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.
Showing posts with label cute kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cute kids. Show all posts
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.
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.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Gogo Dagbe
Where do I even begin? I had to play interpreter last week and spent a lot of time "in the field" because when we have guests, we spend a lot of time showing them around. Translating is exhausting work. I'm pretty good at it though and the work is much appreciated -- it even got me some face time on TV because I got to translate what our guests were saying to journalists for the news! I'M A STAR!
We went to visit a school for the blind with our group. I fell in love with this one little boy there. The games he gets to play through the work my NGO does was making him so happy, clapping and swinging his head around. I can't imagine being blind and I sure as hell can't imagine being blind in Cotonou. The motorcycles and cars don't care who you are or how good your eyesight is. GRATEFUL MOMENT as I think about all the beautiful and amazing things that I've seen in my life... I can't imagine never having seen the moon rise on the ocean in Cancun, or the beach I saw on Wedesday in Ouidah. (More on the amazingness of Ouidah later...)
At the Ministry of Education in Toronto I was working for a Division within which was the Provincial Schools, or schools for deaf, blind and deaf-blind kids. We visited one with a group of managers in April 2008 and I remember being so impressed with the kids and what they were capable of, despite their disability (or, to be politically correct, their "differing" ability). This school in Benin didn't have half the equipment, faculty or resources that the kids back home do, but the Director of this school for the blind was very hopeful, stressing however that they only had a tiny part of the blind population attending their schools. They also have a section for the older folk who lose their eyesight.
Picture the most remote village in Africa, accessible only with the most rugged Land Cruiser (mmm Toyota Land Cruisers), and then imagine surviving to be elderly in one of these remote villages, while your children and grandchildren all move to the city, leaving you behind, when you start to lose your eyesight. There's no Shoppers Drug Mart next door to buy a pair of cheap reading glasses. There's no optometrist down the road. You might not even have a phone or a neighbour.
Some NGOs try to go around to every village and do awareness gatherings, and try to find those with the most need to bring them to these centres for the blind. The numbers are sad though. About 20,000 people are blind (a little or a lot) in Benin, and only 300 attend these schools.
And just when you think you've gotten a handle on all the problems a society can have... you find a new can of worms.
So Wednesday we took the gang to Ouidah. This city is known as the tourist city because it has a python museum and a slave-trade route. Of course my camera's battery died about 2 hours into the day, before we even got to Ouidah, but hopefully I'll go back.
The python museum was really cool and we each got to have a big ol' snake wrapped around our necks. The people whose tribe revere the python have 10 scars on their faces. Two on each cheek, two in the middle between their eyes, and four more tiny ones on the forehead. The pythons are their protectors and gods. They let them roam around freely... it's considered good luck for one to make its way into your home. They're harmless (but freaky and huge!! eep!).
The slave route was depressing, as you can well imagine. One King resisted the temptation of the Portuguese Ambassador, De Souza, and even imprisonned him for wanting to sell the African people, but the next King wasn't so nice. The men sold were robust and strong, prisoners of war that the King was able to capture thanks to the weapons provided by the white folk who wanted the slaves. Handy, no? Land and power for the King, slaves for the Americas, for France, Holland, Portugal, Spain...
When I said the beach was supposed to be nice, I understated. Holy crap it's gorgeous. Row upon row of palm trees and clear clean sand with huge waves... gorgeous. I could've stayed there all day and all night. A long sandy road took us past a bunch of huts built from tressed palm leaves where the fishermen live with their families. I don't imagine many of these kids go to school considering it's a 30 minute *drive* to the city. But if there's one place I'd want to live the simple life, it's there. I'm not sure I could live on fish, but to live there, I'd certainly give it a try.
I'm currently writing a report for the work I accomplished in February and I'm actually quite pleased. I have tons of great ideas that can hopefully help... here's to hoping I have the time and the ingenuity to get them up and running in the next couple months.
oh, and PS: Thursday at lunch, my colleague Jean-Paul joined me and had rabbit head in some sort of sauce. Crunch. They eat everything here... not the skull mind you - although he really did bite right into it - but the eyes, ears, nose... yum? I couldn't watch. Happily the TV was on.
Burned myself a little on the tailpipe of Mathieu's motorcycle. Reminded me of the time Stephanie charred her leg on some boy's bike and showed up for my sweet 16 all bandaged up. No bandage needed in this case, and happily I have polysporin.
