The Last Impression

   As I prepared myself and my bags to return to my country of origin, friends dropped by the bach and called to say good-byes. I was impressed again by a trait in these people that I had noticed not long after I landed on Benin soil. They are chalereux, a kind and warm people that quickly made their way into my heart. During the last 18 months the common welcome greeting "bonne arrivée" was repeated over and over as I made my way from city to city, village to village, home to home, taxi to taxi and even walking down unknown streets. That welcome received made me feel that I was betraying Canada, which became the country of my origin, Benin replacing it as my home. 

   So, as the plane circled Toronto I was pleased to feel a stirring while following the pattern of roads to place the homes and faces of friends that I have known since my childhood. Standing in the customs line I noticed Toronto's multicultural identity, a tolerant identity that marked me in my school years. 

   It was so good to see a group of very familiar faces waiting for me as I exited the secure area of the airport. I could only greet them after I calmed my dancing mother with a long hug. We all visited while I swaddled myself with warm clothes to face weather at least 30 degrees lower than that of Benin's. I squeeled at the comfort, quietness and efficiency of the vehicle I rode home in. At home a salad was served upon request, as the last time I had tasted romaine lettuce and bell peppers was before I left Canadian soil.   

    This morning I woke up in Africa until I became aware of my soft bed and the multitude of covers. My heart sunk for a moment before I smiled and gave myself to the reality of where I am. Eleven hours of undisturbed sleep has been my first shot at a rest that I have been anticipating.

   It has been an regrettably long time since my last impressions of Benin inspired me to write. Since then many more have been made. Impressions that will mark me into future years. Although this is the last, I hope it won't be the end of our correspondance. So, I will finish as always. 

Until next time... Alize   

Thirteenth Impressions

Remembering the day that I offered 300cfa for two cucumbers when
the lady had already offered 3 cucumbers for 200cfa, I thought that by
now I had the market scene figured out. Sometimes cutting the offered
price in half is accepted, other times I receive a disgusted look, and
I try to laugh it off. A smile can diffuse just about any situation
here. When I get home Doreen asks me how much I paid and I half
whisper hoping I haven't overpaid.
But this time I really got stung, right on the lower lip. The lady
reassured me that green peppers simply aren't in season but are still
worth 500cfa for a handful. I took my bag of shriveled, light green
peppers home, dipped them in some bleach water and started cutting.
The sting of heat soon hit my nose and in disbeleif I took a nibble at
the corner of one. My mouth instantly caught fire and Doreen chuckled
as I bounced around the kitchen with my tongue sticking out. NOT bell
peppers at all! The trickster.
They're all tricksters, even the young ones with their
convincing smiles. When I know that they're taxing me I praise them
for their good selling skills but stick with my price. I think most of
the time I am happily oblivious to their trickery.

Days turn into weeks, turn into months and there is a lot that
hasn't been recorded. In August a week was spent at Gbetagbo preparing
for convention. Circumstances had Rosanne, Kaarina and myself sitting
across from a line of bright black faces at meal time. "Brothers" is a
very loose term in these countries, including anyone from a neighbor
to the man who just lent you something, but these Beninois and
Togolese brothers have more than just circumstances to bond them.
Their teamwork spilled over into meal time when they all added to the
jokes until roaring laughter carried out into the schoolyard.
Four of us were invited to Ghana convention the next week. A
highlight was greeting a toothless Mrs. Ananavié everyday. She has
been faithful for decades although she lives in a secluded village in
the north of Ghana and rarely has fellowship.
We heard about Satan, if he were human, being a 'plausable old
gentleman' who manipulates our nature with the things of the
world. ...And that he becomes more and more cross the more we talk
about him. The convention ended with a Sunday night sing that echoed
into the evening sky. The poor neighbors -my lungs took a couple of
weeks to really recover.

Our uneventful Monday travels across the Ghana-Togo and Togo-
Benin borders led into a Tuesday trek to Parakou. Later the visitors
arrived and soon another shorter convention was under way.
The French West Africa list came out the week of Gbetagbo
convention. My name, this time, is at the top with Doreen Maynard
(it's at the bottom on the Ontario list) with Borgou / Donga beside
it. I had to think about where I would be going for a moment before
remembering good days spent in beloved Parakou. The convention went by
in a flash and the meetings and visits between have left lasting
memories.

When I first went to Nigeria I thought there was nothing better.
Then a few months later I went to sparkling, friendly Ghana. Returning
again to Nigeria I was won again by a group of wonderful friends
amidst a fury of western comforts and African realities. And if I were
to return to Ghana...?
It wasn't originally planned for me to attend the Nigeria
convention but an Irish sister wasn't able to get her visa which left
a gap. Part of what endeared Nigeria to me so was the unexpected 5
days I spent in the country after convention. The Ukegbu's welcomed me
into their home as family while most of the workers spent a couple of
nights there as well. I have now met all the English West African
staff and after cleanup day, feel like I know them pretty well also.
The young friends were a pleasure to be with, taking me back to
the glitzy mall with it's coffeeshops, leather upholstry and English
bookstore. Possibly because of Nigeria's prosperity and abundant
education initiatives the young ones are less timid than many Beninois
young people. The struggles that young people face seem to be the same
no matter the language or setting. And the source of strength will
never change either.

