Food

Food Last Thursday, at the dinner table, my host Mama was in a playful mood and told me that I was a Beninois. I asked her why and she said it was because I always finished my food, with frenzy. Food is a important aspect of my integration in Benin at this moment in particular because it is nonverbal. In a visceral way, it is my most direct engagement with the way of life. But Dinner is also an opportunity to engage with the verbal world. The table is a good place for conversation. I want to take some space and describe some of the food here in Benin.
 Breakfast At 4hrs, the venduse begin selling their bread, door to door. The Beninese like their bread fresh. Colonization has left its mark in the taste of the Beninese. The bread of choice is the baguette. And because there is limited resources for food preservation and subsequently transportation every neighborhood has their own bakery. And all the bread is still warm and soft when the venduse walks into your concession for your breakfast. Breakfast is much the same. I eat bread with eggs and coffee. Sometimes the eggs have vegetables, pimentos and tomatoes and onions. Sometimes the eggs are scrambled and others boiled. The coffee is instant but good. A small cultural difference: in our house we drink coffee and tea out of bowls, wine out of glasses Last week, I had to go to my language class early. My host mama had not yet got up because she was sick.( another cultural note: in Benin it is okay to wake someone up whenever. There is some deep cultural programing within me that has yet allowed me to do this.) Instead, on my way to class, I bought six baignets from a bonne mama. Mamas are informal entrepreneurs who sell goods on the side of the road and corners. Mama Baignet fries small balls of sweet dough in a giant iron skillet full of oil over fire. They are delightful.
 Lunch If I am at Songhai, I go to the same bonne mama every time. I like to get beans and rice or attasi with a hard boiled egg or a piece of fish. She also has the classic Beninese sauce rouge which is made with tomatoes, piments, garlic, onions, palm oil and fish. My plate is always sprinkled with gari. Gari is made from the akasa root. It is a savory, crunchy, versatile flour. Imagine parmesan cheese except made from potato chips. I go there every time for a couple reasons. I know what I am getting, and a little bit of predictability is nice. Also, the mama smiles and knows what I like. I want to support her and it is an opportunity to build a relationship. Commerce in Benin is still a mixture of different modes of life. Benin has not divided the day into "work first, socialization later''. Unlike the west, the agora has not been reduced to mere consumption. But rather there is a robust social exchange. I have learned a lot of French and met a lot of my neighbours just by buying a pineapple and chatting with mama florent.
 Dinner My first dinner with my host family was with my brother. We had fried chicken in plain pasta with soda. This is the same thing any 20 something would make. I was worried at first that this would be the standard fare. Thankfully, I have had many more meals. The most distinctly Beninese meal that comes to mind is pâte with sauce rouge and fish. Pâte is a congealed starch made with various flours, mill, maize, riz, soja. It is boiled and then whipped vigorously with a wooden spatula. The sauce rouge is the same as the mama. One eats with their hands. My host mama told me that it is the only way to ingest the essence of the food, by bringing your fingers to your lips. One grabs a little piece of pate, dip it in the sauce, and enjoy. Other meals of note: beans with fried plantains, fried fish + pineapples and red wine for dessert ,A lot of rice ,Pasta with tomatoes and hardboiled egg, goat stew with potatoes and carrots, Boiled yams with bean sauce
 Bonne cuisine from Benin!

Animals

This morning, a rooster was in our concession. While I drank my coffee, he crowed from beneath an old car. The roosters begin crowing at 5, an hour after the first call to prayer. From my other window, I like to watch the goats in the smaller courtyard. The kids move so abruptly, the way they hop into the air barely moving their legs. The cock of the head gestures towards a day when he will have horns. From my bedroom door, one can see a small herd of goat on a neighboring roof. Goats like to eat the table scraps which we leave in the front. On a small walk, a small cow and I noticed each other before the rain. Her skin was taunt around her ribs. On the same walk, a pig rooted through the neighbourhood dump. Madam Rose, my neighbour, has a small white and brown cat. The cat has a sharp triangle head and may weigh one kilogram. Animals wander all through the streets. Sometimes they are privileged enough for a ride on the back of a zem. They all share they same ambivalent, otherworldly stare. Someone has a claim to this rooster, but its movement speaks otherwise. Possession is not the right word.

One does not touch the animals in the street because they roll in filth. The Beninese care deeply about cleanliness and animals are not for touching. But once they are cooked, we use our hands. Animals are also used for the voodoo fetishes. The Voodoo faith recognizes the elusive power of these cohabitants.

