suzyinbenin's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries

suzyinbenin's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member suzyinbenin on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/suzyinbenin en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 29 Sep 2009 21:38:43 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com Electricity — Petionville, Haiti http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1254274070/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1254274070/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1254274070/tpod.html Tue, 29 Sep 2009 21:38:43 -0400 "Mwen pati Ayiti" and a few other Caribbean Adventures

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Petionville, Haiti

It’s dark. The shapes of my apartment are eclipsed by the bright white light of my computer screen as I type this. It’s 9:30 p.m., and already, they have cut the generator off. For the first couple of weeks, a few lights, the tv, and the fan in my bedroom would still work thanks to a magical “inverter” hidden away somewhere. Alas, the battery has run out of juice, or so I assume. So, for the past few nights, when the generator has stopped at the usual hour of 10, I have headed to bed. Tonight, I feel like a child who’s being shooed off to hit the sack right when she’s at the end of a really good mystery, with only a few pages left before she’ll find out whodunit. And so here I am, hiding under the covers with a big computer screen of a flashlight, being rebellious!Okay, I’m not really under the covers. Electricity. We take it for granted in the U.S., and we panic when it’s taken away. I remember nights under the stars in Benin being thankful for the lack of “fake” light. I could see the Milky Way.  As a practical matter, though, electricity is grand. The other night when the battery must have been on its last legs, I sat on my bed with my computer, trying to finish something for work. The light flickered on or off every 10 or 20 seconds. I felt like I was in a drowsy disco ball. Nevertheless, I left it switched ON: the “on” moments were just long enough for me to look down at my edited, printed copy, and when the light was off, I made changes on the illuminated computer screen. I had a hard time concentrating, though. I felt like I was in a horror movie and found myself continuously looking up at the slit where the drapes covering the French doors to my balcony didn’t quite connect, wondering if someone was out there, staring inside, watching me and waiting for the right moment to pounce. If anyone actually was looking up at my apartment, they were probably just thinking, Why on earth hasn’t that dumb lady turned off those damn flickering lights! What the hell is the matter with her!   But my brain, of course, imagined far worse things, akin to Jack Nicholson in The Shining or the knife scene in Psycho. I’ve not seen either movie in its entirety, but pop culture has filled my brain with enough images of the both of them for it to take the story off into terrifying directions. I eventually gave up and grabbed my flashlight, switching off the first horror show and moving onto another, more familiar one: my face in the bathroom mirror. As I brushed my teeth, the reflection of the flashlight gave me a ghostly glow. I broke the ice (with, ahem, myself), jiggled the flashlight a little under my chin, and let out a deep-throated and shaky “Hoooowaaaaa haa haaaa” before heading back off to bed with a giggle.   
]]> Bienvenue en Haiti! — Petionville, Haiti http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1253482888/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1253482888/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1253482888/tpod.html Sun, 20 Sep 2009 18:18:01 -0400 "Mwen pati Ayiti" and a few other Caribbean Adventures

