Coke and Development Economics

11/04/10

Right now I am at a buvette drinking a coke and listening to some bollywood music under a huge mango tree. It is still light outside, but it won't be for too much longer; the sun sets early here. I am sitting by myself which is considered totally weird to the Beninese. If I wasn’t looking very busy scribbling in this notebook I would probably be hit on at a rate of like 4 men an hour. On second thought, I’m not sure the notebook makes a difference…

A few weeks ago I was here with Doug when we found out about the 5 year old who drowned in the well and for some reason I can’t help but think of that every time I am at this buvette, even if just for a brief moment.

Damn, I wish I had a diet coke instead of this delicious regular one. I miss those. When I get back to the states, I am going to drink one every day! Oh wait…

In the spirit of keeping you all informed and aware of my life, I suppose I will describe the scenery here while I wait for my dinner of couscous and spicy omelette.

Inevitably the scene changes whenever I show up. It’s calm here I imagine, before I arrive; the people all clustered around the mango and guava trees, nursing their bottles of Beninese brews. They talk quietly in French and local language about whatever it is that they talk about. I get there, though, and the charm is temporarily broken. The kids start screaming ‘batouré, batouré!’ Women come up with things for sale on their heads: bananas, fish, fried bread with spicy sauces. Men try to get my number or sell me phone credit, leather shoes, or knockoff sunglasses called Ray Bon’s. I greet them all, tell them to go away, and sit while the scene slowly goes back to something akin to what is was before.

I can never really just disappear, to slide into anonymity and just observe some moment here; wherever I go is shaped by my presence. The closest I get to being invisible is when I wear a headscarf like the Muslim women and a long skirt, but even then people do double takes. I get hit on a lot less that way, though.

My homologue, Imorou, calls me and decides to come meet me. He shows up and we get to talking. We speak franglais, my favorite foreign langue parceque I parler it so bien. Imorou is getting better at it, but still has trouble mixing French and English together in one sentence. He laughs when I talk about wanting to ‘manger something.’ We talk easily, Imorou and me. We discuss malaria for a bit and the politics of racism, a discussion that he hold mostly in French and I in English, but we each understand the other. I admit to him that I get angry and frustrated by the indifference that most of the world has for Africa.

‘Me, too,’ he says simply, taking a sip from his soda and leaning back in his chair.

I get to thinking about my purpose here as I am wont to do on hot, African evenings. I guess I thought that I would have had more inspiration living here, more insight into solutions, but honestly I am just more confused.

I see poverty, sure. It’s everywhere, ubiquitous. Dirt roads, mud houses, walls in disrepair, trash everywhere, dirty clothes, beggars. I guess when everyone is poor it becomes the average and there isn’t anything unique about it anymore. I don’t even think about it most days. People get by, same as anywhere. Things are different, sure. Few people have THINGS like cars, refridgeraters, ovens. Is that what poverty is? Not having an oven?

I make 90 mille a month which is less than 200 dollars US, and honestly that is not very much money at all; it wasn’t enough to buy a fridge (100 mille!). It’s not much more than most people here make, either. Imorou makes way more than that. Hell, most zemidjans make more than that if they aren’t being lazy.

I’m not sure what my point is. Clearly people in Africa don’t have a lot. The richest person in Djougou makes like 1 percent of the income of a poor American. I’m struggling because I’m really having a hard time seeing how it matters. If women are having healthy babies with few complications why does it matter that the health center is unairconditioned? Or if kids are going to school why does it matter that they had to walk 2 miles to get there? If all the kids do it and are fine?

But here’s the thing: not all pregnancies ARE healthy and not all kids DO go to school. Sure it’s like that in the states, too, but it’s normal here, it’s more common here for a woman to die of post birth hemorrhaging and for thirteen year old girls to drop out of school so they can take care of their younger brothers and sisters. There is malnutrition and suffering and unclean, unsafe working conditions. Just because I’ve gotten desensitized to 8 year olds walking 10 kilometers barefoot doesn’t mean the kid couldn’t use some shoes. Just because no one is complaining that they make one dollar a day doesn’t mean they’re living easy.

People here work HARD, too. I didn’t visit the health center for almost a week and when I saw it yesterday there was a new, huge cement wall painted and complete around the entire center. I am constantly noticing new buildings, new businesses, new mamans selling street food. Things change and evolve here so quickly I am constantly surprised by the work ethic, especially since I’ve always been told that people here are hyper laid back or even lazy. That is just flat out not true, at least not in my experience. So why the fuck are people still dying from tuberculosis?? Is it just money? Benin already relies heavily on foreign aid; it’s like 80 percent of the GDP or something. Throwing more foreign aid can’t possibly be the solution, but hell, maybe it is. Jeffrey Sachs, my once favorite economist says that is indeed the answer. More money, more money. I really want to see change from within the country, though. Work ethic is good, sex relations are bad…women are not particularly valued economically. Maybe there’s something there that needs exploring, I don’t know.

I don’t know. Is education the answer? Yes, probably. That and a little bit of everything else. There’s no way that just giving more money to the government could be the answer, is it? Just a few more billion…clean up the streets, create some jobs, make sure kids are sleeping under mosquito nets. Fuck, I really don’t know. I am not an economist, I’m not even really an international aid worker. I’m just a health volunteer who feels underutilized doing a job I’m not sure about in a country that I’m not even sure wants my help or even needs it.

This was not supposed to be a rambling attempt to understand the role of foreign assistance in fighting poverty in Benin…but oh well. Hopefully some of this stuff will get a little clearer before I have to write my personal statement for medical schools. All I can say now is ‘um, yeah, so I do something one might call ‘work’ in an African health center…and maybe Jeffrey Sachs is wrong,’ which I don’t think is going to quite land me an interview at Northwestern.

Imorou doesn’t really seem to have any answers either. When he mentions colonialism all I can think about is how America was once a colony, too, but I don’t have the guts yet to say it out loud. I think I might have heard that on the West Wing anyway and I wouldn’t want to pass off Aaron Sorkin’s ideas as my own.

So we lapse into silence or move onto another idea, leaving Africa’s problems to the diplomats and politicians at least for tonight. I go back to watching the goats and chickens under the mango tree while the sun sets and I finish my coke.