Last week, as Doreen and I weaved our way north from Cotonou I
watched the people, living spaces and animals on display with a
slightly different sentiment than one year ago.
I notice nuances now that I was once blind to. The wealthy homes
in a village stand out beside poorly maintained homes. Shiny tin roofs
glare in the sun, supported by perfectly strait mud walls beside a
neighboring thatch roof that matches the decaying fence. Yet at the
doors of even the nicer homes short brooms made of grass lean against
the wall and charcoal stoves sit out front. Taptaps, (French for the
sound that flipflops make) worn through at the heals, sit at the
threshhold, as if the dirt floors inside will be kept clean that way.
A few small windows are placed here and there, no more than one
per wall, many walls without. I realized that if the village were to
be evacuated, these haphazard windows would bear witness to lives
lived outside under the sun. Few short hours are spent asleep in the
cool that the mud holds onto during the hot days.

Our Gospel Meetings will start this Friday and Sunday and
hopefully the trips out to the mango tree will start again soon. The
brothers mentioned continuing interest there. The dirt track to Dogué
is closed to cars and trucks due to the state of the bridges. Only
motorbikes and walkers cross the rivers at the risk of being swept
away by the current. So our handful of friends there may be without
contact for some time to come. A trip to mosque abundant Djougou is
being planned for next week. Who knows, maybe we'll learn some more
patience from the turtle that shuttled us around that sunny afternoon
months ago.

Until next time...Alize

Twelfth Impressions

  Two Saturdays ago we arrived at the assigned meeting place and called Mama Fanuel, my knee-chafing friend from our fun busride. Rosanne kicked a football with some kids until our friend came running to greet us.
   Down a dirt sideroad we were welcomed into a home of women and children, oddly void of men and thankfully so. We had freedom to visit openly with the women and spend time singing with children who had evidently pulled out their nice clothes for us. Otherwise they might well have been half naked. I printed the words of "Jesus M'aime" in a fresh notebook and we sang the first verse over and over with the children. Some caught on quick, others distractedly watched our mouths to mimic the shapes our lips made as we sang.
   But even the youngest child had the rhythm down pat. Children as young as three can keep a complicated beat pounding their spoon on the bottom of their tin bowl. In the streets it's not odd to see someone dancing to a silent beat that's been bred into them as strong as their own heartbeat.
   Only time will tell if the women are truly interested in the Gospel as the meetings won't start again until October. Apart from the Gospel the topic of interest was their royal ancestry. After our visit and big bottles of pop we crossed the road to the tomb of their grandfather where he and his many wives once lived. Rooms that were once occupied by his wives are now occupied by descendants.
    We walked a little further to see the palace of the present "dah" or cheif of the large Quenum family.  As we entered the courtyard our friends caught a glimpse of the king himself through a doorway and immediately slipped off their sandals. All we saw was a man proudly touting a big belly above a pagne. They bowed as they approached him then kneeled at his feet touching their heads to the ground. An amused smile appeared on the man who we soon learned was a well travelled, english-speaking businessman. He allowed us a tour of the grounds but when the ladies asked if we could take photos he gave a grunt that dropped them to their knees before he smiled again and gave permission.

   Amy Marshall from Scotland and I recently took a trip into a setting again worthy of a National Geographic article. Ganvié is a stilt village built on one of Benin's three lakes. As we approached the heart of the village we saw through the stilts a cluster of dugouts tied together. Women sat relaxed with their market wares just inches from the water every so often scooping out the little water that had seeped into their boats.
   Across from the waterborne market we were helped out of the boat and greeted by "M" the hostess at Hotel Chez "M". In the room we looked through gaps in the floorboards to see lilies floating in the water below us. The shuttered windows revealed dugouts silently gliding through an alley heading to the throughway in front of the hotel. We sat in the courtyard until sundown with a curious monkey and "M" who lazily burned the ends of nylon ropes with her mosquito coil to make trinkets for tourists.
     As we paddled through the village the next day we caught a glimpse of hustling Cotonou on the edges of the lake. The roar of motors and horns seemed a world away as we heard only voices and laughter carrying across the water. It seemed like the pace of life for this village was only as fast as their boat would glide through the water. Old ladies sat low in their dugout, wisely working handmade paddles while youngsters, hardly old enough to read, pushed long poles into the earth below them, swiftly propelling themselves forward.
   Would they be able to retreive their canoe if it sunk? A small dugout costs about the same price as a motorbike. Althought we were surrounded by water it is by no means potable and a filling station sits opposite the market. Women and children, riding high with empty barrels, arrived to pay 25cfa (5 cents) per 50L. As a lady approached with 4 barrels Amy and I betted that she wouldn't make it home. She poled away from the station with less than an inch of her dugout showing.
   The next moment we saw barrels floating and the poor lady standing in waist-high water. She placed the barrels in a neighboring dugout and then reached into the water to lift her own dugout from the mud beneath her. Evidently she wasn't unaccustomed to the mishap. She pushed her boat back and forth stopping it abruptly to splash water out either end until it sat high again. M charged the man weilding the hose with filling not only her barrels but the dugout with water as well. Otherwise, I believe we would have lost the bet.