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Petionville, Haiti

I arrived in Haiti on September 8.On the plane from Miami, I had sat next to a Haitian man who, I believe, was more nervous with anticipation than I was. He was an engineer from Florida and had been living in the States for something like 20 years but hadn't returned home in more than 10 years. He tried to find the words to describe his feelings about return. His heart was full yet constricted. I remembered how I had felt just before the plane bringing me back to the States after two years in Benin landed. I noticed that his hands shook a little bit as he took his pen to fill out the customs and immigration card. He took out his passport and showed it to me, saying, "I’m an American citizen now." As our plane flew over the island, I was amazed at the jagged mountains and hills below and skinny white trails between patches of green. After we landed, the Haitian man said, “Before, people used to clap. They were so happy to have landed.” He seemed slightly disappointed that no one clapped on our plane. As we skidded past dilapidated remnants of crashes past, I too wondered if maybe we should have kept the tradition. I was met at the airport by Innocence, an IDEJEN driver, and Lionel, another staff member.* IDEJEN (also known as the Haitian Out-of-School Youth Livelihoods Project) is the youth development project I will be working on for the next year. The project trains low-skilled, out-of-school youth in employability skills (i.e., basic literacy and numeracy, technical training) and then helps them find employment and economic opportunities. I was hired to work on monitoring and evaluation (i.e., making sure the project reports the correct results) and communications, particularly those in English. Innocence and Lionel were very organized. They had instructions from the project’s Chief of Party (i.e., the head of the project and my new boss) to take me to the grocery store before taking me to my new apartment. The streets were narrow and congested. SUVs, people, and elaborately painted tap taps fought for space at intersections. People lined the roads with their wares, and I thought of Benin. In Haiti, as in Benin, fruit and vegetables are displayed in little pyramids of color, and the latest schoolbooks, t-shirts, and sandals rest against walls and hang from fences. Everyone is trying to make a buck in Haiti, begging, buying, and selling. We finally pulled into Caribbean Market, and after cruising the aisles with Lionel, I spent $71 on very few groceries, just enough to get me started. Everything is imported here. My eggs were from Pennsylvania, though as I have recently learned, Pennsylvania eggs are cheaper than Haitian eggs, due to a chicken shortage in the country. Now I understand why they give us a Cost of Living Allowance. I’ll be excited to go to a real Haitian marché, the kind where the tomatoes are stacked in pyramids. Finally, we arrived at Le Ritz, the place I will call home for the next year. A “Bienvenue Suzanne!” sign hung on my front door, and I walked into a room that was sweet with the smell of fresh flowers. A massive bouquet sat inside a fruit basket on the side table next to my couch—fruit and flowers from the IDEJEN staff! My apartment is much larger than I had anticipated. I have plenty of space for guests. My Chief of Party (henceforth referred to as COP) drove by to check on me. Before waving goodbye and jetting off in her car, she instructed Lionel to walk me down the street to El Rancho, a nearby hotel. He was to show me the gym where I could “do some sport” and the restaurant where I should eat dinner that night. I asked the COP if it was safe for me to walk here alone, and she said yes. Lionel and I wandered down the hill and through a security barrier manned by armed guards. El Rancho was off to the right. I had already heard about El Rancho. One of my colleagues who had spent a considerable amount of time in Haiti had told me about it. When I said I was going to miss being able to walk places, she said, Well, you can walk down the hotel road with El Raunchy and Villa Creole. We used to call El Rancho El Raunchy. It’s kind of like one of those really nice hotels that has already passed its heyday period. It’s not really that bad, though.” Then she proceeded to tell me about the one time she had been walking down this supposedly safe road when a man came running out of El Raunchy shooting a gun into the street. A Haitian woman, her head laden with seven crates of eggs, was in front of my colleague, who tried unsuccessfully to get the woman to run for cover. The woman did not want to drop her eggs. Both my colleague and the woman survived the “run-by shooting,” as they were not being targeted. Apparently, the guard at El Rauncho was in cahoots with a thief who stole from the hotel (possibly from the hotel Casino). The guard had to make a show of trying to catch the thief, and my colleague and the woman with the eggs happened to be in the street at showtime. El Rancho was not very raunchy in my opinion, though it did seem well past its heyday. Its sumptuous reception halls and elaborate swimming pools (complete with bridges and a swim-up bar) were empty save a few Haitian men who looked like they were there to frequent the casino. Lionel showed me how to find the gym and the restaurant and headed home. Though I would have been perfectly content eating my expensive PA eggs, I felt compelled to follow the COP’s orders and eat at El Rancho. A line of servers lined the entrance, and one of them showed me to a table. The dining area was deserted. As I sat waiting for my food and sipping on freshly blended papaya juice (delicious!), I wondered if the hotel had any guests at all. A fan politely whirred above my head. I heard the faint sound of Caribbean tunes on a radio off in the distance. It was quiet. Very different from Washington, DC, with its fire, ambulance, and police sirens, blasting bachata or hip-hop, and screeching buses. I sucked up the last of the papaya juice, breaking the silence with a satisfying slurp. *Please note that names have been changed.
]]> (Not) Getting a Visa on Embassy Row — Washington, District of Columbia, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1251428070/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1251428070/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/2/1251428070/tpod.html Thu, 10 Sep 2009 19:22:40 -0400 "Mwen pati Ayiti" and a few other Caribbean Adventures

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Washington, District of Columbia, United States

