Bariba and Peuhl Cultural Festival

In mid-December, Sonsoro hosted the Noma Wode Bariba and Peuhl Cultural Festival. This annual event celebrates the traditional culture of the Bariba and Peuhl people. The festival location rotates amongst six local villages, and this was Sonsoro's year. The festivities included music, dancing, traditional jousting and fighting, and horsemanship. The event attracted an enormous crowd, and even two government ministers attended and spoke at the event. The festival was set to last three days but ended a day early when the principle organizer's sister died.

As the event was closing down on the final day, the Peuhl horsemen rode through town. One of them stopped at the shop where I spend much of my time. Shockingly, he just rode his horse right into the front patio area. Thanks to that, I was able to get an up-close picture of the horse in all of its regalia.

Down to Business

Last week I returned from 1.5 weeks of training in Parakou and decided to hit the ground running and get some projects started in my village. Here's a look at what I did:

Health education sessions: Three days a week, women come to the health center and wait for hours for their pre-natal visits or baby vaccinations. Essentially, this means that I have my primary target group as a captive audience for extended periods of time. I decided to take advantage of this fact and start teaching health topics to the women while they wait to be served. My colleagues and I taught more than 100 women about mosquito net use and 60 about HIV transmission. From now on, we hope to teach health topics at every such opportunity.

Baby weighings: The eight-hour wait on vaccination day also afforded me the perfect opportunity to start weighing babies. I hooked the baby scale up to a tree limb and weighed 60 babies. When the pharmacist was available, she served as a translator and helped me provide nutritional advice to mothers. We found four moderately malnourished babies and two severely malnourished babies. I plan to weigh babies every week on vaccination day and have some ideas for opportunities to weigh babies outside of the health center.

Girls' Club: I met the middle school principal and he agreed to help me start a girls' club. The ultimate objective of the club is to keep girls in school. This will undoubtedly require addressing unwanted pregnancy, which is the biggest reason girls drop out of school, according to the principal.

English Club: I offered my services to the middle school English department and agreed to start a weekly English club to help students improve their English.

Elementary schools: I spoke with the principals at all three elementary schools to propose giving health lessons to their students. I consider students to be a great vector for health information because they can pass the information on to their families, plus they are the generation of the future. Since their schooling is in French, I am able to work with them without a translator. The principals were enthusiastic about the idea and all agreed to give me a weekly time slot. I will address groups of up to 500 students at a time. I gave my first lesson on Thursday: I taught 73 students about hand washing.

Amour et Vie: I met with my Amour et Vie team to plan our first health education session. The two Amour et Vie peer educators will teach health topics in our community. Another villager and I will serve as their coaches.

Moringa: I planted my first moringa seed. If it grows successfully into a moringa tree, it will be the basis of a moringa nutrition initiative in the future.

Those are just a few projects to get me started. I have much more up my sleeve for the future.

A Beninese Wedding

On Saturday, I attended my host sister's wedding in Dangbo. The wedding was somewhat of a cross between an American wedding and the church services I grew accustomed to in Dangbo. It was like an American wedding in that the bride wore a white dress, the couple exchanged the same "for better or for worse" vows, and the groom lifted the bride's veil to kiss his new wife. One difference was how they walked down the aisle: the groom and best man came first with a slow ten-minute step dance down the aisle, then the bride and maid of honor did the same for 15 minutes.

The ceremony was reminiscent of Dangbo church services in that it was 3.5 hours long and had similar music, dancing, and drums. But the funniest resemblance to a Dangbo church service was how late everyone was. When the wedding started at 10 am, I was one of only eight or so people in the whole church. The other 150 came in over the course of the next few hours.

In fact, part of the reason the wedding ran an hour longer than scheduled is that the bride and groom arrived so late. The pastor had to stall until the groom arrived to walk down the aisle, then when it was the bride's turn, a pastor in the back signaled that we would have to wait because the bride hadn't arrived yet. The bridge and groom came 30-45 minutes late. About 45 minutes into the ceremony, the pastor asked the bride and groom's parents to stand to be recognized, but they weren't there! The pastor lectured them in their absence, and they finally showed up about an hour and 20 minutes into the service.

A reception followed the wedding. It was similar to an American reception - music, food, dancing - except that there were no scheduled activities like speeches, first dance, tossing the bouquet, etc. The bridal party just sat at the front of the tent as the guests ate and enjoyed the entertainment.

