Tu Peux M'Appeler Tata Julia

Tu peux m'appeler Tata Julia

Before I introduce you to the kiddos I have been hanging out with this week, I think it is probably important to address a topic that has come up a lot  recently. Both preceding and throughout my trip so far, the subjects of "white saviorism," "neocolonialism," and "voyeuristic voluntourism" have frequented dinner table discussion; the questions of whether or not it is a cliche to be a white girl going to Africa to work in an orphanage or to Central Europe to spend time with and learn about the social issues and ethnic minorities there when we have plenty of our own at home have been posed more than once.

Well, I have been traveling for a month now, and I think I have finally tacked down where I stand. In every corner of the world, people commit terrible atrocities against kids. In every corner I have been to so far though-and as you well know, I haven't been in many (yet)-there are good people working by the grace of God to give to who they can a break and a chance to pass on this grace to others. In Deva, Romania, I had the opportunity to stay at a care center for youth where kids would stay in "families" of five to ten with staff members or volunteers at the center. On the weekends, some were able to return to their families, but while at the center, they were guaranteed daily access to school, activities in the evenings, three meals a day, and a roof over their heads at night. Though the histories of the kids and their reasons for having to come to the center were sad, it was heartening to meet the staff and volunteers who have dedicated their lives to making sure that wherever the children go from this point forward, they are equipped with the opportunities to better their lives as they see fit. And, as the sister of a teacher and the daughter of a stay-at-home mom, I have witnessed first hand how sometimes the labor of people who have taken it upon themselves to live and work entirely for someone else goes unappreciated in today's society; though I know that the staff and volunteers at Deva hardly needed our approval, it was great to be able to recognize them without ever having to put it into actual words that "Yes, we see you, and we see what you do, and it is good. Thank you for whatever sacrifices you have made to be here instead of somewhere else." 

All of this also applies to orphanage where I am working here in Ouidah. The man who started L'Espoir D'Enfants spent most of his childhood with orphans himself, so when he got older, he wanted to create a place where other orphaned children would be safe from anyone who would try to take advantage of them or harm them in any way. The kids from the "orphelinat" are not adopted out to other homes, rather they are free to stay there--with the guarantee of food, shelter, education, medicine, and companions--until they are old enough to leave. Similar to the center in Deva, some of the kids have families or extended families near by that they see on the weekends, but the orphanage takes care of all of their basic needs while they are there. I am not there to change their program at all, just to be another pair of hands. I hope to take the example of Christ that I see in both the children and the adults in charge wherever I go after this, first back to my home, and then where God sees fit for me, to whatever corners of the world await. 

Now, on a slightly different note….

Holy crap, I love kids. 

When I first went to the orphelinat on Thursday, the kids were a little shy for maybe 4 seconds, but then I pull out "Les Oeufs Verts au Jambon" (Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham)-a gift from my friend Katherine last Christmas- and the ice was broken. Since Thursday, I have been there five times, playing soccer (ok, ok football), reading books (mostly in French), drawing and coloring pictures, teaching some English (we played "How-do-you-say…"), and playing a myriad of games that the kids have taught me that I can never win. I tried to explain the word "gonna" to one of the older boys, and not gonna lie, it was difficult. Maybe instead of trying to define slang, I will just teach more…any suggestions? What sort of English slang must every young English learner know? I was also asked by one of the younger kids if my university only had white people…trying to explain desegregation and diversity is a little complex with a language barrier and given the history of the slave trade between Benin and the United States. The kids are really good sports about my French though, slowing down so I understand them and putting up with the gobbilygook that I piece together and hope they understand. They all call me Tata Julia, which just reminds of Ruth May-my favorite character in Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible (if you haven't read it, what have you been reading all your life? Go get it now.)-who always referred to Jesus as Tata Jesus. "Tata" just means "aunt" so I am not really sure how that worked out in Poisonwood… However it works, I am looking forward to being Tata Julia for the next three and a half weeks, hanging out with the kiddos, practicing my French, and maybe eventually, even winning one of their games =D

Only two pictures, but only because I am literally being eaten alive by mosquitoes at the cafe right now...more to come!

