***Originally supposed to be posted Aug 27 2012***
Like my previous entry, this will include a series of stories with morals which I will do my best to point out to those less analytically inclined. However not all have a humorous aspect (as was a common theme last time). Ok, just the one then.
All Hail the Chief
My Goumori host father knocked on my open door while entering with breakfast; tea, Bariba sweet bread, and a hardboiled egg. He looked like he did every day in every detail: same gray slightly worn pants, green shirt with two yellow vertical stripes at the arms, and even the same facial expression as if to say “What’s the plan for today?” But instead, he simply said, “The chief is dead” and walked out.
I wasn’t sure how exactly to take this news. I had just gotten to the village and hadn’t even met ‘le chief de l’arrandissiment’ yet. As far as I could tell, he had been sick for some time now, and was unable to entertain guests. After eating my breakfast I decided to try to see what the appropriate steps were to take, and as I knew most of the department’s governing officials at this point, it wouldn’t be too difficult.
As it turns out, the chief was a non practicing Muslim, so I ended up going to the late chief’s house to give my condolences to his family. I didn’t stay long, though showing up was defiantly the right choice. It showed them I was, and am, an invested member of the community.
I hate to say that I never knew the chief. What kind of man he was, what he did in life, or who he loved, but I have to. He was an important man who has an entire village to mourn him. I can only hope that I leave such an impact over the course of my life.
Shortly after the funeral was the party. Unlike Americans, the Beninese celebrate life by having one hell of a party, sometimes for days. This event was no exception. I was fed rediculous ammounts of food and strange types of alcohol for almost 24 hours strait along with the rest of the 28,000 citizens of Goumori.
The Moral: Death means different things to different people. You can make of it what you will.
Mario Cart Racing
Long road trips always have some fantastical feature to them (If you’re doing it right), and my return trip from Goumori to Porto Novo was done right.
Before I continue I think it’s best to give my definition of a bush taxi. These are not your first world, yellow, safe (in terms of it has seatbelts), and driver friendly modes of transportation. These are (usually) 4 wheeled sardine cans with goats on top.
Here is how it works; take that car that you drove into the ground back in college and send it to Africa, use some sort of mechanical miracle to get it to start again, weld a rack on the top, stick an extra half an axel in the back, ensure there’s a gas leak in the cab, remove or disable all safety features, force the windows permanently down (so that the goat urine from the roof can leak onto those sitting by the windows), add an extra row of seats in the trunk, and shove 10 people plus 2 metric tons of luggage in a car that originally held 5 people and is tow rated for 1 metric ton.
Sorry grammar Nazis, I’m sure I violated about twenty rules just then, but once again, Josh = science stuff, Josh ≠ English stuff.
Back to the story. The other 8 trainees and I, in all of our wisdom, decided to take the wonderful bush taxi instead of the bus in which you actually get a seat to yourself and a noted lack of headache inducing gas fumigation. We did at least buy out the entire taxi so we were able to sit only half on the person next to us instead of full on ‘sitting on Santa’s lap’ positions. The overall trip is the distance of Pennsylvania (longways) which isn’t so bad in the states, but in Benin there are . . . test track conditions.
You know those commercials showing how great ford trucks can swerve between cones and drive over a long series of 2 inch speed bumps? Well, the cones are felled trees intentionally placed on the roads, and the speed bumps are just a tad bigger with foot deep pothole surprises in-between them. All this at 50 to 60mph, and that’s before you get to the fun road.
Now China has been busy replacing many of the worn out roads here, but the project is far from completed. Once you get about halfway down the country (to Parakou) you have a choice; take the nice brand new road directly to Porto Novo (my destination), or take the real life version of Choco Mountain from Mario Cart Racing Pothole Edition to Cotonou (not my destination). Seriously, all we needed were shooting turtle shells and it would have been all set.
Banana peels? Check
Oil slicks? Check
Swerving at 50kph into oncoming semi’s? Check
Actively racing the cars next to you like you’re on a bumper car speed track? Check
As you can guess, our driver decided to take the bad road, and unlike the game, I don’t have a little angle dude on a cloud to fish me out of a ditch. However he must have had some practice cause I’m writing this post and only had to stay in my happy place for 5 hours.
We actually didn’t make it back to Porto Novo that day cause by the time we made it to Cotonou it was dark, and Peace Corps gets touchy about that. I’m not complaining in the least though as I was able to stay in a German Hostel in the Yovo district and eat actual pizza.
You might think that the moral here is take the bus, not the taxi, but it’s not. You’ve gotta do things like this in life because while it can be ‘interesting’, you need to experience what poor Mario goes through countless times cause you don’t want to talk to the other people at the party.
Sorry to those of you who have no idea who Mario is. If you ask anyone under the age of 25, I’m sure they would be happy to clear it up for you. If you are under the age of 25 and don’t know Mario, your parents and friends failed you horribly (Cause even my host brother here in Africa knows Mario).
How To Build A Mud Stove
So I’m now back in Porto Novo for ITT (Intensive Technical Training) which is exactly what it sounds like. One of my professors back in the states put it best,
“The knowledge is the water, and I’m the fireman aiming the hose at your face expecting you to drink every drop, open wide.” Maniacal laughing . . . fwoosh!
Anyway, one subject was ‘how to build a mud stove’ and it was awesome. Here are the steps as I took them.
1. Revert to 5 year old you
2. Remove your shoes
3. Jump in clay/mud for a good 10 minutes making “that’s what he/she said*” jokes
4. Ignore that there are probably hookworms and glass in said mud
5. Grab huge handfuls of thoroughly aerated mud (throw a few at other people if so inclined)
6. Build a mud man (like a snowman, or throw mud at a man, your choice)
7. Build actual mud-stove (Google it if you want to know how to build an actual mud stove, these instructions won’t help with that)
8. Continue making “that’s what he/she said*” jokes
9. Write things that 13 year old you would have written in the final drying product with your finger
*Revert to 13 year old you for this step
This concludes how to build a mud stove. I expect all of you to be cooking with these when I return in two years.
Stop Screen Hacking Me Bro!
You know those wonderful offers from Nigerian Princes offering you their fortunes for the mere price of your bank account information and social security number? Yea, they have those here too. Not that difficult to believe considering I could probably throw a rock into Nigeria from here.
Anyway, I was sitting at the local cyber cafe checking my e-mail/facebook stalking America, when I get a new message. Custemer.Sirvice@WesternUnion.benin.com (or some such thing) wants me to know that I have untold fortunes waiting to be picked up from their Benin location if I just send back my bank account number for confirmation! Oh lucky day!
As this seemed a bit to convenient, I looked around the internet cafe on a hunch. Low and behold the guy sitting next to me (currently smiling at me nonetheless) had this exact email on his screen.
Moral? Douchbags screen hack in every culture. Oh, and don’t show private info on a public terminal, you know, like bank log-in stuff at a public cyber cafe in Africa.
Some Other Funny Titles With Not Such Funny Stories That I Don’t Feel Like Going Over Just Now But You Can Still Use Your Imagination to Figure It Out
I’ve Got Something in My Pocket (That’s Not) For You
Hey Look, A Bush Rat . . . Mmmmmm
Bush Antelope = Dog. Wish I Knew That BEFORE I Ate It
I Think That’s Infected
Why 120,000 (fcfa) Might Not Be Enough For That
So I graduate from ‘Stage’ on Friday the 14th. It’s been a hell of a time, and while I’m sure I’m going to miss everyone from my training class, I cannot wait to head back to post. . . I get more flying bull stories there.