    Now we are on the convention grounds again. It has a completely different feeling than when I first arrived a year ago. I can decipher some of the nuances of culture and tradition that I was once blind to. For the most part life in Benin has become normal although I still see things that baffle me. Driving past a construction site I noticed a man on the roof of a tall building hauling one lonely brick some 200 ft with a pulley and rope. Early mornings reveal street sweeping crews that make me think that human labour is cheap.
  I once thought that babies necks must strengthen faster here because you see practically newborn babes on the backs of their mothers. But I was told that the wrap holds their head firmly until they are able to look around. Once or twice I have had the courage to pick up a small child by one arm. When I first arrived I thought the mother who carried her child out of meeting by the arm was a little incompetant.
    Children don't stay children long. The babying stage lasts only as long as there is no younger sibling, and younger siblings often come fast. I think every mother must secretly wish for a girl first to help her look after the rest of the children, although boys seem to be valued more.
   It is interesting to watch the family that lives here on the grounds. Often undernourished, children can lack personality into their teen years but here even the newest, called Juste David, at 9 months is vibrant! Mabelia is eight going on fourteen and Marjorelle is the three year old that shook her behind while banging out a beat on her tin bowl.

Until next time, friends... Alize

Eleventh Impressions

  My impressions are rarely laden with abundant feild news. Because our lives since February have been saturated with the 200km that our friends occupy west and north of Cotonou it's been hard to complete another impression. It has not been for a lack of stirring, amusing or baffling experiences.

  After our Wednesday evening study this week Rosanne and I stood for a while on the side of the highway yelling at the bright headlights that zoomed by, "Ouidah, Ouidah!!". All the taxis were full. The only other option was the minibus already full of market ladies, their goods bundled high on the roof. Just as they were taking off we ran up and found a space big enough for one of us and we both sqeezed in. As the engine revved the chatter got louder.
  Immediately the lady whose knees were chafing with mine declared that we would pay everyones fare. I told her that if we were rich we would be riding in a shiny SUV -not in a minibus!
   The conversation carried on in Fon with lots of laughter, the only word recognizable to our ears being "yovo", which means "white person". We laughed with them until they stopped with serious looks and asked "You understand Fon???" So we pulled out all the Fon we know and evidently impressed them... Their chatter turned into French and we were the subject of interest. Questions about husbands, children, and earrings made their way into coversations about recipes, favorite foods etc.
  After a lull in the conversation my knee-chafing friend told me to sing them something. I came up with "Jesus m'aime, je le sais..." To our surprise the ladies joined in for the chorus clapping and swaying "Oui, Jesus m'aime. Oui, Jesus m'aime..." and we dissolved into bemused laughter.
  By the end of the busride we had 3 phonenumbers and a visit planned for Saturday with my knee-chafing friend. She wants to learn the rest of "Jesus m'aime".  We called out "Odabo", Fon for goodbye, as they trundled on after letting us out.

  Our Gospel meetings have ended for now as we are getting ready for preps and conventions. Sundays brought some 80 people to each meeting, at least 10 of those being contacts. The Tuesday meetings were smaller, around 10 people, up to 5 of them being contacts. Kaarina and I closed our Saturday meetings a while ago as the interest there dwindled. Rosanne only returned from conventions in Great Britain this week. Today is the last meeting in the village with the lady who used to walk 4 hours to get to the Saturday Gospel meetings.

   Our weeks have been filled with long trips in taxis or on the motorbike heading either to or from a few nights in the friends' homes. I drive the motorbike now. The mob of revving motors that pushes into the flow of the roundabout somehow seems less angry to me as I find my own path through it all. I find courage in the horn as I weave around various obstacles.
  A while ago I was 9th person to pack into an old Volkswagen Golf. Three adults and a child in the front and four adults and a child in the back. The taxi is one of my favorite ways to travel here. You get the real feel of the people. Chubby, boney, sticky, damp, jovial, sweet smelling, rank, drunk, kind, tired, malnourished, proud and so on...

  In the friends homes we are treated both as respected guests and family. Often a room has to be vacated to accomodate us. A mosquito net hangs above a double matress covered with a faded but clean sheet likely bought at the second hand market. Two of mama's colourful wraps sit atop our pillows, to be used as sheets. We count it a luxury if there is a cord strung across the room to hang our clothes on or a mirror hanging against the bare brick wall.
  The evening meal is served anywhere between 7pm and 10pm. If it is any earlier it is only because foreigners eat early. Only once have we sat down to eat at 11:30pm. That evening we walked into the yard to find a surprised Mama covered in white cornflour from working in her mill all day. There had been a misunderstanding when making the plans but she refused to let us stay elsewhere.
  Some of the phrases I used on our minibus trip are what I have learnt at the tables of our friends. "Nyiwanu wo" means I love pâte which is a thick corn meal, southern Benin's favorite dish by far. In the morning, fresh Benin baguettes and oily omelettes await us.

