Almost a Year

Bonsoir, il y a deux jours!

            Or, it’s been two days, as the saying goes here in Benin. We haven’t spoken in a moment. A lot has been going on here in Dassari, so let’s catch up.

            First of all, our 2014-2015 school year is finished! We calculated final grades last week. My students did all right, around a 50% pass rate. That is normal for the lower grades. We had a lot of fun at the end of the year, doing an off curriculum Animal section. We learned all the names of the animals. I tried an activity where we would categorize the animals into ones we eat and ones we do not eat. This turned out to be a mistake, because except for spiders, ants, and lizards, my students eat everything. I ended changing this activity to animals we see in the village and animals we see in the bush, which was a bit more successful. We ended the year by watching The Lion King. The students really enjoyed anytime the animals danced. We watched in English, but they were able to comprehend most of the story. That is one of the advantages with animated films and foreign language. Animation has more freedom and is more playful with regards to visual story telling. I would recommend animated films for anyone trying to learn a foreign language. For an adult learning French, I found Persepolis to be a good blend of visual and dialogue storytelling.  Next year, I will try to include more short videos, to expose my students to different accents and also to give them a reward if they have behaved well.

            They say the first year of teaching is the hardest. Well, I am thankful no student will ever have to again undergo my first year pedagogy. Teaching is a skilled profession, and like all skills, experience is essential for improvement. Thankfully, the world is not born into teachers and non-teachers. Like all other skills, it can be cultivated, refined, polished. I find myself keeping a running list of ideas that begin with, “Oh, I know exactly what I could try out next year if I…” Little things like semester long team-grouping, mini-quizzes, classroom management tricks, more songs, re-teaching the alphabet, choosing English names. Jeez, and trying to learn all their names! I still struggled with this, especially since there were three boys named Bienvenu and two girls with the same first and last name, Elizabeth SAHGUI. I am certainly looking forward to teaching next year, but this summer break will be a much-needed change of tempo.

            The past couple months have gone by very well. It is mango season here in Benin. Which means, even in a small country town like Dassari, I can find a ripe mango the size of a baby-head. They go for about 10 to 50 to 100 cfa, or about 5 to 20 cents. The town is littered with mango stones. Children walk down the streets with their faces and arms dripping with mango juice. (And they always want to shake your hand or hug your leg.)

            Our girls' football team has been practicing regularly. I am very proud of them; they are getting to be quite good. They have started using triangle formations and making smart passes. Most of them are still a little timid when it comes to striking and taking a shot, but that is one of the goals of the football team, to inspire confidence. They are some of the brightest and capable young women in Dassari. We want them to know it! They can still be challenging though. At the end of the day, they are still teenage girls. They will complain about being tired and thirsty. They chatter and gossip. When I try to crack the whip, they roll their eyes. There is a regular full team of them that come and take it seriously. They are a great group.  Noratu, the captain, Roseline and Chemène, the Fon sisters, Padelle, defensive pro, Josephine, rookie of the year, Assana and Foussena, the twins who would give those tennis twins a hard time on the football field, Adiza, strong silent type, Zénabou, coach’s daughter, Benjamine, a cement wall of a goalie, Nathalie and Immaculé, strong mid-fielders with good passing chemistry, Pascaline, the tiniest girl on the team but very aggressive and fast (and the gofer), and finally Giselle and Laetitia, Dassari’s own Messi and Ronaldo.

            There are many things going on this vacation. This weekend, I am taking two students from 4e (8^th grade), Abigaïl and Jean, to the 8^th Annual National English Spelling Bee. There will be about 40 students from all over Benin. There is a First prize for both the boys’ and girls’ division. Beyond the competition itself, we will spend the weekend in Natitingou. We will visit the history museum, play sports, do arts & crafts, and learn a little about malaria and hygiene.  It is a nice way to end the school year. The young girl who is coming Abigaïl is really one of the most amazing students I have met here. She is 12 years old (in a class that has a few 18 year olds) and the first of her class, and one of the best students in the school. She speaks English like she has spent her childhood in Ghana. She devours the French books I lend her, typically finishing them in a day or two. Her father is a teacher at the Primary Schools. He is the first encounter I have had with the “helicopter parent” type here in Benin. In the society where no one bats an eye when you ask a toddler to go bring a machete, it is surprising to find a helicopter papa. But he was reason to be afraid of sending her with me on some random taxi from Burkina Faso. The chauffeurs drive like crazy, and the road to Natitingou is a long graveyard of the mangled frames of taxi-buses and eighteen-wheelers. I would be protective too if I had a child here.