A host cousin grabbed my camera and took pictures during the ceremony. He had no qualms about being intrusive and taking pictures right at the altar, so he got me pictures I wouldn't have otherwise had. Unfortunately, my camera died during the ceremony, so I have no pictures of the rest of my host family or the reception.

The maid of honor and bride doing their slow step dance down the aisle.

The groom has lifted the bride's veil and is preparing to kiss his new wife.

A view of the church in which I spent so many hours during training.

The percussion section next to the choir. Lively percussion is a standard part of church music at this church.

The Dry Season

A new season has started: the dry season. When I left my village in October, we were finishing off the last of the six months of rainy season. Since my return in November, there has not been a drop of rain in my village and shouldn't be for another six months.

The dry season has brought a number of changes with it. As would be expected, the puddles in the dirt roads' massive potholes have dried out, plant life is turning yellow and dying, and the roads are transforming into beaches thick with sand. As the sun sets, a thick layer of dusty haze fills the air.

The weather remains hot and uncomfortable during the day, but the evenings and early mornings are nippy as the mini-season of harmattan begins. Harmattan is the dry, cool, windy season that I have been eagerly anticipating since my arrival. Villagers warn me that I will want close-toed shoes and long sleeves. I am told that the season will be full throttle by Christmas and will last a few months.

The dry season brings along a number of dietary changes. Guinea fowl only produce eggs during the rains, and since chicken eggs are rarely eaten here, eggs have gone from omnipresent to completely absent. Cows produce significantly less milk during the dry season because there is less to forage on, so milk and cheese have become extremely rare. Tomatoes are fewer and more expensive. Essentially, my diet has been reduced to starch. The only upside I have seen in terms of food is that honey has flooded the market and can be purchased cheaply ($2 per liter).

Another infiltration that I am less fond of is the lizards. They are more numerous than before, notably in my house. For some unfortunate reason, my bedroom is their favorite hangout.

The start of the dry season also means that the growing season is nearing its end. Villagers are quite busy during the rains, but I have always been told that they have more free time when the field work is over in the dry season. The difference is obvious already. For example, with the change in seasons, our pre-natal visits at the health center have doubled from 50 per week to 100 (and the pregnant women are actually gaining weight, whereas before, their weight was stable or dropped during pregnancy because they toiled so hard in the fields).

The new abundance of time has also sprung a series of municipal projects. The neglected maternity center project got its porch tiled, and the village's water pump system was fixed after having been out of order for eight months.

But perhaps the most exciting new undertaking is the line of electricity poles that sprung up in early November. That said, at the rate at which things progress here, I will be lucky if my house can get an electrical hook-up before I leave in September 2014.

Crash Course in Bariba

To get by in Bariba territory, you really only need to know two words: 'oo' (yes) and 'alafia' (well).

[Quick notes:
Pronunciation: 'oo' is /oh/ and 'alafia' is /uh-LAW-fee-uh)
I replaced all special characters and accents with their closest English equivalents.]

For any greeting that starts with 'ka', you can respond with 'oo':
"Ka sonhon" (Good afternoon)
- Response: "Oo"
"Ka yoka" (Good evening)
- Response: "Oo"
"Ka weru" (Happy arrival - used when a person is coming towards you)
- Response: "Oo"
"Bee ka sonhon" / "Bee ka yoka" / "Bee ka weru" (the above greetings when addressing multiple people)
- Response: "Oo"

'Good morning' is the only main greeting that doesn't use 'ka'. Instead, it is asked as a question and the answer is 'alafia' (well):
"A kpunan do?" (How did you wake up?)
- Response: "Alafia"
"I kpunan do?" (like above but asked to multiple people)
- Response: "Alafia"

After the greeting often comes a series of questions in the form 'How is your...?' The response is always 'alafia':
"Anna wasi?" (How is your health?)
- Response: "Alafia"
"Anna yenu?" (How is your family?)
- Response: "Alafia"
"Anna wunen duro?" (How is your husband?)
- Response: "Alafia"
"Anna bii?" (How is your child?)
- Response: "Alafia"
"Anna soburu?" (How is your work?)
- Response: "Alafia"

I used to systematically respond "alafia" every time I heard a phrase that started with 'anna', but then I figured out that sometimes the phrase actually began with 'a na', meaning 'come'. For instance, I am often invited to "come eat": "A na di." So listen carefully!

There you go! With just two words, 'oo' and 'alafia', you can answer a Bariba's greeting and charm him with your local language skills. Good luck!

