I'll be home for Christmas

Well, it's official! I am leaving the Peace Corps a few months early to go home, help my family out, and make some money before medical school. The decision was definitely a tough one and one I analyzed for a long time before calling the Peace Corps to set it up, but ultimately it's the best thing for me and my family right now. Essentially it came down to the fact that I was going to have to ET anyway, probably in April, and why should I wait around for five months, get back into a routine, and be frustrated and miserable when I could make it home for the holidays? The Peace Corps does not make it difficult to early terminate and once it comes down to a need to ET for grad school, a few extra months seem superfluous in the long run. Sure, I feel a little guilty about leaving my projects and work partners behind (and I am close to traumatized about leaving Zaari), but everyone has been very understanding, especially of the fact that in reality, it's only a few months earlier than expected.

The next couple weeks will be spend filling out pages and pages of forms, figuring out packing and getting Zaari to her new home. She will be going to the home of a PC homologue who has many kids who love animals. I will be able to get updates on her through my Djougou post-mate and in the end, staying here is what is best for her (even if it makes me cry at night haha).

The last year and a half has been completely life altering and amazing and I wouldn't trade it for anything. It had its ups and downs, but doesn't life? Overall, I was happy and feel like I've both done some amazing work here and made many lasting friendships (cue cheesy music now). I'll miss a lot of people, but I would have been saying good-bye in a few months anyway, so I guess it's just ripping off the bandaid early.

All that sad stuff said, I am so incredibly excited to be going home! I'm looking for jobs in tutoring, being a nanny or long-term babysitter, or working as a receptionist at a medical office. I've already applied to over 20 jobs and hopefully I'll start to hear back soon. Apparently moving is sort of expensive...as is getting married and starting a household...(who knew? haha) so I'll be trying to save up as much as possible in the next few months before the wedding and med school.

I also just want to say that there have many times when I've wanted to leave, usually for very emotional reasons not backed by real logical ones. I've missed America and my family and Colt, but I've held out because I'm strong and determined and have never been someone to quit something just because it was hard. While ETing now does indeed solve some of those feelings (completely normal feelings that almost every PCV deals with on occasion), me leaving now is not due to emotional reasons. Right now it's about logic and finances and being a part of my family. Once I reached this point of clarity in thinking about my options, it actually wasn't that stressful of a decision. Ultimately, I'm not upset or struggling with the choice because I've put in enough time for me, personally, to feel accomplished and satisfied with my work and life here. Before I was always worried about regretting the choice later in life, which was a major deterrent to leaving. But now, at this point, with only a few months left, I know that I will have no regrets, only good memories! It helps that everyone I've talked to is supportive and in no way do I feel like a quitter. I loved it here and feel like I'm ending things on a good note at a good time for me.

Benin, it's been real. Stay classy,

Elaina

PS. I'll probably be back on to give a few ET updates for interested people and I may update again once I'm permanently back in the states. I can't believe this blog is ending! It's been such a big thing in my life for a long time now and it's going to be weird. I'll link my new, med school blog here and again in my final post. Yay, for turning the page!

back to the blogosphere

I don't really like that word "blogosphere," but I suppose that's what this world is, a little sphere. I know that right now, while I'm specifically blogging about Peace Corps life, is the time when I will probably have the most followers, the most people who regularly read my thoughts about life. It's interesting to know that the scope of this blog has gotten pretty wide. In a lot of ways, that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to share my experiences with the rest of the world. In other ways, though, it's a bit nerve wracking. Clearly, the powers that be ARE paying attention to what we write, and the idea of censorship just makes me feel pretty icky all over. Because I'm applying to med school right now, I don't want to mess with it, though. Part of me definitely feels that if the Peace Corps thinks something on my blog is inappropriate, med schools would probably agree, and so ultimately it's only a good thing that I am censoring myself, even if it came about through third party censorship. So really, in the long run, no harm done.

And the point of all that was to say: I'm not going anywhere! I'll stop the cursing and maybe think twice about posting negative thoughts, but other than that, I'm sticking around. I still have a lot of time left and a lot of things still to say about the Peace Corps, about Africa, about Benin, and about my life. And I know y'all are still listening, so thank you.

I'm updating my wish list to include more vegan, gluten-free items (more on that later...with a recipe and pictures!), and I'll be posting a few entries today and working on med school applications all day. I'm in Cotonou, just living it up. I live in Africa, man. And life is good.

Peace Corps Reform

There is little doubt that the Peace Corps is a valued and respected organization. For fifty years, volunteers have impacted the world and served as beacons of American altruism. The organization as a whole has often been above reproach, a legacy of the Kennedy administration, and returned volunteers and currently serving volunteers alike shy away from criticizing the agency that has been such a huge part of their lives. This is starting to change, and rightly so. If the Peace Corps wants to stay relevant for another 50 years, it has a long way to go.

A recent article describes many of the challenges facing the agency and many of the questions that must be answered. In the article, there is reference to Chuck Ludlam and his wife, Paula Hirschoff, two RPCVs who have taken the lead in the Peace Corps reform action. Their 20 point reform plan calls for budgetary reforms and ways to strengthen the organization (including decreasing the alarming 35% ET rate and plans to achieve sustainable first goal results). They and others are also pushing strongly to get PCVs “whistleblower rights” protecting volunteers when they do speak out. This is, of course, an issue very close to home (literally; Kate’s village, Badjoude, is 30 kilometers away from me). Kate’s death was a direct result of Peace Corps administration not respecting her confidentiality and it never should have happened.

