You're my present this year!

We all just watched this in the Burkina Faso Peace Corps office, after being prompted by a comment by my mom. I'm sure you've all seen it, but it just feels very... relevant. Maybe this will introduce it to some other PC volunteers or interested individuals.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yOQk_pWmisA

"It's a long way from West Africa!"

I'll Be Home for Christmas...

Hey everyone, I just wanted to wish all of you a Merry Christmas, and a happy 2010! Can you believe it's already been 10 years since the Millenial Crisis?!? Well, this year will be a bit different for me, as it will be the 1st holiday season spent away from my family. Fortunately, I'll be with my best new and old friends. I'm traveling through Burkina Faso to Mali in order to do some exploring there with Sarah and Brad, two other TEFL volunteers. My Christmas night will most likely be spent on an overnight bus to pick up Ali, who is crazy enough to leave his family in Austin to join me for another New Years together!!!! From there we are going to continue on to the Dogon Country, an ancient and sacred region in which we will hike for a few days. Although I'll be physically alone on Christmas Day, I know that I'll be in your thoughts, and vise versa.

Please drink some eggnog for me.

Peace be with you all this holiday season.

-Dave

Pictures from the first few months!

The first picture here is me participating in some yam pillet.

The second is a picture of Yawkey and Landsdowne after they snuck into my helmet one day.

And Don't Forget to Give Me Back My Black T-Shirt

Actually, I ended up with someone else’s black tee in my bag this week. I believe it belongs to one of our female volunteers. So if you’ve lost a black tee from Old Navy, it’s presently resting at Rohan’s in Parakou.

Simply put, this has been a great week. All of the PSL 22 TEFLers swarmed into Parakou for our PSW (I’m still iffy on the acronym, but it may mean Personal Strategy Workshop.) We stayed in an awesome complex called Centre Guy Riobe, ate copious amounts of delicious food, and were able to catch up and develop some new techniques to try out before the Christmas break. It was reassuring to discover that all of us are going through the same types of problems, successes, and frustrations. It isn’t easy, but there’s always a silver lining. A child’s face reveals the dawn of comprehension or, even better, a desire to learn. A fellow teacher sees me using magazine clippings and songs in class and decides that he, too, wants to cater to the students’ more creative faculties. A woman in the market hears me talking about the possibility of starting a “Savings & Loans Club” and, without my prodding, spreads the word to the rest of the vendors and bolsters support for one of my intended secondary projects. In many ways, life here is easier and more familiar than one would expect.

Take, for example, my cats. I have three. One was left for me by Rachel, and this cat has been instrumental in teaching the other two (named Yawkey and Landsdowne, after the streets surrounding Fenway Park) how to kill the random animals that live in my house. Spiders, crickets, large lizards and mice all fit into this category. I had some problems potty-training them, but I discovered that I need to refill the sand in the litter box every day in order to assure compliance. They’re picky eaters and don’t like to cuddle with me, but I hope all of this will change over the next couple of months.

Then there’s the food. I love yam pillet, which is just boiled yam pounded repeatedly until the starch is an unrecognizable gelatinous disk. You eat it with meat (usually the innards of some local animal) and peanut sauce. Sound good? It is, believe you me. I ate yams of various sorts 5 times within a 2-day period last week. The result was not pretty, but I haven’t learned my lesson; I’m anticipating the yams upon my return to Kemon ce soir. I also eat a lot of rice, beans, tomatoes, and onions, all mixed with various spices either left by Rachel or sent from home (hence my new appeal for various American spices).

It’s hard to believe I’ve already been at my post for over two months. I get along really well with my fellow volunteers, and I’m grateful that most of them ended up being much more down-to-earth than I’d anticipated. I’ll be off to Mali on the 22nd, but I hope to update my blog once more before then. I’m planning on really engulfing myself in my lesson planning over the next three weeks, so hopefully I’ll be able to report some improvements. My friend Ali Cumber is flying down from Dubai (I think) to meet up with us for a few days around New Years. Hope everyone’s Thanksgiving was to their liking. We made a Turducken with turkey, duck, and pentard, and had an enormous spread that rendered all of us relatively useless for the rest of the evening. I killed the duck, which is the first time I’ve ever “killed with the intent to eat.” Don’t hold it against me. Best wishes to you all! -Dave

Roll on, Brother (In the wheel inside the wheel)

Back in the game! I've got a little bit of time since we're up in Parakou for some in-service training, so I FINALLY was able to check my email and log onto (gasp) Facebook. And thus, I am able to write to you at a (quasi) leisurely pace. How are things?!?! Keep me updated on your lives, either through snailmail or email. I'll be able to check my mail more frequently in a few weeks, so I promise to have more of an online presence from here on in.

So here we are. It's been an eventful couple of months at post. Lots of salutations, lots of awkward silences, lots of yelling and laughing and frustrations and pleasantries in the classroom. In short, it's been wavy. But most of the time, I love it. I've been reduced to uncontrollable laughter on several occasions in the classroom. For instance, I discovered that "I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit, and on the slitted sheet I sit" exists solely to try to get the speaker to say "Sh--", and (not surprisingly) it succeeded with my Beninese students. Realizing the terrible mistake I'd made, I kind of lost it in class. It's these kind of moments that make some days easier.