My Work

Perhaps it is time to answer one of the questions I hear most often: "What do you actually do?" (In reality, the more accurate question would be, "What will you actually do?" I'll explain why in a bit.).

The short answer is that I am a health volunteer assigned to a public health clinic. Since I arrived in my village, my primary projects have been helping with pre-natal visits and vaccinations. With time, my focus should turn to educational activities.

This is because Peace Corps focuses on what it calls "capacity building". This is essentially the "teach a man to fish" approach. Peace Corps strives for "sustainable development", meaning that the impact of a volunteer's work should extend far beyond the length of his/her stay. Rather than providing a lot of aid and infrastructure, as other development organizations do, Peace Corps wants communities to learn how to tap their own resources and take advantage of the talents and goods already available in the community.

Therefore, my role is predominantly educational. With community partners, I will teach villagers how to live more healthy lives, and I will help train members of the community to teach that to others in the future. That way, my work will continue to spread and leave an impact long after I leave Benin.

Allow me to share a few concrete examples. One project that I am to undertake is called Care Groups. A Care Group is a group of ten women who meet once or twice a month to learn about a new health topic (nutrition, breastfeeding, malaria prevention, etc). After the lesson, each woman is responsible for sharing the lesson with ten households in her neighborhood. Thus, 110 households will learn this lesson, hundreds of people will be affected, and the knowledge of the health practices taught will stay in the community after I leave.

Another project is called Amour et Vie. Two young adults, one boy and one girl, become peer educators, and a community member is chosen as the community coordinator. The boy and girl are trained on a variety of health topics (sex ed, malaria prevention, etc), and then they teach these lessons to their peers. My role is to get the ball rolling and supervise the project in the first year. After the first year, I turn all control over to the community coordinator, and the project will continue without my intervention.

A third example is moringa. Moringa is a tree whose leaves possess remarkable nutritional properties (high in vitamins, calcium, protein, etc). Leaf powder can be added to foods as a nutritional supplement and can thus play an important role in fighting malnutrition. Few Beninese understand the value of moringa and how to use it, even though it exists in many communities. Therefore, my local supervisor has asked me to help him grow moringa, distribute seeds to families, and teach them to grow and prepare moringa for their families' nutritional benefit.

All of my projects are to be done with a local community partner. My job is not to march into my village and start telling everyone what to do, but rather to listen to my community and determine with them what my role will be.

And this brings me to the point that I said I would address later. I didn't jump into projects from day 1 because the first few months are like a sort of listening tour. I need to know more about my community, its resources, its key players, and its needs before I can really start my work. I have been helping out with pre-natal visits and vaccinations from the start not only because the health clinic could use an extra hand, but also because it is a way of learning more about my community. With time, I will start undertaking educational projects.

All of the above falls under just one of the Peace Corps' goals: helping the host country meet its need for trained men/women. Peace Corps' second and third goals are to teach the Beninese about Americans and to teach Americans about the Beninese. I share my American culture daily with members of my community. And you, dear reader, are helping me fulfill a Peace Corps goal by learning about Benin through my blog. Thanks for your help!

Recipe: Fried Bean Cakes

Bean cakes. I split one open so you can see inside

Ingredients:

1 pound dry white beans (black-eyed peas)
1/2 red onion
8 cloves of garlic
Salt
Oil for frying

Soak the beans for several hours. Remove the skins. To do so in the Beninese way, roll the beans slightly with an ecraser stone (Americans could try a rolling pin) to loosen the skins. Place the beans in a bowl of water and stir so that the skins float to the top. Slowly drain the water off into another bowl, catching the skins in your hand as the water flows. Discard the skins. Repeat this process until all skins are removed.

Drain water and puree the beans using an ecraser stone (or for those of you trying this in America, a blender). Puree a quarter of the onion and the garlic, then add to beans. Chop the remaining quarter of the onion into the mixture and stir. Salt to taste.

Heat oil to fry the bean cakes. When the oil is ready, drop golf ball-sized spoonfuls of batter into the oil. When the cakes have turned golden brown, they are ready to be removed. Place cakes in a pasta strainer to allow excess oil to drain off.

Eat the cakes with the accompaniment of your choosing. For the Beninese, this is piment, but if you actually are trying this at home, you would probably enjoy it with ketchup. That's what I wanted when I was eating them.

Photos: Food

Wagashi, the local cheese... the only cheese

Akassa, the fermented version of pate (corn flour porridge)

Akassa with sauce... lunch!