I had called before coming. I had looked online. I had tried to remain skeptical. But the Haitian Embassy website is infinitely better than I had expected for a country that has hosted UN Peacekeepers for several years. It's brand-spankin' new, and more than 50 percent of website visitors who have taken the "new website" poll declare that it is "Excellent!" (complete with exclamation point). Full of colorful and clickable maps, flashing pictures of scenic Caribbean waters and majestic buildings, and an up-to-date news feed informing visitors of "pockets of progress" in the country, the Haitian Embassy website was validating. It was like finding a gourmet restaurant/bar in D.C. with a surprisingly killer happy hour. I called the Haitian Embassy and was able to talk to the consular officer right away. She told me I could find the visa information right there on the website. I asked if I should stop by and pick up an application, and she said, sure, I would just find everything online and bring it by to apply. I was in awe. I nearly dropped the phone. It sounded so easy!  I found the visa information online and was a bit confused by some of what was required. Six photos seemed kind of excessive. And where (and how) on earth would I get a document that declared that I had not committed any crime in every place I've lived for the past ten years: Colorado, France, Texas, Massachusetts, Benin, D.C.? I decided to go directly to the Embassy to pick up an application and find out how to get all of this info. And maybe I wouldn't need all the info. After all, I just needed a letter saying that I had applied for a visa. I didn't actually have to have the visa. The letter would suffice for me to avoid being forced to buy a return ticket from the airline, and I could apply for the real resident visa upon arrival. Surely once I was in the country and they could see I wasn't a criminal (I'm doing development work for goodness sake!), I wouldn't have to provide criminal records for the past ten years for every place I'd ever inhabited. I planned to bike there on my way to work the very next morning. The Haitian Embassy is on Embassy Row. I had only visited a couple of Embassies in DC, but still, I wondered how Haiti had ended up with such a sweet location. Who paid the rent? The Embassy for the Democratic Republic of the Congo, another country devastated by conflict and upheaval, occupied a small, lonely suite in a downtown office building. One man sat behind the reception desk and appeared to perform the functions of receptionist, consular officer, and guard. (As I waited to pick up a colleague's passport, I began to wonder if he was the Ambassador as well.) After locking my bike up to a skinny tree, I walked up the Haitian Embassy driveway,which was wet from a recent cleaning. Two Haitians, one holding a hose, greeted me as I headed toward the entrance, a 7-Eleven type door that looked out-of-place nestled in the stone alcove. Inside, red carpets and brass sconces led me to a small desk across the room, empty save a sign-in sheet and a shiny pen. A man called out, and I doubled back and went into another room, where a modern reception counter stretched across the expanse. Another man stood up to inquire, and I stated that I had come to pick up a visa application, please. I was told that the consular officer would be with me as soon as she arrived. I sat on the plush couch in the waiting area and was treated to a video on Haiti. Glistening bikini-clad women; lucious-looking fruits; clear, blue waters, and the obligatory historian made a heroic attempt to persuade me that Haiti was a extraordinary Caribbean paradise where I needn't worry about kidnappings (27 Americans in 2008), food riots (not since 2008), and coups d'etats. Instead, I could bake in the sun while sipping on frozen pina coladas made with Haitian rum.Finally, the consular officer arrived, and I was shuttled into her office. Stacks of files spanned her desk, each one at least a foot high. I began to wonder if the Embassy had not yet made the switch to performing tasks electronically, but then I saw it. There, on a little side desk, rested a shiny new computer, a modern miracle hidden amidst the paper abyss. Soon after I began to talk, the officer recognized my voice from the telephone call the day before. "Oh, did you find everything online?" She asked. I said yes and explained that I had come to collect the application portion, the part I have to fill in. She said it was all online but then skimmed through the middle of one of the paper mountains and pulled out a copy of the same document I had seen online. After some unproductive discussion, I decided to forge on with questions about the list of required items. And that's when I discovered that maybe I shouldn't bother with the visa.Me: Is it really necessary to have a statement stating that I haven't committed a crime in every place I've lived? Where does one acquire such a thing, especially if I've lived in a lot of different places, including outside the country?Officer: Does it say you need that?Me: Yes, it says so right here. (and how could you not know that? you're the consular officer!)Officer: Well, I don't know where you get it. We usually just go to the Ministry of Justice.Me: Well, where have people in the past gone to get this information?Officer: Well, I don't know. I've been working here for the past three years, and no one has ever applied for a visa before. Three whole years and no visa applications?! I began to seriously wonder what all the stacks of paper were for and from which decade they originated. What does this woman do all day if not to complete visa applications? Isn't that the one of the primary functions of a consular officer? I looked at one stack more closely and saw there, nestled only one or two files from the top, three or four gossip magazines. Aha.I asked a few more questions even though I was starting to realize that I might not be applying for a visa after all. The woman took the "application" from my hand and glanced at it and then explained that I should just, you know, put everything in a nice little letter, which she would then send down to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Haiti to process. Then, she could copy so that I would be able to show the airline that I had applied. She graciously offered to make a copy of the "application" for me, and as she re-entered the room, she said, "Actually, we did have someone apply here once. A student. A year or two ago. I sent everything down there, and I never heard anything. So I assume it all worked out.I've got a copy right here." She went over to a stack on top of the little side desk and pulled out a copy of the application from a year or so ago. I had to hand it to this lady. Most people need file cabinets and color-coded folders. Somehow she had managed to find two different documents (the information sheet and the lone visa application) amongst hundreds of unlabeled files and sheets of paper using nothing but her memory. She neatly folded my photocopy and placed it in an envelope for me, handing it to me with a smile. "Come back with a completed application, and I can give you a copy for your airline," she said. She seemed so excited about the prospect of having something to do in the future. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I probably wouldn't be adding to her stack of papers and her short list of visa applicants. I said goodbye to Embassy Row and, at the advice of another expat who had worked on the same project in Haiti, decided to by a roundtrip ticket with a changeable return instead. Melanie said that no one really went through the trouble of getting a resident visa. Instead they just left the country once in a while to maintain their tourist visa status. "You just go to the beach in the Dominican Republic for a day every three months. Think you can handle that?" She asked.Um, yes. I think I can. So I'll get to bake in the sun and sip pina coladas after all....   
]]> Published and Moving! — Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1181496060/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1181496060/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1181496060/tpod.html Sun, 10 Jun 2007 13:45:56 -0400 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States

