very soft. The owner, insulted that we would ask if it was the real stuff, immediately poured us a couple shots, which we sipped, with our cocktails, and our beer. Geez.

One of the shot glasses was from Québec, and when I asked if someone had given him a gift, he said that his wife was from Québec – that she was coming on Tuesday and that he couldn’t move with her to Québec because he has children here in Grand Popo. Very thoughtful for a father, I thought – but Mathieu says that he must be a polygamist. Who knows. Oh Africa.

The idea of Rastas and Rastafarian tradition is interesting. He had a nice mural that talked a bit about the Rasta relationship to the Bible, and a quote by Hailé Sélassié, an Ethiopian Emperor (whose title at one point was Ras Tafari)… check out the wiki en français et in English.

Drunk and late for dinner of disappointing crab and more shrimp, we called our scooter friend who drove us home in time to sit to watch the stars come out and order another big bottle of water.

Again the moon rose on the ocean, and I had the brilliant idea of order a half liter of white wine with dinner.

There was no walk on the beach that night. Actually, I’m not sure I remember much of dinner.

Slept well though and woke up with the worst dry mouth and really achy skin!!

On Sunday we decided that we’d relaxed enough. We packed up our things and had one last jog and breakfast by the sea, and then decided to go hang out at the Rasta bar until we felt it was time to leave, except when we got there, our friend was no where to be seen and there was no music playing, everyone was having breakfast since it was only 11am… a little bummed, we just decided to catch a cab home.

We got to sit in the front on the way back, which was nice – roomier, although there were only 3 people sitting in back. When we sat down, Mathieu asked the driver if he had any music. He scoffed as if to say, “As if I have music in my car. Have you seen my car?”

I have music! (This device has paid for itself many, many times over! So handy!)


Note to travellers: Never go anywhere without a Best of Bob Marley and the Wailers album. It will get you through anything. He’s so easy.

On the way back I took more drive-by pictures and Mathieu pointed out a small grave just outside one of the toll booths. Remind me to tell you the sad story one day.

Sunday we hung out at Mathieu’s mom’s house and went for dinner in an “expensive” restaurant where I ordered pizza with mozzarella on it! Happy Easter! I had rabbit for lunch on Tuesday, and that’s about as “Easter” as I got! No chocolate bunnies or eggs here!

The traffic to and from the beach in Cotonou on Sunday and Monday was unbelievable. There were people everywhere, on motorbikes, in cars, on foot... I decided I didn’t particularly want to partake in the craziness, so we stayed in.

Rained all morning on Monday… Sigh… Life’s a beach!

Tons more pictures in my Flickr set…

Le français au Bénin

Tout le monde sait qu'une langue se parle de différentes façons. Mon français n'est pas celui de mon frère à Paris, ni celui de ses amis à Dax dans le Sud de la France, qui n'est pas celui de ma cousine à Montréal, qui n'est pas celui de nos amis en Acadie, etc etc.

J'ai pensé essayer de faire la liste des particularités béninoises... je ne sais pas si je vais réussir, mais bon:

Doucement! = Fais attention! ou Regardes où tu t'en vas. Si tu trébuches sur quelque chose en marchant, par exemple, ou si tu t'accroches sur quelque chose en débarquant d'une moto, on va te dire, "doucement!"

Bonne arrivée = Bonjour, bienvenue chez nous, bienvenue n'importe où dans l'fond. Dans un resto, au bureau, peu importe.

Bonjour = ce qu'on dit le matin, entre 6h et midi.

Bonsoir = ce qu'on dit à tout moment, mais surtout après midi et en soirée. Si tu dis "bonjour" après midi, les gens vont te répondre "bonsoir". Ce concepte m'a confuse pendant un bon moment -- MAIS IL FAIT ENCORE PLEIN SOLEIL!!!

A tout moment: on le dit souvent aussi, pour dire "n'importe quand". Cela remplace souvent l'au revoir.

On se coince: on se rencontre quelque part. Souvent, dans un bar.

Tu quittes déjà? = Même quand je quitte le bureau tard, je quitte "déjà".

Un maquis = un petit resto/bar qui sert le menu basic du Bénin: frites au poulet (non, ce ne sont pas des lanières de poulets, c'est du poulet servi avec des patates frites), riz au jus (jus, voir ci-bas), poisson, fromage (fromage local, frit dans l'huile, trop bon) avec sauce d'arachide (mmm! mon plat préféré!), et diverses pâtes. Défois spaghetti blanc servi avec piments, onions, tomates. Les breuvages: Coca, Sprite, Fanta, bières diverses.