Mathieu's nieces bought me a dozen tomatoes for 300 West African Francs (or $0.70) and 18 eggs for $4... Life's good when you know where to get your food. And I now know how to say, 'eggs', 'peanuts' and 'nice bum' (see blog title) in Fon... ;)
I now no longer wonder why they're called "gogo dancers"...
We went to visit a school for the blind with our group. I fell in love with this one little boy there. The games he gets to play through the work my NGO does was making him so happy, clapping and swinging his head around. I can't imagine being blind and I sure as hell can't imagine being blind in Cotonou. The motorcycles and cars don't care who you are or how good your eyesight is. GRATEFUL MOMENT as I think about all the beautiful and amazing things that I've seen in my life... I can't imagine never having seen the moon rise on the ocean in Cancun, or the beach I saw on Wedesday in Ouidah. (More on the amazingness of Ouidah later...)
At the Ministry of Education in Toronto I was working for a Division within which was the Provincial Schools, or schools for deaf, blind and deaf-blind kids. We visited one with a group of managers in April 2008 and I remember being so impressed with the kids and what they were capable of, despite their disability (or, to be politically correct, their "differing" ability). This school in Benin didn't have half the equipment, faculty or resources that the kids back home do, but the Director of this school for the blind was very hopeful, stressing however that they only had a tiny part of the blind population attending their schools. They also have a section for the older folk who lose their eyesight.
Picture the most remote village in Africa, accessible only with the most rugged Land Cruiser (mmm Toyota Land Cruisers), and then imagine surviving to be elderly in one of these remote villages, while your children and grandchildren all move to the city, leaving you behind, when you start to lose your eyesight. There's no Shoppers Drug Mart next door to buy a pair of cheap reading glasses. There's no optometrist down the road. You might not even have a phone or a neighbour.
Some NGOs try to go around to every village and do awareness gatherings, and try to find those with the most need to bring them to these centres for the blind. The numbers are sad though. About 20,000 people are blind (a little or a lot) in Benin, and only 300 attend these schools.
And just when you think you've gotten a handle on all the problems a society can have... you find a new can of worms.
So Wednesday we took the gang to Ouidah. This city is known as the tourist city because it has a python museum and a slave-trade route. Of course my camera's battery died about 2 hours into the day, before we even got to Ouidah, but hopefully I'll go back.
The python museum was really cool and we each got to have a big ol' snake wrapped around our necks. The people whose tribe revere the python have 10 scars on their faces. Two on each cheek, two in the middle between their eyes, and four more tiny ones on the forehead. The pythons are their protectors and gods. They let them roam around freely... it's considered good luck for one to make its way into your home. They're harmless (but freaky and huge!! eep!).
The slave route was depressing, as you can well imagine. One King resisted the temptation of the Portuguese Ambassador, De Souza, and even imprisonned him for wanting to sell the African people, but the next King wasn't so nice. The men sold were robust and strong, prisoners of war that the King was able to capture thanks to the weapons provided by the white folk who wanted the slaves. Handy, no? Land and power for the King, slaves for the Americas, for France, Holland, Portugal, Spain...
When I said the beach was supposed to be nice, I understated. Holy crap it's gorgeous. Row upon row of palm trees and clear clean sand with huge waves... gorgeous. I could've stayed there all day and all night. A long sandy road took us past a bunch of huts built from tressed palm leaves where the fishermen live with their families. I don't imagine many of these kids go to school considering it's a 30 minute *drive* to the city. But if there's one place I'd want to live the simple life, it's there. I'm not sure I could live on fish, but to live there, I'd certainly give it a try.
I'm currently writing a report for the work I accomplished in February and I'm actually quite pleased. I have tons of great ideas that can hopefully help... here's to hoping I have the time and the ingenuity to get them up and running in the next couple months.
oh, and PS: Thursday at lunch, my colleague Jean-Paul joined me and had rabbit head in some sort of sauce. Crunch. They eat everything here... not the skull mind you - although he really did bite right into it - but the eyes, ears, nose... yum? I couldn't watch. Happily the TV was on.
Burned myself a little on the tailpipe of Mathieu's motorcycle. Reminded me of the time Stephanie charred her leg on some boy's bike and showed up for my sweet 16 all bandaged up. No bandage needed in this case, and happily I have polysporin.