   It has been eleven months since I arrived in West Africa. The Ontario list has come out and my name is where I expected it to be, at the bottom with "West Africa pro tem" beside it. After Dorothy went home to care for her health I was asked to stay on to fill in for her until something else works out. Gbetagbo preps start August 2. I have been invited with 3 others to Ghana for their August 12-15 convention.  Parakou convention is August 21-22 and Gbetagbo convention is August 26-29.

Until next time...  Alize

Tenth Impressions

I learnt to keep my upper body still as I climbed the stairs to our bach so as not to spill the basin of water perched on my head. The city cuts the water from 7am to midnight everyday and that night we had company from SK arriving.  Usually we get up to fill our numerous water reserves but the night before was spent at the Adjaffon home.
  Remember the spots of light that shined on Granamaman Adjaffon in the bamboo hut as her son told us of her choice to serve God? Rosanne and I slept in the room adjascent to hers with a mosquito net dropped around us to protect us from flying and crawling pests.
"Kwabo." Granamaman welcomed us from her peice of cloth splayed on the cement floor everytime we entered the living room. I get the feeling that she would love to talk, to tell us her stories glad and sad of living in a village in the heart of Africa. Papa tells us that she has been freed from the weight of her lifetime spent in the village, forsaking her previous ties to witchcraft to beleive in the true God who has eyes that see and ears that hear. She has a peace now that she has never known in all her years on the earth and we see again the look of a joyful child under a cap of curly grey hair.
The busy lanes of traffic on our way to Gospel Meeting on Sunday are breifly separated by an island. I was told recently that a voodoo God lives in the tiny tin shack in the middle of the island. A peek inside reveals a few pots, cracked and dusty, sitting amongst litter and stones. That is the God.
  The voodoo faith holds 17% of Benin's population captive. Small compared to Christianity's 42% and Muslim's 24% yet the reality is that most Muslims practice voodoo and many Christian religions have incorperated voodoo beleifs into their doctrine. The fear of the spirit world and dark power grips these people, binding them to often costly ceremonies and practices. It has touched the lives of many of our friends in various ways but their faith in God frees them from the bondage of fear they once knew.

We have opened a bach in Ouidah, the nations voodoo capital, and we hope to be moved in before the rainy season. An early morning walk behind the bach revealed quiet paths that reminded us of convention walks. Rosanne and I spent one night there on mats very concious of the cool cement under us. That night was almost more pleasant than most nights here spent sweating on a foam matress.  Sweat beads on our upper lips even as we sit still and most of the day our clothes are damp with sweat. This is the hot season and it will last until the April/May rains come.

Next month another native brother will be starting in the work. Gildas Bewa recently returned from six years of study and work in Calgary, AB. He will be with Medard in Bohicon and Medards present companion, Serge, will go north with Yves to be in Parakou until preps in July. Adebayu will remain with Ed in Cotonou.

Until next time... Alize

Togo Slideshow

Lagos, Nigeria Slideshow

Benin Slideshow

Accra, Ghana and the Latest From F.W. Africa

Monday, February 1, 2010

Drivah, give us some Gospel music!!

So started my journey back to Benin from Accra, Ghana where people
love church. Accra's tidy appearance with painted walls and abundant
green space surpassed my appreciation for Lagos' secluded glitzy areas
separated by sprawling tin roofs and swarms of frenzied people in
transit. Accra is an exception to the West African norm. Commercial
construction is booming with cranes towering over multiple-story
buildings. The north side with it's new highway, shopping mall, and
pleasant residential areas reminded me of the nicer areas of
Australian cities.
I found that poeple can be incredibly sweet or incredibly sour.
Before arriving in Accra we had asked another passenger how much it
should cost to get to the area of the sisters Bach. She said she would
help us. When we arrived she flagged a taxi, discussed the price and
then paid the fare before waving us off!!

I accompanied my parents to Accra to see them off on the plane
after three busy weeks together. Our time together began with doctor
visits as Dad arrived with a fever and fatigue that we decided must
have been malaria from a recent trip to another tropical country. He
took a cure and was feeling better a few days later and were able to
catch up with the rest of the special meeting crew in Bohicon. From
there we went north to beloved Parakou for the special meetings there.
I was proud to show my parents around the city on the back of
zemijahn's and was pleased with how well they fit into African life.
We had good meetings and enjoyed visits with workers and friends in
Cotonou, Bohicon and Parakou.

After Parakou my parents and I, along with Allyson, took a trip up
into Park W where we saw many animals and miles of barren flatland.
All kinds of deer, buffalo, antelopes, wild boars, monkeys, baboons,
crocodiles and the best was our last night there when two graceful
elephants came plodding out of the bush to take a drink at a nearby
wateringhole. We sat downwind watching from some 40 feet away as they
sucked water into their trunks and sprayed it into their mouths
twitching their big ears as they drank.

Weeks before we arrived in Parakou we heard that Papa Gomez, one of
the two elders in Parakou and the father of Fortunato, passed away.
The funeral was planned for the Saturday after special meetings and
was very simple compared to the typical Beninoise funeral. Papa Gomez
was the oldest professing man in Benin. A number of friends from
Cotonou came for the occasion. A few were relatives of Pascal who was
in prison and most everyone took the opportunity to go and visit him.

