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Published: July 23rd 2005
So this is Africa. The Peace Corps does a very good job of masking reality, to some extent, to prevent culture shock. I spent five days in Cotonou before traveling to Aplahoue with eight other stagaires. In Aplahoue, we met our host families. My name now is Asse Beth Erika. I was told I would become the eighth child of this family, but I think there are only four children actually born from my mother and father. The definition of family here is very inclusive; I think the other children are cousins or friends who have families not as capable of providing for their children, so my family welcomes them. This is a very typical family in African culture.
My family Asse is wonderful, and maybe one of my greatest sources of comfort. Considering the circumstances, Family Asse is very similar to Family Kraus. Darly, my brother here, reminds me so much of Stuart, and Maman here doesn’t know my language sometimes… and she points out my pimples. But I have free reign, and good food, and am always welcome. I have two rooms with my own entrance from out of doors, first my “study” and then my bedroom, and behind that I enter a lean-to that has my very own spigot and bathing area. I think I have the best arrangement of all the stagaires. I also have electricity and a land line to call the U.S., and I have hot chocolate or tea and bread for breakfast, and cheese (deep fried, African style) for dinner. And good fruit. The pineapple is amazing, along with oranges out my ears and bananas, and mangoes. Mangoes aren’t even in season yet.
I have a couple of stories for you. The first regards laundry. I did two weeks worth by hand last Sunday, which was not easy but also not too bad. My clothes were clean. The volunteers told us that the Beninese women keep their underwear well hidden from non-family, so I gathered all my clothes except my underwear and asked Maman if she could show me how to do laundry. I asked her sometime later when I should do “me petites choses”, my little things, and she kind of looked at me funny and said, well, now. So I gathered my little things and started adding them to the laundry buckets. My sister Zelag quickly showed me that little things go in their own bucket to soak until the very end of the washing. So, only a couple of my little things went through the community wash… woops. Then, after all my clothes had been sufficiently scrubbed, rinsed, and wrung dry, I asked where I should hang my little things. Again, Maman looked at me funny and said, well, on the line with all your other things. So I took her word for it and hung everything on the line in the yard of our home, where everyone coming and going can see. Later that evening, I was watching Maman cook dinner and happened to glance in a bedroom where I saw underwear hanging very discreetly! Oh! How embarrassing! How funny! So the next day, when I hung my clothes again to finish drying, I hung my underwear from the mosquito netting rope in my room, and not on the line. Maman did not ask for them again. Oh, too funny.
The next story is that I’ve already broken some rules. I give a sincere apology to all those who gasp in dismay at my poor judgment, but I ‘d like to remind you that I am living in the 15th most poor nation in the world, and am excited to have my own spigot in my room. And I chose to be here, if that orientates you to my state of mind. (Granted, that doesn’t mean I don’t have my doubts about staying, but I am not talking about that here.)
Here’s the story: last night the environmental action stagaires met up with the small enterprise development stagaires for a little fete, just because we could. To get to Azove, which is not far, I took a zemidjan, or moped, for a five-minute ride. The rules are to always wear a helmet (don’t panic! I didn’t break that rule!), to always take a certified zemidjan (because zemis are regulated by the government, believe it or not), and I’m sure somewhere in there is a rule about only one stagaire per zemi. Well, Felicie and I walked along the road toward Azove until a moped stopped. This was not a certified zemi, but a guy who wanted some extra change in his pocket, and probably who wanted to show some of his buddies that he had some ”yovos” on his bike with him. She and I hopped on; otherwise one would have had to walk by herself, which would truly have been dumb. So there are not three people on a two-person zemi, and I am in the middle, which means that I can feel, intimately, every muscle this man is using to drive the moped. Also, since Felicie and I are smart girls, we wearing our helmets, which prevented our heads from being in line like our bodies were. I don’t know what we looked like to other people, but she and I laughed the entire way.
I enjoy life here so far, and hear many good things from the established volunteers. I am healthy and happy, and safe, honestly. I think about home a lot, but the more I learn about the possibilities here, things that maybe I can help do, the more excited I am to get started.
Until next time- ebk (everyday all day!)
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mom
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so proud
Oh Erika, you will have so many great stories to tell! I laughed out loud reading your laundry one! I love you so much and am so proud of you!