I eat really well here. I mean really well. I bake goods several times a week, and I eat a TON of pounded yams, which has finally started to show in my midsection. But I really enjoy the food. And little by little, I'm outfitting my home with more tables, chairs, and things to put on the walls. If ever you're thinking of sending a package, send pictures or little mementos to hang on the wall, because that's the most integral part of transforming this place from a concrete box to a livable space. So, as one would expect, leisurely time has become "pressed for time." But I promise to write again before I leave Parakou this week. I hope all is well with everyone, and keep me informed! I promise to do a better a job at my end. Work is good, life is good, and we're in the midst of the cool season right now. Can't complain.

And I'm Locked Up (Won't let me out)

Lockdown. Less than 2 months to go. Will life change after that? I have no idea. Heres a recap of the past month. Piecemeal. Or should I say Peacemeal? I started teaching on Oct. 1 at CEG Kemon, which means that I watched young (middle school aged) children do hard ,anual labor that would be considered cruel and unusual punishment for prisoners in the US. But the kids (and everyone here, for that matter) are tough, and this is what they expect, so I saw little resistance from my village's youth. After a week of watching painful inefficiency, we started classes. Unfortunately, I lacked a classroom the first day and I taught the first class under a tree. I felt like a stereotypical volunteer with this undertaking, but these kids will never forget where they first learned how to ask "What's your name?" Unfortunately; there are some students who cant even speak French (which is what they speak here in schools), so the lesson may have been lost on some of them. Other than that, class is great. I was given another class last week, but unfortunately the time was double-booked, so the kids sat there teacherless for 2 hours. But it's the kind of thing you come to expect. "Tu as fait un peu?" Sometimes, if conditions allow.
My village is beautiful. Ok, and I'm out of time (I had so much more to write) but I promise that I'll be able to get a good one written in 2 weeks! It takes a long time here in internet cafes... Du courage! Happy Thanksgiving!

At my post, but no posts

Dave is still at his post in Kemon. The village has no electricity, therefore there are no computers. We talk with him twice a week via our Skype and his cell phone (yes, no running water or electricity, but thankfully cell phone reception). He says that teaching is going well and that he looks forward to his classes each day. He seems to have found a rhythm to his village life. Has breakfast from the nearby elementary school each morning during the week, goes to school, comes home for dinner and visits from the neighborhood kids. He has two cats named Yawkey and Landsdowne that keep him company and keep little furry critters at bay. He has had the pleasure of eating snake stew on two occasions. When the local folks kill a snake, it is very important that Dave sees and then eats it.

The Peace Corps has a policy that new PCVs are not to leave their post (with the exception of medical or banking needs or approved meetings) for 3 months. The idea behind this is to encourage the Volunteeers to assimilate into the culture of their village. So Dave hopes that he will get to internet service and continue his own blogging in December. He also plans on getting a local PO Box to get smaller mail items. Packages (rather large padded envelopes) need to still be sent to the Cotonou address. We learned from his birthday cards and packages that Holiday greetings need to be sent to Dave (in Cotonou) right now!

We know Dave has many faithful followers of his blog, and we also know it will be more interesting when Dave, not us, posts them! But just wanted you to know he is alive and well in Kemon, Benin! Mom and Dad Cowell

Kemon by proxy

We spoke with Dave tonight, and as he does not have electricity in Kemon, he asked that we post this for him. Dave arrived in his new post on Monday. He found that his predecessor Rachel had left him everything that he needs for his "apartment". He is very appreciative of Rachel and all she left for him there. She even left him a scavenger hunt to help explore his new environs! Quite clever, eh?
His first text to us reported that he was napping with the cat on his lap. He also said that last night he had the best sleep that he has had since he arrived in Africa. Seems that living without electricity is relaxing for him. As we talked tonight he said that the local goats were leaping onto the wall around his porch. It is about three and one half feet tall. Didn't know that they were jumpers!

Dave has been out to have a local beverage with both the local director of education and the Parent-teacher President. He is going to meet with the Principal soon. It appears that in addition to teaching, Dave will be trying to establish a school library (more on that later).

He purchased a Beninese cell phone today. His neighbor said that he has a generator and can charge his phone for him, So, phone calls are in order for those so inclined! Same number as posted here.

We asked about his first day today in Kemon. It started with a thorough sweeping of the house with help from lots of the neighbors. He then played soccer with the local kids. He washed his laundry ( a 3 hour ordeal) and to his credit he refused help from the neighbors. He went into town to pick up a phone, and then watched people go by at the one intersection in town. And oh yes, neighborhood children came to visit and Dave learned a lesson, don't leave pens out in the open! Every one of his pens were gone after they left! Evidently they really do cherish American writing utensils! guess he should update his "wish list"!

So, it appears all is well in Kemon! and hopefully Dave will be able to put new "lyrical" posts up soon. MJ and D Cowell

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line...

