Matt Kopac's Peace Corps Web Site!

February 9, 2002 Letter

2/9/02

Happy New Year, Everyone!

For yet another year Father Time, in the age-old archetype, offers to us the hope for a new beginning, inspires in us new goals, and ushers to us new opportunities. It is all seemingly more significant for me this year than in years past, the arrival of 2002 coinciding almost exactly with my Peace Corps Trainee group's ascent from trainee to volunteer status.

With swearing-in only two days away, I feel excited but also emotionally taxed as I anticipate my imminent migration from Allada to Djougou, my post and home for the next two years. My emotions are mixed as the next phase of my experience comes into view. Living and working in a community independently is what I have looked forward to since first applying to Peace Corps, never giving training more than a passing thought before I arrived. Now, in addition to having left my family and friends back in the States, I must separate from my host family, my instructors, and the other soon-to-be volunteers with whom I have formed strong bonds. I have actually started to feel settled in Allada.

One factor that has contributed greatly to my level of comfort has been an atypical host family experience. No less enthused to arrive at my post, I'm probably only one of a few people that are sad to leave their host families behind. Most trainees are ready to make a break - just imagine living for three months with not just one person, but a whole family of persons with whom you have virtually nothing in common. The quarters are close; the personal space is scarce, you are an adult in a foreign country but must abide once again to a household's rules. It is hard for me to imagine that in some countries Peace Corps volunteers homestay for the full two years. But bring the devil's advocate that I am, I always love an exception and in this case I seem to be it. Notwithstanding being rudely awakened by my host brother's blaring Congolese music virtually every weekend, I have found very little to be frustrated with.

It was difficult for many Peace Corps Trainees, present company included, to be away from home for the holidays and I missed you all dearly. We persevered, of course, and I have some good stories to share as a result. First of all, I killed a chicken. No, I did not spell its demise simply by ordering a Crispy Chicken with fries and a coke, or by picking it out of my grocer's freezer all nice and wrapped in cellophane. After having avoided all animal killings, ritual and culinary, for three months, I finally did the deed in what we Americans would call the old-fashioned way.

In the days leading up to the holidays, Peace Corps mandated that the group of us prepare a diverse and well-balanced meal to prove that we will not perish from starvation or malnourishment once we are alone at out posts. In addition to a wealth of other food items we purchased ten chickens. As we were being taught the proper procedure even the weakest of heart and stomach drew near, intrigued by the primordial nature of the occasion. I wavered on whether or not I wanted to do it as the first seven chickens met their fate at the hands of the experienced, the bold, the scared, the queasy, and the vegetarians among us. Finally, in what will probably be remembered as a quick transition from queasy to vegetarian, I took the legs of the eigth chicken under one foot, the wings under the other, the head in my left hand, and the knife in my right. I waited until water was given to the chicken, a customary Beninese last rite, and then proceeded. The whole experience probably would have been less traumatic for many of us if the blade hadn't been so dull. Nevertheless, I survived even if the chicken didn't.

For the holidays, a large group of us including the Environment trainees of the north planned another exodus to the beaches of Grand Popo, the Beninese version of a tourist trap. I spent Dec. 23rd and the morning of the 24th there before heading back to Allada to celebrate Christmas Eve with my host family. The cultural highlight of my experience took place the morning of the 24th after sleeping on the beach, lulled by the stars and breaking waves the night before. As I relaxed on the shoreline and dug my toes into the sand still cool from the night air, I spotted a boat of fishermen on the horizon, navigating their way back to shore. They had cast their nets into the ocean miles out the night before and were returning to realize their catch. Soon, the water was dotted with a number of ancient, elegantly carved sea vessels and their crews, and communities of villagers began to line up on the shore to welcome them. Once at shore, the men of each boat lined up alternately on each side of their respective ropes that connected them to their bounty. While one member sounded off African rhythms on a bell, the others heaved in a rhythmic fashion while singing call and response tunes.

After casually observing for some time, a few of us decided to lend our scrawny frames to the cause. I practically bloodied my hands after only ten minutes until a woman from the community, who had been behind us collecting the rope as it was drawn in, brought me a towel to protect my hands. She accompanied it with an amused but friendly expression. The whole experience was pretty surreal. I'm not sure if we bridged a gap between two worlds or merely reinforced the fact that such a gap exists. I remember thinking how odd it was that what was for me a cultural and ephemeral experience was for these people their livelihood. This irony was not lost on me. Nonetheless, they graciously humored us and I believe actualy enjoyed our presence.

