So, have I mentioned that little Tania's being a bit of a wuss lately? Extra clingy and whiney? Well, turns out it she has malaria. Pesky mosquitoes. She's had a fever which has been persisting and I was worried so I insisted that Mathieu tell his sister to bring her to a clinic. Call me North American, but malaria isn't something you self-medicate.
Let's all take a moment to thank Canada for Federal Health Care, despite its problems. We can whine about having to wait in Emergency for a long time, but at least, at the end of the day, you don't foot the bill (unless you have to get a prescription...).
By my standards, it wasn't very expensive - 7000F for the consultation and some blood tests, and some 7000F for the medication. $35 in total.
But when I got to the house after work yesterday, another little one, one of the twins (pictured at the amusement park eating popcorn) had a really high fever too. Wrap him up and ship him off to the clinic! They didn't give him the same treatment and I'm not sure if he had exactly the same thing as Tania, but they kept him at the clinic for a bit because his fever was too high. His visit and medication was a total of 7000F, a little under $20.
Tania's mouth was really pastey and full of sores. She looks thinner, poor thing. Mathieu tells me that that's how it is, when you have malaria... you can't eat and you just generally feel like crap. High fever, cough, aches and pains, and a useless mouth.
Hopefully they'll get better now. Sigh.
There are mosquitoes everywhere. It's the start of rainy season, so apparently it'll only get worse. Recently in the news, a Beninese doctor received a high award (can't seem to find a link) for developing a new and highly effective malaria medication. It's fairly cheap here, but it still affects way too many people.
Oh Africa.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
museums, merry go 'rounds and music
So I mentioned in my last post that I managed to take 16 kids to both the Zinsou Museum and to the Village de Paques (which is also known as the Village de Noel, in December), an amusement park. I won't say too much on the day and will let the pictures do the talking. The kids had a great time and want to know when the next outing is going to be. I'm not sure I would take the wee ones next time, or if I do, I'll invite the other parents along so that they can help manage the crew. The little girl twin peed all over the floor of the bathroom of the museum, and my shoes. oops.
First, they all got dressed, which I've never seen. I tried to take as many pictures of them as I could in that state. The bus/van was a half hour late, and Mathieu and I went to the house an hour early to make sure they were all ready... Tania's mom had dressed her in a fancy dress, which wasn't appropriate and she was really uncomfortable, so we got her into shorts and a tshirt and she was much better. She hasn't been feeling well lately, so the dress must've just been torture. But more on her later.
I didn't think we'd all fit in the bus, but it worked quite well. I guess when you don't have carseats to deal with, piling 3 little ones makes it easier to squeeze everyone in.
We drove around for a bit because a lot of these kids don't get out much beyond their school and the house. We took them to see the Stade de l'Amitié (a big stadium in Cotonou) and l'échangeur (the grand new overpass built a couple years ago). Little Boris, Diana's little brother, was able to spell "échangeur".
The Museum was more or less kid-friendly. The guy showing the kids the exhibit did it in a very "school" type way, which was very informative of him, but when you have a group ranging from ages 2 to 16, you shouldn't really be spending too much time on each item, asking questions and trying to drag the answers out of the group. The got to colour, which was nice.
From there it was off to the Village de Paques. The museum was free, the park was not. And there were 18 of us!! Still really cheap comparatively. Entry 200F ($0.50), $9 total. Then, a little something to drink, 200F each, another $9. Plus one for the driver, of course.
And a little something to eat, popcorn, 100F or $0.25 per bag, either salted or sweet.
Then everyone got to pick one ride, 500F or $1.25 for a total of $22.50. Most of the boys picked bumper cars, the girls picked the swings on the merry-go-round (so did I, and my stomach turned for hours afterwards), and the little kids were relegated to the cars-on-tracks, much to the dismay of the older ones... I let Mathieu make the executive decision of who was too young...
After that, the crew was getting restless and our time with the van was running out so we hit the road (we paid 18,000F or $45 for 5 hours with a driver - and he helped with the kids), but not before everyone scored a second or third MTN hat. MTN is a local cellphone company.
Everyone was really happy with getting a free foam visor... and we all wore them proudly for the group pic (the oldest guy is missing, dunno where he went) once we got back to the house. Of course, I didn't manage to get the group picture before half of them were out of their clothes already...
Maman was just beaming at me on our return. She was very happy that I was able to do something like this with them and thanked me.
The kids thanked me too, but I told them we had to record a message for my parents who sent me the money to take them out. I recorded them a few times, they're so funny. One time, they said, "Merci Monsieur et Madame Le Blanc!" LOL! I repeated my parents names and they said it properly the second time. Too funny. Then they started rapping in French and everyone piped in, even the girls. It's actually really good.
Goes to show, kids are kids - no matter how rich or how poor, they all have favourite artists and sing them obsessively.
First, they all got dressed, which I've never seen. I tried to take as many pictures of them as I could in that state. The bus/van was a half hour late, and Mathieu and I went to the house an hour early to make sure they were all ready... Tania's mom had dressed her in a fancy dress, which wasn't appropriate and she was really uncomfortable, so we got her into shorts and a tshirt and she was much better. She hasn't been feeling well lately, so the dress must've just been torture. But more on her later.
I didn't think we'd all fit in the bus, but it worked quite well. I guess when you don't have carseats to deal with, piling 3 little ones makes it easier to squeeze everyone in.
We drove around for a bit because a lot of these kids don't get out much beyond their school and the house. We took them to see the Stade de l'Amitié (a big stadium in Cotonou) and l'échangeur (the grand new overpass built a couple years ago). Little Boris, Diana's little brother, was able to spell "échangeur".
The Museum was more or less kid-friendly. The guy showing the kids the exhibit did it in a very "school" type way, which was very informative of him, but when you have a group ranging from ages 2 to 16, you shouldn't really be spending too much time on each item, asking questions and trying to drag the answers out of the group. The got to colour, which was nice.
From there it was off to the Village de Paques. The museum was free, the park was not. And there were 18 of us!! Still really cheap comparatively. Entry 200F ($0.50), $9 total. Then, a little something to drink, 200F each, another $9. Plus one for the driver, of course.
And a little something to eat, popcorn, 100F or $0.25 per bag, either salted or sweet.
Then everyone got to pick one ride, 500F or $1.25 for a total of $22.50. Most of the boys picked bumper cars, the girls picked the swings on the merry-go-round (so did I, and my stomach turned for hours afterwards), and the little kids were relegated to the cars-on-tracks, much to the dismay of the older ones... I let Mathieu make the executive decision of who was too young...
After that, the crew was getting restless and our time with the van was running out so we hit the road (we paid 18,000F or $45 for 5 hours with a driver - and he helped with the kids), but not before everyone scored a second or third MTN hat. MTN is a local cellphone company.
Everyone was really happy with getting a free foam visor... and we all wore them proudly for the group pic (the oldest guy is missing, dunno where he went) once we got back to the house. Of course, I didn't manage to get the group picture before half of them were out of their clothes already...
Maman was just beaming at me on our return. She was very happy that I was able to do something like this with them and thanked me.
The kids thanked me too, but I told them we had to record a message for my parents who sent me the money to take them out. I recorded them a few times, they're so funny. One time, they said, "Merci Monsieur et Madame Le Blanc!" LOL! I repeated my parents names and they said it properly the second time. Too funny. Then they started rapping in French and everyone piped in, even the girls. It's actually really good.
Goes to show, kids are kids - no matter how rich or how poor, they all have favourite artists and sing them obsessively.
Monday, April 20, 2009
That seemed like a good idea... FOR ME TO POOP ON!!
The title is a reference to Triumph the Insult Dog.
One thing my mother warned before I left: Don't mess with voodoo.
There are many things in this world that we don't understand and therefore don't believe in. Ghosts, for example. Witchcraft, sorcery, voodoo, hoodoo... lots of people dismiss it as bullshit... but I live in Benin. No one dismisses it here.
**warning: gross stuff ahead. if you've just had lunch, or are faint of heart, don't read this!!!**
I was waiting for Mathieu to pick me up after work on Friday and I was reading the paper. The headline on page 11 of La Nation reads:
The article goes on to say that women in love are being killed. Not by AIDS, not by cancer... I have to quote it for you to believe it:
To translate basically. Rich and powerful men who want to keep or improve their richness and power, get intimate with women and then offer them absurd amounts of money to let them or ask the girls to... well... relieve themselves on the man or let the man do it on them. Days or hours later, the women fall mysteriously ill and die. DIE.
A "marabout" or powerful sorcerer is quoted in the following text, the article's continuation:
He explains again what I explained earlier, that in Ivory Coast, some clients of voodoo priests come to them for riches and power and they recommend this practice of not-so-golden showers to give them riches and power. The girl dies in 98% of cases, data which I'm sure has not been scientifically verified.