Local grains (sorghum and millet?) that can be ground to make other varieties of pate

Breakfast! Pate noire (black pate made from dried yam flour) with local cheese (fried) and sauce

Delicious tapioca made by my neighbor in Dangbo. She says the secret is to make it with coconut milk.  This bowl is served with sweetened condensed milk and roasted peanuts.

Photos: In the Kitchen

A common kitchen set-up: cooking outside on a charcoal cooker

An outdoor kitchen. One pot is propped up on rocks and a wood fire can be built underneath.  There is a cooker in front of it. There is also a charcoal cooker towards the back right. On the far right is the mortar for the mortar and pestle.

Photos: Igname Pilee, the Dish of the North

Igname pilee, mashed yams, is the classic dish of the north (in contrast to pate, the typical dish of the south). I eat igname pilee almost every day in village. The following photos show how it is made:

A Beninese yam, called igname. This one is relatively skinny because it's only as big around as my arm.

First step, skin your ignames and  cut them into chunks. Add water and boil until they are soft enough to be mashed.

The shopkeeper and her daughter mashing the igname with a wooden mortar and pestle. They pound the igname at about one hit per second, alternating mom-daughter-mom-daughter-mom-daughter.

A look at what's going on inside

The finished product. When mashed enough, African yams form a blob that is somewhat like playdough.  When the mashing is done, the igname pilee is rounded into a flat ball and placed in a dish for eating. It is always accompanied by a sauce and by meat, wagashi (the local cheese), or hard-boiled eggs. It is eaten by hand and must be consumed immediately or else it hardens.

The Sonsoro Witch Hunt

Belief in witchcraft appears to be widespread in Benin, even among the educated. I often hear locals suggest that someone might fall victim to gris-gris, or black magic. My colleague's husband, for example, has never been able to identify someone as a sorcerer, but he knows what they do. For instance, a sorcerer might transform himself into a dog and then bite you. Even at church in Dangbo, I heard a woman explain how a jealous first wife cursed the new second wife, causing the second wife to be hospitalized with an incurable illness.

Recently, I was discussing burial practices with some village friends and they were surprised to learn of the practice of cremation. Here in Sonsoro, the dead are always buried. Burning is a fate reserved for those who practice gris-gris and must be killed in order to be stopped.

A few years ago in Sonsoro, there was such a situation. A man was widely known to practice gris-gris. Cross him and you would become sick or even die. If he asked you for food and you didn't serve him for free, he would curse you. Eventually, the killings came to be too much and the community decided they must be stopped. Therefore, for the good of the community, the man was rounded up and burned.

Death has been a predominant subject of conversation lately because of some significant deaths in the community. A few days ago, a well-respected old man died. In the local tradition, the community played music, danced, and feasted to celebrate his death. Here, deaths are celebrated when the deceased lived to an old age, or at least old father/motherhood.  The locals consider that they were lucky that the person was with them for so long.

In contrast to that is the tragic death of two young men yesterday in a motorcycle accident. Around 9 pm, I heard strange, loud moaning sounds. Apparently, it was orchestrated mourning. Today, these deaths were the topic of conversation everywhere and hundreds of people participated in the funeral proceedings. The somber mood contrasted greatly with the joyful rejoicing we had a few days ago for the other death.

Photos: My Colleagues

The pharmacist and the nursing assistant

The pharmacist and her daughter, who didn't want to smile for the picture

What's in a Name?

I have realized that despite having spent more than a month in my village (including the two-week visit in August), I know the names of no one in my village except my colleagues, a few children, and the shopkeeper's husband. This is not a sign of anti-social tendencies on my part, but rather a reflection of Bariba culture.

Here in Sonsoro, people tend to be addressed by their position or by their relationships. Thus, like the rest of the village, I call the health center pharmacist Commis ('pharmacist') or Maman Farhan ('Farhan's mother'). The nursing assistant is called Dokotoro (like doctor), Sage Femme ('midwife'), or Maman Herman ('Herman's mother'). These names are used in place of first names. For example, I would say, "Commis, do you have change for 1000 CFA?" or "Give this to Maman Herman."

A few weeks ago, I asked Maman Herman to tell me the name of the shopkeeper. She didn't know, even though they have been good friends for years. Everyone here just calls the shopkeeper Maman Jeremie ('Jeremie's mother'), and her husband is Papa Jeremie. Since Jeremie is only four months old, I wonder what name Maman Jeremie used before.

