Lacking a good title

Hey all. I guess it’s becoming redundant to open each post by acknowledging that a lot of time has passed since the previous post, so I’m just going to assume that we understand each other about this fact from here on out. I am sorry that I don’t post more often, for the record. I do think about writing things for the blog quite a lot; I am just so conscious of needing to conserve my computer battery that I usually don’t act on that impulse. Honestly, that’s pretty much the only reason I wish I had electricity. I don’t mind the dark nights, and I can charge my phone and iPod easily enough at the charging station in town, but the computer I still only charge at Ali’s house in Savalou (1.5 hours and 2,500 francs away, but also you might have noticed, where my mail arrives, so I travel there fairly frequently) or at the PC workstations (the closest ones are 4 hours or 6 hours away). I feel that I would blog more if I had power. But I would also fritter away far more time on facebook and other stupid internet distractions. And I am certainly “integrating” more because I don’t spend much time locked in my house doing computer things. So there we are.

At any rate, it has come to my attention that I have not shared a lot of basic information about the place where I am living, or I may have brushed over it in passing, but not addressed it in sufficient depth. Perhaps I thought you guys might be bored by the basics, or perhaps I just felt more strongly about other topics at the moment of writing my posts, but a lot of the questions I have been getting in letters, etc have been about just trying to get a handle on what the situation is here, in essence. So I’m going to [begin] trying to put some answers out there. If you’re wondering something that I haven’t addressed, let me know–sometimes I forget that you guys are not in fact here with me and also do not share my thoughts. So here we go.

I live in a small town of about 3,500 people. At first I thought it was a village, I guess because it is pretty remote–30-40 minutes down a dirt road from the nearest city [city: (noun) a center of commerce with paved roads and electricity]–and relatively undeveloped (i.e., a lot of mud houses and no running water or electricity). And I definitely didn’t realize how big it was. I had read the 3,500 people number on the fact sheet that PC gave me when we got our post assignments, but I didn’t believe it when I visited. But as I began to walk around off of the main road, I discovered that there are a lot of houses hidden in these areas that I just assumed didn’t go on very far. Even now, after almost 5 months here, I am still discovering new ‘neighborhoods‘ that I didn’t know existed. And then I started traveling to neighboring villages with the health center staff to do vaccinations, and as we were inching (on a motorcycle) over roads that made even the most poorly maintained hiking trails that I have experienced look smooth, getting whacked by branches as we literally drove through the bush, and watching women and children get water from the river or from a pump with a pedal on which you have to jump up and down to make the water flow, I realized that I am in fact living in a bustling megatropolis in comparison. OK, maybe a slight exaggeration, but I cede the label of village to the people who live there and not here.

We have running water, but only for public use–no one has this luxury in their place of residence. There are seven communal “faucets” (like the one I posted in the photo section–there are two spigots: a low one under which you can place a large jug like the ones I use, and a high one under which you can stand with a basin on your head so you can fill it up while it is in carrying position and you don’t lose water as you maneuver the basin up to your head). You have to pay a small amount to use these faucets each time (20 francs for my 25 liter jug, which is less than 10 cents, and one jug lasts me 2-3 days right now), which I find reasonable but some people say it’s pricey. There are also four of the previously mentioned “jumping” pumps on the edges of town–this is where people got water before the improved faucets arrived–and these are free to use, but they are generally farther away from the places where people live.

Nearly everyone who lives here is a farmer in some capacity. I don’t think I know anyone who doesn’t do at least a little farming. Even people who have other jobs (the people at the health center, the zemidjan drivers) also have fields that they tend on the weekends or on days they have off. The major crops grown are yams, corn, yams, manioc, yams, peanuts, yams, cotton, onions, tomatoes, okra, and seasonal fruit. And oh yes, yams. Everyone grows yams. I think everyone probably also grows corn, because so much of what they eat is made of corn, but for some reason they are always talking about the yams and no one mentions the corn. I’m not sure. The farming aspect of this life is still a bit mysterious to me. People keep offering to take me to the fields with them, and I want to take them up on the offer sometime. I would be fairly worthless as an agricultural helper but I would try. And I think I could take some really cool photos.