It has now been exactly four years since I first stepped foot in Cotonou, Benin, as a Peace Corps volunteer.  I have been back in the States for nearly two years.  Much has happened over the past several years.  I've traversed an ocean (the Atlantic), a desert (the Sahara), and numerous countries.  I've worked on two different continents in a variety of positions.  I've been to weddings and funerals and baptisms.  I've said many hellos and goodbyes.  I've been accepted to graduate school.  And now, I have published my first travel essay!  While I have not traveled anywhere too exciting recently and one might argue that I should ONLY use this forum to describe harrowing adventures, stunning landscapes, and hilarious cultural exchanges, I have chosen, in this case, to break travelpod tradition.  After all, were it not for my travelpod readers, I may never have had the courage to write up and send off the now published essay.  For that, I am thankful to you all.  Hopefully, the essay will be the first of many!So, where can you find it, and what is it called?  My essay is entitled "Getting There," and it can be found in The Best Women's Travel Writing 2007 published by Traveler's Tales.  Some of you may recognize the essay, as I based it on one of my travelpod entries, "Alive in Africa."For those who are in the Boston area, I will be participating in a reading/signing with some of the book's other contributers.  It will be held at Harvard Book Store on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge on July 12th at 6:30 p.m., and I invite you all to come.  The other readers, including the book's editor, Lucy McCauley, have more works to their name than myself and will be reading very interesting stories that cover travels from Thailand to Israel.  In other news, I am off to Washington, D.C., at the end of August.  I will be beginning a Master of Arts in International Education at George Washingon University in September.  While I am going to miss living in Cambridge, I am very excited about this move.  Again, thank you for all your support and encouragement over the years.   
]]> Back to Boston — Boston, Massachusetts, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1145991960/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1145991960/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1145991960/tpod.html Sun, 31 Dec 2006 19:47:43 -0500 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Boston, Massachusetts, United States