As I’m writing this blog, I’m eating one of the last “oilomelettes” that I’ll ever eat in this country. This is the only way to describe the amount of oil that goes into preparing every Beninese food item, but I’m grateful that my homestay family was kind enough to provide me with this. Sadly, the baguette that I’m eating will also be one of the last – I only have small loaves of sweet bread available in Kemon. My homestay mom is convinced that today’s stomach problems (mild, mind you, but there are problems) are caused solely by the pimont (spicy pepper) that I ate last night, but I can think of a litany of other possible instigators. Anyway, my homestay family is presently singing the “Dave is sick in the stomach” song and my mom just described how my ass is on fire. I have 3 more nights here. I’ll miss this family.

Tomorrow is swear-in, which is the day in which we all officially become volunteers. We get paid our sizable move-in allowance, go to a “fancy” dinner, and party the night away. All of us are more than ready to get started (at certain points during the last two months, I felt as if I was no more than 12 years old), but I also recognize that I’ll miss my homestay family, my volunteer friends, and having most of my meals cooked for me. Moving to post brings a whole new set of problems: how to find food; how to prepare food; how to get by without electricity or running water; and how to communicate with those who can’t speak French (or English, for that matter). No one even knows exactly when school will start. What we do know is that school will probably start sometime in October.

I will be participating in the “Swearing Song” tomorrow, which will be performed immediately following our formal acceptance speeches. It’s called the “Swearing Song” instead of the “Swear-in Song” simply because of a poor Beninese translation. Many people actually do swear during the song due to the difficulties in singing the unnecessarily difficult French lyrics. I picked up a large Beninese drum called the Djembe yesterday and added another dimension to the song. I wasn’t exactly proficient, but I’ve already got someone searching for a drum maker to get one before I go to post. As for the song, it’s deliciously cheesy. I simply adore it.

As I prepare for my departure, I want to thank everyone for reading my blog. Subscribe to my page! If you have a google account, it’s easy to subscribe. Also, I encourage everyone to leave comments - I love reading about your lives and your reactions to my experiences here. My blogging will be really infrequent during the first three months at post because this is technically the “lock-down” period, during which we’re not supposed to leave our post at all. Keep writing emails during this time! I’m not neglecting you. I actually might try to get my mom to write some entries based on what I tell her when she calls. My thoughts are with all of you as October, my favorite month, approaches. This will certainly be a peculiar Fall.

More Pics!

I upload these little by little since it takes so long.

The first is a picture of Sarah Ellison, who lives really close to me at post. We are on the ferry ride to Ganvie.


The second is another picture of the Collines. This was taken from atop the hill by my house.

The third is the stilt village of Ganvie, which I spoke about in my last blog post.

Showin' off moves never seen before

When one thinks of Africa, there are a few things that typically come to mind. Perhaps you think of strange piercings, crazy languages, lawlessness and no access to water. In movies, whenever people travel to Africa, there’s always a lot of music with some sick drum beats and people dancing everywhere you turn.

This could not be further from reality.

There is ONE store that often blasts music near my CEG, and that music is usually direct from Bollywood. I always note while passing by that this is what Hollywood had led me to believe Africa would be like. And while it’s ignorant to assume that all of Africa is the same (and, to be fair, I don’t think any films have been filmed in Benin), I always feel a hint of regret that my days can’t be filled with drums and dancing. Furthermore, whatever music I hear now will decrease tenfold once I get to Kemon and lose all access to electricity.

But today, we finally held a cross-cultural session that included a local group and local dancers. They dropped beats and sang songs that were typical to mostly the southern regions of Benin. We all went out and made fools of ourselves (some of us more than others) and danced along with the masters of the craft. Some of us exhibited the white man’s lower-lip bite, while others actually showed that we could keep up with some of the more advanced Beninese moves. I think it’s safe to say that most of the dances resembled the movements one would expect to see from a chicken in the process of laying an uncomfortably large egg. Much fun was had by all, and I was even fortunate enough to receive a 25 FCFA piece from my future post-mate Sarah Ellison. I’m not entirely sure what the significance is, but if someone likes what they see they will stick a 25 FCFA piece to your sweaty forehead. I paid it forward, of course. A 25 FCFA piece is worth roughly a US nickel.

In Kemon, I will need to go to church every Sunday if I would like to participate in this type of rowdiness; church is an event that takes approximately 3 hours and involves nonstop singing. As for the other typical African images made famous by National Geographic, they are valid in various degrees. I don’t see interesting piercings around, but most people I see have scarification on their faces. From what I understand, this involves cutting oneself with a razorblade and placing various herbs in the scar so it will heal in a certain fashion. Second, even in the capital city the water shuts off all the time. And third, there is a considerable amount of lawlessness. I have seen, on several occasions, the Beninese take “law enforcement” into their own hands. Also, public urination is an epidemic. I will not disclose here whether I partake in this mild manifestation of lawlessness.
While I don’t have any pics of the music session, there will be plenty of opportunities in the coming years. If I need to go to church in order to witness this, c’est la vie.

Pics!

This is my new living room and the volunteer, Rachel, who lives there now.






This is the Palais de Congres at 4:30AM. My mom's standing next to me looking at me.

