Me: Lyle, do you know where I can buy cigarettes?
Lyle: Do I look like the Lonely fucking Planet?

Turns out, going up north for a few days was a pretty good idea. Saw a lot of people. Got a lot of work done. Cooked a lot of good food (OMFG it was amazing). Basically, it was a typical Peace Corps get-together. Not at all surprisingly, we ICT volunteers have strong and differing opinions on How Things Should Be Done. Despite that, we managed to get a fair amount decided.

While there, I got to participate in a pretty fun northern custom . . . Chooking!! And what is chooking? Imagine a big open market, except instead of stalls, there are 30 to 50 squares outlined in cement. These cement squares are just about the right height and width to serve as benches. Inside each square is a woman hovering over a bucket, with a bunch of bowls sitting beside her. People are sitting on the benches, and she dispenses a mildly alcoholic beverage (fermented millet) into bowls and passes them around. After a few rounds with one lady, you pay, pack up, and move to the next lady, where you’ll probably end up buying a round for everyone there, but it’s okay, because they’ll buy yours next. A decent sized bowl (about half a cup) is 50CFA (10 cents). The whole marché is friendly, boisterous, and a great time. I can’t wait to go back with less people (not that I don’t love my fellow PCVs, but it’s tough to meet people when you’re in a crowd of 10 yovos).

Also enjoyable was Trivial Pursuit, which I’m not good at, and Spoons, which I am good at. I was really happy to meet the volunteers in the region. It’s kind of sad that just as PSL-18 is arriving, and getting to meet all sorts of fascinating people, PSL-16 is packing up to leave, but that’s the way life goes, I guess.

Anyway, travelling this weekend was fantastic, but by the end, I was ready to get back to post. I mean, I had a blast, but there’s just nothing like coming back to my own place. Last night, I got home, dropped off my crap, took out the trash (which stank), and went searching for food. It was really reassuring that everyone I usually saluer stopped me to ask where I’d been.

PS to all the parents: Carrie’s fine and very tan. Lisa’s fine and ate really well last week. Sara M. is down in Cotonou. Katie is doing well and has a million funny stories (as if that’s any sort of surprise). Ben is much healthier now than he was in stage, although he definitely should avoid cutting his own hair. And Lyle is, of course, doing well.

Just a quick update today. Turns out, the damn cat’s kind of sick, but he’s now eating canned cat food, which is a positive sign. Also, friends are down visiting from the North, which is really exciting. We started the night off with ice cream (!!!), then followed it with homemade egg-drop soup and a heavenly heavenly stir-fry.

I eat so damn well when people come to visit. :-D

And in case anyone out there is still actually using Internet Explorer, YOUR GODDAMNED BROWSER’S BIZARRO INTERPRETATION OF THE BOX MODEL IS BREAKING MY NGO’S WEBSITE. For the love of GOD, switch to Firefox, Opera, or any other more standards compliant browser. If you don’t believe in God, please consider doing it for the love of Theresa.

If you guessed sleep, you are DEAD FUCKING WRONG.

Last night’s overpriced hamburger didn’t go down well. It was the first time I’ve managed to get food poisoning (how do you “get” food poisoning? don’t you just poison yourself? weird) since I’ve been at post. I get home, a little tispy and a lot tired, only to find out that my GODDAMNED STUPID CAT has pooped all over my room. Everywhere. And had refused to eat the catfood I’d left out for it.

I mop up, start the ruined clothes and sheets soaking in detergent and water, to facilitate the cleaning process, and go to sleep. An hour of tossing and turning later, I dash to the bathroom and lose my dinner. Thinking that was all, I went back to bed. 2 hours of tossing and turning later, I’m back in the bathroom, wreaking havoc in all directions.

Whilst I’m emptying myself, my STUPID FUCKING CAT decides to shit on my bed. And it’s sloppy shit too. I get back, exhausted, uncomfortable, but thankfully no longer sick, and put my knee right in it. Ooooh, unhappy Theresa. I clean and disinfect it, then flip the mattress so I don’t have to sleep on the big wet spot soaping it left. 20 minutes later, there’s warmth on my leg. That’s right. My cat pissed on me. I think he was hungry. I THINK HE SHOULD EAT THE GODDAMNED CAT FOOD. He disagrees.

I run to the bathroom to puke one last time, come back, and clean up. Oh wait. I don’t have any SHEETS left, and there’s an enormous COLD WET SPOT on my mattress, again, from the soaping. FUCKING CAT. At this point, it’s just past 3 am. I’m keyed up, annoyed, and clearly not going to fall asleep any time soon. Especially since my mattress is wet.

So I do laundry. That’s right. Felt like college all over again. Stressed? Can’t sleep? Clean! I washed my bedclothes (which fucking sucks, by hand, btw). Then I cleaned the bathroom floor. Then I changed the cat litter. Then I washed dishes. Then I figured I might was well just clean the whole damn kitchen. Then it was 4h30 in the morning, and I had to be up at 6 anyway, so I finished a book, and finally dozed off around 5h30.

