Sometimes Benin tears my heart out and stomps all over it with soccer cleats, like a meat tenderizer.  Sometimes I wish I didn't feel so much.   This afternoon, I was approximately 30 seconds away from packing up and leaving after watching - and stopping - a mentally challenged child being beaten.  Thank God for a few of my fellow volunteers on the receiving end of my text messages and for my dad, who assured me that yes, my being here is worth it.  I know I'm making a difference here.  I hope that doesn't sound pompous, but when your job is to identify malnourished kids, it's easier to see.  Since October 1st, I've weighed 953 babies.  I'm proud of that, especially since exactly none of them would have been weighed otherwise and the underweight dozens among them would have gone undetected.  Dozens of moms wouldn't now be adding peanut butter to their soy-based porridge.  Hooray for that.

I'm super thankful for all the tangible things I can do and track here, like those 953 babies, or the 44 radio shows I've written in French, or the 7 meetings of my new English club (with an average attendance of 5 students - a small but motivated group).  What's difficult is not seeing apparent change in attitudes regarding things like (what we Americans see as) mistreatment of women, children, and animals.  Even more difficult is when you start to question whether or not "cultural differences" excuse such behavior.  Just as the "Volunteer Emotional Continuum" (a real sheet of paper) tells me, this is a normal reaction.  So even though almost every second year volunteer last year looked like they were coasting, I don't think the real work of Peace Corps, which includes a doozy of an emotional rollercoaster, or the so-called "conditions of hardship" will stop until the plane takes off.  Maybe it won't ever stop; knowing what I know now about the ACTUAL hardships (as opposed to First World Problems) my Beninese colleagues and neighbors face on a daily basis, could I ever go back to a normal desk job?  Probably not, and deep down, beneath my current sunburn, sweat, and griminess, I'm almost certain that's for the best.

The best of posts, the worst of posts

As I'm sure is the case with all PC volunteers, sometimes I love my post, and sometimes I....don't.  My sentiments are constantly in flux.  Since I walk all everywhere in Kandi, I've seen, I would venture to say, 99% of it, the pretty and the not so pretty parts.  So today, I've included some photos of my favorite and least favorite parts of town.

Let's start with my least favorites.  We can only go up from here, people.

Along the highway and between the market and the hospital, is this loveliness.  It's a little difficult to see, but this canal doubles as rain and waste management collection.  Mostly waste, though, and waste of all kinds (use your imagination).  There is an empty lot, of sorts, to the right, where women pull well water and livestock and barefoot kids roam around.  FYI, the pillars in the background are the Grand Mosque.

This is trash problem that I also pass every day.  Ducks are fond of wading around in it.

And now for my favorite place, a big expanse of vacant land (nature!), where I like to run.  I rarely run into anyone out here.  I'm not sure what this abandoned building is or what used to exist here, but it's a little eerie, and I love it.  Also, behold my favorite baobab tree in Kandi.

Alrighty, everyone.  Toodles for now.  I'm off to pack up for a bike tour in the Donga region, where we'll be giving talks on malaria prevention and household budgeting.  Disparate topics, yes, but it should be an adventure.

Salvaged vacation

I arrived back in Kandi yesterday after a restful ten days in Grand Popo and Cotonou.  The original Epic Christmas Vacation Plan changed a bit mid-stream, naturally.  TIA, or "This is Africa," after all.  (It's a phrase we use extremely frequently.) Two nights of power outtages (with no generator, apparently, which I found suspicious) and an infestation of ninja-like mosquitoes - they managed to get under our bed nets - nudged us to cut our trip to the beach a day short.  But it turned out for the best.  I recently wrote to my aunt that all I'd really want for a vacation these days is to sit in air-conditioning for a few days, drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper.  That's exactly what Santa brought me, if you switch the Diet DP for a Coke Zero.  After the disappointment of Grand Popo, Mary and I ended up at our friend Will's, basking alternately in sometimes freezing (but what a feeling!) a/c and steaming hot showers (the water for which I did not have to heat up on my stove, a la Laura Ingalls Wilder).  In other words, we enjoyed the luxuries of the First World in the middle of the Third World.  Except for the occasional takeoff of an airplane, it was quiet all day long.  No screaming babies, no roosters, no calls to prayer at 4am, no dogs barking in unison at the moon or whatever they all see at 2am.  It was magical, and naturally, it was difficult to leave.