Luckily, many of these reform movements are seeing press. The ABC 20/20 episode about Peace Corps scandals has gotten people talking. Ludlam and Hirschoff have continued speaking out, even if controversial, and I know they are working hard, contacting current volunteers and RPCVs to lend support to reform. The Congressional hearings last month about sexual assault changes in the agency are a step in the right direction, but we need more. I happen to have a few ideas on the subject…

What we don’t need is simply more volunteers. Before we worry about expansion, we need to strengthen. We need better development priorities, sustainable project training. We need better qualified volunteers with more experience. We need to make sure that volunteers are safe and protected, even from the Peace Corps itself. We need better systems for volunteers reporting crimes like sexual assault and rape. We need better training and more resources. Absolutely we need better transparency from the agency and hard-hitting evaluations and feedback. The ET rate is too high, red-tape and country specific bureaucracy lead to tension and frustration for volunteers, our role as a development organization has never been really established, and projects are often unsustainable. We need significant reforms on all levels.

One thing specifically would be more financial support for projects. We as volunteers have to raise money for most of our projects. It would be nice if the Peace Corps as an organization could provide funds for specific ideas. For example, our girls’ camp this month was funded entirely by friends and family in the states. This is a major undertaking that has been successful in this area of Benin for five years and makes a clear and distinctive impact on the community. It is a major project for many of us and yet all the financing is external to the Peace Corps. Another idea, one that Ludlam and Hirschoff agree with, is increased collaboration with larger aid organizations. The Peace Corps is not an aid organization, per se. It’s sort of a mini-aid organization with large cultural and community based exchange aspects. If we were partnered up more frequently with bigger organizations, we could be valuable volunteer workers for developmental aid in a more roundabout way. This is basically what I am doing working with PSI, a large American based international NGO. I am, however, one of only two of us in our 60 member training group who actually works with an organization of this magnitude. And I’m still frustrated with my work a lot of the time.

I initially thought my frustration was only due to the general difficulty of working in development aid in Africa, but that’s just not true. I’m frustrated not only because development work is hard, but because the Peace Corps isn’t really a development organization at all! We don’t have the training or resources to really be effective with international development work. We aren’t really even expected to be. Maybe this realization will help me stop beating myself up about not saving the world. I’m just supposed to experience the world. I’m not sure I accept that, though.

I know that a lot of people value the ambiguous nature of the Peace Corps as more of a cultural exchange program than a development program, but personally, I resent it. I wish the Peace Corps would figure out what we’re really supposed to be doing. If we want to shift work more toward a legitimate development program, we would have a lot of changes to make. Things like data collection, selecting more experienced volunteers, and allowing administrators and managers to work for more than five years would help us look more legit. Of course, not everyone wants this. A lot of people still see the Peace Corps as a time for personal growth, learning a new language, becoming a better citizen of the world, and to a certain degree I totally agree with this. I have already been immensely impacted in how I will approach the world and I know I’ve gotten to know my community much better than the workers in more traditional aid agencies do. I have friends here and am really a part of this place. I’m not sure that would be possible if the Peace Corps was more centralized and focused on development. The fact that Volunteers make the agency what they will is a powerful and romantic idea. We do what we need to do without a set-in-stone mission and there’s something wonderful about that, I agree. But what is it that we really need to do in the world? What is our real goal as an organization? Do we want our tax dollars to go to recent college grads on a two year cultural vacation? We need to figure these things out before we can move forward. And it’s not just me that needs to get thinking; this is something Peace Corps Washington needs to decide.

It has been 50 years. It is time to start asking those penetrating questions. We, as volunteers, as returned volunteers and managers inside the administration, have a unique responsibility to speak up. As Hirschoff and Ludlam say:

“Those of us who revere the Peace Corps should take the lead in asking these questions. Those who care the most…should ask the hardest questions. The Peace Corps is an historic and romantic vestige of the values of the 60s and the New Frontier, but that role is not sufficient to explain and justify its role in the 21st Century. The ultimate act of loyalty to the Peace Corps is to ask the tough questions before outsiders do.” 

So let’s get crackin’. Once again, I really hope I’m not coming across as an anti-Peace Corps volunteer. I know the administration here has my blog address, but I’m not sure how frequently they stop by. Probably not at all (but just in case…hi, guys!). I don’t think my criticisms can be considered inappropriate content and I’ve never had my blog be mentioned to me by anyone in the administration…yet. But I worry about it sometimes. The fact is, we’re not really protected over here and I’ve heard stories of administrative separations (ad-seps) for online content. Granted, those were usually due to country specific political posts, or wildly disrespectful information about the country or the country’s people, but…the fear is there. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I won’t be silenced just because I worry about who is listening. I believe I have a right and a responsibility to talk about this stuff, to challenge the organization that I believe in so strongly to become better.

I hope in fifty years there will be someone like me riding around on her hover board (you know, ‘cause it’s the future), making the choice to join a still relevant, still powerful, still life-altering and idealistic Peace Corps. But we have to start now to make that happen.

What's Next? American civic duty and the West Wing

The West Wing was a television show that captivated me as a child and helped force me into the kind of patriotism that was sometimes difficult to find during my adolescence. I followed the first two seasons diligently, watching with my dad on Wednesday nights. I didn’t always understand the fast pace or what the official jobs of the characters really were, but I learned about politics, about America. At some point I stopped watching, but I never really forgot how moving some episodes had been or how much of an impact the television show had on my development as a politically minded American citizen.