They quote one girl who politely declined a man's requests, despite the offer of 10 million francs or $25,000. Another girl whose friend died mysteriously discusses how they had laughed when she said that her boyfriend wanted her to pee on him:
They also quote doctors who looked at these patients and declared these diseases as "mal mystique".
How do you convict someone of murder?
I asked Mathieu how these guys can be punished since there's no way to prosecute them in any modern courts, and he assured me that karma's a bitch, although of course, he never could put it that way. I picture their faces shriveling up and them falling into a pile of dust, like in an Indiana Jones movie.
Anyway, I'm sure I've grossed everyone out thoroughly. Voodoo may or may not be a thing of the past, but certainly shouldn't be taken lightly. West Africa, and Africa in general, is very powerful.
The modern world underestimates itself greatly. We pride ourselves on our "intelligence" and our ability to make machines "Go", but these people can cure disease with plants and can create wealth with magic... poop.
Why, then, with all their magic, haven't they dug themselves out of the proverbial hole they're in? Perhaps for the same reason we have an economic crisis, or why we can't seem to put even a small lid on our consumerism to help out our environment... because there is good *and* evil in the world. The Good understand that using magic and powers for your own advancement will not lead to anything durable. And until the Good stand up to the Bad, until women stop taking money and gifts from men for "fecal favours" (lol, i slay me!)... until we really and truly stand up and speak out against that which we know to be evil... then evil will always win.
A little preachin' for those who made it to the end of this post.
In other news, I took SIXTEEN kids to the museum and to the amusement park this weekend. :) More on that, and pictures, tomorrow. SIXTEEN. Started with 8, and then the family got wind of it. You know, I think I'll miss the kids most of all. They're pretty adorable! And really sweet! And very well behaved! I was impressed!
One thing my mother warned before I left: Don't mess with voodoo.
There are many things in this world that we don't understand and therefore don't believe in. Ghosts, for example. Witchcraft, sorcery, voodoo, hoodoo... lots of people dismiss it as bullshit... but I live in Benin. No one dismisses it here.
**warning: gross stuff ahead. if you've just had lunch, or are faint of heart, don't read this!!!**
I was waiting for Mathieu to pick me up after work on Friday and I was reading the paper. The headline on page 11 of La Nation reads:
Les "gourous" de la mort -- Le fléau mystérieux qui décime la gent féminine (The Gurus of death -- The Mysterious Plague that is Decimating the Female Race)
The article goes on to say that women in love are being killed. Not by AIDS, not by cancer... I have to quote it for you to believe it:
Des prédateurs, ce que les Ivoiriens (de la Côte d'Ivoire) appellent les "gourous", ne sont que des personnalités mues par un souci effréné d'entretenir leur fortune qui font succomber à coups d'argent, leurs victimes en quête de gain facile et gagnant donc leur manger à la "sueur" de leurs cuisses. Le mode d'emploi trouvé par ces gros bonnets, les "grotos" comme on les appelle ici, est tout simple. Pour assouvir leur dessein lugubre, ces exterminateurs contemporains sans scrupule demandent à déféquer ou à uriner sur des filles ou vice-versa après avoir satisfait leur libido avec elles, en échange de faramineuses sommes d'argent. Quelques heures ou quelques jours après, les victimes commencent à sentir des malaises; une maladie "bizarre" s'installe et prend plusieurs formes. Puis, la suite, c'est le trépas en douce.
To translate basically. Rich and powerful men who want to keep or improve their richness and power, get intimate with women and then offer them absurd amounts of money to let them or ask the girls to... well... relieve themselves on the man or let the man do it on them. Days or hours later, the women fall mysteriously ill and die. DIE.
A "marabout" or powerful sorcerer is quoted in the following text, the article's continuation:
D.S., un marabout et exorciste à Abobo BC, très sollicité par bon nombre de footballeurs, d'artistes et de personnalités ivoiriens, a reconnu que "ça existe vraiment" et explique : "C'est une pratique que certains féticheurs (voodoun)conseillent à leurs clients. Soit, la personne défèque sur sa copine ou il demande qu'elle défèque sur lui. Ca peut paraître dégoutant mais, je vous assure que c'est un moyen infaillible pour avoir de la puissance et pour consolider sa richesse". Evidemment, cela n'est pas sans conséquence : "La fille qui accepte de se faire ch... dessus, est, dans 98% des cas, vouée à la mort. Ca peut prendre du temps. Mais, elle finira par mourir", confie le féticheur.
He explains again what I explained earlier, that in Ivory Coast, some clients of voodoo priests come to them for riches and power and they recommend this practice of not-so-golden showers to give them riches and power. The girl dies in 98% of cases, data which I'm sure has not been scientifically verified.
They quote one girl who politely declined a man's requests, despite the offer of 10 million francs or $25,000. Another girl whose friend died mysteriously discusses how they had laughed when she said that her boyfriend wanted her to pee on him:
"Moi, je soupçonne fortement son amant, une grande personnalité du pays qui lui offrait tout ce qu'elle voulait. Il y a un mois, AD m'a confiée que son amant lui avait demandé d'uriner sur lui après qu'ils eurent fait l'amour. On a bien ri. Mais, c'est depuis ce temps que ma camarade est tombée malade..."
They also quote doctors who looked at these patients and declared these diseases as "mal mystique".
How do you convict someone of murder?
I asked Mathieu how these guys can be punished since there's no way to prosecute them in any modern courts, and he assured me that karma's a bitch, although of course, he never could put it that way. I picture their faces shriveling up and them falling into a pile of dust, like in an Indiana Jones movie.
Anyway, I'm sure I've grossed everyone out thoroughly. Voodoo may or may not be a thing of the past, but certainly shouldn't be taken lightly. West Africa, and Africa in general, is very powerful.
The modern world underestimates itself greatly. We pride ourselves on our "intelligence" and our ability to make machines "Go", but these people can cure disease with plants and can create wealth with magic... poop.
Why, then, with all their magic, haven't they dug themselves out of the proverbial hole they're in? Perhaps for the same reason we have an economic crisis, or why we can't seem to put even a small lid on our consumerism to help out our environment... because there is good *and* evil in the world. The Good understand that using magic and powers for your own advancement will not lead to anything durable. And until the Good stand up to the Bad, until women stop taking money and gifts from men for "fecal favours" (lol, i slay me!)... until we really and truly stand up and speak out against that which we know to be evil... then evil will always win.
A little preachin' for those who made it to the end of this post.
In other news, I took SIXTEEN kids to the museum and to the amusement park this weekend. :) More on that, and pictures, tomorrow. SIXTEEN. Started with 8, and then the family got wind of it. You know, I think I'll miss the kids most of all. They're pretty adorable! And really sweet! And very well behaved! I was impressed!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Taxis, Shrimp, and Bob
Last week I was feeling pretty beat. I have a general idea of the work ahead of me in the next 2 months, but everything keeps changing and moving around (infuriatingly so, but I’m breathing), so when I found out that contrary to my original belief, I didn't actually have to work on Easter Monday, I called Mathieu and told him to pack a suitcase. "I made a reservation; we're going to Grand Popo."
I asked my boss how one gets to Grand Popo, because following the falling-asleep-on-the-motorcycle trip to Ouidah, I figured we should take a bus or a car or something.
"You can take a taxi from Godomey," she answered. "It shouldn't cost you more than 1 500F CFA ($3.50)." Sweet!!
We finish work early on Friday, and I got the work driver to drive me home and wait for me to get a few more things together, change quickly and drive Mathieu and I to Godomey, which is on the outskirts of Cotonou, so we could catch a taxi.
When we got there, there were 5 or 6 random cars, unmarked except for the fact that they were all old cars, falling apart, with drivers shouting out different destinations. Lomé, Ouidah, Lokossa, Abomey... Of course, when they see a white girl they want to know where she's going and if they can rent out the car. 8000F to rent it out. Still cheap, you might say, but way more than 1500!!
We found a driver that would take us for 1300F and waited for the car to fill up. When we left, there were 4 of us in the back (a bigger girl, an older man, Mathieu and I) and 2 people plus the driver in the front (a student and a young military man). Wow, after about 45 minutes I was wishing I'd shelled out the $20 for our own private car, or at least a bit more so that there would only have been 3 of us in the back. Live and learn.
We drove along quickly and I managed to snap some fun pictures along the way of this village built entirely on the lakeside, or in the lake... boats and people milled around everywhere, even in the water.
There were a few scheduled stops and when we did the ladies selling nuts, water and other random food would swarm the car. I kept praying that the driver wouldn’t try to cram someone else in with us, but it seems no one else needed a taxi.
The military man up front got out first and left the 4 of us in back. Happily there was only about 20 minutes left to our trek, and soon the taxi was leaving us on the side of the highway in Grand Popo to continue on its way to Lome, Togo.