Turn and Face the Strange

Yesterday was a day I’ll not soon forget, partially because I’m committing this tale to my blog and partially because it still hasn’t ended (more on that later).

It all started when I arrived at the high school where I teach for our morning class. It’s called a CEG in Benin and the rooms are concrete with open windows. We were visited by a Muslim and a Celestial Christian to teach us a bit about the major religions in Benin. It was interesting to hear from them, but the real fun started when we visited the Voodoo temple I pass everyday on the way to school. There we heard stories of deities who can teleport from Togo, of a spirit that lives in an old tree, and of the sacrificial history of a large wax pile we observed. It was an especially interesting experience for me, because I knew many of the children who lived in the temple; I stop and play soccer with them from time to time on my way home from school. All in all, we only began to scratch the surface of this fascinating facet of Benin’s history. Voodoo practice is limited in Kemon, but I have plenty of friends who live in the places where the large Voodoo fetes take place. You can bet I’ll attend.

We then departed for the stilt village of Ganvie, in which 30,000 people supposedly live. It was the first place I’ve encountered artisanal goods in Benin, so I suppose it’s one of the few tourist draws this country presently has. It was not unlike the movie Waterworld; the children are impeccable swimmers and they can aptly wade beside a boat to ask Yovos for money. The only major drawback is that the people also relieve themselves (in all meanings of the word) in this same water. You can’t walk between buildings, so our itinerary was entirely in the hands of two boat drivers. Thus, we were dropped off at three places which all had (gasp!) local artisanal goods to purchase. Can’t be upset, though, because it really was a cute place. It’s worth a trip if you’re ever in this neck of the woods. If the picture was able to upload, you can see a picture below.

I then headed to the highlight of my day, which was my homestay mother’s fashion competition in Cotonou. It was held at the Palais de Congres, which you also may be able to view below depending on the internet speed. This building is gigantic and totally out of place in Benin. In fact, it was the first building I’d encountered that had more than 3 stories. I was very impressed that my humble homestay mom had been issued an invitation to participate in this event. She told me to get there before 7, so I rode a zemidjan there by 6:30PM. Here’s the rest of the schedule.

8:00 - Scheduled start of the night’s festivities.

9:00 – They commence preparations to get powerpoint working

9:15 – The emcees start to introduce themselves. They stop and continue again 10 minutes later.

10:15 – The rest of my homestay family arrives to support their mother. They have not missed a thing. The participants have yet to be introduced.

10:30 – Participants introduced. There are some designers dressed in extremely bizarre outfits. I wonder if the Beninese really don’t believe that homosexuality exists, which is what we’ve been told.

Throughout the evening, various “singers” and dancers came forward to perform entire Beninese songs, which means that they lip-synced and did the typical Beninese dance – this consists of mild hip-thrusting and arm movements that resemble the chicken dance. Every single time someone busted a move Beninese style, the crowd stood up and cheered. One performer, a heavyset woman with limited mobility, lip-synced to three songs throughout the evening. They were still cheering the third time, which happened to be at 4:00 in the morning. I can think of no logical reason for this to happen, but nobody in the crowd had left by this time, and nobody seemed frustrated.

One of the emcees was a storyteller who told many longwinded jokes. On three (count them: one, two, three) separate occasions, he told a joke about yovos (white people) not understanding the local language. Every time he embarked on a joke like this, everyone laughed and the woman next to me would say, “He’s talking about you yovos not knowing Fon.” It was an awkward but amusing experience for all involved.

There were 32 separate designers participating and 16 models to wear their clothes. I got the impression that the speed of clothes-changing behind the curtains was a bit slower than American fashion shows, because every model had at least an hour to change their clothes before they needed to reappear. The same song is restarted every time that a new model walks out in a new designer’s clothes. They are encouraged to move at a turtle’s pace, so I witnessed several instances when a model spent over 4 minutes walking on the catwalk. What determines whether an outfit is award-worthy? As far as I can tell, you don’t stand a fighting chance of winning the popular vote unless you can tear off at least 4 parts of your outfit and, essentially, render it entirely impossible to wear in public in this conservative nation. The closest the auditorium came to a riot last night was when a man tore off the front of his boomba and had the Beninese flag drawn on the back.

I slept through much of this, as did a quarter of the crowd. If the person you knew was not being showcased in any given moment, it was completely acceptable for you to put your head back and start snoring. My homestay sister, in fact, probably watched 5 minutes of the ceremony because our domestique poked her to wake her up for her mother. Anyway, each designer only showed two outfits apiece, and it was 4:00AM before they were finally ready to announce the winners. The results? My mama won 3^rd! She got a slammin’ African medal and a television. The first prize winner actually won a motorcycle, so this was no Podunk affair. This made the entire night worth it, because she’d been telling me all week that she wasn’t excited because she wasn’t going to win. I’ll be honest – public opinion was not working in her favor, but the judges liked what they saw. Congratulations, homestay mama!