For the record, I didn’t drown my cat. I’m not entirely clear on why his litter training has decided to desert him after a week in my apartment, but we’re going to work through this. And I will never eat a hamburger at Baccus again.

Man, I forgot how freaking hard preparing lessons is. I’ve spent the last few days coming up with a comprehensive outline for an HTML/ CSS class, complete with homework assignments and accompanying examples . . . in French. And I’m not done yet. It’s frustrating because I could teach the classes by the seat of my pants, but I know that it’ll be easier in the long run if I do this preperation now. Oh wait, I need to create handouts too.

However, I did get this in an email discussing getting people together for the upcoming weekend’s meeting:

“While I would of course welcome the unique spiritual contributions that only ***** can provide, and would encourage you to solicit his participation with all due diligence and haste, my guess is his motivation is negligible.”

Ben, I fucking LOVE you, man.

It’s bizarre how this entire country shuts down when it rains. It’s not that it slows, or that a few people close up shop. When it pours, everything STOPS. Normally, this isn’t too terrible a thing. It rains in the afternoon, so shops close early, and everyone gets a free evening (provided they can find a moto-taxi willing to take them home, of course). Yesterday, I was late coming back from lunch, because it started pouring while in transit to the Bureau. I couldn’t find a moto willing to brave the wet, so I hung out under an overhang with some Beninese guys until the deluge lightened. Nobody thought it was strange at all to be late because I couldn’t find a ride in the rain.

It rained all night last night. It had paused when I woke up this morning, but the downpour recommenced as I was leaving for my morning ride. Needless to say, I didn’t bike today. It didn’t let up, but I figured it wasn’t a big deal.

In America, rain just means you’d better grab an umbrella on your way out the door. In Benin, kids stay home from school. It’s 9am, and there are only 3 people at the office. They’re admiring my dedication, and I’m finding it puzzling that no-one else has shown up. If you don’t live in the neighbourhood, you’ve got to moto to work, and who wants to moto in the rain?

So here I am. Nothing to do. I had the foresight to bring a book and stationary this morning. The storm is changing from a hard shower to thunder, so I don’t imagine too many more people will show up today. And you know what the worst part is? I’m not irritated that people aren’t here. I’m worried that my poor kitten who’s terribly afraid of thunder is home by himself, with no lap to curl up in when he’s scared.

I named my kitten last night. Franklin. He still thinks his name is “YOU ARE SO FUCKING STUPID,” but we’re going to work on that. The damn thing is adorable. He’s also vocal about what he wants, which is important, because otherwise I’d probably forget to feed him. Loud, obnoxious, adventurous, likes to play . . . we get along well, if it’s not already obvious. ;)

“How can you be so stupid?”
“Meow!” (What? I’m not stupid! YOU’RE stupid!)
“No, really. It’s pretty hard to fall off a chair.”
“Meow!” (The chair was ready to attack! I had to do something! You can’t let these chairs get the upper hand, you know).
“You are a dumb fuck, you know that?”
“Meow!” (The duck tape! It’s going to turn on us! I must save mankind and catkind alike! ATTTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!)

Seriously, this cat is dumb. And also weird. And will attack anything that moves. Or doesn’t move, as the case may be. Turns out, he’s a pretty normal kitten.

He’s also litter trained (already!). Because he’s been pissing outside in the sand for the last several weeks, it turned out to be a pretty simple matter to bring sand inside my house for him to use. Everybody in my neighbourhood thinks I’m nuts (who gathers trays of sand? For a CAT?), but I think they’re getting used to the eccentric foreigner. At least they asked me, instead of just pointing and laughing (which they do to other people all the time, so actually asking is a good sign, even if my answer sends them howling afterwards).

I got a cat!!!!!

Got an email from my post-mate yesterday, “Hey, Theresa, um, I have your cat, want to come over and get it?” Turns out, he’s had the damn thing since Saturday, but had no way of getting in touch with me. Go figure. We had dinner, and played with the cats, and I took mine home. For a brief while, I was just going to call it Scaredy Cat, because it was fair-to-middlin’ cowardly at Curt’s place, but once I got home, he discovered that I’m his only source of food, and we’ve been best friends since. ;)

It’s kind of weird. I’m here at work, worrying about him like he’s my kid. Did I leave enough food? Enough water? Is he smart enough to avoid the plastic bags I use to store trash in? He’s not going to piss on anything, is he? What if he climbs my pagne chair and gets stuck again? Oh no! Maybe I should have folded it up! Or better yet, locked him in my bedroom.

The cat still has no name. I’m trying to avoid being obnoxiously clever, but I want to do better than just naming him “Cat,” which I seriously considered. Anyway, check out the pictures, and send any ideas my way. 

PS, check out pictures of Jenny and I, the cat, and my swank new furniture.