Across an ocean for the last year as a Peace Corps Volunteer has provided ample time to catch up on the seasons I had missed and re-watch those first two. As someone serving my nation abroad, I felt a connection to the public servants in the White House, and the fictional current events propelled my interests in what was going on in America. Watching those first seasons I saw the parallels between our nation’s actions during the early 2000s and was moved to tears remembering how little my thoughts have changed in the ten years since I regularly followed the show. I waited to hear President Bartlett ask “What’s next?“ as they moved on to the next crisis or simple affair that could change the course of history. I would often make a quick lunch on my tiny stove and sit on my make-shift couch with the fan strategically positioned and open my computer to watch an episode or two of this show, slowly working my way through the seasons and the drama, always feeling a sort of pride and astonishment at the amazing accomplishment that is the United States.

The first few seasons I debated my own interest in pursuing politics or trying to get Colt to do so, the fourth and fifth seasons I thought a lot about our relationship with the rest of the world, the Islamic nations and the international marketplace. During the sixth and seventh my mind turned to the bittersweet and remarkable nature of America, resilient and malleable like the Constitution itself. Always I was looking for guidance from the gentle leadership of Jed Bartlett, a president that seemed benevolent and strong, the perfect leader of the world. I know I would have voted for him.

I thought a lot about how democracy works in America, all the red tape; it’s easy to get jaded and cynical about the process and become frustrated with the game of politics. I myself became much less involved and interested in the political landscape after high school. Once I found myself in a blue state for college, my passionate interests in politics seemed absurd; I had no one to disagree with anymore. I got lazy. Sure I was motivated to basic action during the 2008 presidential election, taking part in some simple campaigning between studying for finals and lab exams. I was invigorated by the fight for the White House and really believed in President Obama’s goals. I just didn’t really think it had anything to do with me. So I voted and forgot about it. I fell into the trap that the top of the ticket is all that matters. But I was wrong to forget about the other parts of government and the other levels of government. My apathy was misplaced.

If I’ve learned anything from the West Wing it’s that the Executive branch is only the beginning of the story. It’s more powerful in action than perhaps intended, but when it comes to legislation and policy and domestic changes on a federal level, Congress is just as influential and just as worthy. And there are small fights for those seats every two years, fights that are crucial for the smooth operation of our country. And if we care, we have to get involved. Apathy is not acceptable. It’s not okay to just say that you’re not interested in politics or that the game doesn’t matter to you; that game is what makes America what it is. The potential of the political system is what leads to greatness.

I wish that I had more formal education about political science. I really do. I chose to spend most of my time in traditional sciences with a splash of social and economic issues and that’s fine. I just wish I had had more time for an undergraduate education or the money or the foresight to have gotten even more out of my fantastic degree. But I don’t have that and am passionate about medical school and practicing medicine. But I can guarantee that I will be an active voice in policy. That means closely following legislation and voicing my opinions loudly. It means taking an active role in the causes and the leaders I believe in. It means learning on the go, playing the game and meeting the system head on to defend it and change it whenever necessary.

That’s a great thing about the West Wing in the end. After eight years in the White House, the president stepped aside and the next guy took over. The next administration began to tackle problems left behind and address new challenges. Every few years we get a fresh start to how this country is governed and it is always peaceably handed over with bittersweet memories and open expectations. It takes an involved and passionate public to hold our leaders to the highest standards and loudly demand perfection even when it is impossible or people disagree. The West Wing showed me that this process is fun and exhilarating, exhausting and toll taking. In its ideal form, American politics is about duty, about serving the people, the nation. It’s about taking responsibility and handing over the reigns in the end. None of us can ignore the call to serve or give up in frustration when things get tough.

In just a few months the nation will be gearing up for another election year. President Obama (eerily similar to the West Wing’s Matt Santos) along with hundreds of others will be on the campaign trail hard at work to win the minds and hearts of the American people again or for the first time. I will be here in Africa, barely making it home in time to vote next year, but I will be watching as often as I can. That’s the amazing thing about the West Wing; the show is over but the spirit continues. Every time we challenge our leaders, ask questions of the Constitution, or have even a casual conversation about a candidate for office, we are making history, fulfilling our own civic duty. We are living the greatness of the United States and there is no possible excuse for complacency. So this year, do your part. If you have a complaint, do something about it. Don’t forget about what makes America the best nation in the world. Get involved. Take up the call yourself and ask, “What’s next?”

On children and empty bellies

I live in a bigger village here in Benin, where access to healthcare is more visible and the people are slightly more proactive about their health. It's easy to overlook malnutrition here unless I am in the health center when mothers have brought in their children from up to fifteen kilometers away. Most of the kids I see in Djougou look relatively healthy. Sure, they're barefoot and often very thin, but they eat something each day and go to school for the most part. So I naturally assumed that malnutrition isn't really much of an issue up here. Not true.

A few weeks ago I went on an epic walk around the city with my friend Affissa, a high school senior and running enthusiast who has become my closest friend in village. On one of the rare days when she wasn't studying like mad for the bacc (necessary to pass high school and go on to college...she's one of the few girls in my town to even be in this position), she invited me to walk with her and a friend out by the lake in the south. We rode her moto to her friend's house and I stored my helmet in their living room. While they were off greeting the family and chatting about the insignificant things that make up so much of life here, I started playing a bit with some of the concession kids.

