Oh Africa. Africa Africa Africa.
This week has been good and crazy and well, normal Africa I suppose. Spent Sunday having lunch with my boss, her husband, my colleague Jean, his wife and their 3 year old son who has the coolest little fro!! He's a little king, and he's about to be de-throwned cuz mommy's pregnant. We ate Fou-tou which is basically yam pilé, just different. I can't quite make the difference between all the different kinds of pâte.
Next time I see them make it, I'll have to shoot a video cuz it's really cool. It's a pestol/mortar concept, except in huge format. A big wooden bowl/barrel and a big wooden malette, or two, and they pound the yams into a fine flour by throwing their whole body into it. Add water and voilà! Again, I'm not sure on the process or anything, but I'll report back when I know more. If you google Yam Pilé you could probably find a YouTube video.
They opened a couple bottles of wine, a bottle of champagne to celebrate my arrival, served couscous AFTER the mountain of fou-tou and veggies and an appetizer of cucumber and onion salad with a mayo dressing... these people EAT. She served me Nescafe instant when I agreed to a cup of coffee.
When I got home I called a new friend, Mathieu, to take me to the beach. Yes, Mathieu has already proposed marriage, but he drives a really nice motorbike and has a great smile so I think I'll keep him around for a bit.
La Plage des Cocotiers, as I mentioned before, is awesome. Obama beach can be rented to hold special events, which totally peaked my attention (peak peak!). I can't be in West Africa for a whole 5 months and not throw a huge party on the beach. What kind of raver would I be if I didn't??!
Anne called me while I was there. Talking to my girls back home is unbelievably hard... Slowly but surely I'm making friends here and everything is falling into place, but I think of everyone at home often!! (Dernièrement, beaucoup à mes collègues au Ministère. Jean-Guy m'a envoyé les nouvelles sur Dodine... mon coeur a brisé. Je vous envoie tous beaucoup d'amour!!!)
Tuesday after work I got the idea that I wanted to see where Mathieu lives. He's an interesting guy, into Kung Fu, weight lifting, Chinese philosophy, and Bob Marley (and R Kelly, which he sings along to HORRIBLY cuz he doesn't speak English, but I can forgive him that), and said he lived in the same area that I work in, so I thought, maybe I can check out his place and then we can go hang out at the beach for the evening.
I txt'd him my thoughts and he called to ask, "Do you want to see how poor I am? Are you looking for a reason not to marry me?"
Honey, you should see where my brother lives. (Montreal ghetto reprazent!)
He said that his mom has a gift for me, and speaks very highly of his mother. He worries about her getting older (she's 64 and he's her baby). He said she heals people. That people from around the world come to her for it.
His motorbike took a sharp and awkward turn off the main road just before the bridge in the Fidjrosse neighbourhood and we were suddenly driving past huge piles of garbage and had to honk a woman (with a baby on her back) out of the way so we could get by. Oh Africa.
Then, old cars, chickens and chicks, goats, sheep, people, more moms with babies on their back. He pulled up to a concrete house, like every other concrete house, and shut the motor. He's very proud of the fact that when his mother got a big chunk of money, she entrusted it all to him to arrange for the house to be built, trusting that he wouldn't take any of it for himself and would have everything done properly (unlike his older brothers).
Everyone lives together in Africa. The "house" is huge, a long hallway on the outside, like a hotel in the Carribean, with doors leading to individual apartments. There's a large platform on the end for a sitting area and cooking area. Each little apartment has its own sitting room, bathroom and bedroom. Only one or two have their own kitchen. There was a small coal-fire burning outside one of the doors too.
There were a couple toddlers walking around, one little boy (one of twins, I later discovered), one little girl with a bum leg limp, and one with one earring. All naked, wearing beads around their waist.
First I met Mathieu's older sister, whose name I forget (he has 6 brothers and sisters). She had a couple kids hanging around her too.
An older lady was sitting at the end of this long concrete outdoor corridor, dressed all in white with a beautiful blue and white beaded necklace on, and about 5-6 beaded bracelets on each wrist. She saw me and smiled and got up to greet me.
"C'est maman?" I asked.
She laughed and I told her I can see where her son got his smile. Mathieu laughed. She hugged me tightly and invited me into the parlour, which was piled with stuff like a lady who shops at Walmart too much. Pots of various sizes (unused), pans, plates, random stuff. She doesn't speak much French so I had to rely on Mathieu to translate from and into Fon. I told her I loved her bracelets (they're beautiful) and Mathieu said that this is the gift she wanted to give me. She told her son to hand her a silver purse and she pulled out tons of beaded necklaces, bracelets, and waist beads.
I can feel Giannina's jealousy from here!
WOW. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I ask if she sells them (cuz I could make a fortune back home) and it takes a while for me to decifer what she does.
She said she gives them to the people she heals to help with their healing (gri gri? talismans of sort?). She said she's healed diabetes, anxiety problems, cancer even. People write to her or call from all over the world apparently. She sends them remedies, they send her money or gifts. She once got a car. She makes money how she can and orders these beads, herbs and who knows what else. She used to travel a lot to get her remedies all over Africa, but doesn't really anymore.
I've never been one to dismiss this sort of thing. I wonder to myself if she's got anything for this cold.
She asks me about health care in Canada, and if anyone there can help with her eyes. She's getting old. We talk about how hospitals kill people, and I say that it's the same everywhere in the world. Prevention is the best medecine.
She says that when I marry her son she will come visit us for a few months and we'll take her to get her eyes checked. I say "yes" because I've learned that when you say "yes" here, it means more "yes, I heard you, and God willing it will happen" and not so much, "yes and let's draw up those papers right now."
Kids of various ages keep coming into the parlour, bowing politely to me, to Mathieu and to maman, saying Bonsoir and repeating themselves when they don't get an answer, leaving the parlour and putting their flip flops back on, only to show up later in various states of undress (some in their undies, some in shorts and a tank top, but it didn't seem to matter much). It's Africa. Naked is normal.
Apparently maman takes in stray kids, kids with no parents, kids with parents but no money. She has remedies that help children get identification papers fast, remedies that will help you pass your exams. Remedies that will bring you money and success. All the children are fascinated by me. They come hang out in the parlour and whisper to each other. I ask some of them what they're learning in school.
I really begin to realize how important my work is.
The cell phone rings and it's Mathieu's sister in Paris. Aimée. He hands me the phone and she is happy to speak to me. I tell her my oldest brother lives in Paris too, and I hand the phone back to maman. Aimée married a "white African", from the North, which isn't white at all, but it's all good.
Maman takes out the photo albums now to show me Aimée. She is very proud of her daughter. She's beautiful.
The phone rings again and this time it's his brother Alphonse, one of a set of twins (who is the dad of the twin I saw earlier). Again the phone gets handed to me. He laughs easily and is very nice, very polite. Everyone in this family seems to have an easy smile.
I tell maman that my dad's name is Alphonse. She asks me if I have both my parents, I say I do and she says that's good. Her husband died a few years ago. She lost her oldest daughter, too. I learn that Mathieu's oldest sister was my friend Diana's mother. So Mathieu is Diana's uncle, even though she can't be much younger than he is (he's 26).
Mathieu tells me that he told his mother how much I love the ocean and the beach, and how I could spend all day and all night there. He says that she's like that too, that she loves it as well. "Moi, je suis sirène" she said, pointing to herself, "moi sirène. Toi, sirène?"
Who ARE these people?? This is all so awesome I think I might burst.
But do I want to see her altar?
It's not voodoo, he says. It's medecine, she has a gift. I ask but no one else in the family has this gift. An old seer who lived to 150 saw her gift and helped her cultivate it.
The altar is in a room designed for that purpose, except there's an empty wooden bedframe in it, taking up most of the room. The walls are painted with tribal designs and on the floor there's a low table with various statues on it... I can't remember what the statues look like (except that they were all white) because I was distracted by the ceramic unicorn head on the end.
Oh Africa.
Mathieu asks if I want to take a picture but maman says that I can take pictures during a ceremony, it will be better. I can't quite tell if the ceremony will be for me or to bless the union of her son with me (just go with it) or if it's for someone else all together, but I'm easy - so I just agree. I don't want to be inappropriate.
Then she tells Mathieu to give me a tour of the rest of the house. There's a second floor and a rooftop that aren't finished yet. Concrete randomness with piping that is ready to go whenever more money comes in to finish it all.
We come upon a room when suddenly I hear bêêêêêêê! OH! The cutest little agneau! A baby sheep with wobbly knees, tied to a concrete block with a bowl of milk and stuff to eat beside it. It's excited to have company, and even though Dr. Wise in Toronto would not have agreed, I just had to give it a little pat on the head. It was white with black spots... eep!! Too cute!
I asked why it was tied there; apparently it's mother is dead or eaten or something, and the little one is too small. Something or one of the children might kill it, by accident or on purpose, so they segregate it for a while. Poor thing.
We go back downstairs and maman has put aside some of the necklaces and bracelets I thought were beautiful, and a couple more she thinks I should have. I tell Mathieu to tell her this is WAY too generous, but, um... I wouldn't want to be rude, right?
Update: My boss lady came into my office just now to give me some files, and asked me where I got my beautiful necklace. I told her my friend Mathieu's maman gave it to me, that she's a healer.
"C'est mammy Wata? Elle était habillée tout en blanc? (It was mammy Wata? She was dressed all in white?)"
Can I freak out now? I txt Mathieu quickly and ask him. "Yes," he says.
Boss Lady says that her sister was desperate for some funding for an NGO she wanted to start in Benin and nothing was working. She had consulted with tons of politicans, financers, and then went to the healers and seers and nothing had worked. Someone told my boss lady that her sister should go see Mammy Wata, that only she could help her.
Mammy did a purification ceremony, made her dress all in white. Apparently it worked, her sister got financing from an organization whose name I didn't recognize.
Then when I told my other colleagues that I had met this "mammy Wata" one said, "Quoi?! Tu as rencontré la déesse des eaux?? Tu es allée chez elle??! (What?! You met the goddess of the waters? You went to her house??!)"
Everyone's mouth hit the floor. We laughed when I said maybe it could help with the work we have to do with the government. Certainly couldn't hurt.
There you go. Maria, Queen of Benin, is making her way up in the world. And is bequeathed to the High Priestess' son.
I asked about all the kids, and Boss Lady says that when you have money in Africa, people send you their kids so that you can feed, house and clothe them while they're in school. In return the kids help you cook and clean. Fair trade, I suppose. Boss Lady says she has 7 kids at her house right now!! I noticed a bunch of kids around her house on Sunday, but wasn't introduced to any of them and didn't think to ask, figuring they were hers, or neighbourhood kids.
It takes a village, or so they say.
AFRICA!!!!!!
PS - maman, le boulot va bien. Je ne peux pas en parler sur ce site à cause que je vais en parler sur le site de l'organisme pour lequel je travaille. Comme partout, travailler avec le gouvernement, c'est frustrant. On avance, mais par la grace de Dieu et le travail acharné de mes collègues ici.
Ma boss est extraordinaire, tu l'aimerais beaucoup! J'ai beaucoup de chance de travailler avec elle. Elle est vraiment le modèle accessible et la mentor que je cherchais!
PPS - You'll notice I updated a link to Wikipedia's Mami Wata entry. Mammy Wata is a goddess that one might incarnate for a specific purpose, so she's not an actual person... I'll have to ask Mathieu for further explanation!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
I Give Up
At some point you just accept the fact that your feet are constantly covered in dust and sand.
I have a bit of a cold. Had an awesome/huge/boozefull lunch at my boss lady's house on Sunday. Then my boss called me this morning to see if I was doing better or worse, cuz if it was worse, she was taking me to the hospital!! HOLY CRAP! I gots Tylenol Cold and Flu! I'm good!! (Better safe than sorry here though, I suppose.)
I also went to the dentist last week cuz I keep getting meat stuck in my teeth and wanted to make sure I don't get an infection. He gave me a "bain de bouche" (mouth bath) and told me to keep flossing and I'll be fine. Hope so!
I have a bit of a cold. Had an awesome/huge/boozefull lunch at my boss lady's house on Sunday. Then my boss called me this morning to see if I was doing better or worse, cuz if it was worse, she was taking me to the hospital!! HOLY CRAP! I gots Tylenol Cold and Flu! I'm good!! (Better safe than sorry here though, I suppose.)
I also went to the dentist last week cuz I keep getting meat stuck in my teeth and wanted to make sure I don't get an infection. He gave me a "bain de bouche" (mouth bath) and told me to keep flossing and I'll be fine. Hope so!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
MEN!!!
Enough is enough. The men in this city are unbelievably needy. I am different and attractive, and for some, I am the ticket to freedom/the American dream. They don't understand women at all. They certainly don't understand modern women.
I explained to Lud's friends that I'm not in love with him, and know that I never will be. "Why don't you give him a chance?"