Pâte: pas des pâtes/pasta, de la pâte. Igname pilée, pâte noir... c'est essentiellement de la farine de maïs ou de la farine d'igname (on dirait toujours qu'ils disent de la farine de yam, et ça ressemble en effet aux grosses patates sucrées) avec de l'eau qu'on mélange et qu'on bat avec un gros baton pour que ça devienne de la gélatine. Très bon.

Jus: On met ça sur du riz - tomates, oignons fris dans de l'huile d'arachide. C'est très bon.

Un pressing: Là où on amène le linge à faire laver. Je l'ai fait une fois, ça coûter beaucoup trop cher ($25!!!)

Une von: une rue. "Tu prends la deuxième von à droite..."

C'est pour toi? = C'est à toi? J'ai mis quelque temps à la comprendre, celle-là. Pour moi? Comment? Aujourd'hui dans la voiture, il y avait une enveloppe par terre et mon collègue a voulu me demander si elle m'appartenait et il m'a demander, "C'est pour toi?"

Ou bien = N'est-ce pas? Une autre chose qu'on dit souvent ici, à la fin des phrases.

Tu as fait un peu? = Tu as bien travaillé? Tu es entrain de faire quelque chose?

Un peu, un peu: On peut dire, "J'ai fait un peu, un peu," "J'ai travaillé un peu, un peu" ou "Elle m'a remis l'argent un peu, un peu" ou "Je me sentais pas très bien alors j'ai mangé un peu, un peu" qui veut dire petit à petit ou tranquillement.

Tu es où?! = LA question par excellence au téléphone cellulaire, qui remplace presque le "bonjour".

Maman: N'importe quelle madame agée de plus de quarante ans, surtout si elle travaille dans un maquis et elle fait à manger, ou si elle travaille dans une école et elle s'occupe des enfants. Ou, n'importe quelle madame qui est vraiment une maman dont on ne connait pas le nom.

Je n'arrive pas à en trouver d'autres... je vais y penser! A tout moment!

In the news

I realized it might be interesting for everyone to know what's in the news here.

French President (funny little guy) Sarkozy made a stupid comment about Africa's men not being in the history books (wonder why that is you stupid colonialist!) and then his opposition apologized profusely about it during a visit to Dakar.

There's a solar energy convention happening in Cotonou! Woot!

Benin's wonderful president Boni Yayi is celebrating 3 productive years in office. Various meetings, demonstrations (in the good sense), and debates ensue. (More on him in another blog entry. A very interesting fellow. Good guy.)

The opposition party is delaying parlementary sessions by having parlementary assistants call in sick.

The government has decided to make césariennes free (or almost free). From what I understand, they used to cost around $250, plus medication post-birth. I think they made the operating kits and operation free. The tests and medication may still cost... Editorial cartoons of men chasing their wives to make more babies... as if they needed another reason to make more babies! LOTS of debates and problems around this (what is free, what is not free, what comes in the free kits, etc.), although generally everyone agrees that it's a good idea. Personally, I would make birth control pills free. Mathieu says that you could never take away an African's right to make babies... I prefer to ask the women feeding 'em.

In Cotonou, the rain is coming and they're fixing up the drainage systems. The work is behind schedule.

Football. Something about World Cup qualifiers or something, I dunno. ;)

Weekend: Kids, Art, Bats and Salsa

Was a pretty good weekend, all in all. Was feeling extra tired on Friday, and my stomach was unhappy with something or other (part women’s troubles, part the-fish-I-ate), so I left work a little early (noon) and went home to sleep it off.

Mathieu was at his mom's house. On Thursday night, (keep track now) the daughter of Mathieu's brother's wife (from a first husband), had fallen really ill and was brought to the house, perhaps in the hopes that Mammy could help. The little girl died shortly after her arrival. Mammy wasn't home; she's got a client that's been keeping her very busy these days, to the point where she's even spending nights at the clients' house.

I've never met the little girl. Apparently she was around 10 years old. I don't know the circumstances of the death, whether or not she was sick, how she died... frankly, the less I know, the better. A kid dying is just sad.