The bus ride home was all kinds of entertaining, though.  As a rule, I am not a chatty traveler.  I'm not one of those people who makes friends with the person sitting next to me on the plane.  In fact, it's quite possible that we won't say two words to one another, and I'm totally okay with that.  Although I recognize it as a demerit on my Peace Corps service, I'm still a pretty private person here, both while traveling and at my post.  I like to think that I get the "cultural exchange" work done, but I'm never, ever going to end up as a cover story in Peace Corps' official magazine.   So when the guy next to me on the bus started up with "small small" English, I have to admit, I was less than thrilled.  But two hours later, we were still talking to each other.  He works as an accountant for the hospital in Nikki, in the Borgou region.  It turns out we have a couple of mutual acquaintances.  We talked extensively about Obama and his reelection, and Patrick was the second Beninese guy I know who was kind of sad that Romney lost.  He asked me about Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream," and whether Obama being in the White House was its realization  Seriously, it was possibly one of the best conversations I've had with anyone here.  Sometimes I get the impression no one cares about the United States other than how to physically get there, or, rather how I can help them get there.  Randomly, but perhaps because we had a traditional medicine seller hawking his wares on the stretch between Bohicon and Parakou (totally normal), he asked me why scientists weren't working harder to find a cure for HIV.  Anyway, a lively conversation.    He also attempted to read Pride and Prejudice with me as he apparently got bored with his French spy novel.  (Side note: the fact that he brought a book for the trip should have been an immediate indicator of his awesomeness.  Very few people read for pleasure here.)  He now knows that Mr. Wickham was not a man to be trusted.  Anyway, I was a little sad to see him go in Parakou, where I switched buses and sat next to a young French or German girl who similarly gasped each time the bus came perilously close to mowing down a flock of chickens, goats, or women.  No idea why she, too, was going to Kandi.  I didn't ask.

And now, some random pictures of Kandi:

Who needs swingsets when you have an empty box?

I love this ad campaign, courtesy of the Swiss.  It translates to "I am a  herder.  I nourish Benin, and I'm proud of it."  On the other side is another billboard with an older woman who says, "I'm literate; I read and write in my local language, and I'm proud."  Hooray for encouraging patriotism!

L'annee deux mille douze (was a doozy)

And for what I hope is your reading pleasure, I bring to you today a roundup of deux mille douze (2012), bullet-pointed out of sheer laziness.

• I applied to graduate school.  Allons-y toward the future.   The three schools should get back to me in early March.
• Thanks to my grad school applications, I devised a five-year plan.  It's the first time maybe ever that I actually have one and want to put it into action. 
• Accomplished: I weighed at least 500 children - both in town and in the surrounding villages, and have revitalized the growth monitoring system here in Kandi, which is to say, someone's finally doing it.  As a result, I overcame my fear of babies, finally (but I still don't want one).  I conquered the beast that is the local high school and started a weekly English club.  Shockingly, I really enjoy it.  I also organized and led a week-long girls' camp.
• Was challenged EVERY single day, mentally and physically.  I'm stronger but also more aware of my limits. 
• I became a radio star this year.  I realized the other day that the station donates what is the equivalent of $40 of radio time to me each week.  That's a pretty significant community contribution..  Although I have never received any feedback on my show, which covers health and American culture, I hope a few people learn something each week.
• FINALLY, I started dreaming in French.  I've hoped for this since my first French class in 1995.  Although I am by no means what I would consider fluent, I can hold my own in a conversation. I love the challenge.
• I read several great books, though definitely not as many as I should have; among them were Dr. Farmer's Haiti after the Earthquake (which made me want to travel there even more than before) and Paulo Coehlo's The Fifth Mountain, a novel much more spiritual than I'm used to, but then again, spiritual uplift is a good thing.
• Became (sort of) owner to a rambunctious puppy named Sasha, who along with me would like to wish you a Merry Christmas and a most lovely 2013!