Great news came this past Wednesday that Pascal was freed from
prison. There was no warning and no reason given. After being proven
innocent of a crime that a coworker committed, he spent over 4 years
in prison waiting to be released. He has been with his wife and
children in Calavi since being released.

Kaarina and I have been asked to help Rosanne for a few months in
this southern field that takes in Gbetagbo, Calavi, Godomey (where our
bach is) and Ouidah. We started our first Gospel Meeting near our bach
last evening. Parakou, for now, is without workers.
On the other side of Cotonou the brothers started their mission as
well. It was wonderful to hear of Adebayu, from Togo, starting in the
work last week and speaking for the first time yesterday. That makes 9
native brother workers for French West Africa.

Until next time... Alize

Togo

Traffic police watch every busy corner in Lomé passively controlling
traffic. The moment the message comes through on their radio they
have the right to stop all the traffic to clear the road. Everyone
selling along the road is meant to move back from the road as the
president's convoy races past. I was on a tour of the city with
Adebayu, a young friend, when a man in a tan uniform waved for us not
to come any closer. The road was already clear and two armed policemen
were also patrolling. A marked police vehicle, two black suburbans,
then a beautiful black Mercedes followed by another 5 suburbans and
finally an armoured vehicle mounted with a man behind a machine gun
passed us, on the way to the president's estate.
Togo has had decades of trouble and the future is yet uncertain.
Elections are to be held on February 28th. President Faure Gnassingbe
has served the five year term since suspicously being elected to take
his fathers place. The major opposition party is led by the son of the
first president elected after Togo became independant in 1960. He was
assasinated in 1963 by Gnassingbe's father. As of yet there was no
feeling of tension amongst the people in the capital, rather an air of
celebration as the new year was rung in. Yet there is no freedom to
even send news like this by email from within the country.
We are on our way back to Cotonou after some very special days in
Togo. I was thankful to spend time with a native sister Lorpu from
Liberia. She has had five years in the work in Ghana and Nigeria. Not
long before I left for West Africa Allan, who has worked many years in
Liberia, told a story of when war came to the country. He told about
two girls from a professing family who were kidnapped by rebels.
Finally at the end of the story a shiver went down my spine when he
mentioned the name of one of the girls as being Lorpu. It seems that
no beleiver in God could come through such an experience without deep
convictions and faith in God. It is so evident in her service that
such is the case.
It was also special to spend time with Daniel and Nadia who live
on the convention grounds just outside of Lomé. Their homelife is
evidently rich as friends and workers are welcomed without hesitation
until beds are overflowing. Nadia runs a bakery in the yard and this
morning sitting around a long table in the sand we enjoyed plain,
beef, fish and sausage croissants fresh from the oven.
Now we will have the next week and some to visit around Cotonou.
My parents arrive on Saturday to spend about 3 weeks with us.

Until next time... Alize

Niigeria

Saturday, December 26th, 2009

Special meetings are upon us now. Last week we spent a few days working on visas for Benin, Togo and Nigeria, the last being the most memorable. I have heard many stories about Nigeria but this was my first experience. When we arrived at the Embassy we were given a form to fill out but were told we needed four copies. When there was no sign of him giving us three more copies Kaarina went on a trek to find a photocopier, returning 20 minutes later. After waiting 2 hours for the interviewer to arrive we were called for a 2 minute interview where we were told off for not stapling our photos to the form. WE were wasting HIS time! We got the visa. Welcome to Nigeria.
The border crossing went very smoothly. After the rough reception at the Nigerian Embassy I expected nothing less when we arrived in the country. I was warned about numerous police checks after crossing the border but our passports stayed safe in our pockets as armed and uniformed men waved us through some 20 stops on the way to Lagos. We decided that our taxi man had connections because this was not normal. He had put a shiny leather bag in the trunk just as we were leaving. At first we protested but maybe it was the shiny leather bag that sped up our journey.

Lagos is the most populous city of all Africa with some 20 million people sharing 300 square kilometers. As we entered the outskirts I was awed at the crowds of people milling on the side of the roads. The congested highways are full of dilapidated yellow buses packed full of people. A metal bar cuts into the ribs of the people standing at the door, the only thing to keep them from falling out. Often there's only a foot of space between vehicles and motorbikes speed through, their handlebars bent in so they can navigate the narrow spaces. Although things have quietened down for the holiday period there is still a definate hyperactivity that grips this city.

I am staying with the Amangala's on the outskirts of the city. Yesterday they hosted a meal for us visitors and a number of young friends home from university for the holidays. The daughter of the home laughed at me as a waft of hot pepper coming from her pot made me cough. The sauce made here has a different taste than in Benin. Similar to some tastes that come from the West Indies.
The electricity is off more than it is on. A big generator chugs away most of the day to provide this comfortable home with power. Otherwise beads of sweat drip down our temples as we visit. In the north water is often cut as well. It seems that the hardships in this country surpass what we know in Benin.
Yet this country is far more developed than Benin. Oil has brought foreign money into the country. Beside the crumpled minibuses men in tailored suits drive shiny SUVs. Fastfood restaurants are more common here although MacDonald's hasn't arrived. When I arrived in Benin I was told that I would likely not see a mall during my stay here. Today some of the young friends took me to Victoria Island's secret, a big airconditioned shopping mall. Packed full of people dressed to impress. It even had a coffee shop!!