Mathieu's nieces bought me a dozen tomatoes for 300 West African Francs (or $0.70) and 18 eggs for $4... Life's good when you know where to get your food. And I now know how to say, 'eggs', 'peanuts' and 'nice bum' (see blog title) in Fon... ;)
I now no longer wonder why they're called "gogo dancers"...
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
What day is it??
Too many kids in the street today... I find myself squinting my eyes at them thinking, WHY AREN'T YOU IN SCHOOL???!!!
Then I realize it's Wednesday afternoon and kids have Wednesday afternoons off. Doh!
Work finally got me a map of Cotonou... except when we looked at it closer, we realized it's from 1995. They're still selling 15 year old maps! Cotonou has changed a LOT since then!
Hoping to get a map of Benin for my office too... y'all know how I love maps... they're handy when you want to know where you are. And here, often, I wonder!
Oh, and I realized something I miss from home... I MISS NORMAL. I don't miss snow though, and I hear March is offering no respite, so I don't want to come home just yet. I offer my sympathies to my Canada-peeps suffering the end of despair/Winter. I'm with you... but happily only in spirit!!!
I might have to move out of my apartment. The inside walls look like they're getting wet, and it's only rained twice. I noticed a lot of condensation in a doorway yesterday and there are dark spots in corners in the bedroom that are getting darker. Oh yay mold!
Plus there are holes big enough for lizards to come into my house, so I can't wait for it to start raining for real and for other creatures to find respite in my home. So maybe I'll move... not sure yet. My landlord is shady and doesn't seem to care too much about me. I'll stay for March I guess. We'll see what I'll do for April. I have to talk to the guy at work about it and he's in Ghana for the rest of the week!
Also, I'm kind of out of the way. I wouldn't mind being within walking distance of work/the beach... or at least a decent market so I can buy groceries daily rather than once a week. Doing big grocery trips with Mathieu on his motorcycle is pretty funny! Backpacks, holding a bag of eggs and a 2-4 infront of him while he drives! eep! Talk about driving carefully!
Cooking more now... checked my bank account and realized that eating out may be cheap here, but it ain't cheap enough!! I can get lunch for about 2-3 dollars CAN, but dinner's more around 10.
Made the most delicious french fries last night! YUM! I love peanut oil!
Then I realize it's Wednesday afternoon and kids have Wednesday afternoons off. Doh!
Work finally got me a map of Cotonou... except when we looked at it closer, we realized it's from 1995. They're still selling 15 year old maps! Cotonou has changed a LOT since then!
Hoping to get a map of Benin for my office too... y'all know how I love maps... they're handy when you want to know where you are. And here, often, I wonder!
Oh, and I realized something I miss from home... I MISS NORMAL. I don't miss snow though, and I hear March is offering no respite, so I don't want to come home just yet. I offer my sympathies to my Canada-peeps suffering the end of despair/Winter. I'm with you... but happily only in spirit!!!
I might have to move out of my apartment. The inside walls look like they're getting wet, and it's only rained twice. I noticed a lot of condensation in a doorway yesterday and there are dark spots in corners in the bedroom that are getting darker. Oh yay mold!
Plus there are holes big enough for lizards to come into my house, so I can't wait for it to start raining for real and for other creatures to find respite in my home. So maybe I'll move... not sure yet. My landlord is shady and doesn't seem to care too much about me. I'll stay for March I guess. We'll see what I'll do for April. I have to talk to the guy at work about it and he's in Ghana for the rest of the week!
Also, I'm kind of out of the way. I wouldn't mind being within walking distance of work/the beach... or at least a decent market so I can buy groceries daily rather than once a week. Doing big grocery trips with Mathieu on his motorcycle is pretty funny! Backpacks, holding a bag of eggs and a 2-4 infront of him while he drives! eep! Talk about driving carefully!
Cooking more now... checked my bank account and realized that eating out may be cheap here, but it ain't cheap enough!! I can get lunch for about 2-3 dollars CAN, but dinner's more around 10.
Made the most delicious french fries last night! YUM! I love peanut oil!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Je suis sirène
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!
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!
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!!
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 ;)
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Good in Everyone
Aw ya... listening to some Herbie Hancock, rockin the air conditioning, just got back from my first walk to the beach (the feeling I had this morning that I should buy a plane ticket home vanished when I saw the waves roll in on the sand -- home? what home?) and an uber-filling lunch. Oh my gaaaad I can't wait to be more familiar with the food here so that my friend Jean can stop ordering for me. I accused him of trying to fatten me up. "Just a little," he said.