When children are born, they can be given a Muslim name, a Christian name, or a name that reflects their birth order. Thus, my name, Bake ('third daughter'), is extremely common. Out of the 16 pre-natal visits we did yesterday at the health center, three or four of the women were named Bake. Even when a child has a Muslim or Christian name, he/she may be casually referred to by his/her birth order.

As for last names, I haven't figured that out yet. Husbands and wives don't have the same last names. When we fill out vaccination cards, we automatically list the father's first name as the child's last name. Perhaps that is the naming practice here, but I have not yet confirmed that.

How's Your Husband?

One of the most common questions I am asked in Sonsoro is "How's your husband?" Now, you may be inclined to say that I don't have one, but that's where you're wrong. Well, sort of.

In Bariba culture, it is a common practice to joke about a young child being your husband (or wife). Often enough, when I am out and about, someone will ask me, "Do you want a husband?" and offer me the nearest young boy. The offer is always a joke, and the boys are used to it (and probably already have several "wives" this way). The occasional child, of course, is terrified of being brought towards the batoure and runs off screaming.

It is in this manner that I have a few dozen husbands - all under the age of 12 - in Sonsoro. My husbands include my colleague's two year old, the shopkeeper's baby (she's also my colleague's "husband"), one of the newborns at the health center, and an awful lot of boys that have been brought up to me in the market or elsewhere. This morning I got another husband yet: a father offered me his eight year old whom he had brought in to the health center for treatment.

In reality, of course, polyandry is not allowed in Benin, whereas polygamy is commonly practiced. I keep wondering how it is possible to have polygamous families (sometimes with four - or more - wives) when there are roughly as many men as women. Shouldn't that mean that there are lots of men without wives if some men have claimed more than one? My colleagues insist that there are more girl babies born in Benin than boys, but I have pointed out that the birth records show the numbers are equal. If anyone has an explanation, please share.

Photos: My House

My home, entirely obscured by the neighbor's cornfield. Everything to the left of the visible pillar is my house, and everything to the right is a vacant dwelling.

The view from my porch of the neighbors' homes. They cook outside near the tree.

The outhouses, which are a good walk from my house. The silver door is mine and the red door is the neighbors'.

My bathroom/kitchen. I bathe in the shower area on the right out of the bucket (bottom right). I currently also cook in this room until I can find a better solution.

My living room. I use the yellow/orange water jugs (formerly cooking oil jugs) near the door to fetch water and as chairs or as a table.

My bedroom

No Longer a Yovo

Here in the north, I'm not a yovo anymore. The local term for white person is 'batoure' (bah-TWO-ray). Children and adults alike call me "batoure" as I pass through the village. However, those in the know call me "Bake" (Bah-KAY), my local name, meaning 'third daughter'. Only three people in the village actually know my real name, but they call me Bake as well. Today, humorously, my colleague yelled at some children who had addressed me as Bake and told them to call me Batoure instead. She had assumed I was offended at being call by my first name by children.

Since the youngest children in the village have never seen a batoure before, many of them are scared of me. This includes all of the neighbor children who live in houses around my courtyard. Their mothers take a perverse delight in dragging their children towards the scary batoure, knowing the children will run away screaming in fear. I don't think they've considered that I am perhaps not particularly flattered at being the local monster who terrorizes the children.

Today, one neighbor mother was chasing a child around with a live bat on the end of a stick, enjoying watching him scream in fear. Then she saw me walking by and told the child about the scary batoure who was near, forcing the child to choose to run from either the bat or the batoure. Which is more frightening?

All things considered, I suppose my blog title would be more accurate as "Two Months as a Yovo, Two Years as a Batoure". Yesterday, however, I did hear a child call me "Yovo". It turns out it was the shopkeeper's daughter, who knows the term because her father is from the south. There is something comforting about being a yovo again, if only for a moment.

The Feeding Frenzy Continues

I thought my days of enormous quantities of food would be over when I left my host family in Dangbo and moved into a house of my own in Sonsoro.

I was wrong. I had underestimated the generosity and kindness of the Beninese.

Let's take today as an example. One colleague bought me lunch (rice and beans with boiled yams, local cheese, and sauce) at 11 am. A few hours later, I was walking around the market with two other colleagues and one of them asked if I'd like to eat some yam pilee with an egg. I declined, but then she informed me that she had already ordered it for me and handed me the plate. At 5 pm, I stopped by the local shop to pick up some ingredients. The shopkeeper invited me to eat dinner (rice with sauce) with her. I declined three times, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. I also tried to decline the local cheese she offered with my meal, but she insisted. Then she insisted that I take an extra helping of cheese, just as she had insisted I take more rice. Afterwards, I went to my colleague's house to help him with a computer project. It was pouring rain when we finished, so he insisted that I join him for dinner (boiled yams with sauce and an omelet) as we waited out the rain.

