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Published: August 16th 2005
I am continually impressed with how similar my life in Benin is to my life in America. Granted, as my cross-cultural professor says repeatedly, “culture” is an iceberg, and there is a lot I have yet to see. But so far I am a little disappointed in the lack of shockingly different lifestyles. I have four distinct examples to share-
The first is the Independence Day parade held August first. Just like any parade, I had a special seat in the grandstands with the other Peace Corps people and the mayor and all the dignitaries. Also, since there were about 20 people in all the couple hundred or more present that spoke English as their primary language, there was a special translated summary of all the speeches. After waiting four hours for the parade to start, and the people lining the streets were hot, hungry, and impatient, I watched the people in the parade walk on the street and then stop in front of the grandstands to dance, act, or speak. I don’t think anyone expected the “parade” to become a “show” because not only were the performers hustled off the street before finishing, but the people who had hoped to watch a parade had to push close to see the show. As the people pushed closer and closer, the gendarmes had to walk faster and swing their batons harder to keep people back, even hitting people sometimes. As I sat safely tucked in the grandstands, I couldn’t decide whether to watch the ebb and flow of the crowd, or the performances cut short. I honestly thought I would be on world news somewhere reporting about people dying due to stampede or heat exhaustion. Luckily, nothing like that happened, and even better, it was only the Americans who thought anything was too out of the ordinary. Silly me. I was told after the event that most parades in Benin are actual parades. For some reason, the one in Aplahoue just didn’t work out.
The second example is when I went to a rural community not far from Aplahoue. As soon as I arrived with all the other volunteers, a woman who was crazy due to either palm wine or natural causes (is palm wine a natural cause?) started singing in Adja and ran up to me and two other volunteers, kind of humped us, and then was chased off by the chief. She came back though, with fairly large rocks that she didn’t throw directly at us… She was a recurring distraction throughout the afternoon, but the rest of the activity was wonderful. In this village I practiced PACA, Participatory Analysis for Community Action, by assisting the villagers in drawing a community map. At post, I would do this activity to help myself learn where resources were and to determine what kind of direction the community wanted me to take in some of my projects. Oftentimes during the map drawing, the villagers themselves learn something new about their community. A couple of other volunteers and I worked with the women while another group worked with the men. Men and women must be separated because a woman will not speak her mind freely if she feels like a man should have had the idea first. I really liked watching the women change from being quiet and unsure, to more talkative and even lighthearted as we progressed. The oldest woman in the village wanted the blacktop road to circle her home, and when we drew that on the map, she was tickled pink (which is very tickled considering the circumstances).
The third example of all this same-ness is a voodoo fetish. I joined the group that went to a concession where the father of one of the volunteers was hosting a fetish celebration. Because we are “yovos”, and the volunteer’s father was hosting the celebration, we were allowed to go into the building that housed the actual fetish, though we couldn’t look at the fetish because we would either go deaf or die immediately. From that crowded, hot, mysterious room, I was escorted with the others to another room that housed I don’t know what. The room was very dark, and the walls were covered in white dots. On the floor were many cow horns and other things I couldn’t see very well. I shook hands with one of the fetish kings then stepped around one of the cows to be sacrificed as I left the building. Some people were a little uncomfortable in this scene, but I couldn’t help but be curious to see what I didn’t even know was possible to see. So, next I watched the women fetishers dance and dance to the beat of animal hide and wood drums. These women danced. The music was not so much creative as communal; I felt the same beat in my body that was tirelessly being pounded for the women. At this point I had a reality check, because for a moment I had thought I was watching the Discovery Channel, but then I realized I was living it.
The fourth example of my parallel lives takes place in my very own home, chez Asse. Here I eat chocolate with bread while I listen to “Better than Ezra” and write in my journal, while next door my brothers play Nintendo, which I might do later. Copyright 1988, mind you, but Nintendo just the same. Here at home I am also capable of speaking to my family and friends in the United States, some six or seven time zones away.
Now do you see how similar this all is? Where the heck am I, anyway?
The best news I have to report otherwise is that Papa keeps me well supplied with (Beninese-style) chocolate and heavenly pineapples. Maybe with some practice I can use those pineapples to make my favorite dish, Wakiki Chicken (wink at my dear mother and father for the recipe). Papa has also invited me to return “home” for Christmas and that anytime I want to visit my “family”, I will not only have my bed, but my room! Words cannot express my gratitude.
My life is good here; I pray that yours are the same-
ebk
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Greta
non-member comment
Sounds like you are having lots of fun there. Miss you, Love you. Greta