We finally walked out the doors at about 5:00AM. My homestay sis informed me that we needed to walk awhile to try to find a taxi. What this meant was we needed to find zemidjans to take us to the local market, where we needed to wait until 6:30AM before we could depart. Needless to say, I was not informed of this timeline. I figured that I was in for a long night when (at 7:30PM) I told my homestay mom that I didn’t need to eat then because I could eat when we got home. She laughed at me and said we would not be eating tonight. She was correct. We arrived at our house at 7:30AM, an hour and a half after I usually wake up. Nobody seems tired today. Thus, the title of this blog: turn and face the strange. David Bowie is a visionary.

Tu as fait un peu?

This is the phrase we hear every evening: have you done a little? If you've washed your clothes, gone to the bank, greeted your neighbors or made a meal, you have done a little. I always reply, "Un peu, un peu." Small, small. My family often uses this term to tell me to take it easy. When I start to wash a huge pile of clothes, my homestay father tells me, smugly, "Small, small. Save some for tomorrow." Needless to say, its not TOO difficult to get used to the Beninese way of life.

Happy Birthday Mags!

Small, small. Every day I improve my teaching during model school. Sometimes I do poorly, but I often do well, and I learn from every experience. The Beninese have a certain way (read: negative) about giving feedback, but you need to just brush it off and continue doing what you're doing. That's what model school is for. So I applaud my friend's successes, even if I didn't really engrain in my students' heads the different scenarios in which one uses "Can you" and "Could you" to request information. Because tomorrow, they'll be there to pat my back. My fellow trainees have been exceedingly good at keeping morale high. It's all we can do, because training is a rollercoaster of highs and lows. Luckily for me, the highs have far outlasted the lows.

Small, small. Do a little and be content. My French is anything but exceptional at the moment. I'm working at it and converse well, but I'm hardly fluent like the last volunteer who was at my post in Kemon. So every day I learn new phrases, I use them, I try new formations. I'm fortunate because I'll still be able to speak a lot of French at my post. There are some volunteers who will have to rely more on their local languages. My local language is a form of Yoruba called Nagot, and I'm hoping to learn it well, but it won't be a necessity right away.

Tonight I'm headed to a fashion show at the Palais de Congres for which my homestay mom is one of the designers. I'm really excited, because this is apparently a big deal. She's been working until the early hours of the morning over the past few weeks to prepare Modeles for this event. It's apparently a competition, and I got a really fancy boomba made for the occasion. Hopefully I'll post the pictures soon.

Some of you have asked about organizing book drives. Every little bit will help, especially since there's a brand new library that's yet to be outfitted! But I'm not sure what to do or how to do this at this time. After I'm at post for a bit, I'll be able to give more information. But I love the support, and I'll definitely be taking advantage of it as soon as I can. After two years, all I hope is to be able to look back on my time here and say, "Oui, j'ai fait un peu."

Pictures in Staging

Above is a picture of my homestay siblings! and below is a picture taken at my post in Kemon, in the Collines. In the picture is the PCV, Rachel and her dog, Rex. Rachel has finished her job there and is returning to the States. Kemon is really beautiful!

And below is moi in my very own Boomba, given to me by my Beninese family!

and this is still the same old Dave! in the beautiful Collines in Kemon!

Old Man, Take a Look at my Life...

Some of you may recognize the title of this entry as the lyrics to “Old Man,” a song by Neil Young. I stayed at home with a fever yesterday and spent a little time listening to Mr. Young, for whom I now have a new appreciation. Some of you may know that my father spent some time singing in the Congo with the musical group “Up with People” in the 60s. This blog is dedicated to my father’s experiences in Africa (both past and future) and to his perpetual sense of curiosity, without which I probably would not have experienced half of the things I have by the age of 24. For those who don’t know this song by heart (read: those who aren’t in my nuclear family), 24 is the age of the character in “Old Man.” Coincidentally, this song was also the inspiration for my sister’s Senior Quote in her high school yearbook; for her sake, I will refrain from writing the exact quote. :)
My family has been questioning me incessantly about whether or not I have yet received their multiple care packages. As luck would have it, I finally received two of them on the very day that I stayed home sick (and thus, needed them the most). So I treated myself to some chocolate and a semi-recent issue of The Economist. While my life is affected less than ever by the status of obscure developing nations, it still helps me maintain my sanity to keep up with some news. Thanks, guys!
During the last couple weeks, I started teaching Model School at the CEG (High School) close to my house. We teach classes of more than 50 kids who come “prepared” with but a tiny blank notebook and writing utensils. Funny sidenote: many of the kids also bring protractors, which they use whenever you ask them to copy circles. As a result, it took some students more than 15 minutes (which I did not give them) to copy the few clocks I drew to teach them time. Digital time will have to suffice from now on. We have several different colors of chalk to use on the board, which is nice, but we don’t have much more than that. Last week I taught some 1 hr sessions, but this week I’ve moved to teaching 2 hr classes. My homestay sister, Ravis, is in my class. I adore her and her friends, but the class demeanor brings to mind the YouTube videos of the food fight at OHS last year. There are methods to mellow the atmosphere, though, and tomorrow I’m going to kick a few kids out of class. Don’t be horrified, it’s much better treatment than they might receive at the hands of another teacher. This paragraph has a surprise conclusion: teaching these kids is going to be fun. Challenging, frustrating, heart wrenching and fun.
I’m planning on posting a couple pictures with this post, but it remains to be seen whether they will load in time. The internet is slow here, like the pace of life. A common question one asks at the end of the day is, “Did you do a little today?” The greetings as a whole are humorous exchanges. You are supposed to ask anyone you pass a whole slew of questions, such as: Hello, how are you?; And the morning?; And the house?; And the kids?; And work? As far as I know, nobody ever says that any of these things are less than “good.” This may seem pointless, but it’s necessary if you wish to integrate at all within your community. Most people are able to complete the whole exchange in about 5 seconds anyway, so it’s but a small nuisance. I’m counting my lucky stars thus far, though, because the nuisances have been surprisingly sparse.