            After the Spelling Bee, I will be headed down south to a city called Lokossa to attend the Training of Trainers. (But who trains the trainers of the trainers?) For some reason, my bosses thought I was qualified to help train the incoming stage of new volunteers. I will be helping the new volunteers out at the end of August when they are beginning Model School---a sort of summer school practice for teachers and students. We have a group of good people/volunteers who will be joining me: Ania, Camille, Stacer, Lainey. And to add to that, a whole new bunch of Beninese trainers will be working for the Peace Corps their first time. Our administration here is going through somewhat of a housecleaning. We have new folks up and down, from the big boss Country Director down to the “Language and Cultural Facilitators” LCFs.

            After that, I am going to take a few days at the beach. A little place in the southwest called Grand Popo. But that is just the beginning of the summer. There is still a lot more on the program, but we can catch up on that later when it comes closer. A boy’s camp in Ouidah and Banikora, a student internship in Parakou, training in Lokossa, and a trip on the El Camino de Santiago with the family, but let’s take it softly, un peu, un peu.

à la prochaine,

Chazaq

PPS: Happy Bloomsday!

Update: The Spelling Bee has past since the writing of this email. Abigaïl tied for 6th. She was eliminated in the 3rd round by the word "careful", spelling in lieu of "carefool". Jean did better than I thought he would. He took 3rd place after a cold spelling of "inhabitants". He did not know the word, but he sounded it all out correctly, Very proud. The word that took him down was "infectious", he spelled "infections"

 Half of my 6e class

 Aubin with his homemade guitar

 End of the year with fellow professors

 Abigail and Jean

 Abigail waiting

Cool bug

End of the Premiere Semestre

Hello everyone!

I will keep this shorter because, trop parler, c'est maladie.

Listen to this while reading: 
T.P. Poly-Rythmo De Cotonou (Benin) - Trop Parler, C'est Maladie

It has been a little longer since my last update. I have spent most of my writing energy on letters and journaling, making true my pledge to reply to all written mail (the pledge still holds, I love letters).

I am writing to you on a Thursday afternoon here in Porto-Novo. We are finishing up a week and a half IST (In Service Training). For the Education sector, this is mandatory. We learn everything about all of the other sectors in about one week. Of course, in such a short amount of time, everything is cursory, but one can get the sense of the larger plan. There are a lot of intersections in the different realms of health and hygiene, nutrition, deforestation, moringa, education, youth empowerment. There is a difficulty being in TEFL though, because we still have class. There is a certain amount of liberty in the other sectors. No recurring obligations. Teaching means I must show up every Monday morning. It is tantalizing to have all these very ambitious and creative project ideas. Can I juggle grant writing, evaluation, promotion, and fundraising while still learning how to teach and take care of my health? It is easy to see the plate piles up.

            Starting out, my homologue Laurent is really interested in getting a girls’ football team in our two villages—himself in Koulou, myself in Dassari. I have been practicing football with the other teachers and students during the pick-up games and more formal team practices. The field is right behind my house. He has already told me the Porga team will beat the Dassari team, so now my village pride is on the line.

            We also have a bunch of Moringa seeds that we will nurse around May and then plant around the beginning of the rainy season. If you haven’t heard of it before, Moringa is this superfood that grows really well here in West Africa. It is rich in protein and vitamins; you can eat almost every part of it; they grow very fast. Some of the more zealous may claim it is the solution to West Africa’s problem with malnutrition. I have seen some Moringa creams that claim to cure every illness. I like to throw some fresh leaves in with an omelette, or mix the powder in a peanut sauce.

            The big thing though that I am really excited about is the Parent-Teacher Conference. After talking with a volunteer who had done it in the past, I think it would be great for Dassari. A lot of the children attending school come from parents who did not go to school. Thus, many parents do not understand how the school system works. If they don’t know how the system works, they can’t understand whether their child is doing well or not, whether an 11 on the devoir is good or bad. (It’s passing.) The idea would be to do a larger sensibilization at the school open to all parents interested, explaining the structure of the school system and the division of the school year, what is an interrogation, what is a devoir, how are moyens (grades) calculated. This also gives us a chance to promote the value of education and to encourage the support of a child’s education at home. To give them a quiet place where they can study. Ask to see their tests. Praise them when they do well. We see the same thing in the US, that when a child’s family gets involved with their education, they become better students. The follow up to the large group session would be to make house calls for students who are failing. This will be a little more difficult and time consuming, but this would be the responsibility of individual teachers.