Friday evening Mathieu and I stayed in since I wasn't feeling well... until we could stay in no more, and he took me to a restaurant he'd been meaning to check out. I figured I felt well enough to sit in an air conditioned restaurant. We went under the premise of ice cream (after the Casa del Papa lunch, we had ice-cream-on-a-stick and he's become a little addicted to ice cream!) but discovered that they had cheeseburgers and pizza at reasonable prices (small pizza was $8, cheeseburger $3.50). My appetite suddenly returned.

The cheeseburger was actually really good! The owner is Lebanese, and they put fries, coleslaw and lettuce on the burger. The pizza was cooked in a nice fire oven and quite tasty, but you could tell all the ingredients were canned: artichoke hearts, mushrooms, olives... bah. Oh, and the ice cream was good too (500F or $1.25 per scoop).

On TV, a West Life karaoke DVD. So we got the music and chorus of most of the West Life musical collection. I hope never to hear the full songs. :rolleyes: I prefer the old school ‘90s version of More Than Words, thank you very much!

On Saturday, Mathieu took me to Maman's and the whole place smelled of campfire. Outside I met little Aisha crying her eyes out. I would have asked her why except that she's not in school yet and doesn't speak French, so all I could do was tickle her a little, wipe her tears and ask her, "ça va?" before giving her a little kiss on the head and making my way into the house.

I mentioned that Maman's been working, which means some sacrificin! YUM! Lots of sheep and chickens getting butchered. Mathieu laughed that when he was at Maman’s on Friday a chicken laid an egg right in front of him.

There were a few shaved hens that the kids were carrying around and at one point one of the boys took a large knife to one of the hens as I was walking by. HOLY CRAP DON'T KILL A HEN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME PLEASE!!!!

He was just cutting the rope that was holding both hens together. I almost had a heart attack. Part of me wants to watch them kill something (so I can become a vegetarian?) and part of me just doesn't want to know.

Spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tania, Aisha's little sister who’s about 2 years old. We play "slap my hand and I'll try to grab it", a game I used to love playing with my dad. We play peek-a-boo. We play “make weird noises”. We play "honk my nose". And finally, we play, PUT THAT DOWN. Wooden matches (which she totally knows how to light), machetes, glass. Oh Tania. Maman tells me I can take her with me. She's a riot. (AND she fits in my suitcase!)

The kids like to hang out in Mathieu's room (not that they ever dared go in his room before I got there) because he plays the music really loud and watches TV. They come in and dance, which is the funniest and awesomest thing ever, as anyone who has ever watched babies dance can attest.

After a bit of dancing, I was sitting on Mathieu's bed and Tania leaned her head on my knee. I started giving her a little baby back massage. Poor kid has a bum leg so she has to limp all the time. I can imagine it must wreak havoc on her back. Of course she was out like a light and drooling on my knee in no time.

I put her on the bed and watched some more TV. The only thing cuter than a kid dancing or laughing is a kid sleeping.

Mathieu kept coming into the room and giving me random pieces of meat. Delicious. The kids were running around trying to avoid the big patches of smoke and it reminded me of sitting around a campfire with Aimée saying, "I don't like white rabbits!" trying to coax the smoke in another direction.

Eventually Tania's mother came and got her and I took my own nap until Mathieu was ready to leave. I took home some meat! mmm...

After a quick shower to wash off the smoke, I asked Mathieu, "what next?" Ice cream on a stick, of course! I better get to the gym soon. We tried a different kind than the one we'd tried before, but we both prefer the ones with the almonds in the chocolate. I'm happy they don't have Hagen Daaz here, otherwise it would be game over!

Then, WE WENT TO AN ART EXHIBIT! weeeee! ART! La Fondation Zinsou is an NGO here in Benin that promotes art. The founder of the foundation is the niece of ex-president Zinsou (1968-69) of Benin. The President's brother married a white lady. Their daughter is very cool and the exhibit was very awesome and made even more awesome by the fact that it's free to visit.

The exhibit displayed African art by 5 collectors (if my memory serves) including the Zinsou parents. Some art was very old (BC), some very contemporary, all very cool, very inspiring. Then again, going to museums and art galleries is always inspiring. There were a lot of “masks”, which I quote because they’re massive and ornate. There were quite a few talismans and fortune-telling devices. In the “contemporary” section were photographs and more abstract art.

I couldn't take any pictures, but the joy of the internet is that you can click the link above and check some of it out for yourself. You'll probably have less of a hard time loading the page then I do.

