... So Take Off All Your Clothes

It's hot. And it's not the heat most of you are used to. It's 100+-I-want-to-tear-out-my-sweat-glands-everyday type of heat. Ask my father for a more in-depth and pain-filled description. He keeps telling me that he enjoyed every minute, but his sweat glands were in hyperdrive, so I'm quite sure that, in retrospect, he will admit that there were moments that were less-than-enjoyable. Even the villagers are complaining.

So I saw my father off this morning. As far as I know, he is in Morocco right now, possibly delayed due to the BLIZZARD in New York. Talk about traveling from one extreme to the other. This past week, while working with our Beninese counterparts in Porto-Novo, we saw updates of both the Winter Olympics and the blizzard in the Northeast. Forgive me for finding it difficult to commiserate. My father shared the same sentiments. But it was great to catch up on some of the current events on CNN, even if most of them are less-than-positive. For instance, it was intriguing to know about the new front against the dangerous shape of hotdogs. Who knew? Apparently the shape makes it easy for the entire hot dog to get lodged in a child's throat. I guess we can no longer cut up a hotdog for our youth, or teach them to chew. And Obama and McCain are still bickering at each other concerning health care. Except for sleeker Apple inventions, I suspect that the world to which I will return will not differ greatly from the world I left.

But I digress. My father and I had a great time, even though bureaucratic school meetings poked a hole in our plans to go on a safari. But my father said that he accomplished his two goals: to see my village and to spy on me for my mom to make sure I was safe. The verdict? I'm safe and warm! But we had a wonderful time. I'll leve it to him to write about our times together. I'm giving him unfettered access to upload photos to my blog. Enjoy! And happy March!

I Just Can't Wait to be King

So here's a quick update to provide concrete evidence that my father has indeed arrived. I always eat yam pillet, or pounded yam, at the same woman's stall for lunch on the way back from school. Her neighbor usually places this darling child in my arms, always exclaiming that she is so happy to have me as a future son-in-law. Of course, she is implying that this newborn will someday be my wife. In Africa, in fact, she could be my wife within the decade. However, I always tell her that we need to go out on a couple dates first, in order to get to know each other.

Don't worry, Mom, the dates won't actually occur...

But you can find solace in the fact that my father has encased his future daughter-in-law in his protective embrace - the same embrace in which he, in turn, is held by the villagers of Kemon.

No, I cannot remember the little girl's name. It might be Candice. I don't know.

And my father has already received a local Yoruba name. Its pronounced "Ah-kay-bee," and it means that he is the good father of many. Mine is Arremoo (roll the R), and it's the name given to the future successor of the king. Since my village does, indeed, have a king, this name still has relevance in Yorubaland.

Teach Your Children Well...

Hey everyone. So, my father and I have gotten off to a good start. Although much of this week has been spent "resting," he is seeming to be more alive today. Little by little, the bird makes its nest. He's acclimating well, and seems to have increased my popularity in village by 234%. He's hardly been left alone by the multitudinous infants of Kemon, but I'm expecting that to die down a bit in the coming week. I promise to upload pictures from some of our adventures next weekend. In the meantime, here are some pictures of the academic side of my life. Happy Valentine's Day!

This is me, obviously in one of my classes, trying to obtain a correct answer from my student Rodrigue. The methods employed in Benin in order to ensure discipline are slightly more... up close and personal. It's necessary when all of your classes include 50 or more students.

This is Idayatou, buttressed by Martine, hamming it up for a photo session. We have fun.

I recently submitted this photo to the Improper Bostonian in hopes of getting our photo put in the free Boston periodical. If you have any pull with this Boston staple, maybe you could put in a good word for me and the students of my English Club. My favorite part, which is barely visible: in red on the blackboard, someone wrote "God help we!" I'll promise to step up my teaching efficacy.

Kemon in the morning. Some days, my home is almost unrecognizable. This was one of those mornings.