My colleagues here are all awesome. Such thoughtful and hard-working people. At noon today, I thought, "Holy shit, if I have to wait til 1pm to take a lunch break and go for a walk, I will DIE." They work straight from 8h30 to 1pm!! NO CAN DO! Call me lazy, I call it HUMAN.
I asked Jean - don't you get hungry?? No, apparently not. Then again, at the age of 6 he was getting up at 5am to walk 20km to the fields where he spent all day under the hot African sun cutting down branches, pulling weeds and burning stuff only to walk the 20km home afterwards. There is no lazy work-ethic here.
Anyway, as I made my way to the door at noon -- actually, a funny language barrier here. They didn't understand when I said, "Je m'en vais prendre une marche." Apparently they don't "take" walks. It's kind of a funny expression when you think about it. We could just as easily say, "I'm going walking," or "I'm going to walk," which is way more accurate. Anyway, everyone was working, but I found Jean downstairs reading the paper, so I asked him if he wanted to join me on my walk. Once he figured out what it was I wanted to do, he came with me. "Do you want to go to the beach?" EEEEEK! Yay!
We started to walk and a bunch of kids came out of a school nearby for lunch. The children here are SO CUTE!!!
They have a word for "white person" in Fon, the local language, which sounds like YEY-VO (I'll have to ask how to spell it). The children see you and sing a song that goes something like, "Yévo, yévo, Comment allez-vous, ça va bien merci!"
I'll have to learn way more Fon while I'm here. I wonder if I can find a textbook of some sort. SPEAK WHITE, DAMMIT! (kidding, kidding...)
This little boy was hiding in the shade under a bench, playing in the sand while we were walking along the beach. Jean wanted me to try some local fruit... and we bought it from his mother. She had this little bundle of baby blubber straped to her back, sleeping soundly... I wanted to eat the baby!!!! It's hair was all natted with different coloured elastics... holy cuteness! While Jean was negotiating the price, this little boy started to sing to me.
I'm sorry Maria, WHAT?! Yes, I've been eating the fruit here.
Those who know me, know I don't eat fruit... but I promised my friend Dair that although I wouldn't go out of my way to eat any, if any fruit was offered I wouldn't decline. I think my body will go into shock, but we'll see. Speaking of which, I think he left the bag of fruit we bought from the lady at the restaurant we stopped in after -- I should go ask him. In any event, he made me eat some local fried bananas at lunch, so I think my fruit quota has been met for the day. HAPPY DAIR?!
Anyway, during lunch we got on the topic of fear... oh right, because we were talking about how people here talk to each other and aren't really afraid of one another, and how when he went to Toronto, a girl was afraid of him when he went to help her take her bags off the subway, or the time he was walking down Gerard and a girl started to run in the other direction (he's not shady or anything, quite good looking, he's just black). Or how our first instinct is fear (or annoyance) when we go to a bank machine and someone is waiting behind us. It's a crazy world we live in. It's just not like that here. Everyone talks to each other, or doesn't. Whatevs.
We started to talk about how important it is for the good in the world to stand up. The bad in the world speaks very loudly. The good whispers. The news we watch is all bad, all the time. Violence, war, disease, corruption... why? Is it not the minority of events? Isn't there far more good going on in the world?
I wish people would talk more about organizations like UNICEF or Right to Play rather than Al Quaeda. Why not promote these messages of hope rather than the messages of violence? It's important to know about the bad, but far more important to know that there is good. Why not mention that a black man saved a white couple from drowning rather than splatter the headline, Black Man kills White Couple?? Why doesn't the first make the news?
This is why I watch The Hour and not The National. It has an effect on us -- don't think it doesn't.
When was the last time you smiled at someone on the subway? Or said, "Hi, good morning" to the people who work in your building, in the elevator? What happened to our humanity?
Of course our conversation ended with Obama. He is the quiet good majority turned into a roaring lion of hope. SPEAK UP DAMMIT. Make the kind of world you wished you lived in. What's the worst that could happen? Someone will look at you funny for saying hello? For helping them with their bags?
The risk of violence and accidents exists no matter what we do.
So forget the bad for a moment and do more good. Ignoring each other is not good.
Oh my god - 2 of the 4 croissants they brought me for breakfast are staring at me... "we are chocolate and we are delicious!!" oooh my belly is so full from rice and cheese and plantains... Africa's gonna make me fat.
