And now it is time to return

And this is it for now. My final blog from abroad. I should probably be having a very deep reflective post that summarizes all of the feelings I have had and the lessons I have learned, and maybe I’ll do that later, but right now I just have to express exactly how I feel about going home. Now don’t get me wrong, I have loved this tri-country excursion; I have said that already-the people, the places, all of those feelings and lessons learned- they have been great. But when I woke up this morning, I felt like a kid waking up on ChristmasEasterFourthofJulyThanksgivingBirthdaySuperBowlLastDayofSchoolStanleyCupfinals morning.

So there, deep thought number one: You realize how incredibly awesome (yes I just used to word awesome in my deep thought) your home and the people who live in it are as soon as you start to see other awesome people and places. Why? Because you meet these cool people and say “Wow, I wish I could introduce you to X who is just as cool as you!” Or you go to a beautiful/intriguing/discussion-worthy place and say “Man, Y would have loved it here.” After doing that everyday for 8 weeks, you cannot wait to be back with X and Y. In my case, I already knew how amazing my people were before I left; I didn’t need a wake up call or an unveiling of an apathetic “I-can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-this-place” mind to know that being gone for 8 weeks was going to be incredible, but also the hardest thing I have done yet in my life. 

Now how about a shallow thought: I am really looking forward to shaving my legs. I lost my razor in Romania right before I came to Benin and was to cheap to purchase another one here. Therefore I went nearly 24 days sans shaving my legs and they were looking pretty...foresty. My roommate Alice actually found an extra single-blade razor in her closet on that 24th day and offered it to me the way you would offer a glass of water to a parched person in the desert. I couldn’t have been happier, but my gnarly legs put up quite the fight against deforestation against that pitiable strength of a single blade razor. 

Which leads to the moderately deeper thought of: Bring 2 razors when you travel. 

And here’s a brain-tickler for you that might be considered deep:

While on this tri-country excursion, 

1) I have gone on my first date

2) Maybe fallen in love a little

                                3) And been proposed to about 1234567 times

...and none of those points really have to do with the same person.

More of an observation and a musing than a deep thought: I have managed to make a hospital visit in both Hungary (for the near amputation of my finger courtesy of moi) and in Benin (for all sorts of issues that I was told not to talk about anymore by my family on a blog). The observation would be that hospital in Benin was ten times nicer than the one in Budapest. There were several neatly labeled buildings, all waiting was done outside in the fresh air...if the labels hadn’t been things like “Radiologie” and “Opération” it could have been mistaken for a little Ouidan resort. As opposed to the hospital in Budapest that looked like it came straight out of Nelly Bly’s undercover reports from one of the insane asylums in New York City. Now the musing...will this trend of hospital 

visits continue for every country I go to? I could start taking better notes and make some sort of traveler’s guide to hospitalization. I am pretty sure they don’t cover such things in Lonely Planet or Fodor’s, so I would have a corner on the market. 

Oh, another observation: You know you have been in Africa for awhile when you step on a cockroach barefoot while making your oatmeal in the morning and instead of screaming or crying or being hysterical, you just sort of continue to make your oatmeal. And then later, when you go to make lunch, and you step on the same stupid cockroach with the same bare feet, you are more annoyed that it didn’t die the first time you stepped on it than annoyed that you are stepping on cockroaches with your bare feet.

And on that note, I think I will come to a close. Possibly I will have some more deep and ponderous thoughts when I post my picture blogs once I get home (which is in less than 36 hours from now) so stay tuned for that. Also, stay tuned for new puppy pictures too because 8-week old Jasper will be enjoying a happy homecoming at the same time I am. And maybe I am dabbling in the deep thoughts too much, but to finish everything up, I realized that somebody already stole my closing words and said them better, so maybe I will just borrow them back for a moment. Thanks Alexander Supertramp and Jack Keruack for being so considerate in lending me your words to summarize this tri-country excursion:

I have lived through much, and now I have found what is needed for happiness.

        A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful for people to whom

         it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done for them;

         then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music,

         love for one's neighbor-such is my idea happiness...

               What more can the heart of man desire?

Now let’s go home.

For the honor and glory.

