When Things Go Terribly Right

There are some days that just WORK for some strange reason here in the land of the unfortunate incident. Today was one of those days. I booked an entire European Vacation, planned a reconnection with very good friends I haven’t seen in a year, did half of my Peace Corps paperwork for 2011 and traveled 30 km with my supervisor to set up a town council for a tiny village that needs to husband her resources better. The best part however was the chef of the town council who described to me what Moscow looked like in the mid-1970s to an African student, how he became an Imam, then proceeded to tell me his thoughts on globalization and buy me a bunch of cokes. Easily the coolest person I’ve ever met who does not have electricity in his house.

Oh, and shooting down the highway as fast as your Boss's cycle lets you know you're alive.

The Perils of Local Celebrity

It is a truth of working as a Peace Corps volunteer that you will be an oddity in your village. This can be for many reasons, race, education, hygiene or the fact that you’re the spiffy new kid on the block with a sweet Chinese-made 18 speed. Regardless, people are well informed that a volunteer is en route due to the uproar that constantly rolls about them whenever they are not alone. The smaller, more isolated and poorer the community, the more exaggerated this effect, to the point where in the badlands it’s just bedlam. I'm like a Tinkerbell of reflective pigments and assumed wealth.
Much like the ubiquitous Baskin Robbins which I will not see for quite some time, there are different flavors to the response one can determine.
1. The Barney – This one is the most adorable, best described as one or two little kids who just start whooping excitedly as though their favorite cartoon hero had just descended from the clouds and started giving out high-fives and piggyback rides.
a. Vocalization- “Ba-TOOOU-Rea!” (repeat ad nauseam)
2. The Look What I Can Do- These are the same kids as the Barney but they’re not just excited to see you, they know some French and DAMN if they’re not going to make sure they know I have well appreciated their ability to say “Ca Va Bein” or “Bon Arrive”. These variants tend to assume pack behaviorisms, occasionally turning violent and turning their unrestrained emotion upon an unwary Mango tree or goat.
a. Vocalization- “Bon Arrive” (boy #1), “BON ARRIVE” (boy #2), “BON… ARRIVE…(boy #3) …this cycles on inexorably like popcorn in the kettle as I pedal furiously to escape before innocent flesh has been rendered from stem or haunch.
3. The Raise Both Hands Hello- This is the quietest of all of our encounters. Eyes lock, limbs soar in the air and sometimes we get a little bit of a head dip. Simple, but if you try to repeat it on a bicycle you’ll be nose deep in the gutter before you can say ‘Staph Infection’.
a. Vocalization-… (You’ll have to try this at home to get the real effect)
4. The Come Hither Whistle/Hiss- Traditionally employed only by the most couth of spoiled/stolen/useless goods salesmen and the most sober of zemijans. This is a firm indication that you want to cease your voyage IMMEDIATELY and go and see their expansive stock of sheep heads, ruined bike tires and smallpox blankets.
a. Vocalization- Whistle as though you’re a middle school phys ed teacher, the Hiss requires the teeth touching with a rapid expulsion of air (can be directed as accurately as a laser pointer).
5. Anything in English/Small Small- This normally indicates you’re being pursued by a Nigerian. Considering Nigerians are considerably craftier then their Beninese counterparts, its best to approach this encounter with a bit of restraint.
a. Vocalization- “Masta,” “PLEASE,” “Good Morning” and the ever descriptive “White Man.”
6. Wait, what is that? Is it coming this way? Oh dear God its flesh is so pale, TELL MA TO PUT THE BABY IN THE BASKET AND RUN- This isn’t normal. But whenever I wander outside my traditional area I occasionally see people that react this way. Normally they’re Peuhl (Fulani) youths who’ve never known anything beyond nomadically herding their cattle across the Sahel ranges. After one good look from my baby blue (i.e. devil) eyes will send a crowd of them stumbling in their plastic shoes back towards the herd.
a. Vocalization- Random screaming in Peuhl, impossible for humans to vocalize because the Peuhl come from outer space.