- Did you love every girl who has ever loved you? Every girl who approached you and bothered you with how much love she had for you?
- No, and there have been many!
- Impressed, I'm sure. But do you see what I mean?
- But he's in love... you could change your mind... it's different.
- It's different because I'm a girl?! Diana, help me out here! Did you fall in love with every man who wanted to date you or said that he loved you?
- Oh no!! Of course not!
She tried to explain, but it's like their brain goes blank when you try to make sense of it. They still couldn't compute, and now one of Lud's friends is in love with me too. They both say that it's because I'm so great, but they also say that they have decided that they will marry a white woman. Every white woman therefore becomes the potential mother of their children. Beautiful melado babies, they say. Yovo!
I'll concede that I'm great (so modest am I), but as much as they proclaim love, one must wonder whether it's the illusion of riches and fortune and a visa for Canada that is really attractive to them. Because to them, white = money and America = the easy life. Little do they know, people are miserable everywhere. Poor souls. I pray for them.
At least here they have sunshine and a beautiful beach. Take what you can get, boys.
Immigration is HARD and I am not someone's free ride. My friend Jeanne and her American husband are having a really tough time getting all his paper's sorted out, and he's a friendly neighbour! These guys don't speak English, have no savings and no real skills that might be on Canada's "easy entry" list.
I just can't respect someone who thinks they can get what they want by asking someone else to do it for them. Teach me English Maria! Marry me and take me to your country Maria! Everything will be fine and we will be happy! I promise!!
Oh really. Honey, I have been through a lot of shit in my life, and I can smell your cluelessness a mile away.
I decided against staying at the Novotel this weekend. Rooms are $250 a night!! Instead I paid $10 to sit by the pool all day, and had a nice buffet lunch for another $20. An expensive day, but you have to pay for peace and quiet around here. It was so worth it. It was so hot out I was dripping sweat just sitting by the pool...
Apparently the pool made me sick! I got home and thought I'd spent too much time in the sun, but then everyone at Diana's bar* said it was because I went swimming in the water and there was probably a lot of sea water in the pool... Here, apparently, it makes you sick!
I also found an AWESOME beach that is CLEAN and fun. They call it the tourist beach, but it's really called la plage des Cocotiers (coconut tree beach, dunno why, it's not particularly tree-full) and it's also called Obama Beach! Oh Obama. I miss hearing about Obama.
Anyway, people left me alone there. There's also a spot you can leave your bag if you want to walk around or go swimming, which is nice. The waves are pretty crazy though, so I'll stay on the shore.
*Went to Diana's bar cuz I needed to eat and didn't have any food and it was Valentine's day and Lud was insisting we do something... so to appease him and to get me some company I told him to call his friends and come visit me, then we all went to Diana's bar cuz I was sick and hungry... she made me pasta! Poor Lud didn't know what to do with himself. He's trying to back off but is still so frustrated that I won't just love him already!!
OH! I also went to see the club owner to see if i could use their DJ equipment. They said that I can use it before the club opens on Saturday, and I should come around 11pm cuz they open at 1am and then I can talk to the DJ. Hopefully soon I'll find someone with equipment, cuz these beaches were made for parties.
I explained to Lud's friends that I'm not in love with him, and know that I never will be. "Why don't you give him a chance?"
- Did you love every girl who has ever loved you? Every girl who approached you and bothered you with how much love she had for you?
- No, and there have been many!
- Impressed, I'm sure. But do you see what I mean?
- But he's in love... you could change your mind... it's different.
- It's different because I'm a girl?! Diana, help me out here! Did you fall in love with every man who wanted to date you or said that he loved you?
- Oh no!! Of course not!
She tried to explain, but it's like their brain goes blank when you try to make sense of it. They still couldn't compute, and now one of Lud's friends is in love with me too. They both say that it's because I'm so great, but they also say that they have decided that they will marry a white woman. Every white woman therefore becomes the potential mother of their children. Beautiful melado babies, they say. Yovo!
I'll concede that I'm great (so modest am I), but as much as they proclaim love, one must wonder whether it's the illusion of riches and fortune and a visa for Canada that is really attractive to them. Because to them, white = money and America = the easy life. Little do they know, people are miserable everywhere. Poor souls. I pray for them.
At least here they have sunshine and a beautiful beach. Take what you can get, boys.
Immigration is HARD and I am not someone's free ride. My friend Jeanne and her American husband are having a really tough time getting all his paper's sorted out, and he's a friendly neighbour! These guys don't speak English, have no savings and no real skills that might be on Canada's "easy entry" list.
I just can't respect someone who thinks they can get what they want by asking someone else to do it for them. Teach me English Maria! Marry me and take me to your country Maria! Everything will be fine and we will be happy! I promise!!
Oh really. Honey, I have been through a lot of shit in my life, and I can smell your cluelessness a mile away.
I decided against staying at the Novotel this weekend. Rooms are $250 a night!! Instead I paid $10 to sit by the pool all day, and had a nice buffet lunch for another $20. An expensive day, but you have to pay for peace and quiet around here. It was so worth it. It was so hot out I was dripping sweat just sitting by the pool...
Apparently the pool made me sick! I got home and thought I'd spent too much time in the sun, but then everyone at Diana's bar* said it was because I went swimming in the water and there was probably a lot of sea water in the pool... Here, apparently, it makes you sick!
I also found an AWESOME beach that is CLEAN and fun. They call it the tourist beach, but it's really called la plage des Cocotiers (coconut tree beach, dunno why, it's not particularly tree-full) and it's also called Obama Beach! Oh Obama. I miss hearing about Obama.
Anyway, people left me alone there. There's also a spot you can leave your bag if you want to walk around or go swimming, which is nice. The waves are pretty crazy though, so I'll stay on the shore.
*Went to Diana's bar cuz I needed to eat and didn't have any food and it was Valentine's day and Lud was insisting we do something... so to appease him and to get me some company I told him to call his friends and come visit me, then we all went to Diana's bar cuz I was sick and hungry... she made me pasta! Poor Lud didn't know what to do with himself. He's trying to back off but is still so frustrated that I won't just love him already!!
OH! I also went to see the club owner to see if i could use their DJ equipment. They said that I can use it before the club opens on Saturday, and I should come around 11pm cuz they open at 1am and then I can talk to the DJ. Hopefully soon I'll find someone with equipment, cuz these beaches were made for parties.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tastes Like Chicken
This morning I saw a man taking the fur off a dead pig on my way from work to the Cyber (internet café) down the street. A nice lookin pig too. He smacked it and it made a good blubber sound. Made me wish they made bacon here. (The internet at the office has been down for a week and a half, so I have to go to the Cyber to check my email. Everyone in the office is very frustrated and the internet provider says they're doing maintenance, but the Director's admin assistant says that they're probably having trouble with their supplier.)
As I sat in the Cyber which is on the 2nd storey of a building, I could see him gut the pig. One of those situations that makes me shake my head and think, "Wow, I'm in Africa." Luckily the Cyber is far enough that I couldn't really see too much, just that he was lifting innards out of the pig. I saw him empty out the intestines - and I only know that's what he was doing because I've seen my dad do it to make sausage.
mmm sausage. I could go for some nice italian sausage right about now. I miss Italian food!
A few nights ago I went to Diana's restaurant for a drink with Ludvert, because I wanted an excuse to hang out with Diana a little. She's really cool and owns her own little restaurant, and I think she would be a good person to get to know, except I think I'll have to lose her in the Ludvert divorce.
Anyway, I told her I was hungry and asked her what she could make me since I didn't really know the food they make that well. She asked if I wanted fries! SURE!! And chicken? SURE!! Yay something "normal"!
Fries are fries no matter where you are in the world. Good old trusty fries. The chicken, however, ain't your Maple Leaf chicken breast.
Ladies and gentlemen, chickens have lots of bones! And unless they're from a bountiful canadian farm, they're not very meaty. I had a lot of trouble getting the meat off the bones -- you really have to get your hands dirty when you eat meat here, because the meat is tough and you really have to rip at it with your teeth and your fingers.
On my roadtrip over the weekend we had chicken and fries again, and my colleague's friend Max actually had to help me get the meat off the chicken (with his knife and fork, not his fingers!) because he's more used to it. I acted like I wasn't hungry anymore, and invited him to eat off my plate, and he kept putting all these big pieces of juicy white meat on the side telling me to eat them... YUM! I think I need someone to follow me around and help me eat, cuz there were huge chunks of meat that I would have completely ignored, probably hidden behind a bone.
Another thing they eat are the sheep, which is what I had stuck in under my tooth the other day. Really tough meat, and they only ever serve it in small chunks and sometimes the chunks are all bone and fat. There are no steaks here. I very, very rarely see beef on the menu. One restaurant had burgers, and I ordered one, but they had pre-made patties that they heated in a toaster-oven. Mmm.
Along the road to Allada where the ladies sell the food, one lady had this weird BBQed rodent meat. Made me realize that the food here actually LOOKS like what it is. The chicken gets served with the ribcage and when you order the fish, you get the whole fish, and when you want fish sauce, you're sure to have a head in there too.
It made me realize how disconnected we are from the food we eat. The chicken is force fed to be huge and flavourful, with a little MSG for some added umph. We buy baby carrots in resealable bags... all they are are big carrots cut down and blanched so that they stay nice and orange. Who needs reality when you can have carrots from Mexico?
Everything here is fresh and "organic", except maybe the rice. The rice is always crappy white rice, which is surprising. It's not like they have rice farms or anything, and rice is cheap (thanks China!)(then again, what do i know, maybe they do grow it here) so I guess it's not that surprising. They eat more pâte which is yams or maïs pounded into a flour with water added to make a gunky gelatinous paste. Root veggies seem to grow well here. Carrots, yams, potatoes, corn (not that corn is a root veggie, but they seem to have a lot of it).
Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that eating chicken here actually makes me think about the chicken I'm eating and that it once had a life. It's not something I thought of back home.
As I sat in the Cyber which is on the 2nd storey of a building, I could see him gut the pig. One of those situations that makes me shake my head and think, "Wow, I'm in Africa." Luckily the Cyber is far enough that I couldn't really see too much, just that he was lifting innards out of the pig. I saw him empty out the intestines - and I only know that's what he was doing because I've seen my dad do it to make sausage.
mmm sausage. I could go for some nice italian sausage right about now. I miss Italian food!
A few nights ago I went to Diana's restaurant for a drink with Ludvert, because I wanted an excuse to hang out with Diana a little. She's really cool and owns her own little restaurant, and I think she would be a good person to get to know, except I think I'll have to lose her in the Ludvert divorce.
Anyway, I told her I was hungry and asked her what she could make me since I didn't really know the food they make that well. She asked if I wanted fries! SURE!! And chicken? SURE!! Yay something "normal"!
Fries are fries no matter where you are in the world. Good old trusty fries. The chicken, however, ain't your Maple Leaf chicken breast.
Ladies and gentlemen, chickens have lots of bones! And unless they're from a bountiful canadian farm, they're not very meaty. I had a lot of trouble getting the meat off the bones -- you really have to get your hands dirty when you eat meat here, because the meat is tough and you really have to rip at it with your teeth and your fingers.
On my roadtrip over the weekend we had chicken and fries again, and my colleague's friend Max actually had to help me get the meat off the chicken (with his knife and fork, not his fingers!) because he's more used to it. I acted like I wasn't hungry anymore, and invited him to eat off my plate, and he kept putting all these big pieces of juicy white meat on the side telling me to eat them... YUM! I think I need someone to follow me around and help me eat, cuz there were huge chunks of meat that I would have completely ignored, probably hidden behind a bone.
Another thing they eat are the sheep, which is what I had stuck in under my tooth the other day. Really tough meat, and they only ever serve it in small chunks and sometimes the chunks are all bone and fat. There are no steaks here. I very, very rarely see beef on the menu. One restaurant had burgers, and I ordered one, but they had pre-made patties that they heated in a toaster-oven. Mmm.
Along the road to Allada where the ladies sell the food, one lady had this weird BBQed rodent meat. Made me realize that the food here actually LOOKS like what it is. The chicken gets served with the ribcage and when you order the fish, you get the whole fish, and when you want fish sauce, you're sure to have a head in there too.
It made me realize how disconnected we are from the food we eat. The chicken is force fed to be huge and flavourful, with a little MSG for some added umph. We buy baby carrots in resealable bags... all they are are big carrots cut down and blanched so that they stay nice and orange. Who needs reality when you can have carrots from Mexico?
Everything here is fresh and "organic", except maybe the rice. The rice is always crappy white rice, which is surprising. It's not like they have rice farms or anything, and rice is cheap (thanks China!)(then again, what do i know, maybe they do grow it here) so I guess it's not that surprising. They eat more pâte which is yams or maïs pounded into a flour with water added to make a gunky gelatinous paste. Root veggies seem to grow well here. Carrots, yams, potatoes, corn (not that corn is a root veggie, but they seem to have a lot of it).
Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that eating chicken here actually makes me think about the chicken I'm eating and that it once had a life. It's not something I thought of back home.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
I got into some really interesting discussions about garbage during my trip on Saturday. The guys kept throwing stuff out the car window and it was driving me nuts. I couldn't hold back and kept telling them not to do it. It really got me thinking about garbage and how we deal with it.
There is litter and garbage everywhere here. Sometimes in piles, sometimes just randomly strewn around. Some yards are very tidy, and next door there will be something under construction/on-hiatus-until-there-is-more-money that is completely covered in litter.
I'm not sure if they do garbage collection here. I'm starting to have a bit of garbage collecting in my house and wondering what I'm going to do with it. I'll have to go see Mme Caroline at the corner store to ask her how it works. I think a lot of people just burn their garbage, but there must be a collection of some sort.
When I scolded Roger for not having garbage bins around his restaurant at the beach, he said that when people buy garbages they get stolen. A lame excuse, I think, since you can always chain the garbage to something.
I started to wonder why the garbage was making me so upset. Sure it's unsightly, sure it could be more tidy in a nice garbage bag... but I realized that we are no more noble because we are tidy. The garbage always ends up somewhere. Just because we stow it away in a dump, or (sigh) in the ocean, doesn't mean we aren't just as bad.
Our street-cleaners and garbage collection services give us the illusion that we aren't polluting the planet. One trip to the Dollar Store should be enough to realize that we are far worse than any African village. Imagine a store like Walmart or Costco and then imagine them in the garbage, then imagine all the Walmarts and Costcos in Ontario, in Canada, in the US.
Where does it all go?? Nowhere. Years and years of consumerism is piling up in our dumps. So much so we don't know where to put it anymore. We incinerate some, we recycle others, but both those processes pollute the planet. Why companies don't bother to even try to make bio-degradable products is beyond me. Cost-effectiveness means nothing if there's no planet for you to sell your products on.
There's a Lebanese restaurant in Toronto off Yonge street a couple streets south of Bloor (on Hayden I think) that serves all their take-away food in biodegradable containers. Even the forks and knives are bio-degradable, made from corn! Cheers to them.
But there *is* something to be said for tidiness and safety. There is glass and oil and animal guts getting dumped, and children (and adults) running around barefoot. It's not very nice to look at, either. There's something soothing about a tidy environment, something unsettling about having garbage and disorder everywhere. Makes you wonder what it is about our brain chemistry that makes us feel that way.
Anyway, I just thought it was funny that I took garbage collection for granted. Toronto's so clean, I've often walked around barefoot after a night of wearing heels to go out. And anyone who's walked down Church or Yonge Street the day after the Pride parade knows that the city's clean-up crew are miracle workers, though nothing gets rid of that beer stank right away.
People who work with garbage are my heroes... I certainly don't want to have to deal with it. Bless them!!
(update: a non-government organization or NGO picks up the garbage in my neighbourhood. there's a big concrete bin at the end of my street where everyone puts their garbage. i can empty my garbage now!)
There is litter and garbage everywhere here. Sometimes in piles, sometimes just randomly strewn around. Some yards are very tidy, and next door there will be something under construction/on-hiatus-until-there-is-more-money that is completely covered in litter.
I'm not sure if they do garbage collection here. I'm starting to have a bit of garbage collecting in my house and wondering what I'm going to do with it. I'll have to go see Mme Caroline at the corner store to ask her how it works. I think a lot of people just burn their garbage, but there must be a collection of some sort.
When I scolded Roger for not having garbage bins around his restaurant at the beach, he said that when people buy garbages they get stolen. A lame excuse, I think, since you can always chain the garbage to something.
I started to wonder why the garbage was making me so upset. Sure it's unsightly, sure it could be more tidy in a nice garbage bag... but I realized that we are no more noble because we are tidy. The garbage always ends up somewhere. Just because we stow it away in a dump, or (sigh) in the ocean, doesn't mean we aren't just as bad.
Our street-cleaners and garbage collection services give us the illusion that we aren't polluting the planet. One trip to the Dollar Store should be enough to realize that we are far worse than any African village. Imagine a store like Walmart or Costco and then imagine them in the garbage, then imagine all the Walmarts and Costcos in Ontario, in Canada, in the US.
Where does it all go?? Nowhere. Years and years of consumerism is piling up in our dumps. So much so we don't know where to put it anymore. We incinerate some, we recycle others, but both those processes pollute the planet. Why companies don't bother to even try to make bio-degradable products is beyond me. Cost-effectiveness means nothing if there's no planet for you to sell your products on.
There's a Lebanese restaurant in Toronto off Yonge street a couple streets south of Bloor (on Hayden I think) that serves all their take-away food in biodegradable containers. Even the forks and knives are bio-degradable, made from corn! Cheers to them.
But there *is* something to be said for tidiness and safety. There is glass and oil and animal guts getting dumped, and children (and adults) running around barefoot. It's not very nice to look at, either. There's something soothing about a tidy environment, something unsettling about having garbage and disorder everywhere. Makes you wonder what it is about our brain chemistry that makes us feel that way.
Anyway, I just thought it was funny that I took garbage collection for granted. Toronto's so clean, I've often walked around barefoot after a night of wearing heels to go out. And anyone who's walked down Church or Yonge Street the day after the Pride parade knows that the city's clean-up crew are miracle workers, though nothing gets rid of that beer stank right away.
People who work with garbage are my heroes... I certainly don't want to have to deal with it. Bless them!!
(update: a non-government organization or NGO picks up the garbage in my neighbourhood. there's a big concrete bin at the end of my street where everyone puts their garbage. i can empty my garbage now!)
What Do You Mean, "This Is The Bathroom"??
If I didn't have a proper toilet at home, I think my bladder would explode. This might fall into the "too much information" category, but I can't pee squatting. I guess there are muscles you need to relax when you pee that I just can't relax when I'm squatting. Or maybe it's the unusual environments I find myself in.
They're very laid-back when it comes to bodily functions here. When I was on the beach with Ouade and his sister Yasmine, we were walking towards the water when the little girl just squatted, moved her underwear to the side and peed right there on the beach without a second thought. !!
You really have to watch where you put your hands here, because nothing is really sanitary! I certainly realize how often I (used to) touch my face. No more of that. And I wash my hands at every opportunity.
You see men peeing on the side of the road all the time. Really makes you wonder what the women do when they have their period.
Last Sunday, after a day of drinking beer at the beach, I asked Roger if he could show me to the toilet, "Tu dois uriner?" Yes, I have to urinate. He brought me to the back of the restaurant where there was a kind of alcove with a concrete floor and a drain at one end. No door, no curtain, just 3 walls and a drain.
Um, do you have a real toilet?
Not understanding what I meant, he brought me to his house a block away where I met his dad, and he showed me to their bathroom. Same thing! A freaking hole in the floor! The beach bathroom was better than this one, but I wasn't going to say anything. So I peed a little bit, but couldn't really deal with being there too long, knowing that he was waiting for me outside. Happily I had kleenex with me in my bag and I was wearing a skirt, because otherwise it would all have been too much for me to handle. I admit I threw the kleenex on the ground when we made our way back to the beach because of course there was no where for me to get rid of the paper. I really don't want to know how they wipe. Really.
Later, Lud took me to Diana's to meet some of his friends and I thought, OH! There's gotta be a bathroom here. So I asked her where the toilet was and she pointed to an alcove right off the front patio. I walked in and again, an empty space with a drain in the corner. NOOO!! So I peed a little bit more and put my kleenex in an empty bucket on the ground. The bucket is normally full of water to throw on the ground when you're done, but it was empty so I used it to throw out my kleenex. There was a sink at the exit which I used to thoroughly wash my hands.
At work, the toilet closest to my office has a seat that broke off and is just sitting behind the toilet, so everytime I go I have to put the seat on. I had to clean it off cuz it was dusty and had cobwebs. The other toilets don't have seats. They all have toilet paper, soap and towels to wash your hands, which is great!
I am so not made for this. But I suppose I am. Humans went for a really really long time without sit-down toilets. I'm really glad I haven't gotten a bad case of diarrhea while I've been away from home! I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHERE THEY POO!!
I guess I'll have to practice squat-peeing at home. I have never felt so priveledged/spoiled/suburban. As if I don't know how to pee without sitting down!! What kind of human being am I?
Another thing I took for granted: I flush the toilet, my excrements magically disappear and I don't have to worry about them anymore.
Here the toilets gurgle when you run water in the kitchen sink and when someone flushes upstairs the toilet gurgles downstairs, really driving home the fact that all the plumbing is connected.
Like the garbage though - where does it all go? To a magic poo hell in the depths of the Earth? Honestly, I don't want to know where and if they treat the water here once it's flushed. I'll leave it to the poo gods and hope that when rainy season comes I don't get any drainage surprises.
They're very laid-back when it comes to bodily functions here. When I was on the beach with Ouade and his sister Yasmine, we were walking towards the water when the little girl just squatted, moved her underwear to the side and peed right there on the beach without a second thought. !!
You really have to watch where you put your hands here, because nothing is really sanitary! I certainly realize how often I (used to) touch my face. No more of that. And I wash my hands at every opportunity.
You see men peeing on the side of the road all the time. Really makes you wonder what the women do when they have their period.
Last Sunday, after a day of drinking beer at the beach, I asked Roger if he could show me to the toilet, "Tu dois uriner?" Yes, I have to urinate. He brought me to the back of the restaurant where there was a kind of alcove with a concrete floor and a drain at one end. No door, no curtain, just 3 walls and a drain.
Um, do you have a real toilet?
Not understanding what I meant, he brought me to his house a block away where I met his dad, and he showed me to their bathroom. Same thing! A freaking hole in the floor! The beach bathroom was better than this one, but I wasn't going to say anything. So I peed a little bit, but couldn't really deal with being there too long, knowing that he was waiting for me outside. Happily I had kleenex with me in my bag and I was wearing a skirt, because otherwise it would all have been too much for me to handle. I admit I threw the kleenex on the ground when we made our way back to the beach because of course there was no where for me to get rid of the paper. I really don't want to know how they wipe. Really.
Later, Lud took me to Diana's to meet some of his friends and I thought, OH! There's gotta be a bathroom here. So I asked her where the toilet was and she pointed to an alcove right off the front patio. I walked in and again, an empty space with a drain in the corner. NOOO!! So I peed a little bit more and put my kleenex in an empty bucket on the ground. The bucket is normally full of water to throw on the ground when you're done, but it was empty so I used it to throw out my kleenex. There was a sink at the exit which I used to thoroughly wash my hands.
At work, the toilet closest to my office has a seat that broke off and is just sitting behind the toilet, so everytime I go I have to put the seat on. I had to clean it off cuz it was dusty and had cobwebs. The other toilets don't have seats. They all have toilet paper, soap and towels to wash your hands, which is great!
I am so not made for this. But I suppose I am. Humans went for a really really long time without sit-down toilets. I'm really glad I haven't gotten a bad case of diarrhea while I've been away from home! I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHERE THEY POO!!
I guess I'll have to practice squat-peeing at home. I have never felt so priveledged/spoiled/suburban. As if I don't know how to pee without sitting down!! What kind of human being am I?
Another thing I took for granted: I flush the toilet, my excrements magically disappear and I don't have to worry about them anymore.
Here the toilets gurgle when you run water in the kitchen sink and when someone flushes upstairs the toilet gurgles downstairs, really driving home the fact that all the plumbing is connected.
Like the garbage though - where does it all go? To a magic poo hell in the depths of the Earth? Honestly, I don't want to know where and if they treat the water here once it's flushed. I'll leave it to the poo gods and hope that when rainy season comes I don't get any drainage surprises.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Take Me Dancing
Upon my return from Bohicon on Saturday night, I called Ludvert to make sure we were still going dancing. "Do you want to go just the 2 of us, or do you want me to invite my friends." OH MY GOD INVITE YOUR FRIENDS. (I had to have a little chat with him that night about my not being interested in him, because it was getting to be too much and he really wasn't taking a hint. I made it abundantly clear, but he still kept trying - but that was much later in the night.)
He came to get me around 11pm and we went to Diana's restaurant where a few of his friends were drinking some "eau de palme" which I could compare to Canadian Eau de Vie -- really strong booze that could probably double for rubbing alcohol. They soak herbs in it for flavour. Tasted awful but certainly woke me up.
After Diana closed up her shop we went to her boyfriend's house so she could change and then we all piled into his car and drove off to a club where there was some live music.
The music was so awesome! I wished Gordon was there, cuz he really woulda gotten a kick out of it. It was Beninese music, except it was salsa! The Motherland truly is the motherland of everything. I keep forgetting that slaves were brought throughout South and North America, and Spain, Portugal... and they brought their music with them. One of Lud's friends Mathieu said that the Spanish and Portuguese made the salsa dance and music better... different perhaps? Not necessarily better!