            That is a lot of speculation, so let’s get back to basic. The first semester is over and I am proud to say most of my students are passing! The average is about a 70% passing rate. There are still plenty of students right on the line, so I hope to improve that number this coming semester. I am getting really attached to my kids and they are becoming more comfortable with my teaching style. There were a few problem students here and there, but once I figured out the situation, I was able to eliminate it. One boy named Bienvenu is in my sixieme class. He was being a distraction to a couple of other students and wouldn’t follow instructions for large group activities. But he is one of my stronger students, ranked 5^th in the class.  So I started by changing his seat to the front of the class, but this only made it worse. He was the center of attention, pissed off, and causing problems with other students. We talked after class and he told me that he just moved here from some tiny village near Burkina, but in the move, he had to retake sixieme. This boy didn't have a behavior issue. He was just bored. So I moved him back to his seat in the back, and let him draw pictures and help a boy who sits next to him. Now there is no problem.

            Other than that, been doing a lot of long-distance biking to other villages to salute volunteers and friends. Improving my recipes (I have a really great black sauce to serve over pasta, tomatoes, peanut, moringa, ginger, garlic, onions. The red tomatoes and green moringa with the peanut butter makes a dark, dark sauce.) Reading like wild. Infinite Jest, Madam Bovary, Farewell to Arms, Zeitoun, Man’s Search for Meaning. I am going to try to read more French to build up my vocabulary. I am the day-to-day vocabulary down, now I want to be able to express myself with precision. Plenty of meditation. I could not survive without it. My guitar is a good friend too.

            This training has lasted 2 days too long. I am really tired and I want to get back to village. Please send me and email or letter. I will write you back!

Allez avec dieu,
Chazaq

La Congé or Taking Leave

Joyeux Noel et Bonne Anné  tout le monde

          First, take a listen to this great sengalese mixtape:

Here: Number One de Dakar '83

          Ok, now the mood is set. How are you? And your house? And the fete?

          Moi-meme, I am doing alright. I write to you from another dusty harmattan evening in Natitingou. The winter break is coming to a close, too short as always, but I am prepared to get back to work. But let me tell you a little about my break.

Typical Beninese Highway Travel

          School was let out on the 19th officially, but our exams were over on the 18th. I didn't catch any cheaters during the exams, but there were some students who needed to sit apart and to stop whispering. Thankfully, I was fiercely ill after the exams were done. My friend Lima, a Nigerian grad student who is doing climate change research in Dassari, ordered some porridge with sour milk and boiled balls of spicy millet from the Fulani lady. I was hanging out and he asked me if I wanted to try some. In the future, I may try the milk again, but only the fraiche, because that night that sour milk chose to violently depart my body . Little sleep was had and the following day was mostly naps. 

Beautiful Fulani Girls Selling Wagasi, a type of Cheese

          That was a weird couple days. I saw two dead bodies — one of a old mother who passed peacefully only an hour before I stopped by. She was lying on the ground, covered in a lace tissue.  Her feet stuck straight from beneath the lace and old women in waiting fanning the flies away. The other was a motorcyclist struck by a 16 wheeler. The village of Tiele covered the body with palm fronds, waiting for the family.

A village home

          My next door neighbor's, Mathieu ,door lock was broken, so he had to call the solder to come and break into the house by destroying the house around the door. I made a book case with the wood from a broken school desk and molded bricks left over from construction. I read a little bit of Murakami in the morning (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) which spurred me work on my bike. I gave the bike a thorough cleaning, greased the chain, trued the tires, adjusted the brakes and gears. Bike maintenance work can be soothing. This prompted a lot of thought about the division of types of labor, on individual level and political, like how much labor is utilized for maintenance versus construction, reinforcement versus development? But I won't make you suffer through the uncollected thoughts of a non-economist. Following that morning, I went for a great ride, maybe a half-hour outside of the village, past the farms. I rolled into a little cove of trees. It was a part of Africa I have not spent a lot of time in. My work is with people, so I stick to cities and villages. It was nice to just stand there, resting on my bike a bit, and listening to a powerful din of birds.