When the nets were all in a small group of us purchased two barracudas and a tuna the size of my torso. Only one of us had ever gutted a fish so we figured it out as we went. We grilled them right there on the beach, the freshest fish I have ever tasted.

Christmas I spent with my host family. Throughout the evening of Christmas Eve my family played my Christmas tapes - Bing Crosby and the Muppets' "A Christmas Together" (the requisite holiday music anywhere in the world, if you ask me). Just before midnight, my host family began to decorate, but all was quiet and no appearance of a celebration was apparent - until.......

*Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse....
When what to my great surprise did I hear
But the familiar voice of Miss Britney Spears!
So Christmas 2001 was heralded in
By this pop queen's "Oops, I did it again"
On a mix tape sent from the States just last year
To my host family from a former Peace Corps Volunteer.

I must say, I was very amused, (and yes, Dan Kanninen, I sang the base line just for you). It's nice to know that Peace Corps is imparting to the rest of the world the finer aspects of American culture. :) After we had our fill of American pop hits, the Afro-Brazilian beats came out and we danced until the wee hours. It was different, but fun. Christmas Day was spent feasting with family and fetting (sorry, franglais for partying) with friends. It was kind of funny, because nobody new exactly when midnight was to signal the arrival of the new year. There was no ball dropping or Dick Clark counting so there wasn't quite the same anticipation. In my host family's home there are three clocks, each showing a slightly different time, the slowest and the fastest about eight minutes apart. I believe the slowest showed 12:03 when everyone started cheering and ran outside to light sparklers. I was a bit befuddled, but enjoyed the moment, sparkler in hand and a cool night's breeze like it was the 4th of July.

Seeing how I'm so close to the next stage, I thought I'd reflect on a few aspects of life to which I have become accustomed, and those that still grate on me. To begin, some things I've gotten used to are:

Public Nudity: OK, so maybe it's only partial nudity, but it was a bit different for me at first to walk down the street and see topless women of all ages going about their daily business. I remember the mortification I felt the first time I ate dinner with my host mother, who to combat the heat was fanning herself with the shirt she was wearing. (Read: Undergarments not comon here.) I remember becoming an expert at making eye contact while engaged in conversation with my host sister while she breastfed her baby. It is interesting to me how different conceptions of modesty develop in different cultures. My experience thus far has been that women must cover their thighs and knees or they are thought lewd.

This all, of course, depends on the region in question, and also seems to be changing overall with increased contact with other cultures. For example, most younger women in areas with any development cover themselves nowadays. I've also been told there is increasing pressure for women to be thin (probably influenced to some degree by the London fashion shows that air every day on the Beninese national TV channel), but it is still considered desirable for a man to have a large wife, which apparently proves that he has adequately provided for her.

Yovo:
In this case, I wouldn't say as much as "gotten used to" - "learned to tolerate well", works a bit better. But there finally came a breaking point where I realized it was ridiculous for me to become angry at bright-eyed kids that were merely fascinated by my existence. It is a bit tougher to accept this from adults, but I just try to recognize the intention behind them saying it rather than merely how it comes off. It is still a work in progress, but I do well to smile and wave despite my occasional off-day. An interesting aspect of culture here relating to this is that people identify each other here by their obvious characteristics. It's probably hard to get used to because I am so used to America's politically correct culture. But in Benin, for example, people will refer to "the short guy", "the woman with one arm", or "the guy with the fat wife". These ways of referring to people are not considered rude, and as far as I know people are not offended by them. Can you imagine this in the States?

There are also quite a few aspects of life here that are difficult to adjust to, some within time I'll get used to (for better or worse) and others that will be difficult to accept throughout my two years here. Here are a couple of them:

Garbage disposal: Three is no place to put trash here and it continues to amaze me. I admit, there are times now when on the street I'll throw garbage on the ground, but I don't like doing it!