Can you believe that I am writing another travelpod entry? It has been quite some time. So much has happened, yet I think of Benin everyday as though I were just there and will be back again after the weekend. It's better to think of it that way. So, let's see. I left Benin on August 7, 2005. I spent about ten days in France. I returned to the States on August 18. As my plane landed in Boston, I got tears in my eyes, and my heart started pounding. I know this might bother some of you to read, but the tears and increased heartbeat were not because of excitement. In reality, I was really anxious and scared. Boston looked very much the same from the plane: ocean and skyscrapers glittering in the afternoon sun, red brick back bay and white sails on the Charles River. It is a beautiful city, and I recognized that, but it also signified the completion of my two + year journey, or so I thought. For some reason, as hard as I tried, I wasn't able to think very much about the new journey I would be beginning as soon as the wheels hit the tarmac. This particular ending/beginning was quite fuzzy, not able to be defined by dates and departures and landings.I was exhausted and weak when I arrived. I hadn't eaten or slept much on the plane. My friend Gina was there to pick me up at the airport. (By the way, I am grateful to everyone who offered to pick me up and let me crash at their place for the two nights I was in Boston before heading down to Texas.) I started to cry as she hugged me, and I didn't have much to say when we were in the car. I remember feeling strange and a little sick. I wasn't used to air conditioning anymore, and as Gina's volkswagon whipped down Boston's crazy streets, I had to open the window for fresh air.  My eyes followed the curves of Storrow drive and the Charles.Gina was a gracious host. She was gentle with me, which I needed at that time. The first night was rough. I made some phone calls to two Benin volunteers who had returned a year before, and they helped me calm down enough to sleep. Why am I telling you this, you may ask? Is the United States that awful? No, it is not. However, I was really nervous about returning, and I was sad. I didn't feel at home here in this country where everything was so clean and orderly and lacking in vibrant colors and cock-a-doodle-doos. All I could think about was the fact that I might never again see my Beninese friends and family (yes, I had a Beninese family). It was frightening to think that now that I was back I would have to find a job, move into a new place, start paying bills (Peace Corps is quite a good tactic to avoid the responsibilities of bill-paying!), and begin anew within a few short weeks.After a couple of days in Boston, during which I took care of some business and reacquainted myself bit by bit to America, I flew home to Texas. My parents picked me up at the airport in Austin and drove me to the ranch. I slept soundly at the ranch. Maybe it was the comfortable bed. Maybe my body was simply too exhausted to stay awake anymore. Maybe it was the familiar sound of birds and mooing cows. Finally, we drove across the Harbor Bridge, and I looked out at the "Sparkling City By the Sea" that is Corpus Christi. Things had changed a bit, and we weren't able to drive down Ocean Drive like I usually like to do. Our house smelled the same, though it felt drier than usual. Air conditioning and a new de-humidifier. My cat, Killer, was still alive to greet me, along with the dogs, Bogey and Tank. The house, too, had changed during my absence. The kitchen was no longer the bright yellow color of my childhood. Now, it was a gleaming blue and white, and the back door was in a new location to accomodate my parents' new bathroom. Everything changes.Over the next ten days, I spent time with my family. I allowed my mom to pamper me with new clothes and pedicures. I lunched with my dad. I soaked for hours in my parents' new jacuzzi bathtub. During those first few days, I received difficult news about some deaths both in Benin and in the United States, and that made a nurturing environment a bit more necessary. In fact, four young Beninese girls had drowned during one group of volunteers' Girls Camp.  And another volunteer friend of mine who had also just finished his service was mourning his brother who had died in an accident days before he was supposed to arrive home.  He hadn't seen his brother during his entire Peace Corps service.  I am thankful I did not have such a homecoming.  I can't even imagine what that must have been like.  The ten days in Corpus Christi ended a bit too quickly, but I was determined to move into my apartment in Boston on September 1.Soon after moving back to Boston, I met up with the strong females of my family in New York City. This was the first reunion with my sisters, my aunt and her sister and niece, and my grandmother, all of whom I had not seen in more than two years. Talk about culture shock! I went from paying two dollars for a glamorous African outfit, complete with headscarf to perusing $175.00 skinny tank tops at Bendel's (which I DID NOT purchase!).  I went from being squished between a goat and a marche mama in a bush taxi to drinking champagne in a shiny stretch limo. Meals were no longer 50 cents for a giant plate of rice and beans. The gourmet restaurants we frequented charged 35 bucks for a piece of guinea fowl the size of my nose garnished with one baby carrot and half a lettuce leaf! Gourmet, schmourmet. No wonder New York models are so skinny! We did have a hearty meal at an Italian restaurant that we are convinced is a front for the mafia. My mom schmoozed with the the owner when she popped in to use their bathroom earlier in the day. He invited us back, and voila! Five star treatment, complete with a complimentary bottle of champagne and red roses! The beefy, Italian-chatting Soprano types leaning on their elbows at the corner table only fueled the already loose and bubbly conversation. I think my family members thought I was a little shell-shocked. They were right. I tried my best to remember that this, too, was a cultural experience. I saw New York and America through different eyes. I think I appreciated it more than I ever had before. I also appreciated my family in a new way. We had fun. The next few months were a blur of ups and downs. I spent a lot of time utilizing the New England Peace Corps Office's Career Corner. I walked a lot until the weather got nasty. I soaked in the tub when times got rough. I met other Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) at their monthly gatherings. I had a hard time walking past people doing work on the street and not wishing them "Bon Travail!" (Good work!) I got compliments on some of my West African clothing. I ate way too much Ben and Jerry's. I also mourned someone else.  I debated over whether or not to put this in here, but as it is also part of my experience, and as I have written about this person, I've decided to share it.  My former neighbor Alice died in October 2005.  She was 16 years old.  She was a bright and beautiful girl who had a lot going for her, a spunky personality, intelligence, curiosity, courage and love.  She would often come to my house to bake with me, to study, to sing and dance, to chat about school and friends.  Nearly every Peace Corps volunteer I know has one or two young people who sort of adopts them and whom they adopt.  Alice was my girl.  I am thankful that I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with her during my last summer in Benin, and I thankful that I got to know her.  She was the oldest of six sisters.  I miss her very much and am very very sad that I won't ever be able to see her grow into womanhood.    I had a harder time than I imagined finding the perfect job, but I finally landed one that, as much as I may mumble and grumble, has probably been perfect for me as I readjust. Workin' nine to five-thirty, that's no way to make a livin'! Barely gettin' by, ... Can't remember the rest of the song, but anyway, I'm rambling. I began working in Boston University's International Students and Scholars Office just before Thanksgiving. It's not a difficult job, and I can certainly leave it behind when I walk out the door at the end of the day. Readjusting has not been an easy experience. I don't know that Peace Corps really prepares you so much for when you come home. They try, but like Peace Corps itself, the readjustment experience is quite lonely at first.------------------------------------------------------------ --------------------------------- I began writing this back in April of 2006, and now it is hours before the big ball in Times Square will drop.  I don't know why, but I never got around to finishing this entry.  Some might say that I am holding on, not ready to let go of an adventure, a life-changing experience.  I'm sure that is partly true.  I think another part of me wanted to be able to have something exciting to say to show that a new adventure was beginning, and somehow, getting paid hourly to work a desk job, as important as my job might be for the international students who visit our office, doesn't seem like an adventure.  Perhaps I'm being too judgmental.So, where am I now?  I am still in Boston and still in the same job, but there is a light at the end of tunnel.  Just as I began to write that I heard the blasts of fireworks bursting outside!  A good omen?  Let's hope so.  The light at the end of the tunnel will hopefully be graduate school studying either International Education or International Development.  I opened my laptop to attempt to finish a grad school essay, but my procrastinating (and an email from an unknown reader of this blog) brought me to this page instead.  Fitting, perhaps, to end this travelblog at the end of the year.  It's time.  After all, the closing of one door allows others to open.  I'm ready for the next door. In other news, I will have a story published in a travel anthology next summer!  This is partly thanks to all of the wonderful encouragement I have received from all my travelpod readers.  The anthology is called Best Women's Travel Writing 2007 and is published by Travelers' Tales.  It comes out in May 2007. Also, just to let you know that, while this will be my last entry for this particular travel blog, I will be uploading more photos (in the near near future!), and someday I may get around to writing a bit more about the Lybian airport as promised!  In a few hours, I will be saying farewell to 2006, shouting Happy New Year, and hugging my friends and welcoming 2007.  I wish you all good health, joy, prosperity, love and adventure for the new year!  Again, thank you so much for joining me on my Beninese Peace Corps adventure.  Until the next one ...     
]]> Volunteer in N'Dali at last (new address included) — Parakou, Benin http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1063747020/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1063747020/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1063747020/tpod.html Tue, 19 Sep 2006 13:36:11 -0400 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Parakou, Benin