At first I didn't notice what was different about "Malik", the smallest boy. I thought he was just younger maybe than the others until they got a little closer to me, a little braver. Then I noticed his reddened hair, skeleton like arms, and how his head seemed too big for his body. I recognized marasmus malnutrition immediately, the type of malnutrition where the child literally is starving from lack of sufficient calories. He was playing just a little less actively than the other boys, kicking the soccer ball with less vigor, but still smiling, still laughing and taunting me with "batouré, batouré!" like the others. He came up to me, giggling, and I touched his shoulder, smiling with him. His skin was hot to the touch, feverish.  He ran off with the others when Affissa and the other adults walked over.

As we were leaving the concession I asked Affissa if Malik was okay. I told her that he had a fever and needed to be resting. She explained that he was often sick with diarrhea and the other boys didn't have the problem as often. She attributed his illness to 'gris-gris' a type of sorcery more common to the voodoo south, but I could tell she thought that was simplistic. I told her that he should drink lots of clean water and eat enough and she assured me that he was getting a lot better, that he didn't used to play. She encouraged me to forget about it and she was right. There really wasn't anything I could do beyond simply making sure that the family knew what to do. During our walk I mentioned making an oral rehydration drink and Affissa's friend said that the family was doing that already. I felt a little better, but I was just sort of shocked that malnutrition like that was just a casual part of life for these families.

It's true though. Mothers will often wait months before naming their children for fear that they will fall to illness. They have many children, usually a result of not having or believing in birth control, but also because the more children you bear, the more you'll have when some of them die. Children are not treated well in Benin in general. There is an emotional separation between parents and their kids. Beatings are completely acceptable and very common which is hard to hear or watch as an outsider. Children work hard manual labor for their families, especially the girls. Parents love their children here, of course, but it's a different kind of love then we see in the states. They never know when Allah, or sorcery, gris-gris, will take their children from them, and this makes them just a little more expendable. That's the way they were treated as children and they perpetuate it each new generation.  It's a very different way of life and one that is not compatible with Westerners or myself, someone passionate about children's health and the health of those who are disempowered. But all I can really do is give my perspective and try to learn from theirs to make a small difference.

Affissa came over to my house a few days ago in the evening. We sat out on my porch under the mango tree and sipped glasses of water as the sun set. I mentioned Malik and asked how he was doing. She explained casually that he had gotten sick again and would probably die. I asked how his mother would feel if that happened, trying to keep the tears out of my voice. She just shrugged and said that his mother has five other children to help her. Seeing the look of surprise on my face, she quickly added that she would still be sad. A few moments passed and then she changed the subject, not because his illness was a difficult topic, but because to her it was such a simple one.

Taking the leap

I've been thinking about faith lately, contemplating the reasons we believe in certain things and choose to allow so called reason to take the reigns on others. Do we choose these distinctions or do they just somehow develop? Can the balance shift and should we seek out challenges to encourage our assumptions to change?

Something I've been feeling in the last 9 months is that what we know to be true is never static as long as we allow it to grow. Ideas, beliefs, faith--all these things are dynamic and should be dynamic for social and personal change to really be affected. We can so easily get caught in our knowledge, in what we know to be true, that we forget how to learn, forget that discovery comes from the sometimes unforeseeable opening of the mind.

I've become so jaded while here. I came to Africa thinking change was possible and somehow along the way my thoughts shifted to a deadlock. Everywhere I looked I saw roadblocks to change from the very people who could benefit the most. All the stereotypes we laughingly discussed at the beginning of training seemed to be true. From believing that people here wanted my help to assuming that I was irrelevant and unwanted, my truth made a complete shift. I struggled with finding friendships among women who seem to just perpetuate the injustices against them, and men who daily and constantly harass me to the point of demoralization. Sometimes I really do just want to give up because I know that nothing I do here is going to have any sort of impact in the long run, so what's the point?

Volunteers get together and binge drink. Sometimes there's a therapeutic bitch session where we complain about the administration, the country, the people, the corruption, but mostly people just drink themselves into a stupor so they don't have to think about it at all. It's cathartic in its own way, I suppose, but not particularly helpful and not something that I participate in often. There's something so juvenile about it, like being trapped in a frat house party where no one seems to justify the real occasion. I'm not trying to blame the volunteers; life here is difficult and frustrating so much of the time. But we do get so trapped into our own assumptions and our own frustrations that no one really says anything about anything anymore. It's just the same thing every time, hoping to pass the time away so we'll be one more day closer to being finished with the pointlessness of these two years.

The last three weeks I've been paying my thirteen year old neighbor girl to come over to my house on Saturdays and help me with my laundry. I get everything set up, she washes, and I help her hang the clothes up to dry. She's quick and efficient and gets 500F out of it, which is a pretty good deal for us both. This last Saturday she didn't show up at the time we had agreed on, 10am, which was extremely irritating for me. I assumed that she had either forgotten or didn't care enough to respect my time or her money and I was grumbling pretty angrily to myself while I started doing the laundry on my own. I was starting to scrub a t-shirt when I thought to myself that perhaps something had happened, maybe there was an emergency. Of course that would be my first thought if I was paying an American girl to come over and help me. I would immediately worry about her and want to check up to make sure she was okay, not angrily assume that she had ditched me for some other more interesting activity. Why did I make the choice to be upset with my neighbor for those reasons? Was it a choice? I tend to think yes it was.