We stopped at a restaurant because I'd gotten off work at noon, packed, found a taxi, waited for the taxi to fill up and drove to Grand Popo ... and we arrived at 5pm. 1500F for fresh fish and a local pâte which is different from the stuff we found in Cotonou, grainier and red. Except when she got back from the kitchen, suddenly the price had gone up to 2000F. She let out an "Ah!" of disbelief when we accused her of changing the price because I was Yovo... but regardless, it was delicious.
Sidenote: they don’t speak Fon in Grand Popo, they speak Mina, the language they also speak in parts of Togo.
Then Mathieu and I got on a scooter in search of our hotel. La Maison Blanche had quoted me 25,000F CFA or $57ish for a bungalow beach-side for the night, negotiable, and Mathieu thought it was outrageous, so we went in search of something else. Having called around, I already knew that everything else was booked solid, but I let him try and we drove up and down the Grand Popo strip, Mathieu, the driver and me, on a scooter that had definitely seen better days.
On the way up and down the strip I noticed a raggae bar painted brightly in red, green and yellow... a definite stop during our weekend, I thought.
The Auberge, an old colonial house, was full, but there was a pool we could swim in for 1000F and a nice restaurant we thought we might eat at. Back down the strip to L'étoile de Mer, also booked, and not that nice anyway. Finally we went to La Maison Blanche (the website doesn’t do it justice and I didn’t take any pics of the bungalow itself, sorry), where we pretended not to have a reservation, and the manager (who also turned out to be a great chef) let us know that the rooms are both double, and are 25,000 for a family, but 15,000 or $35 for a couple. Sweet!
Mathieu was worried about security, and asked if they had any guards. Two, apparently, although I never saw any. Regardless, according to everyone Mathieu asked, Grand Popo is pretty sleepy and quiet and no one makes any trouble for anybody. "This isn't Cotonou," they'd answer.
We had a little look around, the beach was much more sea-shelly, less fine than Cotonou's or Ouidah's. I think I prefer Ouidah actually, but Grand Popo had more of a touristy feel. More hotels and places to hang out on the beach.
After sunset we had a bit of tea and pulled up some chairs to watch the many many stars come out, only to see the moon rising on the ocean. Sweet!
I wanted to go for a walk along the water, but Mathieu was worried we’d get attacked and asked a young man at the hotel to join us for our walk. Mathieu likes any excuse to talk to people, and started asking the young man a bunch of questions on Grand Popo, its origins, and what there is to do here. The young man, Godfreid (his mother is Nigerian, but he doesn’t speak English), was more or less knowledgable/helpful. Apparently he’s the chef at a local restaurant, and has been for a whole 3 months!
Saturday we had an omelette and some instant coffee with some pineapple juice, fresh, of course. Then we played in the waves a little, but the lack of any life guards or anyone who can really swim prevented me from diving into the water. I’m an okay swimmer, but the ocean is merciless.
We decided to walk down the beach to check out the menu at the Auberge restaurant and passed by some fishermen and their wives collecting the catch from their nets. Didn’t seem like their catch was much to write home about, but what do I know. One of the fishermen objected to my picture taking – “you should ask permission before you take someone’s picture.” I should know better!!
The menu at the Auberge was expensive and getting to the Auberge was difficult! The sand was burning hot and we had to run from shady spot to shady spot! OW!
On the way back we decided to jog because we’d ordered a shrimp lunch for noon and god only knew what time it really was. We sat down and ordered a tall bottle of water and were so pleased to see our shrimp arrive – super tasty too! Garlic shrimp! The seafood was probably the best part of the trip (except the crab Mathieu had that night – no meat).
Then it was time to go back to the beach to sit under a palapa with some beer to watch the waves and look for seashells from our shady spot.
After a while I started to realize that my skin was pretty burned. I haven’t had a sunburn in Benin yet, despite my time on the beach, so… I kinda stopped wearing lotion. The burn wasn’t too bad, but still owwie.
It was time to get in from the sun, and I went it to take a shower, which was hot because the reservoir is black on top of the bungalow… I haven’t had a hot shower in months! Very nice. I patted myself dry and we decided to nap for about an hour and then go take a walk around town to check out that Raggae bar I saw on the way.
It was a great little place called Lion Bar. There are rooms for rent and there were tents pitched sea-side. There was an elevated concrete dancefloor with lights all around and I thought it would be a really fun place to come for Bob Marley’s birthday on May 11th – a big deal for the youth in Africa.
The owner/DJ was playing some funky little tunes. We had already been drinking beer all afternoon and their cocktail menu was too fun to pass up. We danced a lot that afternoon. The tunes were fun. The owner was happy to have us.
Then Mathieu asked if the SDB or sodabi on the menu was the real stuff… Eau de Palme… the local hard stuff, but it’s actually very nice, very soft. The owner, insulted that we would ask if it was the real stuff, immediately poured us a couple shots, which we sipped, with our cocktails, and our beer. Geez.
One of the shot glasses was from Québec, and when I asked if someone had given him a gift, he said that his wife was from Québec – that she was coming on Tuesday and that he couldn’t move with her to Québec because he has children here in Grand Popo. Very thoughtful for a father, I thought – but Mathieu says that he must be a polygamist. Who knows. Oh Africa.
The idea of Rastas and Rastafarian tradition is interesting. He had a nice mural that talked a bit about the Rasta relationship to the Bible, and a quote by Hailé Sélassié, an Ethiopian Emperor (whose title at one point was Ras Tafari)… check out the wiki en français et in English.
Drunk and late for dinner of disappointing crab and more shrimp, we called our scooter friend who drove us home in time to sit to watch the stars come out and order another big bottle of water.
Again the moon rose on the ocean, and I had the brilliant idea of order a half liter of white wine with dinner.
There was no walk on the beach that night. Actually, I’m not sure I remember much of dinner.
Slept well though and woke up with the worst dry mouth and really achy skin!!
On Sunday we decided that we’d relaxed enough. We packed up our things and had one last jog and breakfast by the sea, and then decided to go hang out at the Rasta bar until we felt it was time to leave, except when we got there, our friend was no where to be seen and there was no music playing, everyone was having breakfast since it was only 11am… a little bummed, we just decided to catch a cab home.
We got to sit in the front on the way back, which was nice – roomier, although there were only 3 people sitting in back. When we sat down, Mathieu asked the driver if he had any music. He scoffed as if to say, “As if I have music in my car. Have you seen my car?”
I have music! (This device has paid for itself many, many times over! So handy!)
Note to travellers: Never go anywhere without a Best of Bob Marley and the Wailers album. It will get you through anything. He’s so easy.
On the way back I took more drive-by pictures and Mathieu pointed out a small grave just outside one of the toll booths. Remind me to tell you the sad story one day.
Sunday we hung out at Mathieu’s mom’s house and went for dinner in an “expensive” restaurant where I ordered pizza with mozzarella on it! Happy Easter! I had rabbit for lunch on Tuesday, and that’s about as “Easter” as I got! No chocolate bunnies or eggs here!
The traffic to and from the beach in Cotonou on Sunday and Monday was unbelievable. There were people everywhere, on motorbikes, in cars, on foot... I decided I didn’t particularly want to partake in the craziness, so we stayed in.
Rained all morning on Monday… Sigh… Life’s a beach!
Tons more pictures in my Flickr set…
I asked my boss how one gets to Grand Popo, because following the falling-asleep-on-the-motorcycle trip to Ouidah, I figured we should take a bus or a car or something.
"You can take a taxi from Godomey," she answered. "It shouldn't cost you more than 1 500F CFA ($3.50)." Sweet!!
We finish work early on Friday, and I got the work driver to drive me home and wait for me to get a few more things together, change quickly and drive Mathieu and I to Godomey, which is on the outskirts of Cotonou, so we could catch a taxi.
When we got there, there were 5 or 6 random cars, unmarked except for the fact that they were all old cars, falling apart, with drivers shouting out different destinations. Lomé, Ouidah, Lokossa, Abomey... Of course, when they see a white girl they want to know where she's going and if they can rent out the car. 8000F to rent it out. Still cheap, you might say, but way more than 1500!!
We found a driver that would take us for 1300F and waited for the car to fill up. When we left, there were 4 of us in the back (a bigger girl, an older man, Mathieu and I) and 2 people plus the driver in the front (a student and a young military man). Wow, after about 45 minutes I was wishing I'd shelled out the $20 for our own private car, or at least a bit more so that there would only have been 3 of us in the back. Live and learn.
We drove along quickly and I managed to snap some fun pictures along the way of this village built entirely on the lakeside, or in the lake... boats and people milled around everywhere, even in the water.
There were a few scheduled stops and when we did the ladies selling nuts, water and other random food would swarm the car. I kept praying that the driver wouldn’t try to cram someone else in with us, but it seems no one else needed a taxi.