For All the Moms Back Home

Behind almost every Peace Corps volunteer is an extensive support network of friends and family who help you put your American life on hold for a few years while you sweat (or freeze) out in the wilds of (enter obscure location). Thus, it is fully appropriate to, on this day of mothers, give our thanks to those hardy individuals who begrudgingly let us flee to the Third World and help keep us here with support, love and single serving packets of spam. For the ladies that not only call Admin, but compel US Senators to do the same on our behalf; we simply, absolutely, completely could not do it without you.

I love you Mom. <3
-Dave

We All Watch West Wing

I’m not quite sure how it started. Perhaps an side remark about or a joke about President Josiah Bartlet sending us to Africa. Regardless, those of us who were huge fans back in the states (and who indeed watched multiple seasons live on NBC) were slowly adopted by the converts that had laid the ground before us. Before you knew it, pockets of conversation in workstations around the country turned to which seasons were to be had by who, where someone was in the progression of the show and whether if you ever heard God talking, it would sound like Martin Sheen, only more so.
I’m currently on the downside of season seven and it has been a good ride. Thus far on my idealistic endeavor, I understand that striving to change a land awaiting the dawn of reason can be soul-crushing. Reliving those episodes was having my thirteen year old self return and promise that we weren’t wrong. That progress just needs to be awoken, not sculpted from clay nor imbued with the essence of the Lord. For while some days it seems putting Benin on the right track would require an act of Genesis, those are beyond my secular purview. Someone better call Martin Sheen.

They just wanna dance or Dave goes to Bariba Woodstock

I spent the past few weeks at the Gaanhi festival in Nikki, which celebrates the peace between the Kings of Nikki and Djugou. It features lots of horses, horns, jewelry and lots of thrift store clothing. I had a remarkable time when I was able to let loose and enjoy myself with the kids. I met this one guy who was really remarkable in that he was a one man band. He had jangles on his knees and elbows and was wearing a hat made almost entirely of horse hair. Obviously as soon as I met him I had to dance with him. Photos are included.

Cat Conversations 11:53 PM Tuesday

Me- Eat the fish already!
Cat- I’m not sure what this is.
Me- Cat’s everywhere like this stuff!
Cat- I’m a semi-arid kind of guy.
Me- Fine. Sip the milk then. Just be quiet.
Cat- You know what I could go for? One of those little chicks that just hatched. The mama has a dozen little nuggets chirping around out there, you think she’ll notice one or two?
Me- It’s late and I’ve already written you off for dead once today.
Cat- Whatever. Forget the 12 piece meal. What I need are some ladies. Lemme out.
Me- There are no other cats other than you in Beket. If there were you would be homeless.
Cat- As your roommate, I feel disrespected by that last comment.
Me- Look, I’m sorr-
Cat- You can make it up to me by booting-calling that tall one’s kitten-cat.
Me- Scout? I’m not sure she’s into villageois.
Cat- Whatever, she’s top-shelf and I’ll throw on some charm.
Me- First time for everything.
Cat- Hey, now.
Me- Seriously, she’s store-bought. Soft fur, dainty meow, collar…
Cat- Annnd?
Me- You aren’t exactly John Stamos.
Cat- Hey, this coat brings the bushrat, my friend.
Me- Those stripes look like Green Day met a bad Stallone movie.
Cat- The guy-liner look is coming back.
Me- Suuure it is.
Cat- Anyway, what about the other one, with half an ear?
Me- Petite Chat?
Cat- Yea. I’m totally in her strike-zone.
Me- That may be. Still, I don’t think you respect her special needs.
Cat- Oh, I respect them. A lot.
Me- I don’t like that tone.
Cat- You know what they say about epileptics in the sac-
Me- You know what a gelding is?
Cat- Wait…That’s with the boy horse…
Me-Yep.
Cat-You’d never.
Me- Listen you, I just had a conversation with a five month old cat referencing John Stamos. I’m capable of anything.
Cat- Meow?