With Visions of Frosties in Our heads

Frosties, you say? Pourquoi pas? One of my fellow trainees was talking today about how we should all email certain companies, such as Wendys, and explain our plight. What would this accomplish? He`s hoping that we would be fortunate enough to get them to send a Frosty machine. We dont necessarily have any place to put it, and supplies would be difficult to obtain in a place that doesnt even have a McDonalds, but it would be the gesture that counts. So anyone out there who wants to help in our "cause," thank you. Now here's what's been going on chez moi for the last three or so weeks.

I've tried to write on this thing several times, but the power never seems to want to stay on long enough for me to submit. So here it is, three weeks of drastic change all boiled down into a few paragraphs. A lot's happened since last I updated. My host family gave me a Boomba, which is the local form of African garb. Think of zumas pants circa 1983 and a long pajama shirt made with stiffer fabric and a lot of pockets. Then throw on any random pattern you can think of. Seriously, think of any pattern. People walk around all day wearing full body garments with horses, the president of Benin, President Obama, dolphins, Michigan, sports teams, or any other thing imaginable plastered all over their persons. So, in essence, I'm encouraged to wear garb akin to pajamas while teaching classes of 60 Beninese students (between the ages of 12 and 25). A terrible fate? Not at all. People have manages to get all sorts of western garb tailored here. And while the fabric is different from that normally found in the states, my biased perception believes that many of the volunteers could actually pull it off. Girls, mind you. Probably not so much the men.

I've thoroughly enjoyed the food here, but anyone who knows me won't be too surprised by that. I eat pate, a Beninese staple not unlike nothing, and delicious fish every night. Sometimes I come home and see tonight's avian dinner flopping around on the floor (sorry, Dad), but it's always enjoyable. My host family always squeezes me fresh pineapple or orange juice. I don't know - what have I to complain about? Come visit, if you feel up to it! I've visited my post now, and it is gorgeous...

My post, where I will be spending my next two years, is in the village ok Kemon, which is in the eastern Collines, which is a hilly region in the middle of Benin. Literally, collines translates into "hills" in English. Thus, and this is actually quite rare for volunteers, my village lies at the base of a cute colline. the collines should not be thought of as hills so much as giant mounds of earth jutting randomly from the ground in otherwise flat and lush terrain. It is so green - the verdant hills of scotland come to mind. The village has only 3000 people, but I can apparently get everything I need. Electricity? No way. Running water? Uh-uh. Cell phone service? Usually. but I was lucky enough to spend three nights in my future home with the volunteer who served before me (for three years!) Rachel is incredible. She actually assumed the role of an administrator in her high school, she built and contracted a brand new library, and she speaks better African French than any other foreigner I've encountered. What will I do, following on her heels? Whatever I can. I'll smile a lot, maintain her legacy and teach to the best of my ability. Rachel has breakfast (fried cake or a porridge-like dish) pretty much delivered to her door every morning, and she makes the most delicious meals. chickens and goats sometimes wander into her home, too. The place has two beds, a large living room/workspace, an outdoor latrine, and a walled off back area where she washes clothes by hand and takes buclket baths with rain water. coincedentally, for most of the year it is also possible to get all of your drinking water from the rain water that collects. and at night you walk around by candlelight. Romantic? Meh, but its what I was hoping for. I'll be there in less than a month, if all goes as planned.

We'll be teaching Model School for the next several weeks at a local high school. Right now I'm teaching 4eme, which is the third year of English for most students. Our class right now has about 40 students, and I'm teaching about an hour a day to start. Have all the lessons went well? Not at all. But at least I can see how this could be fun. Gotta start somewhere! Plus, it was great to see how respected Rachel was in her community. People really respect teachers, and everyone was very sad to hear that she will be leaving. Very sad. But its encouraging to me. They speak Nagot there, which is a branch of Yoruba, which is apparently spoken in some parts of Boston, which is cool by me.

So I just playes soccer with the boys down the street and my fellow volunteer Jamie. I love my street, and a good portion of the people have started to call me M. David instead of Yovo, which means "white" in Fon, the local language. It's very enchanting, this place. Call if you can! Or write letters, or emails, or text me! and if you want to send little packages, I will be forever greatful. And whoever sends me a moonpie will be my all-time hero.