So it was me, Diana, and 6 guys. The boys were all dancing like crazy, loving every minute of it. They certainly aren't as prudish as the boys back home, girating and moving their hips, and dancing with each other. I've never seen guys dance like that and I've seen a lot of guys (gay, straight, black, white) dance.
We left that bar around 2am and went to another place where there was supposed to be "techno". We didn't end up going inside, but instead left for another club near the airport.
There were a lot of white people there. The bar is owned by a Lebanese dude -- apparently there are a lot of Lebanese people in Benin. The music was pretty crappy (very top 40 house music with some traditional tunes thrown in for good measure -- oh! there was a remix of Aline! "Et j'ai crier, crier! ALINE! pour qu'elle revienne..."), but the company was fun.
I found the DJ booth and was happy to see that they have CDJs. I'll try to go again this weekend, perhaps even alone, to see if I can talk to a manager or the owner. I don't necessarily want to spin when they're open, I just want to be able to use their CDJs to get some practice in and hear some good beats every once in a while. Then again, who knows. Maybe upon hearing that I'm a promoter from Toronto, they might be interested in some business. Guess it depends on whether or not they know anything about the scene.
This is where the night went sideways, and annoyingly so, but awesome in another way. We all piled back into José's car (Diana's boyfriend) and they were all speaking Fon and I was just staring out the window so I missed the actual conversation. I *think* José offered to drive me straight home, since the club is just on the other side of the airport and pretty close to my house, but instead Lud insisted that they go get his motorbike at José's on the other side of town, have his friend Zee drive the motorbike back to Lud's house (they live next door to each other) which is just outside of the city and then Lud would drive me home on his motorbike.
Of course no one told me what the f#*k was going on and only said that we had to make "a stop". We sat waiting at José's when Lud explained that they could've driven me home but didn't and that we had to go somewhere else before I went home. Already, not impressed.
When we got to Lud's house I had to get angry because I didn't understand what was happening and suddenly José was driving off, leaving me in some far off place with a boy I didn't want to have to spend any more time with.
I had to be stern and express my anger, "mais QU'EST-CE QUI SE PASSE? On est OÙ?" Which is when I realized that Lud had gone to great lengths to be able to show me his house and then drive me back to my house when I could already have been in bed. I scolded him and his friend - "you have to WARN a girl before you take her to some strange place outside of town." Neither of them had thought of it, and Zee agreed with me. Lud was probably upset that I wasn't happy to be at his house.
By now it was 5:30am and I was mad. I was tired and confused and felt like I was being taken advantage of because I didn't speak their language.
Not only that, but he was about to abandon me to sit in his waiting room/living room while he went on his motorbike to drop off his friend Zee next door (next door is around the block and down the street... we were kind of in the country or a suburb).
So he let me inside the house and introduced me to his brother, although you never really know if "brother" means "brother" here, or if it means cousin or best friend.
I felt really out of place, but his brother was really good looking in a 17 year-old kind of way, and he didn't sit with me and force me to have a conversation with him, so that was good.
I asked for a glass of water, and then realized they probably just gave me tap water, so I just had a couple sips and put the glass down - I didn't want to get sick.
Lud came back and said he had to change because he had to go to the sports arena to play some soccer at 7am. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed, and again he was being annoyingly lovey towards me, despite our "conversation" where I blatantly told him I was not at all interested in anything.
He invited me into his room to chat with him while he got ready, and I politely declined, saying it was too hot to be indoors and that I would wait in the courtyard to get some air.
I wish words could adequately describe the beauty and awesomeness of the scene I witnessed when I walked into the courtyard... let me try to paint the picture:
It's 5:45am and still really dark outside. The whole first floor is one big open concrete room with concrete floors, part of it covered like a garage, with the rest of the house on top of it, and the rest of the yard has no roof but is completely fenced in with tall grey concrete walls. In the middle of the open-air section is a well made of stones and concrete and beside the well is a large metal basin that they carry water in - I've seen many women put those basins on their heads to walk from the well to their houses.
In the garage there are a couple large wooden tables and 10-15 wooden chairs, and it reminds me a lot of my grandpa's mechanic garage. There are a few blackboards with writing on the walls, but I didn't have the time and felt too out-of-place to do any inspecting of what they were. There are short but long wooden shelving units along the walls with a lot of jars in them. The whole place is lite with bright orangey fluorescent lights, so I can't see the stars from the courtyard.
I went to leave Lud's room when I saw that someone was in the courtyard, standing at the well and it wasn't his 17 year-old brother. Not wanting to meet ANOTHER one of his family members, especially not at 6am when I haven't slept, I stood back. It was so quiet, all I could hear was the sound of the pulley at the well and when I looked, I saw a youngish fit shirtless black man in an ankle-length green sarong with one leg braced against the well, pulling hard on the rope to get the water up, using every single muscle in his back, shoulders and arms. Then, from the yard next door, a rooster crowed. And again. And again.
Good morning Maria, you're in Africa.
Holy shit, I'm in Africa.
I immediately ran back into the waiting room so I could write down a note. I didn't want to forget the moment, it was so surreal and beautiful.
Finally Lud came out of his room proclaiming that he couldn't find the tuque he wears to drive his motorcycle. Did I steal it? Or put it somewhere? Oh Maria, what did you do with it? Haha.
I could have punched him, and I'm sure I didn't look impressed. Stop with the excuses. "Just take me home, I'm exhausted." And then on the motorbike... Are you holding on tight? Are you sure? -- I am NOT holding on to you. I'm fine!
The road from his house back to the highway was a dirt road and again made me freak - I'm in Africa. Quite a few people were making their way to church - it was 6am, time to pray. The scenery near his house was beautiful, and I thanked life for having an upside to this annoying situation.
I was pretty nervous at him driving down this sandy road on a motorcycle, but he said, "N'ait pas peur, je suis désert" (don't be afraid, I am desert). The boy does have a way with words.
It's pretty fun to drive around on a motorcycle - fun to be a passenger since I can look around in awe at the scenery. If/when I decide to get my own bike I'll have to keep my eyes on the road and it probably will feel more terrifying than fun (at first)!
I was still afraid though. Obviously he was still trying to convince me of how cool he was and I was sure he would try to impress me with his driving skills.
When he proclaimed that he could make the motorcycle fly, I put my foot down and asked him to cool it. He could show me how fast his motorcycle can go another day, when I've had some sleep (ie: NEVER). Still, a little while later I had to ask him to slow down, which seemed to frustrate him since he thought I was perfectly safe.
When we got to my street he said it was my turn to drive, which would have been super fun at any other time and with any other person. But I realized that finally I'd be in the driver's seat, literally, and was excited to get my ass home. Of course now it meant he got to sit behind me and "help me drive" which made the experience even more uncomfortable. He wasn't a very good teacher and I was a very impatient student, but luckily we were only a minute away from my house.
I gave it too much gas and had trouble gearing up (like I said, he wasn't a very good teacher - "press down on that pedal" isn't an instruction I can follow. WHICH pedal? That pedal. WHICH??! grrr!!!!) but we made it without my stalling it. Except then I didn't know where the break was and tried to stop it like a bike by putting my feet on the ground - which doesn't really work for a motorcycle!! Handbreak Maria! Handbreak!
Well, the next day we went out again because he was going to bring me to a store where I could buy a USB internet key for my laptop and then we were going to go to the beach, except the store was closed, "oh I guess they close at noon on Sundays," he said knowingly. Again, I was NOT impressed - and then he parked his bike infront of his cousin's place without telling me where we were going or who I was about to meet, which pissed me off.
This guy wasn't winning any brownie points with me.
Finally some of his friends showed up and we all headed for the beach. He was getting more and more possessive as he could see how disinterested and angry I was getting with him, at which point I really had to have another conversation with him and then he kept getting progressively more upset with me, which has led me to understand that we can't be friends.
I also had the same conversation with Roger, who also persisted and asked if he could come home with me!!! WTF!! no!
Maybe I'll get a new SIM card and change my phone number. Isn't that horrible? I'm so mean!! (But it really is the perfect/easiest solution to my boy troubles!)
Everyone comes into your life for a reason. Lud has taught me that even though someone can give you everything you want, doesn't mean you have to take them up on it.
You can't always take the first offer that comes your way, no matter how good it is. Sometimes the strings attached will choke you!
He came to get me around 11pm and we went to Diana's restaurant where a few of his friends were drinking some "eau de palme" which I could compare to Canadian Eau de Vie -- really strong booze that could probably double for rubbing alcohol. They soak herbs in it for flavour. Tasted awful but certainly woke me up.
After Diana closed up her shop we went to her boyfriend's house so she could change and then we all piled into his car and drove off to a club where there was some live music.
The music was so awesome! I wished Gordon was there, cuz he really woulda gotten a kick out of it. It was Beninese music, except it was salsa! The Motherland truly is the motherland of everything. I keep forgetting that slaves were brought throughout South and North America, and Spain, Portugal... and they brought their music with them. One of Lud's friends Mathieu said that the Spanish and Portuguese made the salsa dance and music better... different perhaps? Not necessarily better!
So it was me, Diana, and 6 guys. The boys were all dancing like crazy, loving every minute of it. They certainly aren't as prudish as the boys back home, girating and moving their hips, and dancing with each other. I've never seen guys dance like that and I've seen a lot of guys (gay, straight, black, white) dance.
We left that bar around 2am and went to another place where there was supposed to be "techno". We didn't end up going inside, but instead left for another club near the airport.
There were a lot of white people there. The bar is owned by a Lebanese dude -- apparently there are a lot of Lebanese people in Benin. The music was pretty crappy (very top 40 house music with some traditional tunes thrown in for good measure -- oh! there was a remix of Aline! "Et j'ai crier, crier! ALINE! pour qu'elle revienne..."), but the company was fun.
I found the DJ booth and was happy to see that they have CDJs. I'll try to go again this weekend, perhaps even alone, to see if I can talk to a manager or the owner. I don't necessarily want to spin when they're open, I just want to be able to use their CDJs to get some practice in and hear some good beats every once in a while. Then again, who knows. Maybe upon hearing that I'm a promoter from Toronto, they might be interested in some business. Guess it depends on whether or not they know anything about the scene.
This is where the night went sideways, and annoyingly so, but awesome in another way. We all piled back into José's car (Diana's boyfriend) and they were all speaking Fon and I was just staring out the window so I missed the actual conversation. I *think* José offered to drive me straight home, since the club is just on the other side of the airport and pretty close to my house, but instead Lud insisted that they go get his motorbike at José's on the other side of town, have his friend Zee drive the motorbike back to Lud's house (they live next door to each other) which is just outside of the city and then Lud would drive me home on his motorbike.
Of course no one told me what the f#*k was going on and only said that we had to make "a stop". We sat waiting at José's when Lud explained that they could've driven me home but didn't and that we had to go somewhere else before I went home. Already, not impressed.
When we got to Lud's house I had to get angry because I didn't understand what was happening and suddenly José was driving off, leaving me in some far off place with a boy I didn't want to have to spend any more time with.
I had to be stern and express my anger, "mais QU'EST-CE QUI SE PASSE? On est OÙ?" Which is when I realized that Lud had gone to great lengths to be able to show me his house and then drive me back to my house when I could already have been in bed. I scolded him and his friend - "you have to WARN a girl before you take her to some strange place outside of town." Neither of them had thought of it, and Zee agreed with me. Lud was probably upset that I wasn't happy to be at his house.
By now it was 5:30am and I was mad. I was tired and confused and felt like I was being taken advantage of because I didn't speak their language.
Not only that, but he was about to abandon me to sit in his waiting room/living room while he went on his motorbike to drop off his friend Zee next door (next door is around the block and down the street... we were kind of in the country or a suburb).
So he let me inside the house and introduced me to his brother, although you never really know if "brother" means "brother" here, or if it means cousin or best friend.
I felt really out of place, but his brother was really good looking in a 17 year-old kind of way, and he didn't sit with me and force me to have a conversation with him, so that was good.
I asked for a glass of water, and then realized they probably just gave me tap water, so I just had a couple sips and put the glass down - I didn't want to get sick.
Lud came back and said he had to change because he had to go to the sports arena to play some soccer at 7am. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed, and again he was being annoyingly lovey towards me, despite our "conversation" where I blatantly told him I was not at all interested in anything.
He invited me into his room to chat with him while he got ready, and I politely declined, saying it was too hot to be indoors and that I would wait in the courtyard to get some air.
I wish words could adequately describe the beauty and awesomeness of the scene I witnessed when I walked into the courtyard... let me try to paint the picture:
It's 5:45am and still really dark outside. The whole first floor is one big open concrete room with concrete floors, part of it covered like a garage, with the rest of the house on top of it, and the rest of the yard has no roof but is completely fenced in with tall grey concrete walls. In the middle of the open-air section is a well made of stones and concrete and beside the well is a large metal basin that they carry water in - I've seen many women put those basins on their heads to walk from the well to their houses.