Some mornings, a tourterelle sits on my window sill. The tourterelle sings for a moment and leaves. One lives closer to animals here in Benin.

Training

Bonsoir,

             Happy 4th of July! I write to you from an overcast Porto Novo. Class was let out early today, so I now have a chance to check in.

             I am living in Porto Novo, the capital of Benin. I live in the Tchanvie district, near the Church of St. Paul and Peter. We are in the deuxieme d’arrondissment (second district). My host mama is actually the chef (mayor) of the second district. I live in with the Houenou family. There is Mama Gisele, Papa Mike, Aunt Victoire, and my brother Romeo. Mama Gisele is the chief; Papa is a civil engineer; Aunt a retired French teacher, and Romeo is studying to become a certified electrician. (If my English sounds a bit primitive, it is because I have been working mainly in beginners’ French.)
            My house is about 3 km away from Songhai, where myself and the other Peace Corps Trainees are studying French, Beninese culture, and English education. (Side note: Songhaï is a really interesting structured community. It is founded on a integrative model of an urban village, incorporating renewable energy, raising animals and agriculture, communication, education, and entrepreneurship. Us at Peace Corps are simply visitors, utilizing the space. I will devote a later post to talking more about Songhaï.

            I will try to sketch out one of my baseline days to give you a sense of the kind of life I live during training. At a later date, I will describe the certain cultural events, objects, and customs that may appear in this introduction. I am in many ways overwhelmed by the Beninese life and need some time to observe it if I want to describe it to you with any verity.

            I wake up at about 600 hrs. (Actually, I wake up at about 400 because of the call to prayer during Ramadan.) I meditate for about 15 minutes. I take my bucket shower and brush my teeth. I like to use the brossé-vegetable in the mornings (made from quinine wood) and American style in the evening. My house does not have running water (even a district mayor needs a well in this town!) so I carry all of the water I use up to my room on the second floor. The bucket bath is what you expect if I gave you a barrel of water, a bowl, and a bar of soap. I gasp every time I pour the first bucket over my head. I dress and gather my things for the day. My mama normally prepares some scrambled eggs with tomatoes, onions, and pimentos with a baguette.

            For the first week, I took a zemidjan (or kekemoto) to Songhaï. Motorcycles are the transportation of choice of the Beninoise, roughly outnumbering cars 50 to 1. A regular ride costs 200 cfa.  (Under 50 cents) (Though, one of the interesting things about Benin is one has to barter often. The zem will usually introduce a the price at 350-400 because I am a Yovo (white person), and I will respond that is to high and suggest 150 or 200. We meet in the middle. Never more that 300.)

            At Songhai, we have 8 hours of class throughout the week. Most of the 2 hour blocks are French. But often it is mixed with cultural work, safety, and TEFL. (Why are you speaking French in an African country? Good question. Quick history: the French colonized West Africa in the 1800’s {correct me if I am wrong}. The French took control of the government. Now, after decolonization, it is still the official language of Benin and others West African nations.

            For lunch, I like to go to a bonne mama. They are women who sell prepared food on the side of the road. I like to get beans and rice with red sauce and a piece of fish or a hardboiled egg, 300-400 cfa. On my way back, I can get a whole pineapple for 100 cfa, sliced and ready to eat in a moment. The pineapples here are incredible.

            After another 4 hours of class, I head home. We received bikes on Monday, and that has been my transportation of choice. I arrive home around 1800 heurs (Benin likes the 24-hr clock) and I have a couple hours before dinner at my disposable. I draw water from the well, I boil water to drink, write, talk with the children in the street, watch mama make dinner (I am not allowed to help quite yet). Diner is usually a meat with a starch and a vegetable sauce: akasa with fish, pâte with chicken, beans and rice topped with gari, fried bananas.

            I tell my family goodnight and head to my room to bathe again, meditate, finish any homework. I crawl underneath my mosquito net and fall asleep to the sound of the buchette playing fête music, or the church broadcasting its sermon over the loudspeakers, with the goats in the neighbors’ courtyard crying, the mills motor which hopefully turns of at 2000 hr, and the crickets. I do not need earplugs or a sheet because I am always so exhausted and excited.

            As I was sitting earlier this week, I felt like I fully arrived and a wave of giddiness swept over me. I noticed an emerging love for this country and people and food and smell and life. My French needs some work, but I feel so incredibly lucky to live in Benin for the next 26 months.

A bientôt,

Chazaq

Packed Bags

That's it!

A Look at "Divine Carcasse"

This film was shared with Future PCVs in Benin. It is called Divine Carcasse (1998). 