The military man up front got out first and left the 4 of us in back. Happily there was only about 20 minutes left to our trek, and soon the taxi was leaving us on the side of the highway in Grand Popo to continue on its way to Lome, Togo.
We stopped at a restaurant because I'd gotten off work at noon, packed, found a taxi, waited for the taxi to fill up and drove to Grand Popo ... and we arrived at 5pm. 1500F for fresh fish and a local pâte which is different from the stuff we found in Cotonou, grainier and red. Except when she got back from the kitchen, suddenly the price had gone up to 2000F. She let out an "Ah!" of disbelief when we accused her of changing the price because I was Yovo... but regardless, it was delicious.
Sidenote: they don’t speak Fon in Grand Popo, they speak Mina, the language they also speak in parts of Togo.
Then Mathieu and I got on a scooter in search of our hotel. La Maison Blanche had quoted me 25,000F CFA or $57ish for a bungalow beach-side for the night, negotiable, and Mathieu thought it was outrageous, so we went in search of something else. Having called around, I already knew that everything else was booked solid, but I let him try and we drove up and down the Grand Popo strip, Mathieu, the driver and me, on a scooter that had definitely seen better days.
On the way up and down the strip I noticed a raggae bar painted brightly in red, green and yellow... a definite stop during our weekend, I thought.
The Auberge, an old colonial house, was full, but there was a pool we could swim in for 1000F and a nice restaurant we thought we might eat at. Back down the strip to L'étoile de Mer, also booked, and not that nice anyway. Finally we went to La Maison Blanche (the website doesn’t do it justice and I didn’t take any pics of the bungalow itself, sorry), where we pretended not to have a reservation, and the manager (who also turned out to be a great chef) let us know that the rooms are both double, and are 25,000 for a family, but 15,000 or $35 for a couple. Sweet!
Mathieu was worried about security, and asked if they had any guards. Two, apparently, although I never saw any. Regardless, according to everyone Mathieu asked, Grand Popo is pretty sleepy and quiet and no one makes any trouble for anybody. "This isn't Cotonou," they'd answer.
We had a little look around, the beach was much more sea-shelly, less fine than Cotonou's or Ouidah's. I think I prefer Ouidah actually, but Grand Popo had more of a touristy feel. More hotels and places to hang out on the beach.
After sunset we had a bit of tea and pulled up some chairs to watch the many many stars come out, only to see the moon rising on the ocean. Sweet!
I wanted to go for a walk along the water, but Mathieu was worried we’d get attacked and asked a young man at the hotel to join us for our walk. Mathieu likes any excuse to talk to people, and started asking the young man a bunch of questions on Grand Popo, its origins, and what there is to do here. The young man, Godfreid (his mother is Nigerian, but he doesn’t speak English), was more or less knowledgable/helpful. Apparently he’s the chef at a local restaurant, and has been for a whole 3 months!
Saturday we had an omelette and some instant coffee with some pineapple juice, fresh, of course. Then we played in the waves a little, but the lack of any life guards or anyone who can really swim prevented me from diving into the water. I’m an okay swimmer, but the ocean is merciless.
We decided to walk down the beach to check out the menu at the Auberge restaurant and passed by some fishermen and their wives collecting the catch from their nets. Didn’t seem like their catch was much to write home about, but what do I know. One of the fishermen objected to my picture taking – “you should ask permission before you take someone’s picture.” I should know better!!
The menu at the Auberge was expensive and getting to the Auberge was difficult! The sand was burning hot and we had to run from shady spot to shady spot! OW!
On the way back we decided to jog because we’d ordered a shrimp lunch for noon and god only knew what time it really was. We sat down and ordered a tall bottle of water and were so pleased to see our shrimp arrive – super tasty too! Garlic shrimp! The seafood was probably the best part of the trip (except the crab Mathieu had that night – no meat).
Then it was time to go back to the beach to sit under a palapa with some beer to watch the waves and look for seashells from our shady spot.
After a while I started to realize that my skin was pretty burned. I haven’t had a sunburn in Benin yet, despite my time on the beach, so… I kinda stopped wearing lotion. The burn wasn’t too bad, but still owwie.
It was time to get in from the sun, and I went it to take a shower, which was hot because the reservoir is black on top of the bungalow… I haven’t had a hot shower in months! Very nice. I patted myself dry and we decided to nap for about an hour and then go take a walk around town to check out that Raggae bar I saw on the way.
It was a great little place called Lion Bar. There are rooms for rent and there were tents pitched sea-side. There was an elevated concrete dancefloor with lights all around and I thought it would be a really fun place to come for Bob Marley’s birthday on May 11th – a big deal for the youth in Africa.
The owner/DJ was playing some funky little tunes. We had already been drinking beer all afternoon and their cocktail menu was too fun to pass up. We danced a lot that afternoon. The tunes were fun. The owner was happy to have us.
Then Mathieu asked if the SDB or sodabi on the menu was the real stuff… Eau de Palme… the local hard stuff, but it’s actually very nice, very soft. The owner, insulted that we would ask if it was the real stuff, immediately poured us a couple shots, which we sipped, with our cocktails, and our beer. Geez.
One of the shot glasses was from Québec, and when I asked if someone had given him a gift, he said that his wife was from Québec – that she was coming on Tuesday and that he couldn’t move with her to Québec because he has children here in Grand Popo. Very thoughtful for a father, I thought – but Mathieu says that he must be a polygamist. Who knows. Oh Africa.
The idea of Rastas and Rastafarian tradition is interesting. He had a nice mural that talked a bit about the Rasta relationship to the Bible, and a quote by Hailé Sélassié, an Ethiopian Emperor (whose title at one point was Ras Tafari)… check out the wiki en français et in English.
Drunk and late for dinner of disappointing crab and more shrimp, we called our scooter friend who drove us home in time to sit to watch the stars come out and order another big bottle of water.
Again the moon rose on the ocean, and I had the brilliant idea of order a half liter of white wine with dinner.
There was no walk on the beach that night. Actually, I’m not sure I remember much of dinner.
Slept well though and woke up with the worst dry mouth and really achy skin!!
On Sunday we decided that we’d relaxed enough. We packed up our things and had one last jog and breakfast by the sea, and then decided to go hang out at the Rasta bar until we felt it was time to leave, except when we got there, our friend was no where to be seen and there was no music playing, everyone was having breakfast since it was only 11am… a little bummed, we just decided to catch a cab home.
We got to sit in the front on the way back, which was nice – roomier, although there were only 3 people sitting in back. When we sat down, Mathieu asked the driver if he had any music. He scoffed as if to say, “As if I have music in my car. Have you seen my car?”
I have music! (This device has paid for itself many, many times over! So handy!)
Note to travellers: Never go anywhere without a Best of Bob Marley and the Wailers album. It will get you through anything. He’s so easy.
On the way back I took more drive-by pictures and Mathieu pointed out a small grave just outside one of the toll booths. Remind me to tell you the sad story one day.
Sunday we hung out at Mathieu’s mom’s house and went for dinner in an “expensive” restaurant where I ordered pizza with mozzarella on it! Happy Easter! I had rabbit for lunch on Tuesday, and that’s about as “Easter” as I got! No chocolate bunnies or eggs here!
The traffic to and from the beach in Cotonou on Sunday and Monday was unbelievable. There were people everywhere, on motorbikes, in cars, on foot... I decided I didn’t particularly want to partake in the craziness, so we stayed in.
Rained all morning on Monday… Sigh… Life’s a beach!
Tons more pictures in my Flickr set…
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Le français au Bénin
Tout le monde sait qu'une langue se parle de différentes façons. Mon français n'est pas celui de mon frère à Paris, ni celui de ses amis à Dax dans le Sud de la France, qui n'est pas celui de ma cousine à Montréal, qui n'est pas celui de nos amis en Acadie, etc etc.
J'ai pensé essayer de faire la liste des particularités béninoises... je ne sais pas si je vais réussir, mais bon:
Doucement! = Fais attention! ou Regardes où tu t'en vas. Si tu trébuches sur quelque chose en marchant, par exemple, ou si tu t'accroches sur quelque chose en débarquant d'une moto, on va te dire, "doucement!"
Bonne arrivée = Bonjour, bienvenue chez nous, bienvenue n'importe où dans l'fond. Dans un resto, au bureau, peu importe.
Bonjour = ce qu'on dit le matin, entre 6h et midi.
Bonsoir = ce qu'on dit à tout moment, mais surtout après midi et en soirée. Si tu dis "bonjour" après midi, les gens vont te répondre "bonsoir". Ce concepte m'a confuse pendant un bon moment -- MAIS IL FAIT ENCORE PLEIN SOLEIL!!!
A tout moment: on le dit souvent aussi, pour dire "n'importe quand". Cela remplace souvent l'au revoir.
On se coince: on se rencontre quelque part. Souvent, dans un bar.