My colleagues here are all awesome. Such thoughtful and hard-working people. At noon today, I thought, "Holy shit, if I have to wait til 1pm to take a lunch break and go for a walk, I will DIE." They work straight from 8h30 to 1pm!! NO CAN DO! Call me lazy, I call it HUMAN.
I asked Jean - don't you get hungry?? No, apparently not. Then again, at the age of 6 he was getting up at 5am to walk 20km to the fields where he spent all day under the hot African sun cutting down branches, pulling weeds and burning stuff only to walk the 20km home afterwards. There is no lazy work-ethic here.
Anyway, as I made my way to the door at noon -- actually, a funny language barrier here. They didn't understand when I said, "Je m'en vais prendre une marche." Apparently they don't "take" walks. It's kind of a funny expression when you think about it. We could just as easily say, "I'm going walking," or "I'm going to walk," which is way more accurate. Anyway, everyone was working, but I found Jean downstairs reading the paper, so I asked him if he wanted to join me on my walk. Once he figured out what it was I wanted to do, he came with me. "Do you want to go to the beach?" EEEEEK! Yay!
We started to walk and a bunch of kids came out of a school nearby for lunch. The children here are SO CUTE!!!
They have a word for "white person" in Fon, the local language, which sounds like YEY-VO (I'll have to ask how to spell it). The children see you and sing a song that goes something like, "Yévo, yévo, Comment allez-vous, ça va bien merci!"
I'll have to learn way more Fon while I'm here. I wonder if I can find a textbook of some sort. SPEAK WHITE, DAMMIT! (kidding, kidding...)
This little boy was hiding in the shade under a bench, playing in the sand while we were walking along the beach. Jean wanted me to try some local fruit... and we bought it from his mother. She had this little bundle of baby blubber straped to her back, sleeping soundly... I wanted to eat the baby!!!! It's hair was all natted with different coloured elastics... holy cuteness! While Jean was negotiating the price, this little boy started to sing to me.
I'm sorry Maria, WHAT?! Yes, I've been eating the fruit here.
Those who know me, know I don't eat fruit... but I promised my friend Dair that although I wouldn't go out of my way to eat any, if any fruit was offered I wouldn't decline. I think my body will go into shock, but we'll see. Speaking of which, I think he left the bag of fruit we bought from the lady at the restaurant we stopped in after -- I should go ask him. In any event, he made me eat some local fried bananas at lunch, so I think my fruit quota has been met for the day. HAPPY DAIR?!
Anyway, during lunch we got on the topic of fear... oh right, because we were talking about how people here talk to each other and aren't really afraid of one another, and how when he went to Toronto, a girl was afraid of him when he went to help her take her bags off the subway, or the time he was walking down Gerard and a girl started to run in the other direction (he's not shady or anything, quite good looking, he's just black). Or how our first instinct is fear (or annoyance) when we go to a bank machine and someone is waiting behind us. It's a crazy world we live in. It's just not like that here. Everyone talks to each other, or doesn't. Whatevs.
We started to talk about how important it is for the good in the world to stand up. The bad in the world speaks very loudly. The good whispers. The news we watch is all bad, all the time. Violence, war, disease, corruption... why? Is it not the minority of events? Isn't there far more good going on in the world?
I wish people would talk more about organizations like UNICEF or Right to Play rather than Al Quaeda. Why not promote these messages of hope rather than the messages of violence? It's important to know about the bad, but far more important to know that there is good. Why not mention that a black man saved a white couple from drowning rather than splatter the headline, Black Man kills White Couple?? Why doesn't the first make the news?
This is why I watch The Hour and not The National. It has an effect on us -- don't think it doesn't.
When was the last time you smiled at someone on the subway? Or said, "Hi, good morning" to the people who work in your building, in the elevator? What happened to our humanity?
Of course our conversation ended with Obama. He is the quiet good majority turned into a roaring lion of hope. SPEAK UP DAMMIT. Make the kind of world you wished you lived in. What's the worst that could happen? Someone will look at you funny for saying hello? For helping them with their bags?
The risk of violence and accidents exists no matter what we do.
So forget the bad for a moment and do more good. Ignoring each other is not good.
Oh my god - 2 of the 4 croissants they brought me for breakfast are staring at me... "we are chocolate and we are delicious!!" oooh my belly is so full from rice and cheese and plantains... Africa's gonna make me fat.
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