Well, it’s official. I’m posted to Pehonko, about 90 klicks east of Natitingou in the north west region of Benin. It’s important to note that the Northwest is not the Northeast. In general it’s the friendliest and most hospitable region of Benin. That being said, it’s also going to be an oven, easily rounding out at a dry 110+ during the hot season.
First things first. Geography lesson. Pretend Benin is a head of broccoli. First thing, cut the bloom on top of the stalk in half (but leave the stem intact). The right side of the is Alibori and Borgou and those kids report to Parakou. The left side is Atakora (me) and Donga; and our home base is to Natitingou (by all accounts the homiest workstation in Benin). Go lower to the stem and you’ve got the Collines (which are a series of hills and mark the boundary between north and south, and below that you’ve got the south. I think the west side of the Collines are with us in Natty (the shorthand for Natitingou).
The good news is I got exactly what I wanted, an established post where I can get right to work without having to construct a mold for what exactly a PCV can and cannot do. These sort of things include “no, I am not a doctor; no, I do not have huge amounts of grant money to spend freely” and the like. These misperceptions can take up a substantial portion of a PCV’s first year. Those who know me well are quite aware that I like my results and I enjoy getting into the thick of things fast.
The house has electricity and a well a few feet from my front door. Much of the work that the previous vol did was associated with an NGO and appears to be centered around peads (kids) and maternal health, though there was some work with women’s groups as well. She left me a complete dossier and I’m quite excited to get started.
The great news is that I’ve got some heavy hitters in my corner, including the rest of PC Benin’s Pennsylvania boys (all south-central to boot). Actually, all of the new RCH men are up north with me as well, with posts ranging from nearly Nigeria to the Parakou region. I think I’m the only one who is in Atakora region though, though I have a few of the RCH ladies with me as well. I will have not one, but three nearby vols, with each of the specialties represented (though I have yet to meet the SED or TEFL vols yet).
So now that we have all the serious stuff out of the way, here’s what happened at my Maman’s party last week.
Lest I had forgotten that Mama had a party that day, the workman hauling lumber up the side of the building right outside my door (my apartment being on the roof of the house) enabled me to quickly reprise the situation. Stumbling outside in gym shorts and flip flops, I meet the Beninese roadie, appraise what he’s doing (using metal wire to lift tree branches to form a nice patio) and based on my extensive knowledge of economics, decide to double our productivity by hauling the wood up while he tied wire around the next bundle of wood on the ground floor. Unfortunately, my fellow laborer possessed an equal mind for efficiency and had doubled the load in anticipation of both of us lifting the weight. Our theoretical discussion became an issue of practical importance after I had lifted it approximately halfway up the three stories to the roof. At this point I was nearly at the point where I could grab the top with my hand and was experimenting with different policy options to bring that about. However, without gloves or sense this was proving difficult. Fortunately, my compatriot’s MBA in International Finance allowed him to notice the erratically swinging wood was well above where he had placed it and that he had better get to the roof before the damned yovo fool knocked out one of Mama’s windows or perhaps even Mama herself (who was watching from the second story). While I felt as though a Nobel-worthy exercise was taking place, he expressed faith in my formulas by both dropping what he was holding and moving faster than any Beninese person I have yet seen. Thus reunited, we solved our common misunderstanding and were able to successfully repeat our rooftop development strategy as needed.
Later, the party got started and Maman’s basketball team from her college days decided to introduce me to the Beninese art of dancing. They did this subtly, by forming a conga line directly towards me and then arranging for the entire party to implore me to dance. Always being one to bein integre, I jumped in the conga line and picked up a white kerchief like the rest of the dancers. It took about thirty seconds to realize that only women were dancing and only single ones had the white kerchiefs. It took only took three to realize I was likely engaging in blatantly false advertising regarding the state of my hymen and that could be the source of some of the crowd’s amusement. Still, I perservered and danced with the ladies of Porto-Novo for a good half hour until I was rescued by Willy and Bill (my host cousin and brother) who were manning the bar. My fellow housemates were skimming off of every drink they made and provided a huge source of amusement the rest of the night.
I went to bed utterly shattered and then started the week for Monday morning.
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