Tu quittes déjà? = Même quand je quitte le bureau tard, je quitte "déjà".
Un maquis = un petit resto/bar qui sert le menu basic du Bénin: frites au poulet (non, ce ne sont pas des lanières de poulets, c'est du poulet servi avec des patates frites), riz au jus (jus, voir ci-bas), poisson, fromage (fromage local, frit dans l'huile, trop bon) avec sauce d'arachide (mmm! mon plat préféré!), et diverses pâtes. Défois spaghetti blanc servi avec piments, onions, tomates. Les breuvages: Coca, Sprite, Fanta, bières diverses.
Pâte: pas des pâtes/pasta, de la pâte. Igname pilée, pâte noir... c'est essentiellement de la farine de maïs ou de la farine d'igname (on dirait toujours qu'ils disent de la farine de yam, et ça ressemble en effet aux grosses patates sucrées) avec de l'eau qu'on mélange et qu'on bat avec un gros baton pour que ça devienne de la gélatine. Très bon.
Jus: On met ça sur du riz - tomates, oignons fris dans de l'huile d'arachide. C'est très bon.
Un pressing: Là où on amène le linge à faire laver. Je l'ai fait une fois, ça coûter beaucoup trop cher ($25!!!)
Une von: une rue. "Tu prends la deuxième von à droite..."
C'est pour toi? = C'est à toi? J'ai mis quelque temps à la comprendre, celle-là. Pour moi? Comment? Aujourd'hui dans la voiture, il y avait une enveloppe par terre et mon collègue a voulu me demander si elle m'appartenait et il m'a demander, "C'est pour toi?"
Ou bien = N'est-ce pas? Une autre chose qu'on dit souvent ici, à la fin des phrases.
Tu as fait un peu? = Tu as bien travaillé? Tu es entrain de faire quelque chose?
Un peu, un peu: On peut dire, "J'ai fait un peu, un peu," "J'ai travaillé un peu, un peu" ou "Elle m'a remis l'argent un peu, un peu" ou "Je me sentais pas très bien alors j'ai mangé un peu, un peu" qui veut dire petit à petit ou tranquillement.
Tu es où?! = LA question par excellence au téléphone cellulaire, qui remplace presque le "bonjour".
Maman: N'importe quelle madame agée de plus de quarante ans, surtout si elle travaille dans un maquis et elle fait à manger, ou si elle travaille dans une école et elle s'occupe des enfants. Ou, n'importe quelle madame qui est vraiment une maman dont on ne connait pas le nom.
Je n'arrive pas à en trouver d'autres... je vais y penser! A tout moment!
J'ai pensé essayer de faire la liste des particularités béninoises... je ne sais pas si je vais réussir, mais bon:
Doucement! = Fais attention! ou Regardes où tu t'en vas. Si tu trébuches sur quelque chose en marchant, par exemple, ou si tu t'accroches sur quelque chose en débarquant d'une moto, on va te dire, "doucement!"
Bonne arrivée = Bonjour, bienvenue chez nous, bienvenue n'importe où dans l'fond. Dans un resto, au bureau, peu importe.
Bonjour = ce qu'on dit le matin, entre 6h et midi.
Bonsoir = ce qu'on dit à tout moment, mais surtout après midi et en soirée. Si tu dis "bonjour" après midi, les gens vont te répondre "bonsoir". Ce concepte m'a confuse pendant un bon moment -- MAIS IL FAIT ENCORE PLEIN SOLEIL!!!
A tout moment: on le dit souvent aussi, pour dire "n'importe quand". Cela remplace souvent l'au revoir.
On se coince: on se rencontre quelque part. Souvent, dans un bar.
Tu quittes déjà? = Même quand je quitte le bureau tard, je quitte "déjà".
Un maquis = un petit resto/bar qui sert le menu basic du Bénin: frites au poulet (non, ce ne sont pas des lanières de poulets, c'est du poulet servi avec des patates frites), riz au jus (jus, voir ci-bas), poisson, fromage (fromage local, frit dans l'huile, trop bon) avec sauce d'arachide (mmm! mon plat préféré!), et diverses pâtes. Défois spaghetti blanc servi avec piments, onions, tomates. Les breuvages: Coca, Sprite, Fanta, bières diverses.
Pâte: pas des pâtes/pasta, de la pâte. Igname pilée, pâte noir... c'est essentiellement de la farine de maïs ou de la farine d'igname (on dirait toujours qu'ils disent de la farine de yam, et ça ressemble en effet aux grosses patates sucrées) avec de l'eau qu'on mélange et qu'on bat avec un gros baton pour que ça devienne de la gélatine. Très bon.
Jus: On met ça sur du riz - tomates, oignons fris dans de l'huile d'arachide. C'est très bon.
Un pressing: Là où on amène le linge à faire laver. Je l'ai fait une fois, ça coûter beaucoup trop cher ($25!!!)
Une von: une rue. "Tu prends la deuxième von à droite..."
C'est pour toi? = C'est à toi? J'ai mis quelque temps à la comprendre, celle-là. Pour moi? Comment? Aujourd'hui dans la voiture, il y avait une enveloppe par terre et mon collègue a voulu me demander si elle m'appartenait et il m'a demander, "C'est pour toi?"
Ou bien = N'est-ce pas? Une autre chose qu'on dit souvent ici, à la fin des phrases.
Tu as fait un peu? = Tu as bien travaillé? Tu es entrain de faire quelque chose?
Un peu, un peu: On peut dire, "J'ai fait un peu, un peu," "J'ai travaillé un peu, un peu" ou "Elle m'a remis l'argent un peu, un peu" ou "Je me sentais pas très bien alors j'ai mangé un peu, un peu" qui veut dire petit à petit ou tranquillement.
Tu es où?! = LA question par excellence au téléphone cellulaire, qui remplace presque le "bonjour".
Maman: N'importe quelle madame agée de plus de quarante ans, surtout si elle travaille dans un maquis et elle fait à manger, ou si elle travaille dans une école et elle s'occupe des enfants. Ou, n'importe quelle madame qui est vraiment une maman dont on ne connait pas le nom.
Je n'arrive pas à en trouver d'autres... je vais y penser! A tout moment!
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
In the news
I realized it might be interesting for everyone to know what's in the news here.
French President (funny little guy) Sarkozy made a stupid comment about Africa's men not being in the history books (wonder why that is you stupid colonialist!) and then his opposition apologized profusely about it during a visit to Dakar.
There's a solar energy convention happening in Cotonou! Woot!
Benin's wonderful president Boni Yayi is celebrating 3 productive years in office. Various meetings, demonstrations (in the good sense), and debates ensue. (More on him in another blog entry. A very interesting fellow. Good guy.)
The opposition party is delaying parlementary sessions by having parlementary assistants call in sick.
The government has decided to make césariennes free (or almost free). From what I understand, they used to cost around $250, plus medication post-birth. I think they made the operating kits and operation free. The tests and medication may still cost... Editorial cartoons of men chasing their wives to make more babies... as if they needed another reason to make more babies! LOTS of debates and problems around this (what is free, what is not free, what comes in the free kits, etc.), although generally everyone agrees that it's a good idea. Personally, I would make birth control pills free. Mathieu says that you could never take away an African's right to make babies... I prefer to ask the women feeding 'em.
In Cotonou, the rain is coming and they're fixing up the drainage systems. The work is behind schedule.
Football. Something about World Cup qualifiers or something, I dunno. ;)
French President (funny little guy) Sarkozy made a stupid comment about Africa's men not being in the history books (wonder why that is you stupid colonialist!) and then his opposition apologized profusely about it during a visit to Dakar.
There's a solar energy convention happening in Cotonou! Woot!
Benin's wonderful president Boni Yayi is celebrating 3 productive years in office. Various meetings, demonstrations (in the good sense), and debates ensue. (More on him in another blog entry. A very interesting fellow. Good guy.)
The opposition party is delaying parlementary sessions by having parlementary assistants call in sick.
The government has decided to make césariennes free (or almost free). From what I understand, they used to cost around $250, plus medication post-birth. I think they made the operating kits and operation free. The tests and medication may still cost... Editorial cartoons of men chasing their wives to make more babies... as if they needed another reason to make more babies! LOTS of debates and problems around this (what is free, what is not free, what comes in the free kits, etc.), although generally everyone agrees that it's a good idea. Personally, I would make birth control pills free. Mathieu says that you could never take away an African's right to make babies... I prefer to ask the women feeding 'em.
In Cotonou, the rain is coming and they're fixing up the drainage systems. The work is behind schedule.
Football. Something about World Cup qualifiers or something, I dunno. ;)
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Weekend: Kids, Art, Bats and Salsa
Was a pretty good weekend, all in all. Was feeling extra tired on Friday, and my stomach was unhappy with something or other (part women’s troubles, part the-fish-I-ate), so I left work a little early (noon) and went home to sleep it off.