In the garage there are a couple large wooden tables and 10-15 wooden chairs, and it reminds me a lot of my grandpa's mechanic garage. There are a few blackboards with writing on the walls, but I didn't have the time and felt too out-of-place to do any inspecting of what they were. There are short but long wooden shelving units along the walls with a lot of jars in them. The whole place is lite with bright orangey fluorescent lights, so I can't see the stars from the courtyard.
I went to leave Lud's room when I saw that someone was in the courtyard, standing at the well and it wasn't his 17 year-old brother. Not wanting to meet ANOTHER one of his family members, especially not at 6am when I haven't slept, I stood back. It was so quiet, all I could hear was the sound of the pulley at the well and when I looked, I saw a youngish fit shirtless black man in an ankle-length green sarong with one leg braced against the well, pulling hard on the rope to get the water up, using every single muscle in his back, shoulders and arms. Then, from the yard next door, a rooster crowed. And again. And again.
Good morning Maria, you're in Africa.
Holy shit, I'm in Africa.
I immediately ran back into the waiting room so I could write down a note. I didn't want to forget the moment, it was so surreal and beautiful.
Finally Lud came out of his room proclaiming that he couldn't find the tuque he wears to drive his motorcycle. Did I steal it? Or put it somewhere? Oh Maria, what did you do with it? Haha.
I could have punched him, and I'm sure I didn't look impressed. Stop with the excuses. "Just take me home, I'm exhausted." And then on the motorbike... Are you holding on tight? Are you sure? -- I am NOT holding on to you. I'm fine!
The road from his house back to the highway was a dirt road and again made me freak - I'm in Africa. Quite a few people were making their way to church - it was 6am, time to pray. The scenery near his house was beautiful, and I thanked life for having an upside to this annoying situation.
I was pretty nervous at him driving down this sandy road on a motorcycle, but he said, "N'ait pas peur, je suis désert" (don't be afraid, I am desert). The boy does have a way with words.
It's pretty fun to drive around on a motorcycle - fun to be a passenger since I can look around in awe at the scenery. If/when I decide to get my own bike I'll have to keep my eyes on the road and it probably will feel more terrifying than fun (at first)!
I was still afraid though. Obviously he was still trying to convince me of how cool he was and I was sure he would try to impress me with his driving skills.
When he proclaimed that he could make the motorcycle fly, I put my foot down and asked him to cool it. He could show me how fast his motorcycle can go another day, when I've had some sleep (ie: NEVER). Still, a little while later I had to ask him to slow down, which seemed to frustrate him since he thought I was perfectly safe.
When we got to my street he said it was my turn to drive, which would have been super fun at any other time and with any other person. But I realized that finally I'd be in the driver's seat, literally, and was excited to get my ass home. Of course now it meant he got to sit behind me and "help me drive" which made the experience even more uncomfortable. He wasn't a very good teacher and I was a very impatient student, but luckily we were only a minute away from my house.
I gave it too much gas and had trouble gearing up (like I said, he wasn't a very good teacher - "press down on that pedal" isn't an instruction I can follow. WHICH pedal? That pedal. WHICH??! grrr!!!!) but we made it without my stalling it. Except then I didn't know where the break was and tried to stop it like a bike by putting my feet on the ground - which doesn't really work for a motorcycle!! Handbreak Maria! Handbreak!
Well, the next day we went out again because he was going to bring me to a store where I could buy a USB internet key for my laptop and then we were going to go to the beach, except the store was closed, "oh I guess they close at noon on Sundays," he said knowingly. Again, I was NOT impressed - and then he parked his bike infront of his cousin's place without telling me where we were going or who I was about to meet, which pissed me off.
This guy wasn't winning any brownie points with me.
Finally some of his friends showed up and we all headed for the beach. He was getting more and more possessive as he could see how disinterested and angry I was getting with him, at which point I really had to have another conversation with him and then he kept getting progressively more upset with me, which has led me to understand that we can't be friends.
I also had the same conversation with Roger, who also persisted and asked if he could come home with me!!! WTF!! no!
Maybe I'll get a new SIM card and change my phone number. Isn't that horrible? I'm so mean!! (But it really is the perfect/easiest solution to my boy troubles!)
Everyone comes into your life for a reason. Lud has taught me that even though someone can give you everything you want, doesn't mean you have to take them up on it.
You can't always take the first offer that comes your way, no matter how good it is. Sometimes the strings attached will choke you!
Monday, February 9, 2009
So Much to Say
I have so much to write about I don't know where to begin. Too much even. I hope things start to become "normal" soon... it's all so inspiring/crazy and I want to tell you everything!
First I guess I'll write about what's most on my mind: the fact that I'm really going to have to find new friends. At first it was cute that both Roger and Ludvert were so smitten, but now it's very annoying and tiresome and puts me ill-at-ease. Despite trying to be nice and even not-so-nice about the fact that I am NOT the love of their lives and indeed not even attracted to them, they persist and insist and it's getting to be too much. I guess they think I need convincing? What I need is to get away from them!
It's a real shame though, Lud's cousin invited me to attend a voodoo funeral (his wife's 95 year-old father died... 95 year old FATHER? She can't be more than 30...) and Cérémonie des revenants (a ceremony where the dead come back to life). Apparently the father was really high up in the voodoo priest world, so it will be quite the party, but I can't imagine having to spend an entire weekend with Lud and his family bugging me to make beninese babies with him. There's nothing worse than a guy you're not attracted to trying to be possessive of you around his friends and family. Gross!!
So I guess I'm gonna have to go back to the friend drawing-board. I'm trying to think of opportunities where I could meet some cool and fun people. In Toronto I met a lot of friends clubbing, so perhaps there would be the same opportunity here. I also hope to catch some concerts or art shows. I'll have to ask if there's any college newspapers to find some student art shows or something. Maybe some theatre. Again, going places when there are no street names is hard. I have to depend on people to get around and it's pretty frustrating. I need to buy a map of Cotonou!
I have no choice but to be patient and hope things will just work themselves out. I've only been here 2 weeks and it feels like I've been here forever.
So, otherwise, my weekend was jam packed with crazy experiences. I'M IN AFRICA!!! and sometimes it's unbelievably surreal.
Friday, I went with my colleague Jean and his best friend Max to their hometown of Bohicon and Abomey. They said they wanted to take me to do a little tourism. What they didn't tell me was that we were in fact going to visit a bunch of their friends and family and that they were going to their hometown to attend a party at a funeral -- this omission almost made me cry when we arrived at the party and everyone was all dressed up. I was wearing a tank top and a pair of jeans!! I was SO MAD. I couldn't believe they didn't tell me we'd be going to an event like this. I scolded my colleague for not telling me and tried to hold back my tears. Everything is intense here and my eyes well up at the smallest thing.
They kept assuring me that what I was wearing was fine. Apparently white people can get away with wearing whatever they want, but I felt so rude and disrespectful - I wanted to hide in the car. I could just imagine my grandma looking down on me from above being ashamed of her granddaughter showing up to a funeral dressed inappropriately.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm a girl or if it's because I'm a guest that they don't tell me anything, but it's getting frustrating. The men keep taking me places without saying where we're going, or keep making pit-stops without saying that we're making pit stops. So I think we're going to one place and we end up in another, and suddenly I'm meeting entire families of people with no time to prep my brain for what I'm about to encounter. It's very disconcerting. And when I ask where we're going or what we're doing, they act as if I don't need to know and that it's funny that I'm even asking. Don't I trust them?
It's not a question of trust, dumb ass, it's a question of MAKING ME FEEL COMFORTABLE. I'm in a new country, far from everything I know. I don't have a clue what's going on half the time, and the other half of the time they're speaking Fon and then I really don't have a clue. So I guess I don't have a clue 100% of the time. Bah!
They just go with the flow here, so pit-stops and deviations from the original plan occur often without anyone seeming to mind. It's amazing anything gets done.
So I barely got to do any tourism. A highlite of my trip was my colleague's friend Eric (hilarious dude who kept singing along to the tunes and telling me what they meant; he reminded me of Jayski because of his sense of humour and his belly, but less scrapey! And he didn't hit on me, except jokingly, which was great!) who came out of his hotel room in the morning wearing his boxers and a white tank top, drinking a glass of whiskey (the men here drink ALL the time - drinking and driving is not an issue, it's pretty scary). I told him jokingly/not jokingly to put some pants on, but he didn't. Then later when he asked me why I didn't hang out with them while they were drinking, I said it was because he wasn't wearing any pants. He got all dressed up in traditional clothes for the funeral (not that I knew until we got there that that's why everyone was so dressed up) and he looked very dapper.
For lunch we went to Max's aunt's house. She made pâte with a veggie/fish/fried cheese sauce.
I ate with my fingers! It was delish and his aunt was very nice.
I also met this amazingly nice woman named Elizabeth. She was so kind and hugged me like we had known each other forever. At the funeral party she had a little bundle strapped to her back, the granddaughter of the lady who had died, apparently. She had this great big headdress too. I wanted to ask her how she got it to stand up like that, but I barely saw her at the funeral. Hopefully I'll get another chance to see her. I didn't get her picture.
At the funeral party, everyone was eating and talking and drinking -- just like Italians in a church basement. Except at one point all the women in this one section broke into song. I wasn't sure why and didn't ask, but it was really cool.
I asked to use the bathroom and the girl brought me to a bedroom that had a bathroom off the side. There was no door to the bathroom and the toilet had no seat (the toilets never have seats, if there's a toilet at all), and I just couldn't go. Never mind that a lady walked in when I was trying to go.
The kids are always so fascinated by me. Yovo! Yovo! I had my big round sunglasses on, and this little boy at the funeral party was staring at me, so I smiled at him and pulled my sunglasses down and winked. He freaked out and went to tell his friends, and when he came back I did it again. He was so excited, it was adorable.
Did a wee bit of tourism I suppose. We did stop to see the statue of one of the great kings of Abomey. He refused to sign a treaty with the French saying that it compromised his people's independance. They say he was a huge man and the statue certainly shows that he was massive. I realized that there are very few statues of black people, that I'm aware of.
The roads here are brutal. There are so many potholes! And where the roads are new, there are tons of speed bumps -- way too many. So many in fact that my colleague's muffler fell off in Bohicon. I got to experience a Beninese mechanic shop! The work progressed slowly and everytime we came back to see if he was done, the mechanic needed some money to buy another part. Imagine: show up at the repair shop, and when you come back, the mechanic says, I have to buy this part, but you need to give me the money so I can go buy it.
And of course there are roosters and chickens walking around.
The drive back was long, and we kept stopping, because apparently that's what the Beninese do. There are ladies selling fruit, nuts, anything and everything along the side of the road in certain areas. When we got to Allada we stopped and the ladies rushed our car selling pineapples, bananas, plantains, nuts...
It's really amazing what they manage to carry on their heads. Even the children carry really heavy loads on their heads. I didn't realize our heads were so strong!!
I bought some peanuts and my friends warned me that peanuts give you zits. I wonder if their nuts are much oilier than ours and I guess we'll see. They're really good. Wish they made peanut butter!
They were also selling these little snack-bags of boiled corn and boiled peanuts!! Boiled peanuts are delicious!! Apparently you just boil them in some salt water until they're a little soft and then allow them to cool down... delicious!
When the boys were finished with their shopping we continued to make our way back to Cotonou. We stopped at a bar where one of the children saw me and put his hand out like he was begging for change. Another saw the little red ball I have on my bag and said, "cadeau?" (present?). I'd never seen the children beg before. To be fair, the boy who was begging for change looked like he was immitating something he had seen someone else do, to see if it would work. He didn't look very sure of himself. I didn't give him any change, even if 10 cents would have meant the world to him. I'm not sure what I should do in those circumstances. I'm very torn.
In Cotonou the children are more used to seeing the occasional white person and those who live along the beach will ask for a 100 francs or a gift, "Yovo! 100 Francs?" "Yovo! Cadeau!". But it's certainly not the norm and the children are mostly just excited to see me.
It's really hard to see some of the poorer children. At the bar on the road back from Allada, there was a set of twin boys hanging around, fascinated by me. They must've been 6 or 7 years old. They were adorable and had beautiful smiles, but skinny with big bellies and with the belly button sticking out. The only thing they had on was underwear, dirty from them sitting around.
Everything's covered in red earth and dust. The mother in me wanted to take them home with me and get them some clothes, some shoes, some food and a bath. I took their picture and pray that they will be fine.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, making our way back to Cotonou in the dust. They're rebuilding the highway near Cotonou and the traffic is ridiculous. Some lanes are blocked off, some aren't, and it's basically a free-for-all. The car windshield was so covered in dust we could barely see out of it, and we had no fluid to wash it off!