I'm hoping that next weekend I can borrow the company car and take a couple of the kids from Maman's house to the exhibit. They have kids' activities from 14h-16h on Saturdays and those kids probably never get the chance to do that sort of thing.

After the exhibit we were travelling down Jean-Paul II Avenue when I saw this flock of birds... they just kept coming and coming -- a never ending stream of black birds! So impressive!! Wait. THOSE AREN'T BIRDS!! eeeep! BATS! Hundreds if not thousands of them. I tried to snap a picture, but it was dusk. Mathieu said that this is their migrating period. Gross and cool, I wish them a happy migration, wherever they're going.

Then we’d planned to go to the Centre Culturel Français (CCF) for a concert. I didn’t know the artist playing and Mathieu hadn’t really done a good job on selling me the show. He was saying that the dude was playing his father’s music, and that his father was much better than he was… gee, sounds like fun.

But I hadn’t been to a concert since I got here, and I really wanted to check out the CCF because they have a poster outside announcing “Les semaines de la photographie” and I love photography! (awww! the website says I missed my chance! the exhibit was over on Saturday, the day we went too late! booo!)

The photography exhibit was closed after 19h, so I hope to go back soon to check it out. The CCF itself is a very cool place with a library (which also loans DVDs) and a membership card only costs 3000F ($7), so I may get one, we’ll see. Inside the CCF is a large courtyard with great trees and crazy birds that I’ve never seen or heard before. I really felt like I was in a jungle somewhere. In the courtyard there’s one small stage and a large one for concerts that sits about 100 people. We grabbed a small beer and waited for the show to start.

The concert ticket was 2000F ($6.75ish) and well worth the price. The man may be imitating his dad, but he’s got a great set of lungs and is a very good dancer. Gilles Gnonnas & les Dadjés (his father Gnonnas Pedro). He did both traditional and salsa music, which is also traditional African music, FYI.

I had to google the origins of Salsa and Son music… those slaves I tell ya…

To find the roots of Cuban music we look to West Africa where the slave trade thrived. The Yoruba, Congo and other West African people created rhythms in ancient times to call forth various gods. Sadly, these wonderful rhythms were brought over to the New World under dire circumstances. One drummer named Ijibwa was taken captive and placed on a slave ship for America. He was forced to play on deck to keep up the spirits of the prisoners so that the "merchandise" would arrive alive.

I may as well have titled this blog entry: Everything Is African.

Tick Tock ... M' fon gandji!!

The cool thing about TV here are the documentaries on awesome African dudes.

Like Patrice Lumumba, first elected Prime Minister of Congo. Very anti-colonialist, the Belgians killed him for being a pain in the ass. They really did, and in the documentary, they laugh about it. (The Americans helped. The CIA was going to use poison toothpaste - so crafty, those Americans.) It's pretty gross. Actually, the longer I'm in Africa, the more I think that colonialism is pretty gross... not that I didn't think it was gross before. You can read his speech on Congolese Independance Day (June 30th, 1960) ici en français, and here in English. Apparently the Belgian King gave a very racist speech just before, saying something banal like, "We gave you so much, we're so great, and now we think it's good that we give you your independance." Then, without being on the agenda, Lumumba got up and infront of the international press, gave his speech.

Last night there was a documentary on General Amin of Uganda. What a guy! He was a child soldier, backwoods poor kid who rose up through the ranks because he was smart and ruthless. He's really funny, witty. In the documentary he talked a lot about telling the truth, always. I admire that kind of attitude. He wasn't always right and he killed a whole lotta people, but what a dude. If you get a chance to watch a documentary on him, please do. He's quite charming... and pretty scary. My favourite part of the documentary is when he is waving at the elephants!

Anyway, in one part of this documentary, he had bought a few new fighter jets for his army, which was quite well equiped, and he was talking to the pilots saying something like, "You must know these planes inside and out, you must read the manuals very carefully. You must know all the maps very well so that if you are asked to fly you can go and know exactly where you are going." Good advice.

He went on to say something that touched me:

When you are on your mission, do not think about coming back to the base. Think about your mission only, and God willing, you will come back to the base.

I've been thinking about coming home a lot lately. Maybe it's because I'm at the halfway point, my stomach plays tricks on me weekly if not daily, the heat is beginning to not be so great anymore, and my trips to the beach are becoming less frequent... but the General (aka His Excellency, President for Life) is right. Thinking about coming back to base only makes the fight that much harder. Be where you are now and be where you'll be later, right?