As of December 23rd, I am oficially a Peace Corps volunteer! Yay! We had the ceremony under tents outside at the Prefect's house in Lokossa with an incredible backdrop, a view of lush tropics meeting the blue horizon. All sorts of notables showed up to partake in the ceremony, including the U.S. Ambassador, who swore us in, and the national media filmed the whole thing. I had to give the Bariba speech (most of the local languages are represented). I don't think I made too many horrific errors, though Bariba is a tonal language, so for all I know, I might have said I had a booger stuck in my ear. My mama hired a video guy to film the entire glorious event and then some! He arrived at our house bright and early, just in time to film me eating breakfast. Lovely. The video (and my performance) certainly won't win any Oscars or Emmys, but if anyone wants to see it, I can offer you a viewing for the low low price of a ticket to Benin! The Sunday following the ceremony, my mama and her boyfriend the Prefect took me to Dassa to attend an enormous mass inside a cathedral at the mouth of a cave, made famous because of a siting of the Virgin Mary there long ago. Once a year in August people from all over the country and West Africa pilgrimage to Dassa to celebrate and pray for a weekend. The mass, despite the fanfare, was quite boring and mostly in a language other than French. I slept through most of it, as did my mama and probably three fourths of the congregation. The great thing about Catholic churches here is the fact that you can put your head down without causing a stir because everyone just assumes that you are so moved by the service that you feel a need to pray. The ride to and from, on the other hand, was quite exciting! I was in a motorcade! We were in a line of cars occupied by ministers and other prefects and were led by gendarmes and policeman who cleared the highway with their sirens and energetic leg kicks and gestures the entire way between Abomey and Dassa. I must say, it does make the travel easier.No motorcade the next day. After sad goodbyes, Kelley, a volunteer in Bemberecke, which is just north of N'Dali, and I climbed into our nine-seater taxi and prayed that we would make it to our posts safely and without losing anything that was strapped to the top (nearly all of Kelley's belongings - mine were inside the car - and both of our mattresses and bicycles). We probably wouldn't have fit under a bridge in the US...it was stacked THAT high. Our bush taxi rattled and shook all the way to our destinations like the Little Engine that Could (I think I can, I think I can!), and I arrived thinking that the real miracle didn't happen in Dassa but on the entire paved road of Benin.And here I am. N'Dali. I'm sitting with my neighbors in the shade of a sprawling tree in my concession as I write this. Mama Isbath (aka Fatima) is nursing Isbath nearby. Sena, a six-year-old, is humming and playing with a doll's head, twisting its hair. Three young men slap their cards down with vigor as that play 6 pas (6 steps). Fauziat, Mama Isbath's 2-year-old girl, sits on the bench that is the men's card table, watching their game. It's a typical afternoon in my concession. Sometimes people come in to sell things, so I can get tomatoes or bananas for the night's dinner. The shade tree is where everyone passes the time. Yesterday, Mama Isbath brought over her little coal stove and her big marmite (pot), and we made peanut clusters and popcorn. Last week, I entertained the kids (and finally got one kid to not be afraid of me - she used to scream bloody murder any time she saw me with my white skin. maybe she thought i was a ghost) with my bubbles. I blew bubbles, and all the little girls jumped up and down, giggling as they tried to bat them down. Fun!The people of N'Dali are friendly. I can't walk to the marché without everyone calling out "Baturé! Baturé! Bonne Arrivée! Ka WEru!" (In Bariba, Baturé is white person and Ka WEru is Welcome). They are eager for me to learn Bariba; sometimes they speak to me in Bariba and use gestures so that I can guess what they are saying, only using French as a last resort. I am anxious for school to start so that I will better be able to fill my days. As it is now, I mostly do household chores (clean house, wash dishes or clothes), which takes longer than it would in the U.S., read, write letters, take walks or bike rides, and hang out with my neighbors. I go to bed a little earlier than usual because of the lack of electricity. The pace here in Benin is much slower. _______________________________________________________Hello again! I actually wrote the above letter last week and intended on typing it and finishing it the next day, but I didn't make it to the internet place. Let's see. Since I wrote that letter, not too much has happened. Life continues in N'Dali as usual. I took a long walk the other day. I ran into some little girls and one little boy on their way to the fields who decided to speed walk with me. I thought I might end up leaving them behind after a bit because they were carrying pots and such on their heads, but they were kept up! Before I knew it, one of the little girls was holding onto a few fingers of my hand, and she told the other one (who translated this for me) that they had to hold on so that I would slow down a bit. So, we walked down the road hand in hand, and eventually, I made them all laugh by trying to put their pots on my head. I did successfully carry one pot (with nothing but a rag in it) on my head without dropping it (and while walking at a BRISK pace) for a few minutes! After a while I carried a heavy one for one of the little girls, but I had to use one hand to hold it up there. Everyone we passed turned to gawk at the white girl going off to the fields. I did visit their fields and wave hello to all their brothers and fathers who were working the soil, and they sent me back with a couple of heavy yams and an ear of corn. Also, I discovered that I can watch movies in N'Dali! There are three video places, where they set up TVs and DVD players (run by generators) to show movies two or three times a day, and they show movies on a big screen at the local Centre des Jeunes (Youth Center). I saw part of Crouching Tiger, Crouching Dragon (or whatever the name is), but it got cut off because of the rain (we were only under a straw roof, so it could come in). Last night, I went with some neighbors to the youth center to see an action movie. UGH! It was a Chinese Martial Arts movie that sort of reminded me of watching a video game for a couple of hours. It was horrible! So horrible that it might have been slightly funny if I hadn't been so tired. Unfortunately, most of the movies they show in Benin are bad action movies, so I don't know that I will be going to the cinema so often. But, you never know...Crouching Tiger's not so bad. Now, I am in Parakou. I came down to take care of some business, and tonight some other volunteers and I are going to make pizza. YUM! I have a new address where you can write me, but remember, the other address also works. ADDRESS REMOVED AS NO LONGER CURRENTN Kuan Sosi! (see you soon in Bariba)
]]> Contact Info and Instructions — Corpus Christi, Texas, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1054534980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1054534980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1054534980/tpod.html Tue, 19 Sep 2006 13:34:30 -0400 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Corpus Christi, Texas, United States