 I am conditioned to think the worst of my fellow neighbors because time and time again, the worst is what I've seen. When a Beninese man comes up to me, my first instinct is to be aggressive and dismissive. I am rude automatically because so often I am harassed. Is this fair? I don't know. I'm not sure if it was wrong for me to assume that my neighbor had ditched me. But when she showed up, an hour later, she explained that she was making lunch for her little sister and brother because their mother was traveling somewhere and couldn't make it to my house on time. She said that she would have called but that her family cannot afford a cell phone. Immediately I felt both guilty and elated. Guilty because I had assumed that she was just being lazy and in reality she was working much harder than myself. Elated because a small part of my cynicism had been chipped away by this girl with her honesty and strength. I realized, for just a moment, that my time here did not have to be shaped by the static preconceptions I'd developed, and all I felt then was joy.

As far as faith goes, I know that nothing is certain. I know that challenging our assumptions is the only way to get to a place of acceptance, of peace, because if we let ourselves, we will be surprised by small acts that alter our perceptions. Before I got here, I knew I would change the world. Three months ago I knew I wasn't going to make it all the way through my service. Today I know that with an open heart and mind, I can be changed. I wonder what I'll know tomorrow?

a light at the end of the tunnel

Things are looking up. Colt will be here in 29 days, the Harmattan winds have started bringing cooler nights and wonderful midday breezes, my french is almost always adequate in any given situation, and those damn baby goats are as cute as ever. I have a new found sense of duty after filling with patriotism post season two of the west wing. i am serving my country by living here, i am working toward international cooperation and peace by living with the people making little money and hand washing my laundry. There is honor in that and i am really starting to believe it. I thought I believed it when I applied, but Peace Corps applicants have no idea about so many things. I think it takes at least a good chunk of a year to realize how much you don't know and even more time after that to find the perspective that will foster effective work. I am at that point. I started so completely misguided and I had done my homework! I was as possibly prepared as can be expected from a well educated American 22 year old and rounding up to my fifth month here I am only now seeing that there might actually be a place for me here. I had to get lost in myself, in the dark, before I could see the possibility for something other than a cheap idealism. I have come full circle as it were, and i am just now understanding that there was something almost insincere about our desire to serve.

life's too short

i know that life is very slow here and i am often frustrated by inefficiencies and stress like bad internet connections, heat, bugs, constant harrassement from men, and the lack of regular sex. I have recently decided though that there is absolutely nothing i can do about the vast majority of those problems and stressing out about them just raises my blood pressure in 95 degree heat. I also spend a lot of time annoyed by the slow pace of my work and how ineffectual i feel like I have become at a time when I thought I was going to be having the most impact on the world. I have realized, though, that this is just the way it is and i should spend more time trying to be successful working in this system than trying to change the system. This is Africa and there are many many cultural and historical (not to mention geographical and climate related) reasons for the way things are here. Honestly there is a certain amount of naivete and meglomania associated with the assumption that a volunteer living here for just two years can have any impact on the larger social structures that make up that system. I am starting to see, though, that if I accept the things I cannot and should not change, I just might be able to help in a way that works for Africa.

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.

Just a Tuesday Morning Development Discussion

October 5, 2010

I am having a conversation with Alain, a work partner here at PSI and he is trying to speak English. It is not easy to understand and we are both trying to get connected to the wifi in the office that has been spotty for the last few days. I wish that the air conditioner was turned on, but they never have it on in the mornings.

“It is not very fast,” he says slowly, deliberately, typing something on his laptop.

“Well, this is Africa.” I smile when I say it, teasing, but I am frustrated. Immediately I regret the comment as his eyebrows raise, surprised. He smiles back, but there is tension now.

“It is always fast in America?” He doesn’t look at me.

“Oui.” There is a long moment of silence, something that has just started getting less awkward for me, but now I feel like my months of habituation haven’t happened.

And then: “Tell me why you are here. What are your ideas to help the development of Africa.” He smiles when he asks, but I can feel the anticipation filling the space between us. I don’t know how to answer anymore. If he had asked me months ago I would have said something about providing my time and skills to the people here to help them help themselves, but honestly I have not felt particularly useful in weeks.

When I got here I thought that my idealism was held in check. I thought of myself as someone who was skeptical of the whole idea of aid work and that I had read enough so that naïveté was the last thing I brought with me. Well, it wasn’t true. I don’t think I was lying to myself exactly, but I was definitely clouding some truths about what I wanted to accomplish here. I would have thought that I could answer a simple question about what I hope to do here for the next two years.

But I don’t have any answers and that sounds so cynical it makes my stomach hurt.

The Proverbial Roller Coaster of Emotion Post

August 18, 2:50pm CST, 20:50 Benin time

I finally just said screw it and took my computer out into the salon to type this while my family is around. My room is locked whenever I’m out and they’ve had volunteers in the past…and I also usually have my computer with me anyway. I just felt that the hassle of having to type in my hot room all by myself was not worth it; it’s much nicer to be out where there is a breeze and I can chat with the fam! They really loved seeing my tiny computer, too. They were cracking up when I showed them all the photos slide show style of my going away party. Maman said Colt was very handsome and I said I’d bring him by to meet them in December. The older uncle was very interested in the price of mon ordinateur, but whatever. Once I get to my house in Djougou I definitely won’t be making myself a target by letting anyone know about my expensive items, but I feel like I’ve been with this family for long enough that I trust them and I always lock my door anyway. It was a judgment call and maybe not everyone would agree with it, but just know that I didn’t make it lightly and I won’t do the same in Djougou.

Anyway. I thought I’d drop a line to just talk about something other than a simple update about my life and the activities that I’ve been up to. At this point, things are feeling pretty mundane and definitely routine. I still have those “whoa Afrique” moments, but I have gone at least two days where I don’t think specifically about the fact that I’m in Africa. So things are pretty normal for me at this point…which is a bit frustrating because in less than a month I’ll be packing it up to go to the opposite side of the country to start over with a new community, but c’est la vie, n’est pas?