Catholic Church of Dassari

          A friend of mine, Anne, came to visit for the Christmas week. She was a chef before she came to Africa, so most of the week was centered around the meals. The first night, I whipped together a classic soup and sandwich combo: curried sweet potato lentil stew and grilled goat on toast. Leftovers for breakfast with grapefruit and mango, hard-boiled eggs, and Arocafe(I keep forgetting to add this, but real coffee is relatively rare and expensive here, so instant coffee is the way to go. I have grown a taste for it, if you put in the sugar and coffee first, then pour the water on top, you can get a little crema. This aspect of Benin is very important. We drink instant coffee). Few other choice meals: goat carbonara, spicy ginger peanut noodles, beans and gari, omlettes at Chez Immaunel, camembert grilled cheese with pate de fois and olives. For breakfest, french toast with gauva confitture, avocado, and sweet potato hash. 

Add caption

          We took a little tour of Dassari, the College, Market, Church, Ferme Connec. When we visited the farm, we arrived just in time to eat an ostrich omelette. Ferme Connec is a strangely organized community farm that raises Ostriches. I have yet to uncover the full story behind it, apparently M. Connec is American or Canadian or French or Belgian. There is obviously a lot of money in the farm, tractors, digital thermometers, wifi. But they don't sell the ostrich meat or eggs. Those are reserved solely for the workers. There was a big baptism on Christmas morning, excellent Gloria singing, children asking for gifts (I bought a bagful of hard candy to pass out. With my beard and glasses, I often am called Papa Noel). 

View of Natitingou from the North

We left Dassari to spend the weekend in Natitingou. Saturday was a little trip to the Museum. There was no one else there, and our tour guide was a charming young lady. We interrupted her sewing a little shirt for her child for the New Year Fete. The museum was located in the first colonial building in Natitingou. When the French invaded in the 1890s, it was their headquarters. Concerts are in the courtyard at night under the Baobabs. Inside are old tools, clothings, hats, cod-pieces. It was not that long ago that the only piece of clothing a man needed was a little leather to guard himself.

People wear much more clothing now

Sunday took us to Cascades de Kota. We met a zemidjan at the marche. The guy's name is Antone, he knew some earlier volunteers, speaks Byali, so we stopped a drank a little tchouk with him. He offered to take us to the Cascades the next day, and that was our plan all along. According to Antone, the cascades are completely spring fed and the pool beneath is 1000km deep. We spent the afternoon watching the falls, swimming, chatting with a german couple and a family from Cotonou with a handful of beautiful children,teaching the kids how to skip rocks, . Lunch was an avocado sandwich and bananas. Though, I may have come close to catching hypothermia. The water was frigid. I got out to rest on the rocks and soak in some heat, yet for some time I could not stop shivering. What a death that would be! Hypothermia in West Africa!

The new year was brought in as normal, sparkling rosé, sparklers, sparkling dancers, campari + la beninoise, new friends and old, fireworks, drums, pork and potatoes, tarot reading, bonfires, dancing on high places.

Do I have any resolutions? Wear sunscreen more often. Focus my attention on my students. Learn to do nothing.

Photo Credit: for the village pictures http://michabde.wordpress.com/

Harmattan and Friends

Surely, you have already noticed the sight of your breath on your way out the door in the morning. You have pulled out that old comforter to cover the thin August sheets. Reports of snow in far north foretell of the coming season. I am happy to report from Dassari that a fine season has descended upon us as well. The closest thing to winter in Africa, around the months of November, December, and a little of January is the climatilogical blessing known as the Harmattan. It is contained in the larger dry season spanning from October to April. I am unsure of the precise cause of the phenomenon—some people in town have mentioned something to do with wind from the north from the Sahara—but I do not need to know why  to enjoy its offerings. The days are still the same, dry, cloudless, climbing up to 90 in the sunlight, but slowly as the horizon swallows the sun, and the sweet, sweet night covers the Atacora, the air turns brisk, plummeting to the 70s—if the gods are pleased, maybe the 60s. This is more or less a state of emergency for the Beninese. If one is unfortunately obliged to drive a motorcycle after dark, the parka, gloves, scarf, woolen hat are all assembled. Moi-même, I lay in the cool dark of my room at ease. Though, last night, I was compelled to put on a t-shirt. (Not only is it cold, but a fine dust rests in the air, like a dense fog. Reports claim this micro-dust fog can be thick enough to actually block out the sun. For me, it gives me a runny nose and coats me in a thin layer of dirt. One gets dirty just by sitting outside.)