Meet the Fam (...the other one)

So I have certainly spent a lot of time blabbing about myself in this blog, and then when I am not, I am talking about my family back home. While I guess both of those points are excusable do to the fact that this is a personal blog and also because my family is just so cool (I don’t actually know why I waste type on myself...I could do a whole hilarious blog just about them... potentially coming soon to a computer near you...), I have also met a lot of amazing people here who certainly deserve some blog space.

First, there is Brownie, my 70-something year old country manager for Humanity Exchange. When I try to come up with a good descriptor for Brownie, “bad ass” is really all I can come up, so I apologize for the profanity. She is a former Peace Corps volunteer and was most recently working as the Benin PC director until she retired a couple of years ago, only to get bored and take a job with Humanity Exchange. When I asked her how long she had been with Peace Corps, she responded “Oh, just since 1962.” A quick history lesson: the Peace Corps started in 1962. Since then Brownie has worked in I believe over 7 different countries in Africa as well as a 10 year stint in Jamaica, teaching English. Now, she takes care of all of us volunteers with THEX, doing everything from taking us to Cotonou for money/airplanes/etc to giving tours of Ouidah to hosting fabulous Sunday lunches that I will miss almost as much as her when I leave.

Next is Christian, my friend and French professor. We have spent nearly 40 hours of French lessons together in the past month, but our time has been defined by so much more than just French. Our shared Catholic faith has led to some incredible field trips to the seminary here in Ouidah, to the tomb of Cardinal Bernadin Gantin (look him up, very cool guy, probably would have been pope if he hadn’t been ailing when JPII died), and to a center for people with leprosy run by nuns. He even invited me and my roommates to his wedding! 

And those roommates! We certainly have a full house right now, with Rob from Texas, Alice from England, Sue and Lisa from DC, and the Yeringtons-father/daughter duo-from Michigan. We cook, we laugh, we talk and talk and talk, and we have all had a great time learning from each other how to get around this awesome city of Ouidah. For example, if you are feeling confident enough in your French to try and get angry while haggling for the price of eggs, make sure you don’t mix up your nouns and verbs, otherwise, instead of telling someone to kiss your butt, you might be telling them to do something else to it. Thanks Rob for taking that bullet for us all on that one. 

I have spoken a lot about the kiddos at L’Espoir des Enfants, but they definitely fall into the category of awesome people in Ouidah. Whether we are doing laundry, making pâte, sweeping the courtyard, playing ruleless checkers, or just chilling out together, I have loved all of my time with these guys. 

My work at CIAMO started officially this week, but I have had the opportunity to spend plenty of time with the director John Mark and his two boys Jacob and Adrian because of Sunday lunches at Brownie’s as well as Friday night dinners at their favorite marquis. John Mark is former Peace Corps like Brownie and has been in Benin since 2008. He works his butt off to keep CIAMO running and continuing to offer the opportunity of arts and creativity education; he has been example of work ethic, cultural awareness, and business management that I hope put into practice at home. Jacob and Adrian are from the northern part of the country and have been a riot to practice French with, or just to watch dance to the fabulous Nigerian music videos that are so popular here. The rest of the staff at CIAMO, especially Sim, the guitar teacher that I am assisting, have been very welcoming and forgiving of the butchered French conversations we have had. And yet magically, things still work out, so either my French is better than I think, or they are just really good at figuring out what I am trying to say.

Maybe you picked up on this, but I have missed home a lot. I have missed my family. I have missed 115 degree temperatures. I have missed my church, which apparently had pews installed while I was away. But in all that mess of missing, these are the people who have made it easier to be so far away from the people who have gotten me to the point in my life where I could be writing a blog from half way around the world, sharing my experiences as a wet-behind-the-ears voyager. To all of these people--and everyone else who may not have been mentioned, but were certainly not overlooked-- I say merci beaucoup. 

For the honor and glory.

(pictures of all these people eventually...)

Facin' All Dem Fears!

10 more days. That’s right, the tri-country-first-time-in-Europe-first-time-in-Africa-first-time-away-from-home-for-more-than-five-minutes-excursion is coming to an end in just 10 days.

Don’t lie, I know that after those first blogs I wrote about my fears of missing my family too much, drowning in the constant rain, and oh yeah, you need a visa to come to Benin, y’all probably made bets about how long this kid would last on this trip. 