I feel more like a manic depressive than I probably ever will again in my life, as one volunteer put it, and that is so true. Within the space of days or even hours, I can go from being completely elated to crying alone in my room. Some days I think “holy shit, I was like BORN to be a Peace Corps volunteer” and I am feeling totally high on life, and then just a little while after that I’m choking up because my host brother said something that reminded me of Lucas. So I thought I’d just make a couple lists of all the good and bad things that make me feel like I’m on the ol’ roller coaster.

THE BAD

-The smell of fish. My family makes it a lot and it is really strong and really disgusting and I cannot escape it in my room.

-The mosquito/other bug bites. I have scratched so much I worry that I might have scars when I’m done!

-Heat rash. Whenever I run/work out I get these little bumps all over my chest and shoulders where my sports bra has rubbed up against me and it’s ugly and itchy and annoys me!

-Constant YOVO-ing. I didn’t think it would bug me, but it kinda does. The kids are still cute, but adults annoy me. Sometimes I yell the word “mesoui” which means “black person” in Fon and they always crack up at that. That’s definitely not the correct spelling of that word and also probably not something I’ll continue with apres service.

-Missing the USA. Sometimes I miss my family or friends and sometimes I miss the food…often I miss both at once and I am super sad that I won’t be there for at least a year. Since I have to come back to interview for med school, I know I’ll be there next fall at some point, so that gives me some hope for a good pizza…or twelve.

-Missing Colt. It’s a special kind of missing that gets its own mention. It’s like the kind of missing where I wake up sometimes and I’ve been dreaming that I’m sleeping next to him and when he’s not there when I open my eyes, there’s nothing but a sort of crushing disappointment. Knowing that we can’t have a routine together again for two years is actually too overwhelming most of the time for me to think about. Instead I think about how he’s coming to visit in December and just think about it in baby steps. That works pretty well, actually. But I tell ya, some days I just feel BAD because of this one.

-Futility. Sometimes..okay, most of the time, I feel like there’s no way that I can possibly make any sort of difference during my time here. I feel like my choice to join the Peace Corps was primarily a selfish one and that it is incredibly naïve and paternalistic of me to think that I could possibly have any lasting impact here. Sometimes just the thought that the Peace Corps presence indicates substandard living, that me being here necessarily states that Benin is ‘not developed’, feels offensive to me. I don’t know. This topic deserves its own entry, but suffice it to say that my perceptions about what a “third world” country is have been a bit rearranged.

-Being hot all the time. There have been like 2 days where I had chilly moments. The rest of the time, I’m like constantly sweating. The temperature is not super hot all the time, but there’s just no escape from it. It’s like 89 degrees or something, which isn’t bad, but when you can’t get out of it…and it’s a mini sauna under the mosquito net…it sucks. The air conditioned computer room at the bureau in Cotonou is like heaven…and I’ve only been there once since I left.

-Bad internet connections. There are very few times when I am so frustrated I want to scream, but when I just want to post a blog or upload one freaking picture and I can’t because it’s such a bad connection, I want to hit someone or burst into tears or both simultaneously.

THE GOOD

-Receiving letters! Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to send me something (Rhonda, Zach and Lucas, Craig, Dana, and Ally, Mommoo!…I thought if I listed the names everyone else would feel un peu guilty and send something, too….haha…make sure to put an extra stamp in there so I can send one back to you!)

-When someone calls me “madam” on the street instead of “yovo.” I don’t mind the little kids singing the song, but it bothers me when adults, especially men being creepers, will say it to get me to come over and buy something. So when I hear a young adult or grown up call me madam I feel bien integre.

-Cadeux-ing something to a kid (gifting). I just like to give little things to kids I know, like the other night I gave the rest of my pineapple to Fifa, my littlest sister, and she was just so freaking psyched about it that it made me appreciate both pineapples and gifts so much more.

-The little goats. They are adorable and while they’re babies, I like them. The grown ups are kind of belligerent and ugly…but I guess it’s the same with people. There’s definitely a reason I want to be a pediatrician…

-A successful zem ride. One where we saluate each other well and we’re friendly and I don’t get overcharged or called yovo and the ride is pleasant and fun. After those zem rides I feel so much a part of the culture I could just pee.

-The tissue. It’s colorful and beautiful and it’s totally the kind of stuff I like to wear in the states already..but it’s everywhere and totally acceptable to have a bright pink and blue skirt/shirt ensemble.

-Rico. My host brother is awesome. He’s a little brat sometimes to his sisters, but he cooks me dinner and helps me learn how to cook Beninese food on the little tiny gas stove in Maman’s room and I helped him with his English homework…and he’s just such a cool dude. He makes me miss my brothers A LOT, but it’s nice to have a kid around that age to make a connection with. When he saluates with me I just feel a surge of happiness.

-Phone calls from home. Colt, mom, dad, whoever. When my phone rings I am sooo psyched!

-Waking up in the morning feeling like I got a good night’s sleep and not feeling too hot or uncomfortable. Sometimes just before my alarm goes off, I’ll wake up and feel really content, just feeling at a good temperature and like I’ve slept well. Those mornings I wake up and roll out my yoga mat and do some sun salutations avant le journee. C’est bon.

