Here in Benin, it’s pretty common for kids to come up and chat with me. My bush taxi driver from training to here said it’s because white folks aren’t going to shoo them away like the Beninese do. We’ll say hello, ask them how they are, then ignore them or play with them. In reality, it’s often to ask us to give them something. “Donne-moi un cadeau,” (give me a present) is a pretty common request, from kids aged 4 and up.

They’re only kids, and someone, at some point, taught them that whites give out 10 francs or candy or any other small gift, just for the asking, so generally, I respond with good humor. “No, YOU give ME a gift.” The real young ones just shriek with laughter and leave me alone. The older ones tell me that they have nothing to give. At that point, I usually ask for the shirt off their backs. That’s the signal to stop messing around, and, although it usually takes a little bit of back and forth, the situation’s generally diffused with humor and charm.

Well.

Yesterday, I was walking to the market (never got there, another story), and two boys, I’d guess 14 and 16, came up to me, asking for a gift. I laughed and refused, but when I asked for the younger one’s shirt and shoes, he just laughed and said he wouldn’t refuse me.

“Uh-huh. But I still don’t have anything to give you in return”
“You can marry us.”
“Oh, the both of you?”
“Why not?”
“And you’re going to clean for me, cook for me, and bring home the bacon?”
“Absolutely. The two of us will take good care of you.”
“If you have the money for a wife, WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME FOR PRESENTS?”

They dissolved into laughter.

Anyway, I’m starting to settle in, which is good. Doing lots of dumb stuff, like sticking a screwdriver into a live socket (ouch!), so it’s definitely starting to feel like home. Also bizarre was chatting with Lyle today on IM. We’re both in offices with internet access. Surreal, considering that we’re both PCVs in Francophone Africa, but really cool to catch up with friends from home.

So turns out, I’m making my work computer cry. Yes. Work Computer. I am updating my BLOG from my COMPUTER at WORK in BENIN. Life is so fucking sweet right now.

Sort of.

On Friday all we happy stagaires swore to defend the constitution and do our duty to the Peace Corps, so I guess we’re all volunteers now. More or less. It’s good to finally be here, anyway. It’s been a long time comin’. The best part of the weekend was hanging out after the ceremony, of course (funny stories and pictures to come later).

Equally exciting is the fact that I’m finally here at post. My apartment is empty, but I love it anyway. Furniture and other decorations will come later, when I have time. The kitchen is, of course, already a disaster.

My first few weeks are going to be insanely hectic. Full days of work, followed by work on Craig’s projects, followed by trying to get settled, followed by crazy madness. My projects here are pretty cool, though. I’m clearly going to be kept uber-busy, which is the exact opposite of what I was worried about when I first got here.

So that’s life. I’m in the Big City, now. Hahahahhaha.

Pop-quiz, hot shots. You’re in a third world country. You miss American food. It’s your birthday. What does Theresa do?

Throw a party and cook up a storm. As if there was any doubt.

Seriously. You know you’ve made good friends when you promise free food, and when they show up, they hand you a bottle of whiskey, kick you out of the kitchen, and proceed to do a far better job of feeding everyone than you ever coud have. Mom, I promise I really do more than just party here!

It was great to hang out with our teachers and show them some American food. They loved pancakes and Irish Coffee, but didn’t go for the grits or scrambed eggs; however, I managed to convert several of my felow stagaires to the cult of salty grits (thanks, Phil!).

Also, I have about 23423424 pounds of corn meal that I don’t know what to do with. See, you’d think that when you buy dried corn, then have it ground, you’d have a smaller volume of corn meal than when you had corn kernels. Well. Turns out that corn has a property of Fucking Weird Magical Explosion, which causes the volume to TRIPLE when you grind it. Good thing I had Lyle as my marché bitch to carry it back to our training building. Hehe.

In other news, we’ve made the switch to 100% French during training. It’s a lot of fun, except my vocabulary is more limited that I’d previously thought. So, if anyone knows how to translate “I’d hit it” or “bangable” into French and/ or Fon, please leave a note in the comments. Other than that, life is good, fuck the Yankees, and please send snail mail.