Mathieu was at his mom's house. On Thursday night, (keep track now) the daughter of Mathieu's brother's wife (from a first husband), had fallen really ill and was brought to the house, perhaps in the hopes that Mammy could help. The little girl died shortly after her arrival. Mammy wasn't home; she's got a client that's been keeping her very busy these days, to the point where she's even spending nights at the clients' house.
I've never met the little girl. Apparently she was around 10 years old. I don't know the circumstances of the death, whether or not she was sick, how she died... frankly, the less I know, the better. A kid dying is just sad.
Friday evening Mathieu and I stayed in since I wasn't feeling well... until we could stay in no more, and he took me to a restaurant he'd been meaning to check out. I figured I felt well enough to sit in an air conditioned restaurant. We went under the premise of ice cream (after the Casa del Papa lunch, we had ice-cream-on-a-stick and he's become a little addicted to ice cream!) but discovered that they had cheeseburgers and pizza at reasonable prices (small pizza was $8, cheeseburger $3.50). My appetite suddenly returned.
The cheeseburger was actually really good! The owner is Lebanese, and they put fries, coleslaw and lettuce on the burger. The pizza was cooked in a nice fire oven and quite tasty, but you could tell all the ingredients were canned: artichoke hearts, mushrooms, olives... bah. Oh, and the ice cream was good too (500F or $1.25 per scoop).
On TV, a West Life karaoke DVD. So we got the music and chorus of most of the West Life musical collection. I hope never to hear the full songs. :rolleyes: I prefer the old school ‘90s version of More Than Words, thank you very much!
On Saturday, Mathieu took me to Maman's and the whole place smelled of campfire. Outside I met little Aisha crying her eyes out. I would have asked her why except that she's not in school yet and doesn't speak French, so all I could do was tickle her a little, wipe her tears and ask her, "ça va?" before giving her a little kiss on the head and making my way into the house.
I mentioned that Maman's been working, which means some sacrificin! YUM! Lots of sheep and chickens getting butchered. Mathieu laughed that when he was at Maman’s on Friday a chicken laid an egg right in front of him.
There were a few shaved hens that the kids were carrying around and at one point one of the boys took a large knife to one of the hens as I was walking by. HOLY CRAP DON'T KILL A HEN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME PLEASE!!!!
He was just cutting the rope that was holding both hens together. I almost had a heart attack. Part of me wants to watch them kill something (so I can become a vegetarian?) and part of me just doesn't want to know.
Spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tania, Aisha's little sister who’s about 2 years old. We play "slap my hand and I'll try to grab it", a game I used to love playing with my dad. We play peek-a-boo. We play “make weird noises”. We play "honk my nose". And finally, we play, PUT THAT DOWN. Wooden matches (which she totally knows how to light), machetes, glass. Oh Tania. Maman tells me I can take her with me. She's a riot. (AND she fits in my suitcase!)
The kids like to hang out in Mathieu's room (not that they ever dared go in his room before I got there) because he plays the music really loud and watches TV. They come in and dance, which is the funniest and awesomest thing ever, as anyone who has ever watched babies dance can attest.
After a bit of dancing, I was sitting on Mathieu's bed and Tania leaned her head on my knee. I started giving her a little baby back massage. Poor kid has a bum leg so she has to limp all the time. I can imagine it must wreak havoc on her back. Of course she was out like a light and drooling on my knee in no time.
I put her on the bed and watched some more TV. The only thing cuter than a kid dancing or laughing is a kid sleeping.
Mathieu kept coming into the room and giving me random pieces of meat. Delicious. The kids were running around trying to avoid the big patches of smoke and it reminded me of sitting around a campfire with Aimée saying, "I don't like white rabbits!" trying to coax the smoke in another direction.
Eventually Tania's mother came and got her and I took my own nap until Mathieu was ready to leave. I took home some meat! mmm...
After a quick shower to wash off the smoke, I asked Mathieu, "what next?" Ice cream on a stick, of course! I better get to the gym soon. We tried a different kind than the one we'd tried before, but we both prefer the ones with the almonds in the chocolate. I'm happy they don't have Hagen Daaz here, otherwise it would be game over!
Then, WE WENT TO AN ART EXHIBIT! weeeee! ART! La Fondation Zinsou is an NGO here in Benin that promotes art. The founder of the foundation is the niece of ex-president Zinsou (1968-69) of Benin. The President's brother married a white lady. Their daughter is very cool and the exhibit was very awesome and made even more awesome by the fact that it's free to visit.
The exhibit displayed African art by 5 collectors (if my memory serves) including the Zinsou parents. Some art was very old (BC), some very contemporary, all very cool, very inspiring. Then again, going to museums and art galleries is always inspiring. There were a lot of “masks”, which I quote because they’re massive and ornate. There were quite a few talismans and fortune-telling devices. In the “contemporary” section were photographs and more abstract art.
I couldn't take any pictures, but the joy of the internet is that you can click the link above and check some of it out for yourself. You'll probably have less of a hard time loading the page then I do.
I'm hoping that next weekend I can borrow the company car and take a couple of the kids from Maman's house to the exhibit. They have kids' activities from 14h-16h on Saturdays and those kids probably never get the chance to do that sort of thing.
After the exhibit we were travelling down Jean-Paul II Avenue when I saw this flock of birds... they just kept coming and coming -- a never ending stream of black birds! So impressive!! Wait. THOSE AREN'T BIRDS!! eeeep! BATS! Hundreds if not thousands of them. I tried to snap a picture, but it was dusk. Mathieu said that this is their migrating period. Gross and cool, I wish them a happy migration, wherever they're going.
Then we’d planned to go to the Centre Culturel Français (CCF) for a concert. I didn’t know the artist playing and Mathieu hadn’t really done a good job on selling me the show. He was saying that the dude was playing his father’s music, and that his father was much better than he was… gee, sounds like fun.
But I hadn’t been to a concert since I got here, and I really wanted to check out the CCF because they have a poster outside announcing “Les semaines de la photographie” and I love photography! (awww! the website says I missed my chance! the exhibit was over on Saturday, the day we went too late! booo!)
The photography exhibit was closed after 19h, so I hope to go back soon to check it out. The CCF itself is a very cool place with a library (which also loans DVDs) and a membership card only costs 3000F ($7), so I may get one, we’ll see. Inside the CCF is a large courtyard with great trees and crazy birds that I’ve never seen or heard before. I really felt like I was in a jungle somewhere. In the courtyard there’s one small stage and a large one for concerts that sits about 100 people. We grabbed a small beer and waited for the show to start.
The concert ticket was 2000F ($6.75ish) and well worth the price. The man may be imitating his dad, but he’s got a great set of lungs and is a very good dancer. Gilles Gnonnas & les Dadjés (his father Gnonnas Pedro). He did both traditional and salsa music, which is also traditional African music, FYI.
I had to google the origins of Salsa and Son music… those slaves I tell ya…
I may as well have titled this blog entry: Everything Is African.
Mathieu was at his mom's house. On Thursday night, (keep track now) the daughter of Mathieu's brother's wife (from a first husband), had fallen really ill and was brought to the house, perhaps in the hopes that Mammy could help. The little girl died shortly after her arrival. Mammy wasn't home; she's got a client that's been keeping her very busy these days, to the point where she's even spending nights at the clients' house.
I've never met the little girl. Apparently she was around 10 years old. I don't know the circumstances of the death, whether or not she was sick, how she died... frankly, the less I know, the better. A kid dying is just sad.
Friday evening Mathieu and I stayed in since I wasn't feeling well... until we could stay in no more, and he took me to a restaurant he'd been meaning to check out. I figured I felt well enough to sit in an air conditioned restaurant. We went under the premise of ice cream (after the Casa del Papa lunch, we had ice-cream-on-a-stick and he's become a little addicted to ice cream!) but discovered that they had cheeseburgers and pizza at reasonable prices (small pizza was $8, cheeseburger $3.50). My appetite suddenly returned.
The cheeseburger was actually really good! The owner is Lebanese, and they put fries, coleslaw and lettuce on the burger. The pizza was cooked in a nice fire oven and quite tasty, but you could tell all the ingredients were canned: artichoke hearts, mushrooms, olives... bah. Oh, and the ice cream was good too (500F or $1.25 per scoop).
On TV, a West Life karaoke DVD. So we got the music and chorus of most of the West Life musical collection. I hope never to hear the full songs. :rolleyes: I prefer the old school ‘90s version of More Than Words, thank you very much!
On Saturday, Mathieu took me to Maman's and the whole place smelled of campfire. Outside I met little Aisha crying her eyes out. I would have asked her why except that she's not in school yet and doesn't speak French, so all I could do was tickle her a little, wipe her tears and ask her, "ça va?" before giving her a little kiss on the head and making my way into the house.