Apparently they started the construction of the road before making sure they had all their financing in order, so the work has stopped.
I have so much more to talk about... but this is already ridiculously long. More tomorrow.
First I guess I'll write about what's most on my mind: the fact that I'm really going to have to find new friends. At first it was cute that both Roger and Ludvert were so smitten, but now it's very annoying and tiresome and puts me ill-at-ease. Despite trying to be nice and even not-so-nice about the fact that I am NOT the love of their lives and indeed not even attracted to them, they persist and insist and it's getting to be too much. I guess they think I need convincing? What I need is to get away from them!
It's a real shame though, Lud's cousin invited me to attend a voodoo funeral (his wife's 95 year-old father died... 95 year old FATHER? She can't be more than 30...) and Cérémonie des revenants (a ceremony where the dead come back to life). Apparently the father was really high up in the voodoo priest world, so it will be quite the party, but I can't imagine having to spend an entire weekend with Lud and his family bugging me to make beninese babies with him. There's nothing worse than a guy you're not attracted to trying to be possessive of you around his friends and family. Gross!!
So I guess I'm gonna have to go back to the friend drawing-board. I'm trying to think of opportunities where I could meet some cool and fun people. In Toronto I met a lot of friends clubbing, so perhaps there would be the same opportunity here. I also hope to catch some concerts or art shows. I'll have to ask if there's any college newspapers to find some student art shows or something. Maybe some theatre. Again, going places when there are no street names is hard. I have to depend on people to get around and it's pretty frustrating. I need to buy a map of Cotonou!
I have no choice but to be patient and hope things will just work themselves out. I've only been here 2 weeks and it feels like I've been here forever.
So, otherwise, my weekend was jam packed with crazy experiences. I'M IN AFRICA!!! and sometimes it's unbelievably surreal.
Friday, I went with my colleague Jean and his best friend Max to their hometown of Bohicon and Abomey. They said they wanted to take me to do a little tourism. What they didn't tell me was that we were in fact going to visit a bunch of their friends and family and that they were going to their hometown to attend a party at a funeral -- this omission almost made me cry when we arrived at the party and everyone was all dressed up. I was wearing a tank top and a pair of jeans!! I was SO MAD. I couldn't believe they didn't tell me we'd be going to an event like this. I scolded my colleague for not telling me and tried to hold back my tears. Everything is intense here and my eyes well up at the smallest thing.
They kept assuring me that what I was wearing was fine. Apparently white people can get away with wearing whatever they want, but I felt so rude and disrespectful - I wanted to hide in the car. I could just imagine my grandma looking down on me from above being ashamed of her granddaughter showing up to a funeral dressed inappropriately.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm a girl or if it's because I'm a guest that they don't tell me anything, but it's getting frustrating. The men keep taking me places without saying where we're going, or keep making pit-stops without saying that we're making pit stops. So I think we're going to one place and we end up in another, and suddenly I'm meeting entire families of people with no time to prep my brain for what I'm about to encounter. It's very disconcerting. And when I ask where we're going or what we're doing, they act as if I don't need to know and that it's funny that I'm even asking. Don't I trust them?
It's not a question of trust, dumb ass, it's a question of MAKING ME FEEL COMFORTABLE. I'm in a new country, far from everything I know. I don't have a clue what's going on half the time, and the other half of the time they're speaking Fon and then I really don't have a clue. So I guess I don't have a clue 100% of the time. Bah!
They just go with the flow here, so pit-stops and deviations from the original plan occur often without anyone seeming to mind. It's amazing anything gets done.
So I barely got to do any tourism. A highlite of my trip was my colleague's friend Eric (hilarious dude who kept singing along to the tunes and telling me what they meant; he reminded me of Jayski because of his sense of humour and his belly, but less scrapey! And he didn't hit on me, except jokingly, which was great!) who came out of his hotel room in the morning wearing his boxers and a white tank top, drinking a glass of whiskey (the men here drink ALL the time - drinking and driving is not an issue, it's pretty scary). I told him jokingly/not jokingly to put some pants on, but he didn't. Then later when he asked me why I didn't hang out with them while they were drinking, I said it was because he wasn't wearing any pants. He got all dressed up in traditional clothes for the funeral (not that I knew until we got there that that's why everyone was so dressed up) and he looked very dapper.
For lunch we went to Max's aunt's house. She made pâte with a veggie/fish/fried cheese sauce.
I ate with my fingers! It was delish and his aunt was very nice.
I also met this amazingly nice woman named Elizabeth. She was so kind and hugged me like we had known each other forever. At the funeral party she had a little bundle strapped to her back, the granddaughter of the lady who had died, apparently. She had this great big headdress too. I wanted to ask her how she got it to stand up like that, but I barely saw her at the funeral. Hopefully I'll get another chance to see her. I didn't get her picture.
At the funeral party, everyone was eating and talking and drinking -- just like Italians in a church basement. Except at one point all the women in this one section broke into song. I wasn't sure why and didn't ask, but it was really cool.
I asked to use the bathroom and the girl brought me to a bedroom that had a bathroom off the side. There was no door to the bathroom and the toilet had no seat (the toilets never have seats, if there's a toilet at all), and I just couldn't go. Never mind that a lady walked in when I was trying to go.
The kids are always so fascinated by me. Yovo! Yovo! I had my big round sunglasses on, and this little boy at the funeral party was staring at me, so I smiled at him and pulled my sunglasses down and winked. He freaked out and went to tell his friends, and when he came back I did it again. He was so excited, it was adorable.
Did a wee bit of tourism I suppose. We did stop to see the statue of one of the great kings of Abomey. He refused to sign a treaty with the French saying that it compromised his people's independance. They say he was a huge man and the statue certainly shows that he was massive. I realized that there are very few statues of black people, that I'm aware of.
The roads here are brutal. There are so many potholes! And where the roads are new, there are tons of speed bumps -- way too many. So many in fact that my colleague's muffler fell off in Bohicon. I got to experience a Beninese mechanic shop! The work progressed slowly and everytime we came back to see if he was done, the mechanic needed some money to buy another part. Imagine: show up at the repair shop, and when you come back, the mechanic says, I have to buy this part, but you need to give me the money so I can go buy it.
And of course there are roosters and chickens walking around.
The drive back was long, and we kept stopping, because apparently that's what the Beninese do. There are ladies selling fruit, nuts, anything and everything along the side of the road in certain areas. When we got to Allada we stopped and the ladies rushed our car selling pineapples, bananas, plantains, nuts...
It's really amazing what they manage to carry on their heads. Even the children carry really heavy loads on their heads. I didn't realize our heads were so strong!!
I bought some peanuts and my friends warned me that peanuts give you zits. I wonder if their nuts are much oilier than ours and I guess we'll see. They're really good. Wish they made peanut butter!
They were also selling these little snack-bags of boiled corn and boiled peanuts!! Boiled peanuts are delicious!! Apparently you just boil them in some salt water until they're a little soft and then allow them to cool down... delicious!
When the boys were finished with their shopping we continued to make our way back to Cotonou. We stopped at a bar where one of the children saw me and put his hand out like he was begging for change. Another saw the little red ball I have on my bag and said, "cadeau?" (present?). I'd never seen the children beg before. To be fair, the boy who was begging for change looked like he was immitating something he had seen someone else do, to see if it would work. He didn't look very sure of himself. I didn't give him any change, even if 10 cents would have meant the world to him. I'm not sure what I should do in those circumstances. I'm very torn.
In Cotonou the children are more used to seeing the occasional white person and those who live along the beach will ask for a 100 francs or a gift, "Yovo! 100 Francs?" "Yovo! Cadeau!". But it's certainly not the norm and the children are mostly just excited to see me.
It's really hard to see some of the poorer children. At the bar on the road back from Allada, there was a set of twin boys hanging around, fascinated by me. They must've been 6 or 7 years old. They were adorable and had beautiful smiles, but skinny with big bellies and with the belly button sticking out. The only thing they had on was underwear, dirty from them sitting around.
Everything's covered in red earth and dust. The mother in me wanted to take them home with me and get them some clothes, some shoes, some food and a bath. I took their picture and pray that they will be fine.
The rest of the trip was uneventful, making our way back to Cotonou in the dust. They're rebuilding the highway near Cotonou and the traffic is ridiculous. Some lanes are blocked off, some aren't, and it's basically a free-for-all. The car windshield was so covered in dust we could barely see out of it, and we had no fluid to wash it off!
Apparently they started the construction of the road before making sure they had all their financing in order, so the work has stopped.
I have so much more to talk about... but this is already ridiculously long. More tomorrow.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Superstition ain't the way...
Maman, ma boss me dit que sa mère a eu 12 enfants!! Mais que seulement 4 ont survécu. Voilà la réalité africaine. Dans le fond, on voit les mêmes phénomènes. Ici, on disait aux mères, "N'entends-tu pas les enfants qui crient dans ton ventre pour sortir? Il faut continuer de les avoirs!!" Ensuite, les générations subséquentes en ont 4 ou 5, ma génération en ont 2 ou 3...
Superstition plays a big part of life here. At least for the older folk. Apparently, my boss' daughter was born bum first, but they never told my boss' mother who would've thought the baby was a witch and probably would've KILLED it. (her daughter is 13 now.)(Georges should come do his good works here instead!!!)
She also told me of a neighbour who has an 18 year old girl. When her teeth started to come in as a baby, she had just one on the top gum. Also a sign that the child is a witch. The child's father, an educated investment banker, would have killed the child had he seen it, so for weeks, when he came home for lunch my boss would take the child and pretend that she was baby-sitting it, and when he came home at night, she would do the same... until the baby had another tooth come in on the bottom. Can you imagine?
I asked, do they just do this for girls? Nope, boys too. No one's immune when it comes to curses and witchcraft. And this was 15 years ago.
Went to Porto Novo today to talk to government officials. More with less, more with less... The electricity went out 5-6 times during my visit, even in the Minister's office. Someone needs to start giving these people solar panels, it hasn't rained since I got here and won't til March.
They're very "Mexican" here... everything is "Yes, yes, of course, tomorrow I'll get that to you." Mañana, mañana...
Going out of town overnight to do some sight seeing. Forget the name of the place, but I'm excited to go! Will take pictures and report back. Poor Ludvert will be crushed. We were supposed to hang out tomorrow during the day and do some shopping. He sent me 4 txts today. :rolleyes: YOUTH!!
Superstition plays a big part of life here. At least for the older folk. Apparently, my boss' daughter was born bum first, but they never told my boss' mother who would've thought the baby was a witch and probably would've KILLED it. (her daughter is 13 now.)(Georges should come do his good works here instead!!!)
She also told me of a neighbour who has an 18 year old girl. When her teeth started to come in as a baby, she had just one on the top gum. Also a sign that the child is a witch. The child's father, an educated investment banker, would have killed the child had he seen it, so for weeks, when he came home for lunch my boss would take the child and pretend that she was baby-sitting it, and when he came home at night, she would do the same... until the baby had another tooth come in on the bottom. Can you imagine?
I asked, do they just do this for girls? Nope, boys too. No one's immune when it comes to curses and witchcraft. And this was 15 years ago.
Went to Porto Novo today to talk to government officials. More with less, more with less... The electricity went out 5-6 times during my visit, even in the Minister's office. Someone needs to start giving these people solar panels, it hasn't rained since I got here and won't til March.
They're very "Mexican" here... everything is "Yes, yes, of course, tomorrow I'll get that to you." Mañana, mañana...
Going out of town overnight to do some sight seeing. Forget the name of the place, but I'm excited to go! Will take pictures and report back. Poor Ludvert will be crushed. We were supposed to hang out tomorrow during the day and do some shopping. He sent me 4 txts today. :rolleyes: YOUTH!!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Fun Facts: Student to Teacher ratio... and Student Success
Taken from the 10-year education action plan of the Ministry of Primary and Kindergarten Education (Plan Décennal du Développement du Secteur de l'Éducation du Bénin, Ministère de l'Éducation Maternel et Primaire, octobre 2006)
On average, in 2005, in every region of the country, for every teacher, there was 50 students. The AVERAGE. A teacher might have 100 students, might have 20. That teacher may or may not be qualified. That teacher may or may not have a teacher's aid to support them. That teacher may or may not show up for class on any given day. Huh. (And there are many, many, MANY children who aren't even in school.)
In Ontario, we have policies to decrease class sizes (from 35 or 30 to less than 25 or 20 for the younger kids) so that each student can receive individual attention. In Benin, they have to do more with less, and are therefore trying to adapt their pedagogy to maximize the teacher with as many students as possible.
At first this shocked me: smaller classes are better! Individualized attention!! Recruit more teachers! Pay them fairly! Get 'er done! Invest! Invest!!
Which is all fine and good, except one must be realistic (thanks to Jenny for pointing this out to me!) ... in Benin, one must do more with less.
