be he katuribu (happy new year)

With the end of the holidays comes the return to routine. Which is nice.

I spent Christmas and the days leading up to it in southern Benin, mostly in a cute little town called Zanganando. I dare you to pronounce it correctly. On Christmas eve a number of volunteers served lunch and handed out gifts to children in a nearby big city. Due to our organization, we handed out probably close to 150 sets of gifts. My job in the assembly line was to mark kids’ hands to make sure none of them attempted the unthinkable: sneaking back in line for a second cadeau from Papa Noel.

Christmas day was spent with volunteers, making burritos and enjoying the southern heat. It was a good Christmas, but I woke up early the next day to catch a bus back up to my home here in Benin. It wasn’t until three days later that I actually arrived in Tobre (trying to get anywhere here is a lesson in patience and flexibility).

New Year’s Eve this year fell on the same day as the Muslim holiday called Tabaski here. I think in the States its called Ede. It marks the last day of the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca, as well as when God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac (Muslims say it was Ishmael). In remembrance of the ram God sent in Isaac’s stead, people kill sheep and share the meat with their families, their neighbors, and the poor. Tabaski/New Year’s was wonderful. My friends and neighbors in Tobre fed me about four meals. My school’s director sent me a big bag of prime sheep meat, which I prepared with teriyaki marinade and let people have a taste of how we sometimes eat meat chez moi. There were drummers, trumpeters, and a traditional Bariba warrior making their way throughout the village. Apparently the warrior is not allowed to smile or talk when he’s wearing his garb, otherwise he’ll die. I love the way people tell me this kind of stuff – so matter of factly.

Now school is back in session, and I’m realizing more and more how at home I am in Tobre. Gone are the days when walking around was a cause for slight anxiety. Now I have people I can stop in and visit, places I can go to get decent snacks, and people have generally accepted my presence in their quiet little home. My closest neighbors (the royal family) leave me with the key to the gasoline they sell from their house when they step out, and leave me in charge of selling it. I guess first of all I should explain that gas here is brought from Nigeria, and sold on the side of the road in old liter rum bottles. No Shell stations here. Usually its women and children who man the stands on the side of the road. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the bottles were full of apple juice or some other refreshing drink. So now I too occasionally ask the question “How many liters?” and fill up people plastic gas containers.

Recently I’ve been taking advantage of the bike Peace Corps issued me (which is the nicest bike that I will probably ever own) to ride around and visit neighboring villages. On one such trip, I passed a Fulani (Peuhl, or bush person) woman about my age. Instead of the usual greeting that I get when I pass people, she started chasing me and waving me over. So I stopped, and through gestures she communicated that she wanted to ride on the back of my bike. In the same way, I told her we would fall over, but she shook her head. Well, I thought, whatever. So I let her hop on and I pedaled us into Tobre. She also had a baby tied on her back. I just kept thinking “We can NOT fall over. We can NOT fall over.” And we didn’t. At one hill I made her get off and walk, but I waited at the top and she climbed back on. In the end I was especially glad we tried it out, because it turns out she was going to the Catholic clinic. I’m assuming the baby was sick.

So those are the small scale things I’m doing: selling gasoline and giving lifts to bush people. On the bigger side, I’m still trying to work with the women’s garden co-operative, as well as looking into finding grants for my school. Having this kind of work makes me feel like I’m actually contributing something. But I’m still finding plenty of time to sit and read for hours (I’m onto my 46th book since being here – don’t be too impressed, a lot of them were quick reads). Still finding plenty of time sit and watch the stars and try to decipher the conversations in Bariba.

Thanks to all who have sent me mail. I haven’t gotten packages that I know where sent yet, but thank you in advance. You have no idea how exciting it is to receive letters and packages.

And on that same note, I finally have an address at the Post Office 15K from Tobre.
Write it down:
Betsie Frei
(professeure americaine a Tobre)
B.P. 40
Pehunco, Benin
L’Afrique de l’Oueste

I hope the holidays treated you all well. Happy MLK Jr. Day, and until the next time I’m around a computer,
Love and grace,
Betsie