142 Days Difference

When comparing service in the Peace Corps to other experiences, it is often hard to quantify one’s arguments. How hard is something? My somewhat hard could be another’s very hard or even perhaps not very hard at all. In short, how many increments of stress are we as volunteers exposed to here greater here than would be the case somewhere else?
In this case, history has given us a little help. When French Soldiers were discharged from the Army, the checklist determining whether they would be Honorably Discharged included the question: Has the soldier been confined to prison status for more than eight days during his service? Eight days in prison was standard for a moderately serious mess up, such as insubordination, a minor AWOL (not desertion) or getting involved with some scrabble with the local civilians that turned into a PR mess for the Captain. However, after the question mark was a small phrase in parenthesis “(Legionnaire: Cent-cinquante jours)”. Thus a Legionnaire could lose his cool exactly 18.75 times as often as an equivalent soldier in the regular army. Granted, Legionnaires served a little longer in 5 year enlistment terms while French Conscripts for the regular army were only held for 2 years (3 years in the lead-up to the World Wars). Even if we allow for this, the gap is significant- for the half a penalty that the French Army Private was allowed per year, his legionnaire brother was allowed 3.75 for a ratio of 1:7.5 over a period of 2 years.
Now that I’ve thoroughly bored you with statistics, we come to the big question- how is this relevant to Dave and his Peace Corps service? During the 150 year existence of French Empire in Africa, French Regular Army units were principally deployed in the European Theater, while Legionnaires were almost exclusively engaged in Africa. You do the math.

Cat People

For as long as I have been alive, I have been a dog person. I was barely more than a year old when we got my first dog, my first memory was her chewing on my ears when I was wrapped in a particularly thick blanket against the cold Virginia winter. Dogs have protected me, kept me company, warned me about visitors, slept on my bed and eaten my pizza crusts more than I could write in five books. Indeed, of the photos I brought from the United States, nearly 25% are of dogs ALONE. Simply, it is impossible for me to create an image of who I would be without the influence of man’s best friend.
However, I am a realist. Idealists, despite all the talk about star-eyed hippies in the Peace Corps, don’t last very long. I understand I have nowhere near the space or budget to feed a dog in my current lodgings. Distances are such that I leave my post for weeks at a time for training, vacation and medical attention. Additionally, due to my vermin problem (specifics are classified pending my return to the United States) a cat is an eminently practicable solution. The catch is that the solution is to trade ten vermin problems for one, even if he is a little bit more sociable.
Of course, I can’t let him outside my walled concession because he would likely be eaten, run over by an errant zemijan or harassed by kids. This leaves him feeling a little cooped up now and then. For instance, he was feeling so sprightly after I fed him milk the other day he decided to wash it down with a whole bag of tomatoes while I was having a vitally important conversation about work opportunities with my boss from my NGO. Angry as I was, I have learned (as most new volunteers have at this point) that actually beating your cat is a poor return on your $1 investment.
Thus, one has to come up with alternative punishments. The first was actually bathing the little guy, and that came about after he swam into my wastewater, gracing my apartment with the molding refuse odor that I try so hard not to let it achieve.* I smeared shampoo on him, dunked him in the water and noticed that he didn’t seem to meow as much while he was wet. I squirreled this fact away, and the next time he stole one of my packets of peanut butter, I was ready. I threw him into my shower water and I was under the impression he was most distressed. Actually, he was just vengeful. Not an hour later I both started and finished a shower scented with cat pee bath salts. Since then, we’ve reached equilibrium where I just wet his feet if he makes me angry. Keeping his genitalia out of the water makes it more likely I smell better after my showers than before.
The worst part about this whole process is that we do it en masse. I am extremely jealous that Molly’s store-bought princess got the first confirmed rat kill out of the three of the Pehanko volunteers. Also, I find it hilarious that Sara’s petit chat is such a fraidy-cat he runs away from the other much smaller kittens. If you add our cat conversations to the amount of medication we take and multiply by the frequency we discuss incontinence, you would estimate the average age of a Volunteer serving in Peace Corps Benin was a sprightly 87.

Christmas in a Very Warm Place

Benin does beach is comfortably unsettling in a homey type of way. It smells like salt air, is gritty with sand and shell and has as wide of a blue expanse as you can handle. It is deceptive in its beauty; for like many things African she would like nothing more than to kill you. You know this from the way the tide nearly pulls your feet out from under you, how the sun reflects off your white skin and the multitude of ways the ocean protects the mosquito from the perils of the dry season. That being said, Grand Popo is one of the most touristy spots in all of Benin, the type of place where you can get real ketchup with your French fries without too much trouble. Not quite Beninese Disneyland, but pretty close.
I danced around a fire with a santa hat on. Some of the second-years gave speeches. We had a good time and made a Christmas out of it.
Bah Humbug.