Hello again!Some of you have requested information about how you might write me real, old-fashioned letters. Below, you will find instructions on how to send me mail. If, after reading all of this, you decide it is still worth it to write me, thank you, thank you, thank you. I know that letters will probably be the best therapy I'll be able to get over there. Here goes:1. Make a copy of your letters and number them. While the post is fairly reliable, things do sometimes get lost or delayed. Numbering letters lets me know whether or not a letter has been lost. 2. Write "Air Mail" and "Par Avion" on the envelope. 3. As much as I would love to receive it :) , don't send any money, checks, or anything of value. There is a large chance that they will be stolen.4. If you do decide to mail a package, send it via air mail, not surface mail (surface mail has been known to take longer than two years to arrive). Also, bubble envelopes tend to work better than large boxes because they are less tempting to would-be thieves. Clearly and honestly mark the contents of the package, but a general description is sufficient: "clothing and candy" rather than "Nike sneakers and 2 lbs. of Godiva chocolate." 5. Express mail is an expensive option that may take just as long to get to Benin, so don't bother with it. 6. There is a tax, which I will have to pay on all packages I receive before I am able to pick them up at the post office, so don't send anything unless you think I'll really, really love it or need it.7. If for some reason you receive something from me that has been mailed from the U.S., don't worry. I have not necessarily been medically evacuated. Oftentimes, volunteers will send letters via other volunteers who may be home visiting their families because they will arrive more quickly. There is a small chance that these letters may be opened by customs officials when they leave Africa or enter the United States. So, my address for the first three months will be: (NO LONGER NECESSARY)This address will change as soon as I get my placement. I will post the new one on here as soon as possible. Try not to sent any letters to this address after the first week in August. Wait till I post the new address and then send them there. Thanks!Can't wait to hear from you!
]]> Saying Goodbye — Parakou, Benin http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1122168120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1122168120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1122168120/tpod.html Fri, 17 Feb 2006 17:28:44 -0500 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Parakou, Benin