Now we are preparing for the meetings tomorrow. It looks like some 50 people could fit into the yard where it will be held. It has been such a pleasure to be immersed in English, albeit hard to understand and mixed with Pidgen. Nigeria has a reputation for corruption, kidnappings, and being overpopulated among other things but my experience has betrayed that reputation and left me with a smile.

Next stop: Togo. Until then. Alize

Ninth Impressions

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

Our days in Parakou are coming to a close. At this time next week we
will be in Cotonou with Rosanne and Carole at the Godomey bach just
west of Cotonou. Kaarina and I have been invited to Lagos, Nigeria for
the December 27 special meeting before continuing with the Togo and
Benin specials. We will spend next week working on visas for Nigeria
and Togo, and I will also renew my Benin visa.

Our missions here are ending for now with two steady listeners among a
number of others that come. These two haven't yet been mentioned.
Kaarina took a fan to be repaired at a roadside shack and found the
young man diligently reading his Bible. She invited him to the Friday
meetings and he has come regularly to more than half our mission.
On Sundays Viviane, who is engaged to one of our young friends, has
come regularly. We all had lunch together today, sour corn porridge,
fried river carp (head and all) and a hot tomato and onion sauce to
help it down. She found out a while back that I haven't driven a
motorbike yet and offered a lesson while we were waiting for the food.
I considered the chance of her not coming to another meeting if I
crashed her bike but she was keen, so off we went buzzing over bumps
and through sandpits. The things you do when you're in Africa!

On Wednesday we had our last meeting under the mango tree. As we
waited for a taxi the children sang to us and taught me a jumping game
to the amusement of the walkers. We clapped and jumped to a silent
beat, randomly sticking a leg out. I must have stuck out the right leg
at the right time as I apparently won.
We happened upon the same taxi as last time and again had the luxery
of our own seats until two young Peuhl men waved us down pointing at
their cow. We watched as the cow was hoisted into the empty trunk then
manipulated and tied like a pretzel so it couldn't do dammage. No
wonder the meat here is so tough! Some school girls walking home held
the trunk open and in return they got a ride to the next town.
As we sped along they started asking questions. Why don't you wear
jewelry? Often if there is a question of a childs gender we look for
the earrings that have peirced the girls ears from infancy. Clothes
here are not gender specific. Boys wear pink pants because pants are
for boys and they have no concept of pink being a girls colour. Why
don't you put braids in your hair? To their delight I let them touch
my hair as we discussed the difference between their hair and ours.
These girls were exceptionally different in appearance and manner
from the girls that the young Peuhl shepherd would be used to. Peuhl
women love bright clothes. Their unearthly jewelery and makeup is
something out of the National Geographic. Thick metal braids hang at
their temples from under a neon head scarf, pink paint dots the tips
of their noses and their high cheekbones, and bracelets climb to their
elbows. But their vibrant display of body art betrays their
personality. One day I wanted to ask one where she got her bright
material. As I approached she ran from me and hid behind the young man
she was with. The schoolgirls' unabashed curiosity stood out against
the often silent presence of a Peuhl woman.

Just as the hundreds of tribal languages in Benin rarely resemble
each other, each tribe has it's own character and it's own facial
scarring. Near Djougou the people are marked with three long slashes
on each cheek as if they've all survived fights with a wildcat. Other
tribes mark the forehead or temples. A tribe from the Atacora region
bears some 50 razor thin lines across the forehead and cheeks down to
the chin.
A seamstress with such markings asked me to take her to Canada but
was concerned that the people might not like her face. She told me
that she was the age of her hip height son (who bears no markings)
when it was done and remembers the pain. I cringed as I ran my fingers
over the barely there marks. She laughed when I let her touch the hair
on my arms, admittedly a poor exchange.

Although the call of a bustling city to the south is getting
stronger each day I find there is more and more that I enjoy about
this dried out north. Before we head south we will take our last trip
to Djougou, stopping in Natitingou with Medard and Serge to help them
install some furniture in their new bach.

Until next time... Alize

Seventh Impressions

  There are always people walking on the side of the road here. Whether it is a major road or the dirt track out to Dogué it seems these people walk endlessly under the sun.  During our usually short wait for a taxi we feel the sun bake into our skin and our eyes hurt from squinting too much. These are little greivences compared to their hours of walking often with 30lbs or more balanced on their heads. We can always tell which town has the market long before we arrive because the number of walkers increases. Every day a different town has the market and people come from far and near to sell their goods.

   Yesterday we took the harrowing journey on the dirt track to Dogué. When we stop at random villages to drop off or pick up parcels children come running and crowd around the vehicle to stare open mouthed at us. It doesn't help that I had my scarf wrapped 4 times around my head to control my dust intake. Often when we reach out to shake a hand the young ones scatter until an older child is brave enough to come. All the attention can be awkward especially when we are with the friends but it still makes me chuckle.
   I have decided that I much prefer swerving around potholes than bouncing over them. Often goods fall out of the trunk or off the roof due to either or.  When we stopped in the middle of nowhere to lift a matress from the dirt back onto the trunk I noticed a boy walking in the distance. We were miles from the last village and even the last hut! A few yards further a man crossed the track leaving wide footprints in the dust. Where are they going? What are they doing? 