Luckily, my neighbors didn't offer me lunch today, as they have every other day since I returned to Sonsoro.

And this isn't counting all the cadeaux (gifts) I have been offered. The bread seller always gives me a free loaf, the seamstress threw in a hand fan today with my purchase, and even the taxi driver who drove me to Sonsoro gave me ten oranges as a welcome gift (my colleagues also gave me four). Not to mention all the food my colleagues share with me...

Perhaps Sonsoro will succeed in fattening me up as my host family in Dangbo so desired. I actually continued losing weight during my last month in Dangbo, though my host family tried their hardest to stop that.

Even the day of my departure, my host sister very sweetly woke up at 4:30 am to make me rice and an egg for breakfast before my 6 am departure. Then she packed me up with enough rice and egg to feed me for the whole day. In addition to food, my host family sent me off with another of items (shoes, cloth, etc) that I had left in my room, assuming they had merely intended to lend them to me during my stay in Dangbo. Turns out they were also gifts.

The Beninese really are so sweet. Especially my host family.

It's Official!

Today, after 2.5 months of training, my fellow trainees and I were officially sworn in as Peace Corps volunteers at the ambassador's residence. I will leave Dangbo tomorrow at 5:30 am and should be in my new house in Sonsoro by nightfall.

Per the Beninese tradition for celebrations, all of the health trainees had their swear-in outfits made from the same fabric.

The volunteer in the middle is wearing a traditional Peuhl outfit. Such clothing is common in Sonsoro because Baribas and Peuhls are the two major ethnic groups there.

A Weighty Issue

A few weeks ago, my host mom confronted me with a problem that has been weighing on her heavily: I have lost weight since arriving in Dangbo. This has become a subject of conversation in the village and has prompted some villagers to suggest that my family hasn't been taking good care of me. In the Beninese mind, being heavy is associated with well-being, so losing weight is an indication that my family is not doing a good job. Since the villagers have observed that most of the other Americans have been gaining weight nicely, my weight loss tarnishes my family's reputation.

My host mom has been pleading with me to eat more and has offered to buy me any food I desire. Since she knows I like tapioca, one of my first dinners after our talk was a large quantity of tapioca. For the same reason, I have been given lots of fruit. I have declined to tell them that fruit is not particularly effective for weight gain.

My host mom's general strategy is to feed me more, more, more. I am usually given a quantity of food that would be suitable for two or three people. Every time I clear the table, I have to face my host mom's disappointment over how much I ate. No matter what I eat, it is never enough. My family harps on it so much that I have turned their favorite complaints into an English lesson, teaching my sister to say, "Alexandra doesn't eat well. Alexandra doesn't eat enough. She eats like a baby."

I got in trouble again last night for foiling my family's plans to fatten me up. My family gave me two bananas when I got home at 5, then a full plate of rice and beans for a "snack". I only ate half, earning my host mom's disappointment. At 8, we ate tapioca; my portion was three times the standard serving. The tapioca was followed by another banana and a chapoti. By this point, I was full, but in my family's mind, I hadn't eaten dinner yet. I warned my host sister that I wasn't hungry for dinner, but she pushed me to eat it anyway. I declined, knowing that even if I tried to cram a little extra food in, my family would still be upset that I hadn't eaten more.

And so the battle continues: my host family versus my stomach. While I have been hoping my stomach will win, sometimes I wonder if I should just surrender.

Y-O-V-O

I wrote these lyrics for today's Peace Corps talent show. This song is sung to the tune of "YMCA".

Young man, there's no need to feel down.
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground.
I said, young man, 'cause you're in a new town
There's no need to feel unhappy.

Young man, when you live in Dangbo,
Also if you are in Porto-Novo,
There's a name there that the locals will say
Every time you pass by their way.

They're gonna call you a Y-O-V-O.
Bonsoir, ca va to you, Y-O-V-O.
Though you have a real name, it means nothing to them
'Cause whenever they see your skin...

They're gonna call you a Y-O-V-O.
Donne-moi cadeau, you rich Y-O-V-O.
You can tell them to stop, you can throw a big fit,
But it will not change things one bit.

Young man, are you listening to me?
I said, young man, who do you want to be?
Doesn't matter, to them we're all the same.
They don't need to know your real name.