Everyone has their own field in which they farm. Some fields are big and some are small, but everyone has something. It is totally unheard of for a man to work another man’s fields. To me, it seems like that would make sense, but people say that there would be too many problems with dividing the money from the crops if that were the case, which I can understand. Many people have inherited their fields from their parents, who inherited them from their parents, and so on. The privilege of taking on the family fields falls to the oldest son, who sometimes shares with the other sons (as explained to me “if he is a man of God”). Since the daughters will marry men who have their own fields, they are not considered in the issue of land. Farming is a family activity. One of the main reasons that people here have so many children is because they need help in the fields. They figure that if they have a lot of kids, some of them can go to school while others help on the farm. Women go to the fields along with their husbands most days, often while pregnant (up until they give birth–we got a woman at the health center the other day who had actually given birth in the fields, because she had gone to work and didn’t realize labor was imminent, and she was too far from town to get to the health center in time) or with a young child strapped to their back.

There are two main ethnic groups in my community. The majority of the residents are of the Fon/Mahi variety–Mahi is a slight variation on Fon, but the languages are mutually understood and the people consider themselves very similar. The language that I am trying to learn is Fon, though I suspect I am picking up a mixture of the two, because I don’t know enough to differentiate them. Then there is a second group of people who are somewhat nomadic and are originally from Nigeria, called the Peuhl or the Fulani. I’m still trying to work out why the names are different and which one they prefer. They look different from the Fon/Mahi, dress differently, decorate themselves differently (they do a lot of tattoo-like things and wear a lot of jewelry), and practice Islam. They generally live a bit apart from the rest of the community, in what people call a “camp,” I think because the structures in their space are a little less permanent than the houses that are built in the town proper. The houses in these communities are mud huts with thatched roofs (much like what I stayed in during my rural homestay in Uganda) and generally very small. The work of the Fulani is raising cattle. I don’t think they farm, at least not as much as the people who live in the town proper (though actually some people of this ethnic group do live in the town proper, so perhaps they farm). I find the Fulani extremely interesting people–I often see the men moving around with their herds of cattle as I am running in the morning or when I am traveling on the back of a motorcycle, and it just seems like such a fascinating life. I recently decided that I’m going to start learning their language as well and I hope that with this step, I can learn a bit more about them and open the door to do some health projects with them too.

This is getting very long already, so I guess I will save the rest for another time. Upcoming topics: schools (they exist, there is a semi strike right now…more on that later), weather (it was pleasantly almost cold for a while, now it’s going to be HOT. I’m scared.), and work (what exactly ARE you doing there, Christina? Fair question. Next time.).

Rafiki is doing well. He still isn’t full-sized but he’s growing. He caught his first mouse recently–not in my house, but outside in the yard. He then proceeded to bring it inside the house, which is exactly the opposite of what I want him to do. I freaked out a little (not too much), and insisted that he bring it back outside. But he doesn’t listen well, in any language. So I was doing a little dance with him wherein I waited for him to pick the mouse up in his mouth and then I grabbed him to bring them both outside, but then he would often drop the darn thing again, and it would scurry away, so I would put him down and he would trap it again, and it went on like this for a bit. My concession family noticed my dilemma (and thought it was hilarious–I did too) and eventually one of the kids came in and picked up the cat in one hand, the mouse in the other, and said “allons-y” (let’s go) and placed them both back outside. I closed the door and sat outside on the front stoop as they told and re-told the story and we all laughed. I think Rafiki ate the mouse, but I didn’t ask too many questions.

Until next time. CMK.

P.S. I posted new pics recently–check them out:)

4 thoughts on “Lacking a good title

  1. Great to hear from you. And many thanks for giving us a view of your town. Get used to Rafiki’s gifts; it’s in the genes, and it means he likes you.
    Love
    Papou

  2. Some years ago your cat Angel used to hang out in my suitcase. Sometimes she brought me items out of the unpacked suitcase. That may suggest that she really liked me — but the truth is, she didn’t like me at all. I think she felt that I didn’t like her. Well — maybe she was right. Meanwhile, your posts are always interesting and we do look forward to getting them. Much love, and stay out of the HOT sun!! Carole

  3. Hi Christina, just as always love your blog. Thanks for sharing. I have told several of my friends about you blog and know that several do read it and follow along whenever you post. Think of you often. Carol Ogg

  4. Hi sweetheart. It was lovely of you to phone me on my birthday. I have kept the message on my answering machine so I can hear your voice again! I sent you a box this week; I hope you get it before too long. I’m glad Rafiki is growing up and I trust she will get the idea soon of what you like and what you don’t like for her to practice.
    I hope it doesn’t get too hot! take good care. Thanks for the blog. Love, Granny Kathy

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