  Today the taxi let us off across from a little Catholic church just outside of Sinahou. As he sputtered away we walked down the narrow path through a patch of millet growing high. Our contacts under the mango tree welcomed us again, bringing out wooden chairs for us while they sit on benches. When we're ready to go the children usually come to the road with us to wave down taxis. We followed them to a shady spot and sang Jesus Loves Me and asked questions about Jonah while we waited.
    The 4th taxi was able to take us and Kaarina got the whole front seat to herself and I got the whooole back seat to MYself. That great luxery lasted a delightful 20some minutes until we picked up a few more passengers. There are a number of ways to identify if we've been in a particular taxi before. The pattern of cracks on the windsheild are never the same, whether they have rearview mirrors or not is another way, and we very well notice the cushion kindly placed in the centre console when we share the front seat.

  We had a short break after arriving home from Sinahou before we took off on zemidjhan to study with some friends who don't get out to Wednesday pm study. As we visited a great wind blew dust through the house and the sky turned black. It didn't take us 2 minutes to say our goodbyes and we were off on zem again. Clouds were rolling in as the sun set and we flew across town hoping to miss the rain. Again I covered my face with my scarf as the wind threw billows of roadside dust in the air. At first glance I thought the spedometer was maxed out but rather it was sitting at zero, disabled.
  One charming point about public transport is that your driver takes full responsibility to get you right to your destination. The ride may not be comfortable, safe, or remotely on schedule but you will get there. When the rain was too strong to continue we ducked under a shelter where a number of other people were stranded. We smiled at each other as we looked out from under the metal roof to see lightning flash across the sky. What else can you do?

  For the record we made it home safe. Until next time... Alize

Sixth Impressions

   Days go by in Benin just as fast as they anywhere and I realize my silence has been long. Since the last note a young friend in our field professed. Aniset, the daughter of our friend Ignace, quietly asked us after meeting if she could come visit. As we chatted she told us of her first ever visit to the ocean at convention time this year. The waves endlessly rolling in from the horizon told her "there must be a God" and again at convention she felt another call. Meetings aren't generally tested here. Rather the desire is mentioned in a visit as in the case of Granmama Adjaffon who is finding the strength to get to meetings regularly. So Kaarina and I  went to Aniset's meeting on Sunday to tell them of her choice and started the meeting with her choice, hymn 93 in French.
  Last week we took our second trip to Djougou, this time leaving out the dirt track to Dogué but adding just as many miles in the opposite direction to visit Medard and Serge who are setting up a bach in Natitingou. We had some matresses etc for them and were glad for some worker fellowship. We spent the night in Natitingou, a tourist stopover where everything is located on the main road that runs through town. This made for good yovo (white person) spotting, which has become a game for me. I win if I can get them to smile at me.
  Somehow the next day we happed upon undisputeably the slowest taxi in Benin. As we waited for more passengers the sickning sweet smell of unrefined gas wafted through the car. Gas tapped from lines in Nigeria is smuggled into Benin and sold cheap from glass bottles at haphazard stations that dot the roadsides. If the government were to outlaw this there simply wouldn't be enough gas to go around. We were soon underway only to find that the car wouldn't go more than 50km/h. Almost 2 hrs later than planned we arrived at our destination where two young men welcomed us.
  Unfortunately after our meeting we found the taxi area empty except for the turtle and so we poked along to our next appointment. VERY unfortunately the turtle was just pulling out as we emerged from our second visit and we were stuck with him all the way back to Djougou. Every so often he would take his hand from the wildly vibrating wheel to lift the limp rearview mirror as vehicles approached and whizzed by.
   For the first time since my arrival I heard a particularily talented Imam weaving his way through the call to prayer. A normally offkey, bored chant turned into a proud song that I decided was even more tasteful than the music blaring from the bar down the street. We often see men with teapots washing their face, hands and feet before entering a mosque. As I entered a leanto with a mat on the floor I noticed a teapot at the door and quietly slipped my sandals off  as I had already been chastised once for walking on a prayer mat with my sandals on.
  Our meetings continue to bring interest on Fridays and Sundays. Many who came to the first meetings at our bach haven't come recently but we are glad to have some new contacts filling the benches.

Until next time... Alize

Some Benin Pictures

Doreen is using a typical broom over here. At the convention grounds.

This is the convention kitchen. Kaarina was cook for a few days and Yves is pictured helping.

Dorothy and our little friend Mebelia ate under a tree on cleanup day.

We see these kind of things all the time... Then they wonder why they have a broken axle?!

We see THESE all the time too... Sometimes in the house, but most of the time outside... They keep well hidden when inside.