Well, this is it...the end. It is quite depressing actually, and I have very little time to expound upon it right now. But I figured I have been silent long enough. I better write one last entry from Parakou. My life seems to be full of "one last"s lately. I have to eat here one last time. I have to go here one last time. I have to do this one last time. Leaving is proving to be much more difficult than most of the other times I have left somewhere. Here I am leaving knowing that it will probably be a VERY long time before I will be able to return (if ever?!!!). Also, I am leaving fully aware that I am going to a place where I will be in living conditions that are so much safer and healthier, but all the good friends I have made during my two years here will stay where ...well, where things are not necessarily safe and healthy. Yes, of course, they have lived here forever and may not know better, but some do. And I do. And it is sad. It is sad to leave the people that I have laughed with, danced with, and lived with for the past two years, not knowing when I will be able to see them again.This is my last weekend in Parakou. I am having a couple of different goodbye gatherings. I return to N'Dali on Monday morning. I will spend the next three days cleaning my house, doing last minute packing, and saying goodbye. Then, on Thursday, I come back to Parakou for one last night, a few last goodbyes, before heading down to Cotonou on Friday. I will go to Lokossa to say more goodbyes over the weekend, then come back to Cotonou for a week of Peace Corps paperwork and meetings, more goodbyes, perhaps some last minute shopping, etc. On August 7th, that's it. I climb into a plane with my Peace Corps friends Harry and Kelley. We fly to Paris via Lybia (aaah!!!). I will stay in France for a couple of weeks before flying to Boston (yes Boston!) on August 17th (arriving on the 18th). I will drop some stuff off there because that is where I plan on living (in a house near Davis Square - yeah!), then on the 19th or 20th, I will go home to Corpus Christi for a visit. That is the plan. For those in the Boston area, I am desparately seeking a job (preferably in the international education arena, though I will be more and more flexible as the date of arrival approaches), so if you have any ideas, please please please, send them my way, give out my name with a glowing recommendation, etc. Also, I may try to organize a welcome back get-together in some bar or something for the one night that I am in Boston before heading down to Corpus so that I can say hi to everyone all at once. I feel like so much is missing from this travelogue, especially what has happened over the last few months. I can't promise that I can write it all up over my last couple of weeks in Benin, but if you will be patient and will still be interested in reading about my life in Benin and looking at photos (and maybe some video), I will do my best to fill it out a bit after I get back...keep Benin alive for me and for you. Perhaps you will here from me in Cotonou or Paris. If not, then, Corpus or Boston. This is not yet a goodbye from travelpod, nor a 'last time'. Stay tuned for more updates.
]]> Ganni once again — Nikki, Benin http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1114975380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1114975380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1114975380/tpod.html Fri, 17 Feb 2006 17:06:04 -0500 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Nikki, Benin

Well, last weekend I headed over to Nikki to ooh and ahh at dancers, horses, and fancilly-dressed and make-up-ed people. Before I went, however, I arranged to have an old Bariba man speak about the history of Ganni to students at the school and a few interested Peace Corps volunteers. It was quite interesting. It turns out that Gaani is about how the Wasangaari Baribas defeated the "Mohamedans," (the people who followed Mohamed) as the old man called them, by refusing to be converted and finally fleeing Saudi Arabia to go to parts of what is now Nigeria and Benin. Gaani is actually the name of the entire month which begins right around Mohomed's birthday, for that is when Mohomed decided not to follow the Wasangaari and to give up. This is all quite ironic, of course, as nearly all of the Baribas I know are Muslim. The preceding history is the abridged version because I can't remember all of the details right now, and I don't have any notes with me. The actual talk, given in Bariba and then translated into French, took several long hours. So, Gaani is the biggest holiday of the year for the Bariba. It is planned way in advance. There is a lot of fanfare. It is all quite exciting. I hope to put photos and video up soon__________________________________________________________________________________________sorry guys....this entry is not finished and may not be until i get home and am able to spend some time putting video, photos, etc. but i can't add a new entry till i finish this one, so bear with me....ignore this one for now. i will fix it up later.
]]> quick question — Paris, France http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1124210640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1124210640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/suzyinbenin/beninpc/1124210640/tpod.html Tue, 16 Aug 2005 12:46:48 -0400 Peace Corps in Benin: one girl's adventures of learning how to rough it Sub-Saharan style

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Paris, France

Hello everyone!Well, I said goodbye to Strasbourg and have returned for a last night in Paris. I don't really have much to say; in fact, the reason for this email is because someone sent me an email response to my last travelpod that went to my junk mail and was accidently deleted. If you have an email address that begins messyoffice or something to that effect, I did not receive your email, so please do send it again. It drives me crazy not to know who it is. Thanks!Next stop: London
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