Was a pretty good weekend, all in all. Was feeling extra tired on Friday, and my stomach was unhappy with something or other (part women’s troubles, part the-fish-I-ate), so I left work a little early (noon) and went home to sleep it off.
Mathieu was at his mom's house. On Thursday night, (keep track now) the daughter of Mathieu's brother's wife (from a first husband), had fallen really ill and was brought to the house, perhaps in the hopes that Mammy could help. The little girl died shortly after her arrival. Mammy wasn't home; she's got a client that's been keeping her very busy these days, to the point where she's even spending nights at the clients' house.
I've never met the little girl. Apparently she was around 10 years old. I don't know the circumstances of the death, whether or not she was sick, how she died... frankly, the less I know, the better. A kid dying is just sad.
Friday evening Mathieu and I stayed in since I wasn't feeling well... until we could stay in no more, and he took me to a restaurant he'd been meaning to check out. I figured I felt well enough to sit in an air conditioned restaurant. We went under the premise of ice cream (after the Casa del Papa lunch, we had ice-cream-on-a-stick and he's become a little addicted to ice cream!) but discovered that they had cheeseburgers and pizza at reasonable prices (small pizza was $8, cheeseburger $3.50). My appetite suddenly returned.
The cheeseburger was actually really good! The owner is Lebanese, and they put fries, coleslaw and lettuce on the burger. The pizza was cooked in a nice fire oven and quite tasty, but you could tell all the ingredients were canned: artichoke hearts, mushrooms, olives... bah. Oh, and the ice cream was good too (500F or $1.25 per scoop).
On TV, a West Life karaoke DVD. So we got the music and chorus of most of the West Life musical collection. I hope never to hear the full songs. :rolleyes: I prefer the old school ‘90s version of More Than Words, thank you very much!
On Saturday, Mathieu took me to Maman's and the whole place smelled of campfire. Outside I met little Aisha crying her eyes out. I would have asked her why except that she's not in school yet and doesn't speak French, so all I could do was tickle her a little, wipe her tears and ask her, "ça va?" before giving her a little kiss on the head and making my way into the house.
I mentioned that Maman's been working, which means some sacrificin! YUM! Lots of sheep and chickens getting butchered. Mathieu laughed that when he was at Maman’s on Friday a chicken laid an egg right in front of him.
There were a few shaved hens that the kids were carrying around and at one point one of the boys took a large knife to one of the hens as I was walking by. HOLY CRAP DON'T KILL A HEN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME PLEASE!!!!
He was just cutting the rope that was holding both hens together. I almost had a heart attack. Part of me wants to watch them kill something (so I can become a vegetarian?) and part of me just doesn't want to know.
Spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Tania, Aisha's little sister who’s about 2 years old. We play "slap my hand and I'll try to grab it", a game I used to love playing with my dad. We play peek-a-boo. We play “make weird noises”. We play "honk my nose". And finally, we play, PUT THAT DOWN. Wooden matches (which she totally knows how to light), machetes, glass. Oh Tania. Maman tells me I can take her with me. She's a riot. (AND she fits in my suitcase!)
The kids like to hang out in Mathieu's room (not that they ever dared go in his room before I got there) because he plays the music really loud and watches TV. They come in and dance, which is the funniest and awesomest thing ever, as anyone who has ever watched babies dance can attest.
After a bit of dancing, I was sitting on Mathieu's bed and Tania leaned her head on my knee. I started giving her a little baby back massage. Poor kid has a bum leg so she has to limp all the time. I can imagine it must wreak havoc on her back. Of course she was out like a light and drooling on my knee in no time.
I put her on the bed and watched some more TV. The only thing cuter than a kid dancing or laughing is a kid sleeping.
Mathieu kept coming into the room and giving me random pieces of meat. Delicious. The kids were running around trying to avoid the big patches of smoke and it reminded me of sitting around a campfire with Aimée saying, "I don't like white rabbits!" trying to coax the smoke in another direction.
Eventually Tania's mother came and got her and I took my own nap until Mathieu was ready to leave. I took home some meat! mmm...
After a quick shower to wash off the smoke, I asked Mathieu, "what next?" Ice cream on a stick, of course! I better get to the gym soon. We tried a different kind than the one we'd tried before, but we both prefer the ones with the almonds in the chocolate. I'm happy they don't have Hagen Daaz here, otherwise it would be game over!
Then, WE WENT TO AN ART EXHIBIT! weeeee! ART!
La Fondation Zinsou is an NGO here in Benin that promotes art. The founder of the foundation is the niece of ex-president Zinsou (1968-69) of Benin. The President's brother married a white lady. Their daughter is very cool and the exhibit was very awesome and made even more awesome by the fact that it's free to visit.
The exhibit displayed African art by 5 collectors (if my memory serves) including the Zinsou parents. Some art was very old (BC), some very contemporary, all very cool, very inspiring. Then again, going to museums and art galleries is always inspiring. There were a lot of “masks”, which I quote because they’re massive and ornate. There were quite a few talismans and fortune-telling devices. In the “contemporary” section were photographs and more abstract art.
I couldn't take any pictures, but the joy of the internet is that you can click the link above and check some of it out for yourself. You'll probably have less of a hard time loading the page then I do.
I'm hoping that next weekend I can borrow the company car and take a couple of the kids from Maman's house to the exhibit. They have kids' activities from 14h-16h on Saturdays and those kids probably never get the chance to do that sort of thing.
After the exhibit we were travelling down Jean-Paul II Avenue when I saw this flock of birds... they just kept coming and coming -- a never ending stream of black birds! So impressive!! Wait. THOSE AREN'T BIRDS!! eeeep! BATS! Hundreds if not thousands of them. I tried to snap a picture, but it was dusk. Mathieu said that this is their migrating period. Gross and cool, I wish them a happy migration, wherever they're going.
Then we’d planned to go to the
Centre Culturel Français (CCF) for a concert. I didn’t know the artist playing and Mathieu hadn’t really done a good job on selling me the show. He was saying that the dude was playing his father’s music, and that his father was much better than he was… gee, sounds like fun.
But I hadn’t been to a concert since I got here, and I really wanted to check out the CCF because they have a poster outside announcing “Les semaines de la photographie” and I love photography!
(awww! the website says I missed my chance! the exhibit was over on Saturday, the day we went too late! booo!)The photography exhibit was closed after 19h, so I hope to go back soon to check it out. The CCF itself is a very cool place with a library (which also loans DVDs) and a membership card only costs 3000F ($7), so I may get one, we’ll see. Inside the CCF is a large courtyard with great trees and crazy birds that I’ve never seen or heard before. I really felt like I was in a jungle somewhere. In the courtyard there’s one small stage and a large one for concerts that sits about 100 people. We grabbed a small beer and waited for the show to start.
The concert ticket was 2000F ($6.75ish) and well worth the price. The man may be imitating his dad, but he’s got a great set of lungs and is a very good dancer. Gilles Gnonnas & les Dadjés (his father Gnonnas Pedro). He did both traditional and salsa music, which is also traditional African music, FYI.
I had to google the
origins of Salsa and Son music… those slaves I tell ya…
To find the roots of Cuban music we look to West Africa where the slave trade thrived. The Yoruba, Congo and other West African people created rhythms in ancient times to call forth various gods. Sadly, these wonderful rhythms were brought over to the New World under dire circumstances. One drummer named Ijibwa was taken captive and placed on a slave ship for America. He was forced to play on deck to keep up the spirits of the prisoners so that the "merchandise" would arrive alive.
I may as well have titled this blog entry: Everything Is African.