I am still alive though and my biggest fears? Well, with a family as cool as mine, there is no such thing as missing them too much. I have felt a bit on the edge of cyber-stalking due the fact that mine and my mother’s iphones are synced via the icloud, therefore, I can creep on all of the pictures that they have been taking while I have been away. The Fourth of July was by far the hardest because of missing all of the silly traditions I have forced my family into to celebrate that day-mostly they include eating the most fabulous food (not just the stereotyped  hamburger/hotdog American staple) and then blowing things up for fun. Someday you can all come over for the spectacle and besides being wowed by the fabulous food and show of explosives, you finally understand just why-even though this trip has been incredible- I am busting at the seams excited to my darling family in just 10 days.

And the rain? There really isn’t much you can control about the weather; and no, it didn’t take a trip around the world to learn that...I am from Arizona, this is practically our mantra.I really don’t think it has been as bad as the guide books say though; they all made it sound like I’d better pack my ark-building tools. While there were times that I wished I had a small ark to take across some of the puddles (this word could be exchanged for lakes) that form in the roads, I have yet to feel like the end of the world is at hand on account of all of the water falling from the sky. And hey, in the States, you can buy laundry detergent that smells like “Fresh Rain”...here you just do you laundry outside in the rain and then hang it outside in the rain, and voila, “Fresh Rain” pants, shirts, and undies, no fancy soap necessary (until you have been doing your laundry in a sink for 6+ weeks and the smell is more like...new mold...or fresh rot...or....just sort of...yucky)

And then as far as my other fears go, the ones I have developed on this trip...including but not limited to contracting a flesh eating disease in my chopped open finger, dying on a motorcycle taxi, constantly having diarrhea, getting malaria etc etc etc...I think we’re doing ok. My finger has almost completely healed, I now moto-taxi (or “zem”) around this city like a pro, and marlaria, well, you can get that for up to a year after you come home, so rather than wait in fear, I have long since just decided to accept the inevitable and cross that bridge when I come to it. Oh, and without getting too detailed, I now have the same sentiment about diarrhea as I do for the weather. 

For the honor and glory.

*no pictures still, a fun fact instead. All of the "b"s in this post were copied and pasted do to the fact that my keyboard is beginning to go a little wonky from all this travel business.

A Snapshot Dialogue...or "And then the Yovo leads an impromptu parade of children around Ouidah"

7/4/12

Yesterday, I had the best French speaking experience with strangers by far of my whole trip. It all started when I decided to head out of the neighborhood to the Marche Zobe right as the primary school was finishing for the day; for your ease of readng, I will translate the 6-block long conversation that commenced when an entire herd of school children started following me.

Herd of children: Yovo yovo, bonsoir. Comment ca va? Ca va bien, merci. Donnez-moi un cadeau. *Ok, this had to be in French because it is the song that ALL of the kids sing when any white person walks by. Basically, in English it would go like this: White person, white person, good afternoon/evening/ How are you? I am good, thanks. Give me a gift.*

Julia: Can I teach you a new song? About your ABC’s in French? (starts singing, all the kids scream, laugh, run away, and then come back)_

Herd: Can you give us money?

Julia: I don’t have any money. I am a student. We’re poor. Can you give me money?

Herd: No. 

Julia: Because you’re all students right?

Herd: Yes. But do you have any money for us?

Julia: Nope. But you don’t have any for me either, so we’re even. Do you like school?

Herd: Yes. Yovo, do you have any gifts?

Julia: Sorry, no gifts. It is good that you like school. If you study hard in school, then maybe you will get lots of money. And you can call me Julia instead of “yovo.”

Herd: Ok, Yovo. (sees another white person on the street) Is that your sister?

Julia: No. My name is Julia. What are your names? (everyone introduces themselves)

Herd: Julia, do you have any candy?

Julia: Nope. Do you? 

Herd: No.

Julia:(to a little girl carrying a giant stick) What are you going to do with that stick? (laughter ensues, no answer)

Herd: Ok, we’re going now.

Julia: Alright, see you later.

For the honor and glory.

(pictures will come when I get home...they take 7 years to upload here)

Culture Shock

6/30/12
I know I tend to keep it pretty light, so having two out the past three blogs be more serious might make it seem like Africa is making me a drag, but I am here to write about my travel experiences and today I went through a serious one worth writing about. 

I can really only some it up as the severest culture shock I have dealt with in all of the three countries of my tri-country excursion.