Emmanuel et moi.

Milvine trying REALLY hard to carry around the baby who is nearly half her size.

For the honor and glory. 

Hey, I Just Met You, And This Is Crazy, So Let's Get Married

Thursday, June 21

So I made it through the "Second Day Slump"-the title I have dubbed the second day of any trip where you feel the most homesick because the initial shock of being in a new place from the first day is fading and the rest of your stay lies ahead, looming in its seemingly great length. During my stay in Central Europe, the SDS nearly killed me and was definitely the worst day of my trip so far, so I was glad to realize that today is my third full day and I breezed right through yesterday. 

And then I took it upon myself to reorganize and clean up my luggage and the SDS tried to catch up with me. I looked through a photo album, read all of the notes my family had left me, and vowed from now until I leave, not to go messing with my bags again because it just made me miss home a ton! I know that my family is having a lovely time frolicking on the beach in San Diego right now-probably digging lots of tiger traps (for some reason my family doesn't build sand castles on the beach, we just dig holes)- so I know that I don't have to worry about them. As for me, Brownie, Christian (my French professor), and I hammered out an incredibly busy schedule between two hours of French and three to four hours at the orphanage nearly everyday, plus guitar lessons at CIAMO during my last two weeks. It is going to fly by. I don't want to leave, and if I could relocate my family to be here with me, I wouldn't. Maybe we will come back someday to do some family volunteering.

Now I really must dedicate the rest of this blog to my two marriage proposals that I received yesterday. After I made myself some lunch, I decided to go find the beach which is actually sort of difficult because maps of Ouidah are hard to come by…possibly because most of the streets don't have names; people live "behind the post office" or "next to the market" as opposed to on a specific street. So, I headed in what I thought was the right direction, realizing after about 20 minutes that it was most certainly wrong, therefore, I flagged down a moto-taxi and arrived in five minutes. As soon as I got off the bike, I was snagged by a "tour guide" who I knew would be charging me for his expertise, but I also wasn't really sure how to convince him that I would be fine on my own. Twenty minutes of Franglais and 500 francs later, I knew everything there was to know about the Port du Non-Retour and the surrounding beach. When I asked about all of the pieces of glass and pottery on the beach, my guide took me to a pile of broken bottles which he said dated back to 300 years ago when the Portuguese brought whiskey for the king in exchange for people. And then he told me that before I go home, I should marry his brother. I told him I was way too young. He told me I could wait a few years and then come back. This was my favorite exchange in French yet. 

Only to be topped as I was walking back home when a young man started walking next to me. We chatted back and forth in French and then he asked me what I would think if he loved me. I could not stop laughing. He kept saying "Non, non je t'aime!" I told him no, he did not m'aime and tried nicely to end our conversation by telling him I would probably come back to the beach on Sunday. He was excited about this and said "Oh yes, on Sunday we will go to the beach together?" My laughing redoubled. I tried to pull the "je suis trop jeune" (I am too young) card again, but then he asked my age and what a coincidence, we were both 19. Truly, a match made in Heaven. I finally convinced him that he could walk me to the end of the road we were on and then I would be going on solo. 

So, 20 minutes of hot sun and humidity later, I made it home, hot, sweaty, but still single. Minus a power outage for about 45 minutes, the rest of the evening went on without event. Unless you count a gigantic storm during the night, complete with plenty of thunder, which I guess only a kid from the desert would count as a big event. I was just excited because the rain and thunder kept my neighbor's stupid rooster quiet for a couple of hours. I swear, there is going to be some rooster soup soon if that thing doesn't figure out when sunrise is pretty dang quick. Supposedly, in French, roosters say "coco-rico." It pretty much still sounds like "cock-a-doodle-doo" to me, but I don't really care either way, I just want it to "coco-shut-up-it's-two-in-the-morning-doodle-doo." =D=D=D=D

Welcome to Julia's Creative Clothes Drying.

 The view outside my door.

Also, be prepared, coming to a blog near you very soon are some freaking adorable kids! Until then, au revoir!

For the honor and glory.