PS. Thanks for all of the birthday wishes!
PPS. Field trip tomorrow! Best week ever!

Lyle: We learned a word to describe you, today.
Theresa: Really? What?
Lyle: I forget, but I know it means “grouchy” in English.

For all I bitch, I sure am going to miss everybody when we all split for out different posts. For those of you not lucky enough to be here in Benin with me, I’ve been complaining about the enforced closeness of Stage, but damn, it’s not going to be nearly as much fun when there’s nobody around to laugh at my dumb jokes.

The past few weeks have been relatively busy. I’m not sure how, but magically, there are only three weeks left in Stage. Two months in this country and I still don’t have a damn clue about what I’m supposed to be doing. Haha. I’m kidding, for the most part. I think the hardest part about adjusting to life here is that it’s been a hell of a long time since I only had 40 hours of work to get done each week. What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this spare time?!?! Mmmmm.

Mom and Dad called last night to wish me a happy birthday, and asked if I was taking pictures. Yes. Lots. And I have tons of good stories that I’m waiting to share until they have visual accompaniment. For example, the insane-but-awesome bike ride through the bush during tech week is just that much MORE awesome with pictures of Lyle in a tree, random creeks, and Jason looking puzzled as we get more and more lost. Along the same lines, our trip to the beach is just that much more exciting when you see shirtless pale-assed Brook, cigarette in hand, with a crate of empty bottles on one shoulder, and grumpy-ass me behind him, clearly less than happy about being roped into returning them. And names without faces are just as worthless. Starting to get the idea?

In other news, tomorrow is the start of our ultimate frisbee tournament. There are only four teams (one for each sector: SED/ ICT, health, TEFL, environment). I’m excited. I won’t be playing, mostly because, over the last several weeks, we’ve discovered that I am absolutely worthless on the field. We business stagaires are competitive, so no dead weight on the field. ;) How competitive? Well, one guy already had to go down to Cotonou as a result of a concussion he got from a volunteer during a game (I joke, it was due to klutziness, not hard play). I’ll let y’all know how it goes.

Oh yeah, and I’m putting up three or four entries today. I’ve been borrowing laptops from friends, and just haven’t gotten around to posting. I’m lazy, and it’s a hell of a hassle to get to an internet café to get this stuff up and online. Speaking of hassle, another round of snail mail is going out this week. Write back, you fuckers.

I’m neither homesick nor lonely (I’m exactly where I want to be right now), but nor do I want to spend the next twenty-five months in a world completely cut off from those I care about. I love getting emails from home. I love hearing about the small things that make life interesting and different from life here. I’ve only been gone for a few weeks, but it seems much longer. Jumping from a world where friends were at most a phone call away to a world where I’m lucky if I check my email once a week has been a little bit disconcerting. But I still love mail, so keep it coming. And yes, that’s a hint, to those who haven’t yet written.

I keep getting some of the same questions, so I’m going to try and address them here.

What’s life like in Africa? is probably the hardest. Life in Africa is hard for Africans. For Americans with access to excellent medical care, pocket money, quality transportation, and an education, Africa is not so difficult. It’s hard to describe the contrasts that confront me every day. I live with a fairly westernized family, that is, relative to the rest of Benin, as opposed to relative to the States.

I have electricity and an indoor toilet. I take bucket baths, but I could also go outside and turn on a pump, if I wanted a cold shower in the morning (I don’t, because I’m the first one up, and it’s fuckin’ loud). I eat like a queen. The cuisine is different, of course, but once you accept that you’re not going to discern the exact contents of any particular sauce, it’s pretty darn good. I go to Stage every day. The facilitators are Beninese, but my fellow Stagaires are all American. I speak French, which gives me an enormous advantage here. I can have a conversation with almost anyone who’s gone to school, and at least negotiate prices in the marché. A lot of my fellow stagaires are having a much tougher time of it because of that.