A First Taste

We are on a bus from Parakou to Gbetagbo. A 6 hr journey with our
driver who loves his horn. We can't complain because he isn't blaring
horribly untasteful movies or music like we had on the way up.
Every day there is something new to face. There are cultural
things like the women not eating with the men which means our meal
visits are predominantly with the man of the home. And their clothes.
8 out of 10 women wear their bright African dress with different
headresses. I've been given a colourful flowing cotton "booboo" that
everyone wears around the house. Even to breakfast with the brothers
around. It's so nice and cool.
And the food. Carbs galore. Either rice, yams, cassava, potatoes,
or bread mostly with some kind if meat in a sauce. Last night we had
duck and lunch today was goat. We hardly ever get vegetables and they
are always cooked. Heat kills the bugs.
The mototaxi rides are a blast. They are a little more expensive
than a taxi but alot cooler bc of the air flow plus most taxis are
jammed with 4 ppl in the back and 2 in the front. My brother asked if
there are any African dirtbiking safaris in Benin. I figure that the
mototaxi is close enough. We go anywhere on them. The dirt roads are
pocked with pot holes and grooves from flowing rainwater that we
bounce over merrily. Recently we saw 4 girls on one moto. We stared
and laughed at them while they laughed and stared back at us. Us being
me and 6 girls from western Canada. I think they were sent from heaven
so that I don't miss my young sisters so much. Super fun and funny
girls. We went to a pool the other day and goofed off and got burnt
and screamed everytime we saw the huge spiders in the mango trees.
Like 30 humungoid scary things.
Animals run free everywhere. Downtown, in the yard, on the road
etc. Sometimes they aren't so free like when they're in the trunk, on
the back of a moto or in the baggage compartment of the bus like Billy
Goat, our guest today.
I couldn't begin to describe all the different sounds, smells and
sights that are so normal here but this is just a start.
for now there is no way to upload photos but at some point I might
figure it out. Until then...

Kayaking the greasy Credit River

A spur of the moment run. First time I had ever really used my kayak
in rapids. There had been two massive downpours the days before we
went so the water line was up quite a bit. The only downside is that
this river runs right through the city. So you can imagine where all
that water was from. Eew. The rapids were mostly class one with the
occasional class two. Meaning a faceful of water going through rapids
taller than you when sitting in the yak. Neither of us rolled once.
Good thing bx neither of us have mastered the Eskimo roll. So this
wasn't near as crazy as the Ottawa River but a blast all the same. And
just 2 days before taking off for Benin! Andrew was leaving for the
east that afternoon. Nothing like spontaneous splashes.

The break since convention has been a real treat. My parents found a campsite on Calabogie Lake just an hour from Ottawa. We spent the week there and did a trip into the city. We had planned on going to Question Period at Parliament but found out that our government goes on vacation for the summer months. We did get to see some charming Mounties!! There was much discussion on whether the maple leaf is shaved into the horses hair or just brushed. If anyone has an idea let me know... We never did come to a conclusion.

Of course another photo of my photogenic parents in front of the Parliament Buildings. For the record they had their 30th anniversary 2 days ago. My grandparents had their 6oth yesterday.

That same week Jenna, Aunt Diane, my parents and I went white water rafting on the world class Ottawa River. What a blast... The best part was when we were in the boat. (Photos 37 through 25)

Twice they let us into the rapids without the boat. Pictured below is the scheduled "body surf." Jump into the water upstream, swim out a ways and let the water take you...

Please note the red lines (below-right). The small one is the size of my helmet, the big one the size of the wave. After riding the first wave there was 3 milliseconds to breathe before being swallowed by the 2nd, 3rd and 4th waves. Apparently in my excitement when I first jumped in, I swam out further than I should have and went down on the outside... Jenna went right down the middle (above-right).... She quite enjoyed it! Smiles come naturally after those kinds of experiences.

The second chance to 'go with the flow' was the opportunity to jump off a 15ft(?) cliff. into swiftly moving water. That seemed a bit more relaxing. Most relaxing was the chance to float lazily beside the raft in the calm waters between rapids.

Following is an example of my new craft. On the paddle is the logo of our tour group: Wilderness Tours.

Amonte Symphony Orchestra

After a couple of conventions of sitting still us young sisters had to let off a little steam.... This was our outlet one evening... Karleen on piano, Jenna on sax, Lanette on Tuba and myself on the clarinet.

I have a video that I call "Harmony Squared" but blogger isn't letting me upload it. Maybe that is for a reason... It is everything BUT harmony squared. We were shocked halfway through our gig when Martin and his sister wandered in... Why do guys always have to crash the party?

On the subject of us young sisters... This is about the only pic we have of the 5 of us. We all came out Sunday AM to find that we were wearing the same colours.

Strathroy 2009

After working the morning of B-day at Almonte Preps David, Susan and myself took off for Strathroy. We arrived late Sat pm and the next morning we took in the "Big Meeting". Some of the visitors had already come. Others were to arrive on Monday. I was informed that night that my job was to drive Jeannette around in the golf buggy and pick up stuff in town if needed. What a job!!! Jeannette was awesome calling out "DONT HIT THE PEOPLE" if I came within 10ft of someone. I think she just liked a reaction.

Now my good friend Lanette will just LOVE that I posted this one. Actually I saw a number of particularily stylish girls walking around with similar glasses on when I went downtown Toronto today.