No man picks his own name himself.
I said, young man, put your pride on the shelf
'Cause you'll never change the name that they say.
You've got to let them have their way.

Just let them call you a Y-O-V-O.
No point denying it, Y-O-V-O.
Put your wishes aside and accept it today
'Cause it ain't gonna go away.

Shout it out loud and proud: Y-O-V-O.
Rejoice in it aloud, Y-O-V-O.
If you're called a yovo as you walk down the street,
Just respond gladly, "Yep, that's me."

Young man, I was once in your shoes.
I said, I was ready to blow a fuse.
I felt no one cared to call me by name
As if all white folks were the same.

That's when someone came up to me
And said, young man, you're as stressed as can be.
You must accept your new reality.
Take pride in this identity.

Embrace it, now you're a Y-O-V-O.
Just face it, now you're a Y-O-V-O.
Lift your arms up in joy and welcome your new fate.
Don't deny it, don't hesitate.

Y-O-V-O. I love to say I'm a Y-O-V-O.

Video: Voodoo and Vaccines in Benin

This video is a good introduction to my life in Benin. Most of it is filmed in Dangbo, so you can see the village as well as the local dress, dance, etc. The film also gives a taste of the work I will do. You can see what a Beninese health center looks like and learn about vaccinations. In Sonsoro, I will be working to increase participation in the vaccination program and to educate mothers about its importance, and this video discusses both those subjects

The video is at least a year old, so apparently some of the information in it about access to vaccines is no longer accurate.

Photos: Sonsoro

The Sonsoro Health Center. This is where I will be working every day in my village.

The delivery room. Most women give birth on the white metal table on the left. The babies are cleaned and prepped on the counter on the right.

This is the child and maternal health room where children are vaccinated, pregnant women get pre-natal check-ups, and sick children and pregnant women are treated. This is where I will spend most of my time in Sonsoro.

This is my colleague from the health center with his four children (his wife declined to be photographed since she is pregnant).

Mailing Address

I now have a mailing address! Should anyone be inclined to write, this is where you can send a letter:

My Name
Corps de la Paix
BP 126
Kandi, Benin
West Africa

Any mail would be greatly appreciated, and I will certainly write back to anyone who writes me.


In case anyone is feeling ambitious, here are some special notes on packages:
- Only send padded envelopes (boxes are slower and may be subject to fees in Benin)
- Send via USPS
- NEVER send DHL (there is a $200 DHL fee here)
- Writing "Dieu te regarde" or other religious messages on the envelope can help prevent theft

Guessing Game: What Are These Things?

Item 1: What is this?

Item 2: What are these?

Item 1: Not a potato, it's a fruit! The closer you get to the center, the more it tastes like caramel.

Item 2: It's a Beninese toothbrush. You chew one end until it flattens and softens; that end should become somewhat like a stiff paintbrush. Then you use it to brush your teeth.

Photos: A Sunday in Dangbo

Trash is discarded on the ground. The goats and chickens eat what they want before the courtyard is swept up and the trash is hauled off to a dump area.

My host sister preparing a pineapple in her Sunday best

My oldest host sister has just arrived home with vegetables for a sauce

On the way to fetch water from the well with my host sisters

My host brother-from-another-mother had told me a different day that cooking was women's work, so I challenged him to make dinner on Sunday. This photo is dim and smoky, just like cooking here is. Without my camera flash, he only had the light of the oil lamp.

Photos: Around the House

The view from my house of the sister-in-law's kitchen. It is entirely outdoors, but part of the area is covered in case of rain.

The view of my house from the kitchen, which is the base of our U. The red building at the end is the neighbor's house. Our courtyard is usually full of people, but when I took this picture, nearly everyone had left for a social event elsewhere.

The neighbor girl and her mom heading out to sell tapioca dessert in town. Please note that they are each balancing their loads on their heads and not using hands to help balance it. That's standard here, but still, what a feat!

My Village-to-Be: Sonsoro

Today was the day of our Post Announcement. In September, I will be moving to the village of Sonsoro.

Sonsoro, population 13,000, is 11 miles from Kandi, a major city. In my terms, that is a bike ride away. On the map below, you can see that Kandi (and thus Sonsoro) is in northwestern Benin.

The predominant language in Sonsoro is Bariba, which I have been learning since I arrived.

This part of the country is known for weather extremes. In the hot season, temperatures easily top 100 degrees. At other times of the year, it can be chilly by Beninese standards. When I arrive, it will be the rainy season, which lasts six months.