Is that all he has to talk about? The weather? Gentle reader, please forgive me, amongst the proper foreign correspondence, it is necessary to make at least passing reference to the mundane. (Although I find it rather comforting, when talking to a neighbor, to hear just how awful the chaleur is today. Human beings may be one of the more adaptable creatures living on this rock. Though, whether calling the frigid Siberia home or laying a mat down in Equatorial Guinea, man will complain about the weather. “Can you believe this heat?”)

So, let’s catch up. For TEFL, part of our work is to help improve the competency of our students, but additionally, the competency of the teachers. Things like encouraging new teaching methods, English immersion, professional practices, etc. In order to achieve this, we are required to have counter-parts at our schools. Our counterparts are allies in community and in the profession. Let me tell you about my buddies.

My first homologue is KOUAGO N’Koulou. I call him Kouago (his last/family name).  He arrived in village about a month after me. His is originally from Djougou, the capital city of the Department of Donga, so naturally, he is city-folk. I can speak more Biali then him to the great amusement of Dassari. The fella has been teaching English for 8 years all over Benin. He told me he chose to study and teach English because of Michael Jackson. When he was a kid, he heard some music from Thriller and was really confused. He did not know at the time that there were languages outside of Bariba and French. So naturally, he wanted to become a professional singer. Life continued, and teaching became a more viable choice. The way the Beninese school system is set up, if you are a full-time teacher, or permenant, the Ministry of Education sends you where they are inclined. Virtually all schools in the north are in need of teachers, so where you end up is due to the secrets of the bureaucracy. Thus, my colleague life has been transplanted into the middle of the bush. He doesn’t speak the language, the village doesn’t live up to his standard of living, and he doesn’t have any friends there. It is wonderful to go to lunch with him and here in complain about the awkward position of a bench or the cher prix of some chicken. My instincts at this point are to accept these small matters of life as usual. But Kouago indulges this unspoken part of my mind, that bitches and moans about the villageois choses.

My second homologue, GNAMMI Laurent is a first year teacher, fresh from 3 years at a Porto-Novo teacher’s college. He was raised in Porga, right on the border with Burkina Faso. After studying in the south, he came back to teach. It is nice to work with someone just as young and inexperienced. We can shake our heads after class and share the thought, “This can be so frustrating.” He has moved so quickly through school that is older brother is a student at our school.

Other notes:

•       Plenty of time to read. This season it has been: Mating by Norman Rush, Malaria Dreams by Stuart Stevens, We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Families by Philip Gourevitch, Moby-Dick, History in Africa in History by Basil Davidson and Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino (I read these last two at the same time. The two complemented each other wonderfully. Reading about these majestic ancient African cities that have disappeared over time and with a mystical recreation of those same cities by Calvino.) Raise High the Roofbeam Carpenter, Love in the Time of Cholera (while I felt like I had something close to cholera), Forest of a Thousand Daemons, to name a few
•         Check out http://www.awesometapes.com/ for excellent African music
•         Food, I have been making a rosemary potato lentil stew every week or so when potatoes pass through town, ginger sardine pasta, bean flour beignets, I made tuna casserole last night.
• NEW ADDRESS:
• Chazaq Llinas
  Corps de la Paix
  BP 168
  Natitingou, Benin
  Afrique L'ouest
  To prevent theft, write some bible verses on the letter/package to remind the world there are being watched by the Lord.

Happy Thanksgiving (by the way)!

The School Yard

Simple Past Tense

At the end of my cinqiéme class yesterday, I asked the students to pose questions. We had reviewed the simple past that class: "I played football yesterday", "Last night, we ate rice." Now it was their turn to ask questions about the past. The first few were either simple repetitions of question I had asked earlier or rephrasing of questions on the board. But then a girl in the front row caught me off guard, "Did you eat pastèque this morning?"

"Class, is this English? No! What is pastèque?" The children looked frustrated and repeated pastèque. "C'est un fruit." Were they talking about the watermelon I ate earlier today? It was the first time I had seen watermelon in the market. A rural Beninese village tends to have, to say the least, poor access to fresh fruits. In general, with certain produce, there is no assurance as whether it will return. So, excited, I ate my watermelon in the market. And my students knew. I replied, "Yes, I ate watermelon today." (Remember, "to eat" is irregular in the simple past.)

"Another question." A boy who sits on the left, with a low brow, thick hair, and wide spread eyes asked, "Did you eat tchouk today?" First, the correction at hand—"Class, do we eat water? Do we eat café? No, we drink water. We drink café. We drink tchouk."(The English language has yet to coin a name for the stuff.)—second, how did you know I drank tchouk this morning?