Life is good for me, but I’m not living like the Beninese. Living in such obvious comfort here makes me feel like an asshole, sometimes, but most times I just ignore it, because that’s all I really can do. The scenery is beautiful, but the poverty here is going to break my heart.

What do you do all day? is a somewhat easier question. I get up between six and six fifteen in the morning, and pour water I boiled the night before into my Nalgenes, then I start new water boiling while I take a bucket bath. By the time I’m out, my water’s boiled for the requisite five minutes, and I can turn it off to cool while I’m at training. If I’m running low on filtered water, I start some more going (water has to be filtered then boiled before I can drink it), then get dressed for the day, except for my shoes. Breakfast is usually bread and hot chocolate, then I clean my room. Cleaning involves picking up (spotless), then sweeping. Yes, I clean every day. Try not to be so shocked.

Usually I have time to get some reading done, then I head out for training around 7h25. It takes about 10 minutes by bike, less if I’m feeling feisty. I’m a pretty aggressive rider, and the ride gets easier each day. Heh. PCT/Vs are the only people in the country who wear helmets while riding (we don’t have a choice).

I get there just after 7:30, so I have a few minutes to relax, smoke, read, study, or whatever. I like the peace and quiet of the roof in the morning. Class is from eight to ten (usually, but not always, language). There are three of us in my class, and despite our wildly different personalities, we seem to get along, especially considering how much time we spend together. At 10, we get a half hour break. We’re always hungry at this point, so we head to our favorite omlette stand. Mmmmm. We have another two hours of class, and then we’re free to go at 12h30.

I usually bike home for lunch, because it’s free, and I like talking to Maman. After lunch, I generally take a nap, because I’m pretty much a lazy piece. Class starts again at 15h00, and runs until 17h45. After class, we all go out to a buvette (bar) for a pint (or three). Not everyday, of course, but often enough. It’s good bonding time, since we spend the majority of time in class with our language groups. After that, it’s home for dinner around 20h30, or just hanging out wherever until I’m ready to fall asleep. Generally, I hit the sack around midnight, then it’s up again at 6 the next day.

Saturday’s are spent hanging out and running errands. Sundays are spent washing clothes (by hand, and it takes hours), running errands, and hanging out.

Where’s your post gonna be? The economic capital of the country. Sweet love. It took me a while to get over the fact that my “African Experience” is actually going to involve me doing a lot of what I did at home before I left, but now I’m starting to get excited about living in a city. My primary project is ICT at an NGO that aims to get economic, financial, and other management information out to SMBs and communes throughout the country. Lots of information management (database design, website, ecommerce, etc). My secondary project is a kickass web project. I’m not going to have any problems keeping busy, which was my biggest worry. Also, I like my apartment and my neighborhood.

Dear Internet,

Some of you have wondered why I don’t talk about the poverty here. That’s because it’s fucking painful.

There’s no way to describe what it’s like to come over here as a white American, full of dreams and hopes of encouraging development for those less fortunate than myself, then to realize that I just feel like an asshole because I go out and spend money on beer in the evenings, instead of giving it to beggars who hassle me in the street.

There’s no way to describe what it feels like to sit in the Peace Corps SUVs as we drive through the streets of the capital for a tour, gawking, pointing, and staring at the natives from air conditioned comfort.

There’s no way to describe what it’s like to be embarrassed while unpacking, because I have so much, then to be further embarrassed to think that I considered it a hardship to leave so much behind.

There’s no way to describe the immense frustration that I feel about business development in Benin, because I simply can’t wrap my mind around the fact that over 50% of the country is illiterate. The SED trainees learn how to teach accounting to illiterates. As an ICT volunteer, especially where I’m going to be posted, in Cotonou, I won’t even be working with the poorest of poor, or even the poor at all.

Am I glad to be here? Absolutely. Am I going to do good? I sure hope so. But please don’t ask me to talk about the poverty here. It hurts. If I ease the pain by ignoring it, the callousness I develop hurts even more. When I write here, it’s about the things I want to share. It’s the funny stories, and it’s the third goal. It’s not the things that are gonna rip me apart during the next 25 months.

As always,
t