Theoretically, the village does not have electricity. I do not know if generators will be available.

My community is near one of the major national parks, which boasts an interesting assortment of wildlife. Even in my village, I have been told that I can expect to occasionally see elephants.

However, this is just cursory information. In one week, I will go to my village for a two week visit and will learn much more.

Another Recipe: Concada

On Saturday, as part of the Peace Corps Benin Iron Chef competition, I joined six other Peace Corps trainees to make fried bananas and concada (similar to peanut brittle), both of which are favorites amongst the Peace Corps trainees. One trainee's host mom, who sells concada on the market, guided us in the cooking process. Here is the recipe for concada:

Ingredients:
- Two measures (2 kg or 4.5 lbs) of shelled peanuts
- 1/4 kg of sugar (whatever the quantity, the peanut to sugar ratio should be 8:1)
- Water
- 1 tsp lime juice

1. If your peanuts are not already shelled, do so first.
2. Set the shelled peanuts out in the sun for three hours to dry.
3. Roast the peanuts with sand in a large pot over a fire.
4. Put the roasted peanuts in a basket and shake to remove the sand (a strainer could also work). Save the sand for future use.
5. Rub the peanuts to remove the skin and split them into their two halves.
6. Separate out the peanut skins from the peanut halves by shaking them up and down in a basket (with the right basket, the skins pass through the holes, but the peanuts stay).
7. Sort out any bad peanuts that you can find.
8. Start the caramel by putting the sugar and enough water to cover it in a pot over the fire.
9. Add the lime juice and continue stirring until the mixture is caramelized.
10. Stir in the peanuts.
11. Form the concada by taking a "spoonful" of the mixture and pressing it into a flattened ball.
12. Continue until done.

These quantities produce more than 100 concada, but they were devoured quickly by the 10+ chefs on hand and our large families.

If not immediately consumed, concada has a shelf-life of six months to a year when stored in an air-tight container.

Fᴐᴐ! An Introduction to Bariba

My Bariba classmate and teacher

 

Since I already speak French fluently, I spend my 30 weekly hours of language class learning Bariba, the predominant language in northwestern Benin, which is where I will eventually live and work.

While all languages are difficult, there are a few aspects of Bariba that make it particularly challenging.

For instance...

• There are at least four different ways to say 'is'. The same is true for 'and'.

• There are a half dozen (or more!) 'wa's (or 'waa' or 'wã') and they all mean different things. The same is true for 'ma'.

• 'Wiru' means 'head', 'wĩru' means 'nose', and 'wiĩru' means 'neck'.

• Bariba scarcely exists as a written language and is usually not taught, so there are no reference materials (other than one created by the Peace Corps) and my teacher has never taught the language before. This also means there are no dictionaries.

• There seems to be no particular rule as to how to spell a verb in a given tense (past, future, past habit, etc.). Essentially, as far as our teacher knows, every verb is an irregular verb, meaning we just have to memorize half a dozen different spellings for each verb. Note that there are tenses that do not exist in English, such as a separate spelling for verbs in negative sentences (eg, "I do not like chicken").

• Since Bariba is not a written language, there is no fixed spelling. Our teacher will teach us a word as 'dwe' one day and the same word as 'due' the next day.

• There are sounds that do not exist in English and are hard for a Westerner to pronounce, such as 'kp' (sounds somewhat like a 'B' or 'P') and 'gb' (a special sort of 'B').

• With the exception of people, all plurals are irregular (as far as my teacher knows), meaning there is a different plural to memorize for every word.

• There is no simple translation of the words brother and sister. The terms are dependent on the gender of the person who has the siblings and the respective age (older or younger) of the siblings. Since I am a female, my older sister is called 'mᴐᴐ' (with accents on the vowels), my younger sister is called 'wᴐbu' (with an accent on the first vowel), and my brother is called 'sesu'. However, for my brother, since he is male, 'mᴐᴐ' is an older brother, 'wᴐbu' is a younger brother, and 'sesu' is for sisters.

And the crazy part? The Peace Corps Benin Language Director told us that all of the above is the easy part of learning this language. Apparently, the hard part is yet to come: it is a tonal language.

A Comment on Comments

I found a problem in my comment settings.

I have now fixed the settings so that anyone can post comments, including anonymously.

Happy commenting.

Photos

My host mom and me (in my first African outfit) outside our home

My host sisters preparing lunch in the kitchen

Grandma on a motorcycle