Thank you for following. Hopefully I will be able to update sooner next time. I miss you all. Let me know what's going on in ya lives!

Long May You Run

I wrote this email last night in my room at my host family’s house in Porto Novo, the capital of Benin. I’m able to upload it now because we’re in Cotonou for a meeting and we’re able to access the internet in their swanky new headquarters. Life is going well, to say the least. You can now call me on my cell using the number on the rightà. I was able to talk with my parents last night, and it was really nice just to hear their voices. (It’s free for me if you call, and calls are REALLY cheap if you use programs like Skype.com) Our conversation had a couple guest appearances from my host sisters. Estia, the youngest, turns 3 today; bonne anniversaire, Estia! Ravis, the middle child, turns 11 on August 9^th. I don’t know when my brother’s birthday is , but his name is Io and he’s 18. They’ve been more than generous with their meals (yes, I’m actually gaining weight) and they’ve taken me to family members’ houses all over the Southeast. Each visit typically starts with an enthusiastic hello and how are you, but the keen ears of the Beninois quickly realize that my fluency ends there. I’ve found that I can speak more French at different points in the day. Thus, sometimes people leave content that the American volunteers are able to converse, but other people must wonder what we’re doing here. All in all, it’s trying, but a lot of fun. As long as I can smile and make a joke, people tend to warm up to me.

I’ll outline my day for you, which may well be a typical Sunday during training. I sleep under a mosquito net but don’t have any blankets, so at certain points during the night I will get up and either open or close the windows to keep from sweating or shivering, respectively. There’s a busy street outside my window, so I can hear various people yelling and motos (motorcycles or vespas) streaming past. At about 5:30 AM, I can hear my host mother taking her bucket bath. But even with all of these interruptions to my sleeping habits, I still get a great night’s rest because I am exhausted! Speaking French and spending the day in the sun can really take a lot out of a person. I get up and take a shower using water from a bucket and a strange loofah, and I try to knock the sleep out of my head so I’ll be able to converse with my family in a foreign language. Breakfast usually consists of (good) baguettes and mayonnaise, eggs, hot chocolate or coffee, and fruit. So far, so good.

I parle avec my family for awhile, we laugh at things on the television, I attempt to help clean or cook, and I play and dance with Estia because she never, ever slows down. Beninese babies may be unbreakable, because I’ve seen different ones on different occasions tossed around like toys and they never stop laughing. It’s great to have the positive energy, though, and it’s always good to have her to play with when I can tell my French will be lacking. At 10:30, I told my family that I was leaving for school because my fellow volunteers were meeting up to do something. After answering many questions (even though they had known about this beforehand), I finally am able to leave the house at about 10:50, which means that my planned 20 minute head start had disappeared. Along the way, various people stop to chat, so I end up barely getting to school by 11. We embarked on a biking journey to tour the city and see where the other volunteers live, but it’s difficult to travel in a group of 15 white people (yovos) in a busy city with no traffic laws. After we reached our first destination, one of my fellow English teachers’ wheels bent, and he had to try to devise a way to fix it in order to leave. We all sat there for about an hour while we waited for someone to bring him a helmet to take a moto home. Nobody cared, though, because we were all just content to be able to speak English for awhile. Plus, we have already witnessed a slew of instances in which planned events just don’t seem to happen until certain people decide they should. Makes sense to me.

We were eventually able to continue our tour, and a bunch of us stopped by a Buvette in order to enjoy a cold Coke (and other local beverages). It didn’t take long for us to decide that this should be a Sunday tradition, so hopefully even more people will partake next week. At about 3, I return to my apartment, where I decide that it’s time for Round 2 (in 4 days) of personal clothes washing. Washing clothes by hand is surprisingly difficult, and it’s safe to say that it can typically take me upwards of 10 minutes to wash one pair of pants. Hopefully I will be able to devise a better plan soon. I then helped Ravis clean the dishes, the house, peel potatoes and prepare dinner (remember, she’s only 10). Dinner is a local dish called Pâte Rouge, which is a kind of cornmealy deal with tomatoes, pepper and meat. It’s quite delicious. I then embarked on an unannounced visit with Io to his grandmother’s house. There we went through what I can already refer to as “the motions,” and I exchanged awkward introductions with countless family members and took a tour of the complex. Again, I played with the littlest kid as a sort of conversation filler. Judging from the accounts of my fellow volunteers, we are all going on awkward unannounced visits to family members’ houses. C’est la vie in Benin.

Much Ado About Cotonou

Bonjour de Afrique! We landed safely late Friday night, and we had a fantastic welcome from our present PCVs. After a day of training in Philadelphia and almost 24 hours of flying (waiting, flying, waiting), I have arrived in my home for the next two years. I and 55 of my fellow stagiers (trainees) are living in a compound outside of center city, and we are learning little by little what we should come to expect out of the next two years.

Classes thus far have consisted of safety training, wellness exercises, French training, technical training, and small orientations, but most of them have included an ice breaker or two. My fellow volunteers seem to be selfless and respectable people, so I'm quite sure that having them will make the next two years that much easier. In two days we will be heading to our homestays in Porto Novo, where we will live until September 25 (when we will be sworn in, inshallah). Thus, class meetings will be smaller and focused more on my individual sector (TEFL, or Teaching English as a Foreign Language), so I'm quite sure that the "grind" has not yet begun.