I mentioned that Maman's been working, which means some sacrificin! YUM! Lots of sheep and chickens getting butchered. Mathieu laughed that when he was at Maman’s on Friday a chicken laid an egg right in front of him.
There were a few shaved hens that the kids were carrying around and at one point one of the boys took a large knife to one of the hens as I was walking by. HOLY CRAP DON'T KILL A HEN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME PLEASE!!!!
He was just cutting the rope that was holding both hens together. I almost had a heart attack. Part of me wants to watch them kill something (so I can become a vegetarian?) and part of me just doesn't want to know.
Spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tania, Aisha's little sister who’s about 2 years old. We play "slap my hand and I'll try to grab it", a game I used to love playing with my dad. We play peek-a-boo. We play “make weird noises”. We play "honk my nose". And finally, we play, PUT THAT DOWN. Wooden matches (which she totally knows how to light), machetes, glass. Oh Tania. Maman tells me I can take her with me. She's a riot. (AND she fits in my suitcase!)
The kids like to hang out in Mathieu's room (not that they ever dared go in his room before I got there) because he plays the music really loud and watches TV. They come in and dance, which is the funniest and awesomest thing ever, as anyone who has ever watched babies dance can attest.
After a bit of dancing, I was sitting on Mathieu's bed and Tania leaned her head on my knee. I started giving her a little baby back massage. Poor kid has a bum leg so she has to limp all the time. I can imagine it must wreak havoc on her back. Of course she was out like a light and drooling on my knee in no time.
I put her on the bed and watched some more TV. The only thing cuter than a kid dancing or laughing is a kid sleeping.
Mathieu kept coming into the room and giving me random pieces of meat. Delicious. The kids were running around trying to avoid the big patches of smoke and it reminded me of sitting around a campfire with Aimée saying, "I don't like white rabbits!" trying to coax the smoke in another direction.
Eventually Tania's mother came and got her and I took my own nap until Mathieu was ready to leave. I took home some meat! mmm...
After a quick shower to wash off the smoke, I asked Mathieu, "what next?" Ice cream on a stick, of course! I better get to the gym soon. We tried a different kind than the one we'd tried before, but we both prefer the ones with the almonds in the chocolate. I'm happy they don't have Hagen Daaz here, otherwise it would be game over!
Then, WE WENT TO AN ART EXHIBIT! weeeee! ART! La Fondation Zinsou is an NGO here in Benin that promotes art. The founder of the foundation is the niece of ex-president Zinsou (1968-69) of Benin. The President's brother married a white lady. Their daughter is very cool and the exhibit was very awesome and made even more awesome by the fact that it's free to visit.
The exhibit displayed African art by 5 collectors (if my memory serves) including the Zinsou parents. Some art was very old (BC), some very contemporary, all very cool, very inspiring. Then again, going to museums and art galleries is always inspiring. There were a lot of “masks”, which I quote because they’re massive and ornate. There were quite a few talismans and fortune-telling devices. In the “contemporary” section were photographs and more abstract art.
I couldn't take any pictures, but the joy of the internet is that you can click the link above and check some of it out for yourself. You'll probably have less of a hard time loading the page then I do.
I'm hoping that next weekend I can borrow the company car and take a couple of the kids from Maman's house to the exhibit. They have kids' activities from 14h-16h on Saturdays and those kids probably never get the chance to do that sort of thing.
After the exhibit we were travelling down Jean-Paul II Avenue when I saw this flock of birds... they just kept coming and coming -- a never ending stream of black birds! So impressive!! Wait. THOSE AREN'T BIRDS!! eeeep! BATS! Hundreds if not thousands of them. I tried to snap a picture, but it was dusk. Mathieu said that this is their migrating period. Gross and cool, I wish them a happy migration, wherever they're going.
Then we’d planned to go to the Centre Culturel Français (CCF) for a concert. I didn’t know the artist playing and Mathieu hadn’t really done a good job on selling me the show. He was saying that the dude was playing his father’s music, and that his father was much better than he was… gee, sounds like fun.
But I hadn’t been to a concert since I got here, and I really wanted to check out the CCF because they have a poster outside announcing “Les semaines de la photographie” and I love photography! (awww! the website says I missed my chance! the exhibit was over on Saturday, the day we went too late! booo!)
The photography exhibit was closed after 19h, so I hope to go back soon to check it out. The CCF itself is a very cool place with a library (which also loans DVDs) and a membership card only costs 3000F ($7), so I may get one, we’ll see. Inside the CCF is a large courtyard with great trees and crazy birds that I’ve never seen or heard before. I really felt like I was in a jungle somewhere. In the courtyard there’s one small stage and a large one for concerts that sits about 100 people. We grabbed a small beer and waited for the show to start.
The concert ticket was 2000F ($6.75ish) and well worth the price. The man may be imitating his dad, but he’s got a great set of lungs and is a very good dancer. Gilles Gnonnas & les Dadjés (his father Gnonnas Pedro). He did both traditional and salsa music, which is also traditional African music, FYI.
I had to google the origins of Salsa and Son music… those slaves I tell ya…
To find the roots of Cuban music we look to West Africa where the slave trade thrived. The Yoruba, Congo and other West African people created rhythms in ancient times to call forth various gods. Sadly, these wonderful rhythms were brought over to the New World under dire circumstances. One drummer named Ijibwa was taken captive and placed on a slave ship for America. He was forced to play on deck to keep up the spirits of the prisoners so that the "merchandise" would arrive alive.
I may as well have titled this blog entry: Everything Is African.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tick Tock ... M' fon gandji!!
The cool thing about TV here are the documentaries on awesome African dudes.
Like Patrice Lumumba, first elected Prime Minister of Congo. Very anti-colonialist, the Belgians killed him for being a pain in the ass. They really did, and in the documentary, they laugh about it. (The Americans helped. The CIA was going to use poison toothpaste - so crafty, those Americans.) It's pretty gross. Actually, the longer I'm in Africa, the more I think that colonialism is pretty gross... not that I didn't think it was gross before. You can read his speech on Congolese Independance Day (June 30th, 1960) ici en français, and here in English. Apparently the Belgian King gave a very racist speech just before, saying something banal like, "We gave you so much, we're so great, and now we think it's good that we give you your independance." Then, without being on the agenda, Lumumba got up and infront of the international press, gave his speech.
Last night there was a documentary on General Amin of Uganda. What a guy! He was a child soldier, backwoods poor kid who rose up through the ranks because he was smart and ruthless. He's really funny, witty. In the documentary he talked a lot about telling the truth, always. I admire that kind of attitude. He wasn't always right and he killed a whole lotta people, but what a dude. If you get a chance to watch a documentary on him, please do. He's quite charming... and pretty scary. My favourite part of the documentary is when he is waving at the elephants!
Anyway, in one part of this documentary, he had bought a few new fighter jets for his army, which was quite well equiped, and he was talking to the pilots saying something like, "You must know these planes inside and out, you must read the manuals very carefully. You must know all the maps very well so that if you are asked to fly you can go and know exactly where you are going." Good advice.
He went on to say something that touched me:
I've been thinking about coming home a lot lately. Maybe it's because I'm at the halfway point, my stomach plays tricks on me weekly if not daily, the heat is beginning to not be so great anymore, and my trips to the beach are becoming less frequent... but the General (aka His Excellency, President for Life) is right. Thinking about coming back to base only makes the fight that much harder. Be where you are now and be where you'll be later, right?
...
I bought the dreamy President Obama's The Audacity of Hope for the plane-ride here and I'm still only 50 pages in. I don't know what happened to me and reading. Up until high school I was a voracious reader. Perhaps I should blame university.
Aaanyway, I just got to the part where Obama is talking about our freedom as Americans (justice and liberty for all), and how at the end of their visit to Africa, just before their wedding, his wife, although she had a great time, talked about how happy she was to get home, how much she missed the freedom and protection from general insanity that you feel there (general insanity is my term, not hers).
They talk about how their family members and neighbours in Africa would loathe the bribes they would have to give to get anything done, the poverty they had to endure, how difficult it was to find work. They talked about the random visits from relatives, how they would expect gifts, food and shelter.
I love that I'm comparing myself to the First Lady.
I expressed to Mathieu how frustrated I was not to understand the language they speak here. He took it as a bit of an insult, thought that I didn't like his language, which is not at all what I said, but I guess what I should have said was, "I really want to learn to speak Fon." Learning to speak a language is HARD, and I don't imagine I'll be fluent by the time I leave, but I should at least give it a go.
I've never been one to expect people to go out of their way to accomodate me. I guess I was expecting for everyone to speak French - my brain really needs to get over it. There are several local languages here... and the language of the conquerer is French. Gotta love the colonials!!
Language is a funny thing. It means so much. In Canada it's the same. Depending on the language(s) you speak, it pretty much defines who you are (where you're from and where you went, how much money your parents had, what country conquered yours centuries ago).