Click here to view the film on Youtube.

      The film, as a whole, is framed by two scenes of vessels.  These scenes are not simply motion of ships, but a bearing of a sacred cargo. With the knowledge of the objects upon these ships,  these ships are transformed into arks. Though, the divinities that these arks carry are of a different kind.

      The first in its opening shot, is of an ominous freighter approaching the camera. To an eye unfamiliar with this technology, it does not even appear to move, but simply lurk upon the horizon with dreadful authority .  We come to see in the following scene that this ship bears precious cargo, a 1950's Peugeot. 

      The second scene, a quiet, crawling ride down a river, reveals a punt bearing the same Peugeot. But the Peugeot, over the course of the film, has undergone a metamorphosis. After passing through many hands, the Peugeot has been left as junk. A metal-worker has been called to construct a fetish of the spirit Agbo. The punt  has become a vessel of divinity.

      The film allows the viewer to compare two kinds of mythology. The mythology of the France, held by the expatriate philosophy teacher, in which the Peugeot lives as a symbol of nostalgia and youth. This is an disenchanted nostalgia though, because the Peugeot survives simply as a commodity. Compare this with the mythology of the Benin, in which the Peugeot is quite literally, re-enchanted with the spirit of Agbo. 

This comparison is made most evident in a scene at 17.25:

Joseph: Do you know what they call a car like this in France?
Joseph: An ancestor. 
Villager: An ancestor?
Villager: Can you call a car an ancestor?
Joseph: That's what the French call it.
Villager: We can't call it that. Here we have our own ancestors, who protect and guide us. It can't be our protection god. It's nothing but an old car.
Joseph: Yes. Still, it's in good shape. See how it bore me from afar.
Villager: You can't call a living object an ancestor.
Villager: Still, it is nice.

     In an disenchanted France, the Peugeot is given a ironic pejorative with the phrase ancestor. The objects of antiquity to the western world are junk. The village's rejection of the name "ancestor" is two-fold: an "ancestor" is far more powerful than a mere machine, and an ancestor, by necessity, must not be alive. The village attributes the Peugeot spirit, but denies it the status of ancestor. (I am unfamiliar with what language is being used in this scene, but the corresponding words appears to be "tabo" or "tapo". I will do some investigating later to find out what that word means.)

     These are simply cursory sketches of the relations of mythological modes of the west and Benin. This film serves as equal parts documentary-ethnography and a fictionalized metamorphosis myth. I see an fascinating intersection of Western Capitalism, Beninese Vodun, language, and man's relationship with objects in this film. I look forward to exploring more of this in my service in Benin.

      I can not help but be reminded of Baudelaire's own divine carcass in "Une Charogne", another divine metamorphosis, or re-enchantment. Read it here: http://fleursdumal.org/poem/126

Benin Bound

Hello friends, family, future/current/past PCVs, the curious,

      Next Monday, June 23rd,  I fly from JFK airport to Cotonou, Benin, to begin an adventure of service and education. I have been invited by the Peace Corps to serve as a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) Teacher in the Education Sector. 

      This departure becomes more real in writing. The past few months have been full of anticipation, emails, packing lists, blogs, anxiety, doctors' visits, excitement, french, goodbyes, all in attempt to ground this future in reality. Within the necessary preparations of moving to a new hemisphere, there is a presence of the enchanted in this new work. 

      But this opportunity comes with serious responsibilities. This blog will serve as one those responsibilities.  I intend for this space to serve a two-fold purpose: 1) I want to tell you, my reader, about a people you may be unfamiliar with, and 2) I want this to be a place where we can meet.

      This may be your first encounter with Benin. Perhaps the first time you had ever heard of Benin was through me. When John F. Kennedy created the Peace Corps in 1961, the institution was founded upon promoting world peace and friendship to all people. To achieve this end, three goals were established:

• To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women
• To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served
• To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans

For my American readers, this blog will serve as an attempt to provide that understanding of the Beninese people. For my future Beninese reader, I hope this can provide an understanding of the American people as well.

     If all goes well, I will be in Benin for 27 months, until September 2016. I want to thank my mother, father, brother, cousins, grandfather, grandmother, grams, uncles, aunts, teachers, my friends in Baltimore, Annapolis, Ocean Pines, and those scattered on the earth. You, my reader, you hold a high place in my heart. I could not have made it here without you!

      I am still young and for me, 2 years is a long time (I have been told it is not). In my absence, imagine this blog as a front porch on a summer evening. Let us speak long and leisurely.