...

I bought the dreamy President Obama's The Audacity of Hope for the plane-ride here and I'm still only 50 pages in. I don't know what happened to me and reading. Up until high school I was a voracious reader. Perhaps I should blame university.

Aaanyway, I just got to the part where Obama is talking about our freedom as Americans (justice and liberty for all), and how at the end of their visit to Africa, just before their wedding, his wife, although she had a great time, talked about how happy she was to get home, how much she missed the freedom and protection from general insanity that you feel there (general insanity is my term, not hers).

They talk about how their family members and neighbours in Africa would loathe the bribes they would have to give to get anything done, the poverty they had to endure, how difficult it was to find work. They talked about the random visits from relatives, how they would expect gifts, food and shelter.

I love that I'm comparing myself to the First Lady.

I expressed to Mathieu how frustrated I was not to understand the language they speak here. He took it as a bit of an insult, thought that I didn't like his language, which is not at all what I said, but I guess what I should have said was, "I really want to learn to speak Fon." Learning to speak a language is HARD, and I don't imagine I'll be fluent by the time I leave, but I should at least give it a go.

I've never been one to expect people to go out of their way to accomodate me. I guess I was expecting for everyone to speak French - my brain really needs to get over it. There are several local languages here... and the language of the conquerer is French. Gotta love the colonials!!

Language is a funny thing. It means so much. In Canada it's the same. Depending on the language(s) you speak, it pretty much defines who you are (where you're from and where you went, how much money your parents had, what country conquered yours centuries ago).

Here, the better your French is, the better the chances you come from a rich family who could afford to put you through school, or you really struggled to make your way through school.

So today's the day I say, "Brain, get over it. Fon is the language you'll be hearing most. Take it and learn it as much as you can because you probably won't get the chance to speak it much when you get back to Toronto!!"

Fon lesson of the day:
Are you good? // Ah dough dagbay yah (accent français: a do dagbé ya - ça va bien?)
I'm good. // M' dough dagbay yah (accent français: M' do dagbé ya - je vais bien.)

Did you wake up well? Tu t'es bien réveillé? // Ah fow gangeeya? A fon gandjia?
I woke up well. Je me suis bien réveillé. // M' fow gangee. M' fon gandji.

You really have to watch when you "hmm?" and "uh huh" here -- you never know what you're actually saying!!!

I only wear Gucci, sweetie

Oh Africa.

I've been clothes shopping a few times in some boutiques near my house, to no avail.

"Do you have anything that doesn't have a huge Dolce&Gabanna logo on it?"

Everything here is branded. Lacoste, Polo, D&G, Gucci... 5$, 10$... not bad quality, but just wrong. OBVIOUSLY it's all fake. I know it, they know it... do they even know who D&G is? They don't really seem to care. Apparently the Chinese can even fake cars. FAKE CARS!! Anyone care for an imitation Cadillac?

What is the world coming to?

When I ask if they have anything plainer, or without a logo on it, they look at me like I'm crazy.

And people here dress UP. At work, there are days when some of the ladies come dressed in what I consider a GOWN. I've learned to up my look a little (sometimes), but they seem to not care what I wear. They tend to let white people wear whatever they want (although God knows what they say to each other in Fon when they see the white girls walk by!). Like the time Jean didn't tell me we were going to a freaking funeral and I was wearing jeans and a tank top. GRRRR!! I'm still mad about that one!

I'm looking forward to having a few dresses made, and having a blouse fixed, and having them copy a pair of pants that I brought. I'll let you know how much those run me. There are a lot of seamstress/tailor places around, and a lot of bright coloured fabrics! OH AFRICA!!!

Sometimes, like at that funeral, you'll see a whole group of people walking around in different outfits, but all made from the same fabric. Like someone just bought a bushel and people chose their own patterns. Nifty!

Oh! Gotta run! Wednesday nights at 17h we have a trainer come in for an aerobics class. Friday mornings too.

Happy April everyone... I'm home in 2.5 months... eep! (Went to get my visa renewed this morning. Need a form from City Hall saying that I live here, and a letter from my boss saying that I work here. Met a girl from Saskatoon in the visa line-up! Was nice to meet a girl from "back home" and made me realize... I really should make an effort to make it out to central and western Canada one day!!!)