The girl who sold me the watermelon told me someone was asking for me "la bas". Following the girl, I saw M. Kassa seated under the wooden hangar, around the tchouk Mama (who was revealed to be the sister of my landlord, a wonderful lunch lady Mama Oben, who is a good friend of mine. A pillar of our friendship is that she does the same, noble work as my own mother, filling the bellies of hungry students "One cannot learn on an empty stomach."), with other old men. Sit down, he demanded, "On va boire." We are going to drink. We spoke of Russia, his son is studying medicine there, of Burkina Faso, the men argued about the rank in the military of the former president Blase, of hunting, he had guided many French, Americans, and other white men who came to Africa to shoot something. And now, my student asks, did I eat tchouk today? No, I did not eat tchouk today. Did I drink tchouk today? I replied "No, I did not drink tchouk today." It was more important at the moment to emphasize the negative form of the simple past then provide an accurate grocery survey. (Remember, irregular verbs are not changed in simple past negative.) Other volunteers had warned me of this, and it snuck up on me in, thankfully, a harmless way. These kids are watching me. They know what I ate for breakfast.

In spite of past promises of what these future entries will contain, this subject appears before me and seems worth presenting: the separation of private and public life. And this is not a solely a foreign question. Perhaps you remember, as a child, in the grocery store, passing a teacher in the aisle, and the mortal embarrassment that accompanied the revelation that, can it be, that the teacher has to go shopping? The teacher is relegated to a specific space and time and having that broken is shocking. ("I always thought the teachers sleep at school.") There was a student who asked me in the first week of model school, "Do you eat?" No, I survive on chalk dust and repetition. Maybe this is the question of a minor celebrity. There are headlines (right?) "So and So Buys Cup of Coffee". They are just like us!

But this question of public and private has a bit of a different context here because I am the only American living in town. I was going to say foreigner, but there are handle of Nigerians in town (who are treated with a friendly suspicious distance). To say it simply, I receive a lot of attention. Though, in the south, it has made evident by hordes of children in various levels of dress, screaming and chasing me. Here in Dassari, the surveillance is a little more low-key. My life is a source of constant amusement for my community members, who are delighted by the successes, failures, and simple activities, like eating a piece of watermelon. The children are not screaming, but they are watching.

The point of all this is that over time, I have been trying to adjust to life and let some things become normal. It is impossible to maintain the hyper-awareness of the fragments of day-to-day life. Yes, Maurice, the infant of my favorite breakfast spot, likes to poop out front of the café in the open. And the toddlers like to sit and play next to the basins full of freshly slaughtered goat. And for a while, I forgot how closely I am watched. My whole life has become absorbed by this professional obligation to Dassari. The teacher appears as less of a profession and more as a station. It is not a matter of taking up the hammer and making the work, and when the hammer is dropped, the work is over. I am still the "teacha" when I leave school.

Two Weeks

Bonjour tout le monde,

Where to begin? I write to you from Natitingou. A city built in a
valley between the Atacora Mountain Range. Life is slower in the
north, people speak softer, and there are less mosquitos, drier,
sleepier. This Sunday morning, all of the volunteers posted in the
department (Beninese equivalent of a state) of Atacora and Donga have
voyaged to the north. Our baggage is on its way, and as you can
imagine, it is difficult to move thirteen people across the country.
As I mentioned, I am overdue in communication. Let's go back a month a
half.