-Wagasi. If it’s good…and I actually have not had any wagasi since the hotel in Cotonou that I thought WASN’T good, it is really good. I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that it’s the seulment cheese I can get in Benin easily, or if it’s legit good…I sort of think the former a la veggie dogs in the states…but I really like it and when I get a repas avec some wagasi in it I am stoked.

-Random English songs. I hear them sometimes while I’m walking down the street or on the radio behind my house and every time I think “I totally know what that song is saying…and probably none of these people do!” It makes me feel kinda cool like I have a secret ability or something. A super power.

Ok, well that’s it for now. I’m happy to see that I have more good things than bad. I guess that’s why I’m still here, n’est pas? I met my postmate, Doug, today. He seems like fun guy and I’ve read his girlfriend’s blog for a year. She’s posted in Ze in the south, but comes up to Djougou once a month, so I’ll probablement be seeing her around un peu.

Friday we have our update language interview/test and I probably won’t get online again until after I know where I’m sitting. My goal is to reach my final level now (intermediate high) so that I can start learning Dendi, the most common local language in Djougou. I think I have a small chance of doing that, but most likely I’ll be put in intermediate low and have to continue with French, which would be fine, I guess since pretty much everyone uses French in Djougou. I am just sort of tired of French lessons and would like to learn something new. One of the volunteers said that I could ask to have some of my lessons perhaps be Dendi and the others be French, even if I don’t make it to intermediate high…so we’ll see. (On va voir) Wish me luck (bonne chance!)

I miss and love you all; send me stuff if you miss and love me too. I looove cadeaux. Also it’s my birthday in less than a month and it takes like a month for packages and letters to get here. Just sayin’.

E

some years of independence

SOME YEARS OF INDEPENDENCE

August 1st, 2010, 12:37pm CST, 18:37 Benin

Today is the 50th anniversary of Benin's independence and it is a big party (grande fete!) all over the country. Many volunteers throughout the country are in Porto Novo, the capital, to celebrate and hang out with fellow Peace Corps folk. It's been really awesome to meet many of the COSing (Close of Service-ing) volunteers before their flights back to the USA. This morning I went to an awesome parade in the town that my host papa works in. He is, apparently, the mayor's primary right hand man, which is pretty darn sweet. Papa seems to be doing pretty well for himself as an elected official and he also has a farm that I got to see today. I finally took pictures!! I will try to put them on facebook, but y'all might just have to wait for my kick ass awesome photos until I figure out the best way to display them and when.

Last night I had the wonderful pleasure of meeting Jess, the volunteer who lived with my host family 2 years ago. She actually has a really amazing blog, Under African Skies, that I've literally been reading since last July 2009 when i first applied to the Peace Corps. She bunked on my floor in her old room after we spent the evening at a buvette (bar) with a bunch of other people from her stage and the one below hers. She is leaving Africa this week for her COS and she never went home to the states during her time here, so she said it was a really strange feeling to be going back. If you've read all my blog and want some more Benin reading, you should head over to hers and catch up on her posts. Under her (and her post mate who was also COSing) expert guidance, we stayed out way past my normal curfew, took zemis at night, rode 2 people on one zemi, and creatively explained to our host dad where we'd be that evening. I felt like a major rebel! But, I think my wild days are behind me...I don't think my French is good enough to fib to him again!

So, seeing all the 2 year volunteers has really re-opened my eyes to what this committment of service really can be. I signed up for a 2 year service, not a maybe-2-years-but-probably-I'll-just-make-it-to-next-summer service. I need to live in the moment and accept my decision, not because I need to force myself through something I hate, but because I should understand the magnitude of this life style that I've chosen and respect myself enough to have the fortitude to fulfull my promises. I know that a certain someone might be a bit disappointed by this realization, but he knew this was important to me even before we even started dating and when I left last month, for all intents and purposes, it was for the entire 2 year service. So he understands and while I feel a little guilty for wavering in my decision the last few weeks and giving some false hope for my early return, I think he respects me more for being true to myself and to my dreams. Besides, what the hell would I do in Topeka, Kansas for a year?

Another good thing about this whole thing is that I can start to think and plan of ways for him (and anyone else who wants to and can afford it!) to come and visit me while I'm here. I know for a fact that I will need to come back myself sometime in the fall of 2011 in order to interview for medical schools, but it would be really cool if he could visit me sometime before then and then maybe once more afterward. I think three conjugal visits will keep me going throughout my time here, n'est pas? So, I'm thinking: CHRISTMASES AND BIRTHDAYS PLEASE DONATE TO HIS BENIN FUND! If we're really lucky, he could come and see me for this Christmas so I wouldn't have to be alone. That's pretty soon, but if we can get the money figured out, I think it would really help me to transition to this life en seul.

Ok, well. I just thought I'd end this with the thought that has been going through my head for the last 48 hours, the thought that propelled me into re-imagining my entire service here. These words were spoken by a true genius, a true prophet of our day, a man whose brilliance for motivation can ne'er be matched and whose words pull me through the tough times to reach that flighty temptress... a complete, successful service:

YOU'RE NOT HARDCORE UNLESS YOU LIVE HARDCORE.

No truer words have e'er been spoke.

E

PS We find out our posts on Friday! Ahhhh!

a history of my love affair with africa

I was 12 when I first fell in love with Africa. I was in between Harry Potter books and needed something to fill the addiction gap in my heart. I found the historical detective novels of Elizabeth Peters based around British Egyptologists in the late 1800s. My stepmom, Jeni, and I read through the series one summer and into my 7th grade year and Egypt came alive for me. More than just the ancient history, Egypt was a mysterious place even for the characters that lived and worked there. I got lost in the Cairo streets and actually cried when I found out that they don't actually let tourists climb the Great Pyramids anymore. I was ravenous for more. I knew all the dynasties by heart, the methods of mummification, the various forms of the Egyptian language and quite a lot of the hieroglyphics. I even began teaching myself Arabic and at one point before 8th grade could actually read aloud the curling letters, although I did not know much of what I was reading.