The role of women: This is a difficult subject to broach here since most people, or at least most men and the women too intimidated to speak up, seem to accept the status quo. Amelioration of the place of women in society in the developing world is one of the Peace Corps' foremost initiatives, and Benin is no exception as far as needs in this area. As an outsider in a different culture, I've found out that starting out in a paradigm of cultural/moral relativism is helpful when trying to integrate and in trying not to judge. It's a delicate line to toe, keeping one's own culture and self intact but trying to understand and accept another. But I still believe that some truths are universal. And just like American society which didn't give women the vote until just a few decades ago and dosen't provide equal pay for equal work, there is much work to be done in Benin on the gender equality front. For instance, in some areas in Benin polygamy is still a common practice and is vehemently touted by its supporters for its practicality. For example, people believe almost without exception that there are four to six times as many women as men in Benin. Even when I mention that the world gender ratio is virtually 1:1 and that the biological statistical probability of having a boy or a girl is the same, both men and women alike insist that Benin is an exception, like it's some hallowed oasis untouched by the world's logic. Now, I have not seen a recent census but I'm willing to bet my year's salary [granted it's just $1,000] that the reproductive pattern in Benin closely mirrors that of the rest of that world. The point of all this is, is that this misunderstanding is used as an argument in favor of polygamy, i.e. without polygamy many women would be left husbandless. To detail the myriad reasons give for why Benin has more women than men would take more brain power than I have right now. Incidentally, it is also believed here that it is acceptable for men to cheat on their wives, what is called the "deuxieme bureau" or second office, but not OK for women to do the same. Interestingly enough, many people here refer to this practice as "American polygamy". Food for thought..... Out of it all, what has frustrated me most has been when women have argued to me a man's right to have multiple wives, or explained that licentiousness is simply a part of a man's nature, or have spoken against such practices but only because they believe they cause jealousy between women.

Needless to say, I have had some interesting discussions in which I have walked a fine line. I enjoy telling the Beninese that polygamy is illegal in the U.S. which seems to carry some weight, and often I ask about the practice of polyandry (women taking multiple husbands) which elicits without fail shock or laughter. There are a few issues which I don't mind trying to make people uncomfortable. Of course, I suffer similar ambarassment when I am confronted about "American polygamy" or the fact that my country still supports capital punishment.

Requests:
What has been most likely been the toughest aspect of life here thus far has been receiving and refusing requests for money and possessions. While I was alerted that a request can be considered simply a compliment, (i.e. "Give me your bike" can mean "I like your bike") or can be only a game or an attention-getter, for the most part a request is an expectation to receive something. The constant bombardment that we receive has put me on an emotional rollercoaster which becomes a vicious cycle. I begin with a feeling of compassion. One of the major reasons one joins the Peace Corps is to be of assistance, to give of oneself. But there are days when I walk down the street and hear "Yovo, donne-moi cent francs" (Read: Give me 100 francs) more times than I can count and I become annoyed and frustrated. Even when someone asks me for the address of someone in the States they can write to (which pretty much eveyone asks for in addition to my address so they can write me two years from now when I depart) I don't want to oblige. I feel overwhelmed by their expectations and by the prospect of accomodating even a small percentage of their demands. I've even been asked to pay for the schooling of two children. When I reflect, my anger often turns to guilt. I remind myself that the money in my pockets and the value of the clothes on my back are more than many people I encountercan hope for in a lifetime. The Beninois live in a society where there is the opportunity for education but a scarcity of opportunity for gainful employment. And in a culture that is much more community oriented than in the U.S., it is only natural to look to friends and family (and foreigners I guess, too) for the leg up that the state does not provide.

So the guilt leads to perspective and perspective leads once again to compassion. I'm doing my best to remain in a state of constant compassion but it is exhausting and more than I can handle at times. Ah, life in the fishbowl.....probably what I need most is to relax and take it slow - not everything can be solved in a day. I imagine that staring at the wall enough once I get to post (which I hear new volunteers do a lot of) will contribute towards this end. :)

So on that whirlwind of a note I bring this edition to a close. As you can probably tell, this is a time dominated by a multiplicity of emotions and often they do just that - dominate. In the end, though, I have many more reasons to smile and be thankful than I do to fret so I'm able to maintain a pretty positive attitude. As I stated at the outset of this letter, this is a new beginning for me, a time for new goals and a time that will provide new opportunities. The next time you hear from me I will be Matt Kopac PCV, no longer Matt Kopac PCT. While no major change is taking place besides my move from Allada to Djougou, I'm still going to bask in the symbolism of it all and look forward to the challenges that lie ahead. I hope all is well on your end.

Love,

Matt