You'd be surprised how much you can do here! We will have cell phones, internet access (if we want to pay $200.00 for a special satellite card), and possibly electricity and running water, so the living may not be as tough as some may think. Then again, there are posts that have none of the above, so I'll be sure to keep my hopes securely grounded. Malaria? Haven't even been bitten by a mosquito. Diarrhea? Not even close. Homesickness? Un petit peu. But c'est la vie.

All in all, I can't really say what the next two months will bring, much less the next two years. Just rest assured, things are quite exciting. I do believe Benin will be one of the best decisions of my life. Thank you everyone for all of your support. You've always got a place to stay next time you're in Africa!

This pic is of a few of my new friends here. We keep it light.

Cookies Are a Sometimes Food

Thanks to Rob, Stef, and Adam for sending this Edible Arrangement to the fam! The Cookie Monster, as you can see, will be a wonderful addition, and I'm sure it will go perfectly with the decor my parents are working toward.

Une Fête Surprise

Thank you to everyone who came out to my family's camp (cottage) on Cross Lake this weekend. I was, needless to say, surprised by the turnout. My parents apparently decided over a month ago to throw a surprise party to celebrate my approaching departure. Educators, neighbors, and friends who've inspired me throughout all periods of my life showed up to say "Bon chance," eat some good barbeque, and finally see the place to which my parents disappear every summer. This year my parents actually put our Time Warner media package on hold at our place in Oswego, and the automated message answers incoming calls with this message: The person you are trying to reach does not wish to receive any calls. Thus, we are further off the grid at my childhood home than I will be when I get to Benin next week.

A special thanks to Laura, Rob, Stefan, and Adam for making it up to my place on Friday night. I never envisioned any of you in Cato, NY, but I think the result was exactly as anyone could have imagined. We kayaked to a small island, failed the Jiffy Pop test on a big bonfire, and played Croquet like our lives depended on it. Rob is also the first person I've ever seen tumble out of a Kayak in the middle of the lake (twice!). All in all, it was exactly how I hoped to spend my last stateside weekend.

Right now I am wondering how I will physically fit all of my supplies for the next two years into a suitcase and a backpack. My bewilderment at seeing all of said supplies laid out on my bed is what compelled me to procrastinate by writing this blog entry. I think I've compiled a sufficient amount of the necessary items, but I'm starting to realize how much I take for granted. Case in point: am I really going to surrender my ability to choose between several different Sox hats on any given day? Such seemingly trivial dilemmas will probably seem, well, trivial, by next week, but I can only imagine that they will have some effect in the aggregate.

Once again, a sincere thanks to everyone. Its great to know I have all of your support. One added bonus: the party was a great opportunity to get word out of my blog. I'll sure miss this place!

Bienvenue a moi!

Creating a blog has become somewhat of a rite of passage for peace corps volunteers these days. Many future volunteers ruminate on their expectations, their trepidation, whether socks are a waste of space, etc. While I by now know that it's difficult to pick one blog out from the plethora available for every single country (I found 94 written about Benin alone on http://www.peacecorpsjournals.com/), I'm still going to throw my hat into the ring. So, without further ado, here is a bit about myself.

I was born and raised on the Great Lake of Ontario, where I spent the majority of my life in the sleepy harbor town of Oswego, NY (the New York Times affectionately called my city "one of a string of rustic villages" in upstate NY). While I love my hometown and its 17,000 residents, I knew that I was going to need a little more to quench my thirst for adventure. When I was younger, I shared George Bailey's view - "I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and..." - but my idea of adventure evolved and I eventually found the Peace Corps in my sights. I've never quite been able to shake the idea.

I attended Boston University as an undergrad, where I majored in International Relations and Psychology. Since then, I've taken graduate classes in Environmental Science and Int'l Econ in both Boston and Buffalo. I've worked with various nonprofits and for-profits, and I've liked and disliked certain things about each of them. I decided last summer that it was time to take the Peace Corps plunge, not knowing that it would be a full year before I'd actually be embarking.

A lot's changed since then. I was nominated to volunteer in the area of water sanitation, but that fell by the wayside due to funding issues. I also, along with a good chunk of my fellow Beninese TEFLers, was originally invited to serve in Madagascar. Due to a seemingly pointless coup devised and (poorly) executed by a young mayor, my plane will be landing in Cotonou, Benin instead of Antananarivo, Madagascar. That, at first, was tough to swallow, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

And thus, I am sitting at my family's camp today. I have my dog Jake at my side and I'm looking out over the placid Cross Lake in Upstate New York. Tonight I'm headed to see John Smoltz pitch for the Pawtucket Red Sox in Syracuse, and I really can't complain. It's his last rehab start before hitting the majors, so I'm pretty excited to see what he can do in a small venue against some lackluster talent. But still, I was supposed to already be on my way to the Red Island by today. So let's just put it this way: I love my life now...

But I can't wait to get started.