I was at the orphanage earlier today, enjoying a lazy Saturday morning with the kids. It was raining pretty hard on and off, so we were camped out under the gazebo, staying dry while reading books. Between my reading out loud and the sound of the rain on the gazebo roof, we all managed to miss the sound of someone knocking on the front gate. As it turns out, it was the director (Papa) and he was furious at the kids for leaving him in the rain. He came yelling into the gazebo and started hitting all the kids, demanding to know why they hadn’t opened the door. All of the kids in the orphanage are small, even the 11 and 12 years olds could pass as 6 or 7. The director is a big guy, and size didn’t matter when it came to the force of his hits. 

Physical punishment is not uncommon here. Even my French professor, who teaches at the university here, was telling me the other day that when not a single one of his 60 students did an exercise he assigned for homework, he hit every single one of them. Back at home, I am not exactly against the deserved spanking, when the intention is not to harm, but to check a bad behavior or attitude. I got spankings when I was little, never hard, not like my mom when she was little, learning just how many pairs of underwear she had to put on if she knew she was in for it. When Christian told me about his students, I realized that there is a clear cultural difference between here and the U.S., but honestly, what else is new? 

But actually sitting in that gazebo this morning and witnessing such a difference...that was really hard. This entire trip has been about never trying to fit the place that I am in into a frame I have previously constructed. Punishment and relationships between kids and adults are just as varied between different cultures as food or music, and I understand that.

But at the end of the day-constructs and cultures and open-mindedness aside- what I saw at the orphanage today was still just a group of little kids getting smacked around by a big man.

When I left, the director apologized to me. He said that’s how things are here, but he was sorry that I had to see him so angry. What was I supposed to say? I told him it was different than where I am from, and then we shook and hands and said “See you Monday.”

I should have told him that he missed somebody earlier.

I hadn’t heard the knocking at the door either.

For the honor and glory.

Stare...Point...Laugh...Repeat

***Just a quick note: posting has been impossible lately, so sorry for the inconsistency. The three posts that I am putting up today, I will date to give you some frame of reference as to when the events actually happened***

6/29/12

Maybe you have picked up on this already, but I am not Beninoise. I am not even African. This might be of little consequence to you as you read, but here, it is sort of a big deal. Adults stare. Kids yell, “Yovo!” When I go to the Marche Kpasse, the biggest open air market in Ouidah, I am sort of like the visiting zoo attraction. 

So, given all of this information, yesterday, I learned that nothing will make people point and stare at a Yovo more, than if that Yovo takes off her shoes and walks barefoot through the mud streets because the puddles are just too big. When you do that, people don’t just point and stare, they laugh. Hysterically. And so was I, so it was pretty much an entertaining experience for everyone. 

Yesterday, it actually rained from 4:30 in the morning until about 2:30 in the afternoon; if you think back to one of my first blogs, you might remember that rain was one of my biggest concerns before coming here. As an Arizona desert girl, I have always been a fan of short bits of rain in moderation because that’s just how it comes in the desert, but clouds for more than a few days start to drive me batty. But! Surprisingly, I did alright with the 10 straight hours of driving rain, unless you count trying to keep my shoes dry and walking barefoot through the mud as going batty. Hey, I figured it was either have muddy, wet feet for 10 minutes, or muddy wet shoes for a week (85% humidity 24-7 doesn’t really lend to anything ever drying here). I also had lots of great examples of how to deal with the inclement weather from the locals, who unlike Arizonans in rain, really just continue life as usual. No one blows up their Facebook news feeds with “OMG. Rain!!!!” posts or tries to light a fire in the fire place because there are clouds in the sky. 

Nope, they do all the usual things, for example, have a wedding...and sometimes they even invite the Yovos. That’s right, Christian (the French professor) got married yesterday and invited me and my roommates Alice and Robert to join in the mass and celebration. It was really a neat opportunity to see all of the traditional facets of a Catholic wedding intermixed with Beninoise traditions, a perfect example being that after Communion, a bit of a dance party broke out. Maybe I will make it a goal to a wedding everywhere I travel from now on. 

Pictures are a serious pain to upload, so I will post a million when I return and have real internet.

For everyone who made fun of my strappy jacket that I made, please enjoy this picture of my clothesline, made from straps and hooks from the strappy jacket

You know you are in Africa when....your makeshift capo is made from 100% DEET...

For the honor and glory.