I imagined myself as first an Egyptologist and then as an anthropologist, studying not only the ancient cultures, but that of the people living there today. I definitely had an academic perspective about the whole thing, although a lot of my perceptions were flawed, based on fiction books set over a century ago. I'd like to think that I never patronized the hypothetical people of my future studies, but I don't really think there's any middle schooler out there that really grasps the idea of white privilege and true development work.

My concept of Africa was heavily influenced by Egypt until I was 15 and my concept of the future replaced from the removed analysis of the social scientist to the directly impacting physician. I saw Dr. Carter on ER when I was in 9th grade and his visits to the Congo transformed my assumptions and broadened my interests exponentially. I first attached onto medicine and decided that it was ethically irresponsible to study people and not help them when I had the possibility to aid them. Soon after I exhausted my initial drive for information about medicine in general, I gravitated back to Africa. I studied the philosophies of the people and read about dictators and the history of the oppression of apartheid. I read about the Rwanda genocides and tried to educate myself as best as I could about the continent and the challenges that have been consistently faced by the people there. I was, and still am, continuously shocked that a place of such rich history, the birthplace of humanity, is so often blatantly disregarded by the international community. I have essentially decided that it is racism, pure and simple.

Throughout my college career I have developed my academic passions for development work and development economics. My interest in both medicine and economics are intimately tied to Africa. I have pursued academic literature on agricultural practices in Subsaharan Africa as well as environmental economic ties to population growth, GNP, and politics. I have learned extensively about justice issues in women's health as applied to international cases and issues. The only thing I have not done is formally major or minor in Africana studies. I chose a more indirect route by selecting biology and econ, but in my spare time have voraciously read Jeffrey Sachs and Amartya Sen. All this academic work has only strengthened my passion for the continent, my belief that the most vulnerable people are the ones most ignored by those with the most power, and the fact that I am not content to study and analyze. I must do something. I must use my hands. I have to hold a child or build a latrine. I cannot keep Africa as an abstract concept for me anymore; I am compelled to do.

I've worried for some time that this instant gratification streak of mine is somehow anti-intellectual, that after all my time at one of the top liberal arts colleges in the world all I want to do is weigh babies and sleep under the African sky. Shouldn't I leave the down and dirty for those less privileged to my education? Well, no. And I'll tell you why. And it's definitely not white, liberal guilt.

In my framework of justice, guilt has no place. Justice to me is not about getting what people are due in this world. That view is antiquated and doesn't meet most ethical standpoints these days. To me, and others who chose such epistemological pursuits, justice means seeing one another rightly, using love to view those most vulnerable, and ascribing dignity and equal value to all persons at birth. Justice means not treating people as embodiments of stereotypes and respecting each person's inherent autonomy. In my opinion, activism is simply making sure the world knows about this framework of justice. I am compelled, no, obligated, to act on the principles that I have learned about in theory if I judge them to be true. And I do. I believe with a near religious fervor in the ideas of loving rightly and transforming my intellectual study of development into action. In fact, because I am privileged to be white in this racist world, I have a pretty big obligation to educate myself and to give back. Guilt does not play into it, only fact.

Africa has been screwed over and romanticized for hundreds of years. I've been talking about how fucked up that is since I was 12 years old and it's about damn time that I actually got my ass over there and gained something more than theoretical backing to my claims.

So come on placement office, I've been waiting for this since 1999.

Elaina

On Jungles (or, I'm Back!)

I've been trying to stay away, but I actually think that was doing more harm than good. I just love y'all so much! I've added some artwork and set up a 'tags' section. The revamp of the look has given me some additional motivation...as has catching up on my favorite West African and fellow applicant blogs. I'll probably get on here in a couple days and do my top 5 fears, with a nod to Ashleigh's PC affair.

I've been checking out PC journals again and I actually decided to go on some recon missions to discover when Benin and Mali PCVs had actually received their invitations. My information gathering has lead me to the following conclusions:

--Benin volunteers in 2008 and 2009 were generally invited in the last week of March. I am seeing a few March 28th and 30ths out there. (so that's like 3 days!)

--Benin staging dates appear to be later July, like the 21st in Philly.

--Mali volunteers in 2008 and 2009 seem to be invited a bit later, more like mid April. Dates were less tangible. Those Mali volunteers don't seem to be as up on it with the blogosphere. I'm sure that has something to do with being in the desert haha.

--Mali staging dates are actually before the Benin ones, more like July 6th or 7th. Also in Philadelphia.

So it looks like Benin people know earlier and leave later than the Mali folks. Since I am wanting to do several things upon my return in 2012 (get an apartment, get weddinged, start medical school), an earlier departure might be best. But dang, I am really quite in love with Benin. To me, it seems like the epitome of West Africa--jungles and heat with great rain storms and desert in the North. Mali also seems great, but more poverty-stricken perhaps with more...dust. I don't know. Benin gets me closer to that romantic idea of African jungles that I fell in love with when I was 15. I'm sure those ideas will be challenged where ever I end up, and that whether I end up in Mali or Benin, or some unknown country I have yet even considered, the Peace Corps will be a monumental part of my life.

E