Everywhere, we should be trying to do more with less -- being inventive is what got our Canadian society to the comfort level we now know. Going from small rural schools to computerized distance schools where teachers and learning can be shared. It's to the point now, in Northern Ontario, some schools share a principal, and the principal will discipline students via videoconferencing. Use what you got to do what you can.
In Benin, the issues are far more basic. In the Plan Décennal, they state some of the conditions for student success that we all know:
- students succeed better when each student has his or her own book
- students succeed better when the teacher receives training on a regular basis
and logically, we know that, "La qualité des infrastructures, des équipements, la disponibilité des supports didactiques ont également un effet net sur le taux de réussite" (the quality of infrastructure, of the equipment, the availability of didactic support will also have a net effect on the success rate).
Except it also states:
- students succeed better when there is electricity present in the school
- students succeed better when the classes are constructed with concrete walls (as opposed to being open-air)
I had to give my head a shake, didn't you?
Another major aspect that seems to influence student success is the proximity of the school to the school board. I wonder if we can draw the same conclusion in Ontario. Makes sense! The closer you are to the school board, the easier it is to get face time with pedagogical counselors, board directors, and the clearer the messages are.
Benin is developing policies to improve education in their country, but as in Ontario, you can develop as many policies as you want, but if the inspectors and pedagogical counselors are not trained in monitoring, evaluating, and supporting the teachers in the implementation of policies, or if no one monitors the implementation at all (or only monitors it half-assed), then you can never know if your policy is 1) being properly implemented in every school, or 2) successful until it either fails miserably or you notice great gains in student standardized-test results (and hope that it's remarkable enough that you can credit the appropriate policy change).
More fun facts from the Plan Décennal:
- more than half of all children who go to school leave before grade 6 (talk about a drop-out rate!!)
- half the teachers are not qualified (and they still need many more)
- great progress has been recorded in girls' education (yay!)
Alright - I have to get to bed. I'll end this entry on that high note. More girls in school! More girls in school!!!
En 2005, le ratio élèves/maître est passé à 50.
On average, in 2005, in every region of the country, for every teacher, there was 50 students. The AVERAGE. A teacher might have 100 students, might have 20. That teacher may or may not be qualified. That teacher may or may not have a teacher's aid to support them. That teacher may or may not show up for class on any given day. Huh. (And there are many, many, MANY children who aren't even in school.)
In Ontario, we have policies to decrease class sizes (from 35 or 30 to less than 25 or 20 for the younger kids) so that each student can receive individual attention. In Benin, they have to do more with less, and are therefore trying to adapt their pedagogy to maximize the teacher with as many students as possible.
Le problème des écoles en sous effectif d’élèves (classes de moins de 40 élèves/classe) (29%) est plus prégnant que celui des écoles réellement surchargées (au-delà de 70 élèves/classe) (10%) soulignant le caractère perfectible des modes d’organisation scolaire et la sous-utilisation du jumelage des classes, faute de pédagogie adaptée.
The problem of schools with classes with under 40 students (29%) is more important than the problem of classes with over 70 students (10%), underlining the notion that there is room for perfecting the modes of organization in schools and the under-utilization of combined classes (grades 4-5-6 for example), since there is no adapted pedagogy. (forgive my awful translation here.)
At first this shocked me: smaller classes are better! Individualized attention!! Recruit more teachers! Pay them fairly! Get 'er done! Invest! Invest!!
Which is all fine and good, except one must be realistic (thanks to Jenny for pointing this out to me!) ... in Benin, one must do more with less.
Everywhere, we should be trying to do more with less -- being inventive is what got our Canadian society to the comfort level we now know. Going from small rural schools to computerized distance schools where teachers and learning can be shared. It's to the point now, in Northern Ontario, some schools share a principal, and the principal will discipline students via videoconferencing. Use what you got to do what you can.
In Benin, the issues are far more basic. In the Plan Décennal, they state some of the conditions for student success that we all know:
- students succeed better when each student has his or her own book
- students succeed better when the teacher receives training on a regular basis
and logically, we know that, "La qualité des infrastructures, des équipements, la disponibilité des supports didactiques ont également un effet net sur le taux de réussite" (the quality of infrastructure, of the equipment, the availability of didactic support will also have a net effect on the success rate).
Except it also states:
- students succeed better when there is electricity present in the school
- students succeed better when the classes are constructed with concrete walls (as opposed to being open-air)
I had to give my head a shake, didn't you?
Another major aspect that seems to influence student success is the proximity of the school to the school board. I wonder if we can draw the same conclusion in Ontario. Makes sense! The closer you are to the school board, the easier it is to get face time with pedagogical counselors, board directors, and the clearer the messages are.
Benin is developing policies to improve education in their country, but as in Ontario, you can develop as many policies as you want, but if the inspectors and pedagogical counselors are not trained in monitoring, evaluating, and supporting the teachers in the implementation of policies, or if no one monitors the implementation at all (or only monitors it half-assed), then you can never know if your policy is 1) being properly implemented in every school, or 2) successful until it either fails miserably or you notice great gains in student standardized-test results (and hope that it's remarkable enough that you can credit the appropriate policy change).
More fun facts from the Plan Décennal:
- more than half of all children who go to school leave before grade 6 (talk about a drop-out rate!!)
- half the teachers are not qualified (and they still need many more)
- great progress has been recorded in girls' education (yay!)
Alright - I have to get to bed. I'll end this entry on that high note. More girls in school! More girls in school!!!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
You can stand under my umber-ella
NOTE TO ALL READERS: there's a comment section in the blog for a reason -- interaction. I'm all alone over here folks! Leave anonymous comments if you want, if something shocked you about what I wrote, or if you think I talk too much (not much to do in the evenings here... no CSI to keep me busy...) :P ... ask me questions if you're curious about anything and I'll try to answer. My dad is reading, so be nice. ;)
So, I'm realizing that the kids here don't seem to play with toys at all. Even those families with a little money, the kids don't seem to play with much. I guess that culturally, they just don't play? I don't want to say that they're not raising their kids properly, since I've met tons of awesome adults who grew up here... more investigation is necessary.
I think back to Christmas with my niece Elbie and nephew Buddy, or the time I spent with little Ollie B and all the toys kids in North America have, no matter how poor the parents are. A ridiculous amount of toys, so many that they'll never play with them all. I remember the basement full of toys my cousins used to have and wonder where those toys went.
So the babies just sit there without even a rattle or a set of keys to distract them. Dzzt. BOORING! And I have no idea what the older kids do for fun. I know that some of them work, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. The girls also help out their mothers at quite a young age, getting water from the well, taking care of their siblings, cleaning, etc.
The child-work thing is weird. Having a 10 year-old come up to your car window selling gum, pens, and other random items at 11pm on a Monday... he/she'll be there til late at night and go to school the next morning. I know university students who complain when they have to work that kind of schedule.
No one sleeps here. There are a lot of patios and bars to go to if you're not working late. "Cotonou by night," the boys I work with joke. I guess when it's 30°C at night, no one feels much like sleeping indoors. I have air-con, but it's a luxury they installed for me because I'm white and I'm a wuss. But seeing kids running around after each other in the streets at 10pm and having no one around seem concerned - it's just weird. "Mom I'm going to Billy's!"
Then again, everyone's the same. I believe it more and more. Just because we don't see the kids running around outside, doesn't mean there aren't tons of kids running around at crazy hours in the night, not getting enough sleep, in Canada. And they have warm/cool homes, lots of food to eat, and don't have to work to pay the bills (at least I hope they don't).
Today we visited my colleague who lost his wife. Before we visited with the widower, my colleagues warned me not to cry infront of him (I can't help it, someone talks about someone they love dying and my mind automatically goes to Brenda and I can't help but realize how much pain that person must be in!!).
I asked Brenda to help me not to cry, and I didn't!! I was proud of myself, but it helped that he wasn't crying. There was a very dark cloud over his head though. I even smiled a lot, which I hope was a comfort - my colleagues may have warned me not to cry, but they had really long faces and heavy shoulders, and that's no help.
He's staying at his brother's because he can't sleep in his bed, and his kids are staying with a friend of the family's, a lady from his church. The kids must be wondering what the eff is going on.
They haven't told the kids yet, they're all under the age of 7... we went to visit the kids afterwards. Such cute kids. The oldest girl had these awesome spikey tresses with different coloured elastics. I told her I liked her hair and she smiled, shyly.
They must be wondering why random people are coming to see them, why they're not in school, where their mother is, why their father is only coming to visit sporadically. I know that they know - they're kids, they're not stupid. I'm not sure what I would do in his place, but they say that they normally tell the children at the burial, so that the child can visually understand that their parent is dead and then they tell them that they should put a bit of dirt on the tomb. Sounds traumatizing to me, but I've never had to bury a parent :grateful moment: ... I leave it to their experience and trust in their knowledge.
My colleagues are really trying to tell him that his focus must be on his children, and how they will be taken care of now that their mother is gone. They talked to him very clearly that they, together with him, will examine all his options and with their support they will come to a solution on how best to care for the kids.
One thing was clear, they need their dad in their life, so that the separation isn't too intense. The widower must have courage, and not let himself get into a deep depression. The boss lady actually told him, "don't commit suicide." Gee. Don't mince words or anything. It was an admirable discussion. I really admire my boss lady.
The weekend was awesome and rough all at the same time. Knowing that my friends were partying it up without me was H A R D ! ! ! Hector Moralez! Jason Hodges! Loopity Goofs, Gerard, Pepe... sigh... I won't get to hear my friends spin for months and months. It's almost as bad as knowing I won't get to eat peanut butter for 5 months (and you know I luuuuv my peanut butter)!!
I saw pictures on Facebook today and my girl Joanne brought a picture of me to the party and snapped me with all my peeps!! It was so awesome! (Jean-Guy, Nick B, you have to check Facebook, she used a Maria-Eating-Picture!! LOL!!!!)
The awesome part of my weekend was, of course, the beach. I managed to sit alone for all of 20 minutes, watching the waves roll in and out. I can sit and watch waves for hours - it's way better than TV. I can amuse myself by watching the rhythm, watching the waves get bigger and roll over, smaller and smoothe, watching them cross and how they hit the shore. There are also lots and lots of little crabs on the beach! :scuttle scuttle scuttle: cute! A few sea shells, but, uh, nothing to write home about. Even though I am.
So after my 20 minutes, a young man named Ludvert asked if he'd be a bother if he sat with me "pour discuter un peu". Apparently he was named for an American army buddy of his dad's. He's 22 and wants to move to Chicago in the summer to study accounting (to do his masters), or to Montreal where his brother is studying law. He wants to practice his English with me... but his English is reeeally bad.
I think he has a bit of a crush on me. I guess Roger, the dude who owns the beach bar, has dibs on me, but neither of them have managed to woo me yet (or ever, if my meh-ness is correct). (Update: Ludvert just brought me this tacky ceramic angel as a gift. He called and said, "I got you a present, can I bring it?" Very cute. He's a smart kid. I enjoy talking philosophy with him, and apparently he likes to go dancing and loves music, so I think we'll get along just fine. Plus he has a motorbike, so he can take me places, or teach me to ride when/if I decide to get one.) (Actually, come to think of it, Roger called to say that he bought me a present too... but I think he got some garbage bins for his bar as a present to me because I keep complaining of the garbage on the beach. That would be awesome! There's a retarded lack of garbage bins on the beach -- it's criminal.)
My brain is so filled with the enormity of the task before me at work, that boys are the last thing on my mind -- I really need to make some girlfriends pronto so that I don't really have to deal with boys at all, but girls don't seem to be around half as much as boys. Ludvert says that they're at home helping their mothers with the household - they're home doing shit because their mothers are tired since they've been doing it since they were 10 and then when the girls are old enough, the mamas stop doing anything and leave it all to their daughters, and the guys are kind of left to their own devices. I see a few ladies around and I really need to make more of an effort to talk to them.
But the boys I've met are all very nice and not at all threatening, and they have lots of fun and interesting friends to chat with, namely a big Nigerian dude who speaks English (DTJB just asked me in an email if I was speaking English at all and until I met him I hadn't!) and another kid who's really into Jay-Z.
The Umbrella song came on the speakers at Roger's bar when I was there with Ludvert and his friend, and I told them what the lyrics meant. So funny, they had no idea.
You can stand under my umber-ella-ella-ella eh eh ;)
So, I'm realizing that the kids here don't seem to play with toys at all. Even those families with a little money, the kids don't seem to play with much. I guess that culturally, they just don't play? I don't want to say that they're not raising their kids properly, since I've met tons of awesome adults who grew up here... more investigation is necessary.
I think back to Christmas with my niece Elbie and nephew Buddy, or the time I spent with little Ollie B and all the toys kids in North America have, no matter how poor the parents are. A ridiculous amount of toys, so many that they'll never play with them all. I remember the basement full of toys my cousins used to have and wonder where those toys went.