Here, the better your French is, the better the chances you come from a rich family who could afford to put you through school, or you really struggled to make your way through school.
So today's the day I say, "Brain, get over it. Fon is the language you'll be hearing most. Take it and learn it as much as you can because you probably won't get the chance to speak it much when you get back to Toronto!!"
Fon lesson of the day:
Are you good? // Ah dough dagbay yah (accent français: a do dagbé ya - ça va bien?)
I'm good. // M' dough dagbay yah (accent français: M' do dagbé ya - je vais bien.)
Did you wake up well? Tu t'es bien réveillé? // Ah fow gangeeya? A fon gandjia?
I woke up well. Je me suis bien réveillé. // M' fow gangee. M' fon gandji.
You really have to watch when you "hmm?" and "uh huh" here -- you never know what you're actually saying!!!
Like Patrice Lumumba, first elected Prime Minister of Congo. Very anti-colonialist, the Belgians killed him for being a pain in the ass. They really did, and in the documentary, they laugh about it. (The Americans helped. The CIA was going to use poison toothpaste - so crafty, those Americans.) It's pretty gross. Actually, the longer I'm in Africa, the more I think that colonialism is pretty gross... not that I didn't think it was gross before. You can read his speech on Congolese Independance Day (June 30th, 1960) ici en français, and here in English. Apparently the Belgian King gave a very racist speech just before, saying something banal like, "We gave you so much, we're so great, and now we think it's good that we give you your independance." Then, without being on the agenda, Lumumba got up and infront of the international press, gave his speech.
Last night there was a documentary on General Amin of Uganda. What a guy! He was a child soldier, backwoods poor kid who rose up through the ranks because he was smart and ruthless. He's really funny, witty. In the documentary he talked a lot about telling the truth, always. I admire that kind of attitude. He wasn't always right and he killed a whole lotta people, but what a dude. If you get a chance to watch a documentary on him, please do. He's quite charming... and pretty scary. My favourite part of the documentary is when he is waving at the elephants!
Anyway, in one part of this documentary, he had bought a few new fighter jets for his army, which was quite well equiped, and he was talking to the pilots saying something like, "You must know these planes inside and out, you must read the manuals very carefully. You must know all the maps very well so that if you are asked to fly you can go and know exactly where you are going." Good advice.
He went on to say something that touched me:
When you are on your mission, do not think about coming back to the base. Think about your mission only, and God willing, you will come back to the base.
I've been thinking about coming home a lot lately. Maybe it's because I'm at the halfway point, my stomach plays tricks on me weekly if not daily, the heat is beginning to not be so great anymore, and my trips to the beach are becoming less frequent... but the General (aka His Excellency, President for Life) is right. Thinking about coming back to base only makes the fight that much harder. Be where you are now and be where you'll be later, right?
...
I bought the dreamy President Obama's The Audacity of Hope for the plane-ride here and I'm still only 50 pages in. I don't know what happened to me and reading. Up until high school I was a voracious reader. Perhaps I should blame university.
Aaanyway, I just got to the part where Obama is talking about our freedom as Americans (justice and liberty for all), and how at the end of their visit to Africa, just before their wedding, his wife, although she had a great time, talked about how happy she was to get home, how much she missed the freedom and protection from general insanity that you feel there (general insanity is my term, not hers).
They talk about how their family members and neighbours in Africa would loathe the bribes they would have to give to get anything done, the poverty they had to endure, how difficult it was to find work. They talked about the random visits from relatives, how they would expect gifts, food and shelter.
I love that I'm comparing myself to the First Lady.
I expressed to Mathieu how frustrated I was not to understand the language they speak here. He took it as a bit of an insult, thought that I didn't like his language, which is not at all what I said, but I guess what I should have said was, "I really want to learn to speak Fon." Learning to speak a language is HARD, and I don't imagine I'll be fluent by the time I leave, but I should at least give it a go.
I've never been one to expect people to go out of their way to accomodate me. I guess I was expecting for everyone to speak French - my brain really needs to get over it. There are several local languages here... and the language of the conquerer is French. Gotta love the colonials!!
Language is a funny thing. It means so much. In Canada it's the same. Depending on the language(s) you speak, it pretty much defines who you are (where you're from and where you went, how much money your parents had, what country conquered yours centuries ago).
Here, the better your French is, the better the chances you come from a rich family who could afford to put you through school, or you really struggled to make your way through school.
So today's the day I say, "Brain, get over it. Fon is the language you'll be hearing most. Take it and learn it as much as you can because you probably won't get the chance to speak it much when you get back to Toronto!!"
Fon lesson of the day:
Are you good? // Ah dough dagbay yah (accent français: a do dagbé ya - ça va bien?)
I'm good. // M' dough dagbay yah (accent français: M' do dagbé ya - je vais bien.)
Did you wake up well? Tu t'es bien réveillé? // Ah fow gangeeya? A fon gandjia?
I woke up well. Je me suis bien réveillé. // M' fow gangee. M' fon gandji.
You really have to watch when you "hmm?" and "uh huh" here -- you never know what you're actually saying!!!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I only wear Gucci, sweetie
Oh Africa.
I've been clothes shopping a few times in some boutiques near my house, to no avail.
"Do you have anything that doesn't have a huge Dolce&Gabanna logo on it?"
Everything here is branded. Lacoste, Polo, D&G, Gucci... 5$, 10$... not bad quality, but just wrong. OBVIOUSLY it's all fake. I know it, they know it... do they even know who D&G is? They don't really seem to care. Apparently the Chinese can even fake cars. FAKE CARS!! Anyone care for an imitation Cadillac?
What is the world coming to?
When I ask if they have anything plainer, or without a logo on it, they look at me like I'm crazy.
And people here dress UP. At work, there are days when some of the ladies come dressed in what I consider a GOWN. I've learned to up my look a little (sometimes), but they seem to not care what I wear. They tend to let white people wear whatever they want (although God knows what they say to each other in Fon when they see the white girls walk by!). Like the time Jean didn't tell me we were going to a freaking funeral and I was wearing jeans and a tank top. GRRRR!! I'm still mad about that one!
I'm looking forward to having a few dresses made, and having a blouse fixed, and having them copy a pair of pants that I brought. I'll let you know how much those run me. There are a lot of seamstress/tailor places around, and a lot of bright coloured fabrics! OH AFRICA!!!
Sometimes, like at that funeral, you'll see a whole group of people walking around in different outfits, but all made from the same fabric. Like someone just bought a bushel and people chose their own patterns. Nifty!
Oh! Gotta run! Wednesday nights at 17h we have a trainer come in for an aerobics class. Friday mornings too.
Happy April everyone... I'm home in 2.5 months... eep! (Went to get my visa renewed this morning. Need a form from City Hall saying that I live here, and a letter from my boss saying that I work here. Met a girl from Saskatoon in the visa line-up! Was nice to meet a girl from "back home" and made me realize... I really should make an effort to make it out to central and western Canada one day!!!)
I've been clothes shopping a few times in some boutiques near my house, to no avail.
"Do you have anything that doesn't have a huge Dolce&Gabanna logo on it?"
Everything here is branded. Lacoste, Polo, D&G, Gucci... 5$, 10$... not bad quality, but just wrong. OBVIOUSLY it's all fake. I know it, they know it... do they even know who D&G is? They don't really seem to care. Apparently the Chinese can even fake cars. FAKE CARS!! Anyone care for an imitation Cadillac?
What is the world coming to?
When I ask if they have anything plainer, or without a logo on it, they look at me like I'm crazy.
And people here dress UP. At work, there are days when some of the ladies come dressed in what I consider a GOWN. I've learned to up my look a little (sometimes), but they seem to not care what I wear. They tend to let white people wear whatever they want (although God knows what they say to each other in Fon when they see the white girls walk by!). Like the time Jean didn't tell me we were going to a freaking funeral and I was wearing jeans and a tank top. GRRRR!! I'm still mad about that one!
I'm looking forward to having a few dresses made, and having a blouse fixed, and having them copy a pair of pants that I brought. I'll let you know how much those run me. There are a lot of seamstress/tailor places around, and a lot of bright coloured fabrics! OH AFRICA!!!
Sometimes, like at that funeral, you'll see a whole group of people walking around in different outfits, but all made from the same fabric. Like someone just bought a bushel and people chose their own patterns. Nifty!
Oh! Gotta run! Wednesday nights at 17h we have a trainer come in for an aerobics class. Friday mornings too.
Happy April everyone... I'm home in 2.5 months... eep! (Went to get my visa renewed this morning. Need a form from City Hall saying that I live here, and a letter from my boss saying that I work here. Met a girl from Saskatoon in the visa line-up! Was nice to meet a girl from "back home" and made me realize... I really should make an effort to make it out to central and western Canada one day!!!)
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