November 19, 2001 Letter
11/19/01
Bonjour tout le monde!
It's a sweaty afternoon here in Allada, Benin. After about two weeks here in my new home, life is beginning to exhibit some semblance of normality as I settle into a routine. But even in this moment of repose, my senses are barraged by a multiplicity of unfamiliar sights and sounds: the bleating of a goat outside of my window, the blaring of Latin American soap operas dubbed into French from the other side of the house, the smell of my own sweat at every moment during the day, the red clay earth that stains everything it touches.
First things first. My host family with whom I'll be for the next two months is wonderful and I feel very much at home. They have been able to anticipate many of my questions and concerns, and are very conscious of my overall health and well-being. The six people that I live with are my Mama, my brother Gilles, my sisters Yolanda, Annette and Placidia, and Annette's daughter Coralie. Placidia is the same age as me, otherwise the rest of my siblings are older (including Lodovec and Lucette, my other two siblings who no not live with me). Quite often other friends and relatives visit and I do my best to piece together the family tree.
The concept of family here in Benin is very broad. Any close friend is your brother or sister. An elder in the community is your Mama or Papa, and a friend's child is your niece, nephew, or own child. Even the concept of aunt and uncle is very foreign, and often these titles are evoked solely for the the benefit of us foreigners. The idea that it is the responsibility of the entire community to raise a child, and care for the sick, elderly, and poor is alive and well here, as I'm sure it is in many other cultures around the world. Therefore it is common to have people outside of the immediate family living in one's home. This has been a cause of confusion for many trainees, and along with the language barrier has given us more trouble than you can imagine. I would be surprised if all the Peace Corps trainees know exactly who everyone living in their home is, even after two weeks.
I believe that I have just about pieced together my family tree. A great thing about this concept of family is that I have already been accepted as a son and brother. I am quite sure that I will stay in contact with my host family throughout my service. We actually just had a completion of service party here this past weekend for the volunteer who stayed with this family two years ago. As the family processed out to the street to see him to his taxi bus their demeanor was sober, as if they were saying goodbye to their actual son/brother.
In addition to my family being very welcoming, my accomodations are also very nice. I have my own room, and share a sitting room and an area out back for bucket showers with my brother, Gilles. The house has four bedrooms in total and also a living room/dining room. A stone wall encloses our courtyard, which houses a cistern, a structure for cooking, some banana and orange trees, and two pit latrines which I can best describa as rustic porto-potties. Everything on our property is clean and well-kept, something that I cannot say about Allada as a whole. I do avoid the latrine and shower at night though, after a harrowing experience my first night here. I utilize avoidance and denial to their fullest extent in order to convince myself that the jurassic roaches do not actually exist.
The city that I live in, Allada, is a place of contrasts. Pockets of moderate wealth are surrounded by destitute poverty, one major paved road invites roaring vehicles past gorge-like dirt side-roads, and in the shadow of a recently completed cellular tower families throw their garbage into the streets and set it ablaze. And just today, I went to the internet cafe after having bought a midday snack from a vendeuse clad only in a skirt.
But of all the contrasts, I feel at times that the biggest one is created by our presence here. We Americans are a novelty to the Beninese people. Heads turn and voices raise whenever I pass down the street. Most of the time, people on the street simply greet me and I reciprocate (salutation in Benin is of utmost importance) but more often than I care for the interactions are less congenial. Little kids sing the "Yovo" song in chorus, adults hiss, and people of all ages cry "Yovo" as I pass by.
"Yovo" is of colonial origin, and is used to describe and name foreigners, particularly Caucasian foreigners since it originally described Europeans. It is unbelievable how pervasive its use is here. The majority of people here don't seem to mean any ill will by it and most often it is just kids seeking attention. I do my best to keep an open mind and recognize the historical context of the term. When I have the energy I will stop and explain that I actually have a name, and they should use it instead of Yovo. It has been heartening to hear small pockets of kids begin to shout "Matthieu" as I pass by. For those interested, the text for the Yovo song is as follows: (Read: sung in a rather taunting manner)
"Yovo, Yovo Bonsoir Ca va bien. Merci".
If I am not mistaken, this means: "Foreigner/white person/, Foreigner/white person Good afternoon/evening, Things are going well. Thank you".
The song is meant to speak of the demeanor of foreigners, and how they would keep their interactions with the Beninese brief as they rushed by. It's a vicious cycle because the song makes us want to pass by without a word. A self-fulfilling prophecy I guess you could call it. Sometimes it is all I can do to smile and ignore. It is life in the bubble to the extreme, especially for a white, middle class male to whom the term "minority" has never really applied. I can only imagine how it will be when I get to my post where it is likely that foreigners are even less common.
It is difficult to overcome the preconceived notions people have of foreigners. There is a strong perception that we are rich (which even with our Peace Corps salary that comes out to a little over a dollar a day during training is probably true) and are here simply to give money to development projects or just to anyone on the street. I am beginning to understand Peace Corps' emphasis on skills transfer. With time and through relationships, I hope to overcome these preconcieved notions.
So you'll have to forgive me for my verbosity. Even with the wonderful Peace Corps support group I have here it is good for me to be able to share these experiences and emotions. I also write often in my journal, but it is nice to write home, too. At times I have mixed emotions, am surprised to look up and realize that I am not in Wisconsin. But each time I come back to center, I am content with the choices I have made.
Even as things here become less new and more routine, I still find excitement in everything I am doing, even when it involves being in a class 40 hours a week. Maybe in my next letter I'll write a bit more about what I'm learning in class. I'll tell you, class in an open-air bar on a sunny day in a tropical climate is way more exciting than in a stuffy classroom in Wisconsin (even if the material isn't always as exciting).
Thank you to everyone who has written, emailed or called. I received a package from my family today and included were hard copies of emails that were sent to her. I enjoyed reading each and every one - they were just what I needed after an exhausting week. The package took about three weeks to get to me, while a letter I recently sent home took about 2 1/2 weeks. If you wish to correspond one-on-one, please make sure that I have your address. Otherwise, my rantings and ravings will have to be accepted in mass letter form. I hope all is well with you at home. You are all in my thoughts and prayers.
Love,
Matt
p.s. Send pictures if you have them!
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