On guilt (sigh)

On guilt

Apologies in advance if this doesn't read totally coherently.  We're going with a "stream of consciousness" theme on the blog today.  In general, I suppose I don't spend a lot of time feeling sorry for people in my community, or for that matter, for Benin as a country.  There's no value in that.  The majority of people I encounter have what they need to get by, and I think it's evident that most of the time (there are exceptions), I'm not living in a Save the Children commercial.  Granted, I think my perspective is a bit different based on my time in Niger; there are legitimately people starving in Niger.  Here, less so.  Or at least it's less evident   Kandi, for example, has the infrastructure to deal with malnourished children.  The resources are there, but organizing and strategizing for the optimal usage of said resources is the real issue.  The Peuhl, an ethnicity of semi-nomadic herders who absolutely fascinate me, bear the brunt of the malnourishment problem in this commune.  But why?  They have the cows who produce milk, milk that the Peuhl make into cheese.  They're not lacking in nutritional resources (and as a vegan - at least while in America - that's hard for me to say).  I think in the case of the Peuhl, it's not a lack of caring about their children, certainly, but rather a matter of knowledge.  And this, of course, is where volunteers like me come in.

Where I do not feel I fit into the picture is as a source of money.  Most of my fellow volunteers, and certainly the agency, feel the same way.  I dislike the "teach a man to fish...." analogy because it's so overused, but it's true.  We're here to help "Africa stand up," as our friends at Songhai like to say.   But standing up means taking responsibility for yourself.  My dad and I have debated whether or not it's a good thing that Peace Corps has such a long history in Niger and Benin (arriving in 1962 and 1968, respectively).  Is this breeding dependence?  Some would argue so.  On most days, I would, too.  Where things get messy is when a co-worker, someone you see and interact with daily, asks for help.  This is where I start to doubt myself.  He claims he hasn't been paid in sixteen months.  I didn't really understand his explanation as to why this was so, but I was almost immediately dismissive given that these requests inevitably arrive near holidays (first before Tabaski, and now, near New Years).  But what if his kids aren't eating?  Then again, why is he only asking me and not our other co-workers?  The Beninese have a collectivist society; if your family is struggling, you can depend on your extended family, and to some degree, your neighbors.   I don't know if this should include the "batoure" who clearly does have a lot of resources, even if I do my best to hide them.  Most volunteers I know have lent money people in their villages (neighbors and host families, for the most part).  I made a rule against this before moving to post and have only budged twice: once for my neighbor with a sick child (the equivalent of $2) and once so that the guy next door could get a  new carte d'identite (ID card); he promptly repaid it after I specified a deadline.  And so today I (nicely) refused my co-worker, citing my not being here to just dole out cash.   But I feel guilty about it, and I don't quite know why.  Part of me feels like I do at home: if I have the means, it's my moral obligation to share them.  But I also feel like I've already given up a lot just by being here.  How much is enough?  Argh.  I don't know.  I hate not knowing the answer.

The Polio Campaign

Today I earned every bit of the $6 Peace Corps pays me (after taxes, naturally) to be here.  Rotary International sponsors a door-to-door polio vaccination campaign trimesterly here in Benin.  For this December's iteration, I actually received some advance notice and thus was able to plan to participate.  I generally have nothing to do on Friday mornings, so I figured I  might as well check out a new neighborhood - in-depth! - here in Kandi.  Despite that I walk everywhere and go for runs in the mornings, there are still a few spots in this town that I haven't yet explored.  And, ever since working at my nightmare of a job that happened to be located at their world headquarters in Evanston, I've been curious about what exactly Rotary does.  Not that they ended up  having a whole lot to do with the actual vaccination part, but whatever.  They did do a good job of marketing it (including text messages from our cell phone carrier, MTN), so props to them for that.

According to the coordinating doctor, all volunteers (relais communautaires - or community health volunteers who are specially trained - and myself) were to be ready at the health center's gazebo at 5:30am.  Being Benin, we really got going around 7.  I was paired with two women I had never seen or worked with before, both of whom were too fond of gesturing to me rather than using words.  I should probably put in a disclaimer here that I hadn't eaten breakfast and was anticipating stopping for some fried dough or other such street food delicacy (ha ha, total oxymoron).  We all know how I get when I haven't eaten breakfast.  So when they meant door-to-door, they really mean door-to-door.  At each house/room, volunteers are required to ask to see any children under 5 and even if there aren't any, they must write (in chalk) a big zero and "3T," representing the third campaign of the year.  If you actually do vaccinate, you have to write on the door of the house (or the wall) what fraction of them you vaccinated.  Most were 1/1 or 2/2.  The chalking of the doors/walls seemed bizarre at first, but I guess it makes sense.  It reminded me of Hurricane Katrina.  Of course there is also the official "fiche de pointage"or the tally sheet, where the volunteer (me, in all vaccination cases - tallying is ALWAYS my job, but I'm good at it) mark the age of the kid and how many were in the household.  Luckily one of the volunteer women was from that neighborhood (Keferi), so she mostly knew which kid belonged to whom and who comprised each household.  When you have literal mazes of single room mudbrick homes, it can be a challenge to figure out who belongs to whom.

