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?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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