Two Weeks in Dassari

On the back of Chabbi's motorcycle, with the morning sun low on the
horizon, the bush speeds by. Farmers tended their plots of cotton,
manioc, maize, gumbo, riz, and igname . Baobabs erupted from the land
and mountains littered the plains, rising like whales emerging for
air. A cool, morning air rushed into my helmet, and it smelled rich
and green. We were headed towards Dassari on the gadron to Burkina
Faso.
Dassari is a small village 30 km from Tangueieta, a small city at the
corner of the Parc Penjari and the Atacora Mountain Range and 30 km
from Porga, the border village between Benin and Burkina Faso. The
population is undefined, as a proper census is difficult to conduct,
but I have heard from 12,000 to 24,000 in the village limits. If those
numbers are accurate, surely, half of the population is under 18. (The
country is full of children. It is normal for a family to have 5, 7,
15 children. This is for a variety of reasons—as a friend's host papa
described it, Africans are very "social".) There is one paved road
connecting Burkina Faso and Benin, the gadron (paved road), and it
splits the village in half.
For my two-week stay, I rested with the brother of Dassibou Kassa, my
official host family, Justin Kassa. Justin is a part-time professeur
de sport, veterinarian, and agricultural educator. When I first met
him, on the morning of August 2nd, he was drinking Sodjebai, palm wine
liquor—Beninese moonshine. By a wonderful coincidence, the same day I
arrived was the Fête de Dassari, held on the Saturday after the Nation
Fête de Independence. I was escorted all over town, meeting a chef or
patron here and a CA there, meeting all of the important men of power,
and it was one big party all over town. People were dancing and
drumming and eating seasoned pork. I met my director of the CEG
(principal of the school) in which I will be working. He is a former
radio broadcaster and has a voice of honey and is a true orator. He
loves formal presentations, so the day was full of "je voudrais
presenter mon cher collegue…" I tried to keep up with my director for
the night, but he more or less drank me under the table, and I fell
asleep not long after sunset.
For the next two weeks, I spent time traveling around the commune
(Beninese equivalent of county) meeting important members of the
community (in a more professional setting), introducing myself,
explaining why I am here, goals of my work in Dassari. I am the first
volunteer at Dassari, so I will spend much time explaining what the
Peace Corps is all about, what is my role for Dassari, etc. Luckily,
the TEFL program has a very clear objective: a volunteer has a primary
job teaching English at the local CEG (college d'enseignment generale,
or, public school). Other than that, a volunteer is expected to both
work improving the quality of pedagogical techniques employed by the
Beninese teachers and improve the academic community en generale, by
working with APE (association des parents et enseigneurs, PTA).
Chabbi is my homologue and we will be team-teaching.
The Peace Corps focuses a lot of training upon what it calls,
cultural integration. This manifests itself in a variety of ways, e.g.
language, dress, habits. PC is interested in seeing volunteers making
efforts of assimilate into the culture, adopt the mode de vivre, and
begin to build relationships. I have never has a job that has so
actively encouraged me to make friends. I may have had this
conversation with you, reader, before I came to Benin about the
"labor" of community building and development work. The cultivation of
relationships, understanding of lives, priorities and needs, appears
to be a necessary foundation for enriching the life of a community. I
find my work here to be so exciting and natural to my general
interaction with people, sometimes it doesn't feel like "work". (That
is a whole other topic of discussion, general cultural understanding
of labor and work.)

Some disorganized notes:
There is an excellent millet beer called Tchouk (pronounced chu-ku-tu
or chuke for short)), sort of like a cider. Everyday at the marche,
you can sit down for a moment and drink a calabash of Tchouk for
50CFA. It taste a little like a rich, acidic, thick cider. It served
as a crucial element of my community integration (i.e. sitting around
with my Byali tutor, drinking Tchouk, and practing Byali).

I am learning Byali, the local language of the Berba people in the
region. It is a really fun language, people are always surprised to
see a white person speak it. (I also have to get a French tutor as I
did not successfully reach the minimum French level for post-training
[though I am suspect as to the accuracy of my final test, it is not a
battle worth fighting])

There are so many children and they are all so funny.

Everyone thinks I am Muslim because: (1) Razak or Razaki is a very
popular Muslim name and (2) my beard is very big.

Used a Lil' Wayne song that one of my students really liked as an
opportunity to practice English. (Mirrors feat. Bruno Mars)

Tchao Tchao

Quickly

I write to you quickly awaiting a ride. Here are a few things I will write in the future, things overdue:

• A 2 week trip to Dassari at the beginning of August
• The past three weeks of Cours de Vacances (Summer School)
• The local language at Dassari, Byali 
• Riding bikes on African roads
• Clothing! Tissue!
• Francais
• Beninese Politics

 For now, my plans for this afternoon are to visit a swimming pool her in Porto-Novo. Yesterday was the last day of school, and both the teachers and the students felt the restlessness and excitement. We recognized that with the students current attention span, the possibility of a three hour english class was thrown out, so for the last hour we sang English songs. I brought my guitar (by the way, I bought a guitar from a leaving volunteer--I am the third volunteer to have it. It was originally bought in Cape Verde, so it is much better quality than the regular Beninese guitars. It is a spanish guitar with a beautiful sound!) and we all learned "I've Been Working on the Railroad". 

Bye bye!