Luckily the polio vaccines are oral.  The vaccinator kept telling the kids to come get their "bonbon," and their little faces would light up only to be met by bitter disappointment moments later.  This is no bonbon in the traditional sense.  It's hard to explain to a kid that these two flavorless drops of drug might not taste like candy, but you'll thank us later when you're not dealing with paralysis.

And so we wandered around this little neighborhood for, wait for it....., SEVEN hours.  At six and half hours, I was like, "ladies, can we possibly take a five-minute break here?"  I'm pretty habituated to walking around in the sun (believe me!), but this was another thing entirely.  Mostly because, as I mentioned, I hadn't eaten breakfast (not that there were any viable options at 6am, being that the Dunkin' Donuts just went out of business) and we were inching dangerously close to the end of the food stand/shack lunch rush.  So we sat down for five minutes, and I returned a friend's call.  My two fellow volunteers stared at me intently while I spoke what they initially thought was Spanish.  They asked what other languages I speak, and I mentioned Hausa, to which one of them said, "well the sun is a lot more intense in Niger."  For once, I just kept my mouth shut., mostly out of fatigue.  Twenty minutes later we finished the last vaccine vial and headed back to the health center.  Selfishly, I decided not to go tomorrow, given that I have a 14 mile run to do on Sunday.  Not only do I think the other volunteers have this one covered, but I also just want to say "no" for once. Perhaps that's not a bad thing.

Do They Know it's Christmas?

Do they know it's Christmas?

There's something weird about eating watermelon and listening to Christmas music.  Those two things shouldn't really go together, which, incidentally, is also how I sometimes feel about my living in Benin.  In the Christmas spirit of the "Holiday Lite" aka 93.9 in Chicago, I began listening to said Christmas tunes somewhere around November 1st. I downloaded a whole collection from the workstation harddrive, and bam, instant Christmas cheer.  Surely you remember and can undoubtedly hum along with "Do They Know it's Christmas?" originally sung as some sort of aid thing in the 80s.  I don't know how the actual lyrics of the song escaped me for so long.  Have you ever listened to them closely?  Perhaps I'm super sensitive or have not yet conjured up enough holiday-induced compassion, but dang!  This may debunk "The Little Drummer Boy" as my least favorite holiday tune.  Let us deconstruct some of the phrases.

Though the songwriters claim to want to "throw our arms around the world," they seem to lack an understanding about the actual lives of the so-called "other ones."  Was the situation of most Africans that much more dire in the 80s? The "bitter sting of tears" seems a little dramatic.  I'm not seeing a whole lot of tears around here.  Even in Niger, where the food security situation was especially dire this year, no one's crying about it.  In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a Nigerien or Beninese cry about anything.  Africans (all 54 countries' worth) could teach Americans something about stoicism.

Possibly my least favorite line in this bush-taxi wreck of a song is "tonight thank God it's them instead of you." Isn't this slightly hypocritical after the wrapping-arms-around-the-world part?  I get the being grateful for what you have thing, but I'd be embarrassed to play this song for my English club.

And lastly, the namesake phrase, "do they know it's Christmastime at all?"  In fact, they do.  In Benin, somewhere around 50% of the population is Christian, mostly Catholic.  So yes, "they" do know.  Even in places like Niger, where nearly the entire citizenry is Muslim, there are still a lot of people listening to the BBC or Voice of America on the radio or watching France 24, where the holidays will undoubtedly be discussed.  We're not as cut off from each other as you might imagine.

So one of my Christmas wishes is that we retire this song for good.  The world needs more of this instead:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kYEK-pxs_A  Could anything be better than transforming Toto's "Africa" into part of a Christmas medley?  No, no there could not.