So the babies just sit there without even a rattle or a set of keys to distract them. Dzzt. BOORING! And I have no idea what the older kids do for fun. I know that some of them work, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. The girls also help out their mothers at quite a young age, getting water from the well, taking care of their siblings, cleaning, etc.
The child-work thing is weird. Having a 10 year-old come up to your car window selling gum, pens, and other random items at 11pm on a Monday... he/she'll be there til late at night and go to school the next morning. I know university students who complain when they have to work that kind of schedule.
No one sleeps here. There are a lot of patios and bars to go to if you're not working late. "Cotonou by night," the boys I work with joke. I guess when it's 30°C at night, no one feels much like sleeping indoors. I have air-con, but it's a luxury they installed for me because I'm white and I'm a wuss. But seeing kids running around after each other in the streets at 10pm and having no one around seem concerned - it's just weird. "Mom I'm going to Billy's!"
Then again, everyone's the same. I believe it more and more. Just because we don't see the kids running around outside, doesn't mean there aren't tons of kids running around at crazy hours in the night, not getting enough sleep, in Canada. And they have warm/cool homes, lots of food to eat, and don't have to work to pay the bills (at least I hope they don't).
Today we visited my colleague who lost his wife. Before we visited with the widower, my colleagues warned me not to cry infront of him (I can't help it, someone talks about someone they love dying and my mind automatically goes to Brenda and I can't help but realize how much pain that person must be in!!).
I asked Brenda to help me not to cry, and I didn't!! I was proud of myself, but it helped that he wasn't crying. There was a very dark cloud over his head though. I even smiled a lot, which I hope was a comfort - my colleagues may have warned me not to cry, but they had really long faces and heavy shoulders, and that's no help.
He's staying at his brother's because he can't sleep in his bed, and his kids are staying with a friend of the family's, a lady from his church. The kids must be wondering what the eff is going on.
They haven't told the kids yet, they're all under the age of 7... we went to visit the kids afterwards. Such cute kids. The oldest girl had these awesome spikey tresses with different coloured elastics. I told her I liked her hair and she smiled, shyly.
They must be wondering why random people are coming to see them, why they're not in school, where their mother is, why their father is only coming to visit sporadically. I know that they know - they're kids, they're not stupid. I'm not sure what I would do in his place, but they say that they normally tell the children at the burial, so that the child can visually understand that their parent is dead and then they tell them that they should put a bit of dirt on the tomb. Sounds traumatizing to me, but I've never had to bury a parent :grateful moment: ... I leave it to their experience and trust in their knowledge.
My colleagues are really trying to tell him that his focus must be on his children, and how they will be taken care of now that their mother is gone. They talked to him very clearly that they, together with him, will examine all his options and with their support they will come to a solution on how best to care for the kids.
One thing was clear, they need their dad in their life, so that the separation isn't too intense. The widower must have courage, and not let himself get into a deep depression. The boss lady actually told him, "don't commit suicide." Gee. Don't mince words or anything. It was an admirable discussion. I really admire my boss lady.
The weekend was awesome and rough all at the same time. Knowing that my friends were partying it up without me was H A R D ! ! ! Hector Moralez! Jason Hodges! Loopity Goofs, Gerard, Pepe... sigh... I won't get to hear my friends spin for months and months. It's almost as bad as knowing I won't get to eat peanut butter for 5 months (and you know I luuuuv my peanut butter)!!
I saw pictures on Facebook today and my girl Joanne brought a picture of me to the party and snapped me with all my peeps!! It was so awesome! (Jean-Guy, Nick B, you have to check Facebook, she used a Maria-Eating-Picture!! LOL!!!!)
The awesome part of my weekend was, of course, the beach. I managed to sit alone for all of 20 minutes, watching the waves roll in and out. I can sit and watch waves for hours - it's way better than TV. I can amuse myself by watching the rhythm, watching the waves get bigger and roll over, smaller and smoothe, watching them cross and how they hit the shore. There are also lots and lots of little crabs on the beach! :scuttle scuttle scuttle: cute! A few sea shells, but, uh, nothing to write home about. Even though I am.
So after my 20 minutes, a young man named Ludvert asked if he'd be a bother if he sat with me "pour discuter un peu". Apparently he was named for an American army buddy of his dad's. He's 22 and wants to move to Chicago in the summer to study accounting (to do his masters), or to Montreal where his brother is studying law. He wants to practice his English with me... but his English is reeeally bad.
I think he has a bit of a crush on me. I guess Roger, the dude who owns the beach bar, has dibs on me, but neither of them have managed to woo me yet (or ever, if my meh-ness is correct). (Update: Ludvert just brought me this tacky ceramic angel as a gift. He called and said, "I got you a present, can I bring it?" Very cute. He's a smart kid. I enjoy talking philosophy with him, and apparently he likes to go dancing and loves music, so I think we'll get along just fine. Plus he has a motorbike, so he can take me places, or teach me to ride when/if I decide to get one.) (Actually, come to think of it, Roger called to say that he bought me a present too... but I think he got some garbage bins for his bar as a present to me because I keep complaining of the garbage on the beach. That would be awesome! There's a retarded lack of garbage bins on the beach -- it's criminal.)
My brain is so filled with the enormity of the task before me at work, that boys are the last thing on my mind -- I really need to make some girlfriends pronto so that I don't really have to deal with boys at all, but girls don't seem to be around half as much as boys. Ludvert says that they're at home helping their mothers with the household - they're home doing shit because their mothers are tired since they've been doing it since they were 10 and then when the girls are old enough, the mamas stop doing anything and leave it all to their daughters, and the guys are kind of left to their own devices. I see a few ladies around and I really need to make more of an effort to talk to them.
But the boys I've met are all very nice and not at all threatening, and they have lots of fun and interesting friends to chat with, namely a big Nigerian dude who speaks English (DTJB just asked me in an email if I was speaking English at all and until I met him I hadn't!) and another kid who's really into Jay-Z.
The Umbrella song came on the speakers at Roger's bar when I was there with Ludvert and his friend, and I told them what the lyrics meant. So funny, they had no idea.
You can stand under my umber-ella-ella-ella eh eh ;)
Monday, February 2, 2009
Random Entry, Things I Forgot to Pack (aka the Golden Floss)
I forgot to pack dental floss. I have a tooth ache and figured out I'd gotten food stuck between my teeth. I think it's pork... it must be. Anyway, they serve this dish with a small piece of pork, and it's really tough and you kinda have to rip it apart with your fingers and then chew like crazy and you get tons of stuff stuck in your teeth... I'm really not used to it!
I'm hoping that when I ask them if they know what "de la soie dentaire" is, they won't stare at me blankly. I used the string from a tea bag... lol - necessity, right? As I was walking to the bathroom with my little tea bag string, I thought to myself, "this might be the best or the worst idea you've ever had."
Well, it worked, and I dislodged the chunk of whatever-it-was from under my tooth, then rinsed my mouth out properly with salt water, to disinfect, and I'll keep disinfecting every hour, and see how it feels in the morning. Hopefully I can find floss on my way home from work tonight so I can clean my teeth properly every day. This is not a place I want to have a dental emergency...
update: yup, I got the blank stare. My colleague suggested we hit a pharmacy, and the first pharmacy suggested we hit the mother-pharmacy. So we went... :( I had to pay $10 for freaking dental floss. But I got pizza for dinner so I feel happy again. :)
I'm hoping that when I ask them if they know what "de la soie dentaire" is, they won't stare at me blankly. I used the string from a tea bag... lol - necessity, right? As I was walking to the bathroom with my little tea bag string, I thought to myself, "this might be the best or the worst idea you've ever had."
Well, it worked, and I dislodged the chunk of whatever-it-was from under my tooth, then rinsed my mouth out properly with salt water, to disinfect, and I'll keep disinfecting every hour, and see how it feels in the morning. Hopefully I can find floss on my way home from work tonight so I can clean my teeth properly every day. This is not a place I want to have a dental emergency...
update: yup, I got the blank stare. My colleague suggested we hit a pharmacy, and the first pharmacy suggested we hit the mother-pharmacy. So we went... :( I had to pay $10 for freaking dental floss. But I got pizza for dinner so I feel happy again. :)
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Week One: I'm being a big baby today, missing my friends!
I can't believe I've only been here ONE week.
I miss home, miss my friends, miss Toronto. I miss:
- having a Starbucks on the corner
- a GROCERY STORE on the corner (I hope to find one nearby today, it's my mission, for breakfast I had to hit up a street vendor who was selling rice with a chicken wing and a piece of meat-something -- pork maybe? in this spicy-ish sauce and a baguette which cost me 450CFA or 85cents -- because all i have at home is gross gross Wonder-type bread that's too sweet and kinda tastes like soap)
- a 7/11
- a washing machine
- a TV with more than 4 channels
- an awesome internet connection at home
- peeps i can call up whenever i want to (and talk to for more than 20 minutes without it costing me $10)
- being able to cross the street without reciting a Hail Mary
- Toby! ;)
- RUNNING WATER FOR CHRISSAKE!!! apparently the owner is coming Monday with the plumber. geebus.
- a toilet that flushes properly and doesn't gurgle (now i know why my co-workers were saying i should get air freshner for the bathroom... eesh!)
- a shower
- i miss knowing where i'm going at all times... not knowing where i am is disconcerting to say the least!
... ok, enough missing, i'm taking my ipod and hitting the beach. apparently Sunday's the big beach day, everyone comes in from out of town.
when i went to the beach yesterday, this dude Roger (the fact that they all have French names is so weird, cuz it's like Roger Abolomo or something...) started to talk to me (African men... luckily they're very nice) and showed me the business he started, a small bar on the beach. He's got big plans and kept making fun of me and calling me Yovo and making fun of how i pronounced the name of the neighbourhood i live in. Jack-ass!! So I made fun of him back. His friend Richard was really interested in hearing about Canada, and I was very happy to talk all about it. He asked if it was hard to get a bursary to study in Canada... but I have no idea.
I rode a motorbike taxi (they're called Zim) and lived to tell the tale!!!!!!!! It's actually not that scary... I just try to find a bike that looks like it's in good condition, and a driver who looks nice. LOL - cuz who needs a helmet when you look like a good driver?? (says the girl who always wears her seatbelt when she gets into a cab...)
Ok, enough. I'm getting out into the heat and sunshine.
"Let the rhythm take you where you want to be...
Let your troubles all go by...
Release the pressure from your inner life...
Just get your groove on... lose track of time..."
Hope my friends all shook a leg for me last night. I was SO there with all of you.
I miss home, miss my friends, miss Toronto. I miss:
- having a Starbucks on the corner
- a GROCERY STORE on the corner (I hope to find one nearby today, it's my mission, for breakfast I had to hit up a street vendor who was selling rice with a chicken wing and a piece of meat-something -- pork maybe? in this spicy-ish sauce and a baguette which cost me 450CFA or 85cents -- because all i have at home is gross gross Wonder-type bread that's too sweet and kinda tastes like soap)
- a 7/11
- a washing machine
- a TV with more than 4 channels
- an awesome internet connection at home
- peeps i can call up whenever i want to (and talk to for more than 20 minutes without it costing me $10)
- being able to cross the street without reciting a Hail Mary
- Toby! ;)
- RUNNING WATER FOR CHRISSAKE!!! apparently the owner is coming Monday with the plumber. geebus.
- a toilet that flushes properly and doesn't gurgle (now i know why my co-workers were saying i should get air freshner for the bathroom... eesh!)
- a shower
- i miss knowing where i'm going at all times... not knowing where i am is disconcerting to say the least!
... ok, enough missing, i'm taking my ipod and hitting the beach. apparently Sunday's the big beach day, everyone comes in from out of town.
when i went to the beach yesterday, this dude Roger (the fact that they all have French names is so weird, cuz it's like Roger Abolomo or something...) started to talk to me (African men... luckily they're very nice) and showed me the business he started, a small bar on the beach. He's got big plans and kept making fun of me and calling me Yovo and making fun of how i pronounced the name of the neighbourhood i live in. Jack-ass!! So I made fun of him back. His friend Richard was really interested in hearing about Canada, and I was very happy to talk all about it. He asked if it was hard to get a bursary to study in Canada... but I have no idea.
I rode a motorbike taxi (they're called Zim) and lived to tell the tale!!!!!!!! It's actually not that scary... I just try to find a bike that looks like it's in good condition, and a driver who looks nice. LOL - cuz who needs a helmet when you look like a good driver?? (says the girl who always wears her seatbelt when she gets into a cab...)
Ok, enough. I'm getting out into the heat and sunshine.
"Let the rhythm take you where you want to be...
Let your troubles all go by...
Release the pressure from your inner life...
Just get your groove on... lose track of time..."
Hope my friends all shook a leg for me last night. I was SO there with all of you.
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