La belle vie à Parakou

Some of you might be wondering what I keep busy with when I’m not traveling around the countryside or engaging in unruly spectator sports, so I thought I’d take a minute (or twenty) to describe my life in Parakou.

I am in the SIM office from 8am – 12:30pm and 3pm – 6:30pm, Monday through Friday. I live just 50 yards from the office, and the only morning rush-hour traffic I encounter are the snails, lizards, and smushed, rotting mangoes littering the path from my house to the office. The mission compound is very quiet, except for the many assorted birds squawking in the trees and the neighbors’ roosters and goats that wander into our yard now and then.

10am is “pause-café” (coffee break) under the main gazebo, and this is where you can find the best pancakes in Parakou, Monday through Friday! J I’m not sure how the tradition began, but pancakes and coffee have become quite popular, and the pause-café is open to the surrounding community with at least 50 people coming through for their daily coffee break. Instant Nescafé is the only blend offered, so I’ll often sneak back to my house to brew some “real” coffee before returning for pancakes. Although, in defense of Nescafé, I’ve found that it is almost tolerable when mixed with sugar, cocoa, milk, and more sugar – the local version of mocha café.

In West Africa, the businesses shut down from noon until 3pm for lunch/siesta. I’ve never been one for naps, so I often use this time to exercise, go to the market, read, or write emails. Ah yes, we do have our own “fitness facility” on the mission compound, and while the layers of dust on the equipment might indicate otherwise, I try to use it several times a week. The gym is a 10 x 20 ft room with cement walls, tin roof, and no ceiling (thus the layers of dust/leaves). During the hot season, even with a corner fan, the gym is like a solar sauna; so I could be sitting reading a book and still feel like I got a great workout because I’m dripping in sweat! Thankfully the rains have cooled things down and the gym is much more bearable during siesta, so I make good use of the stationary bike, exercise ball, jump rope, and free weights. It’s no Club Med, but it does the trick.

The afternoons in the office are generally quiet and uneventful as most people come by for meetings in the mornings, so I often try to finish up a bit early so that I can go for a run before it gets dark at 7pm. My running partner moved away a couple of months ago, but I still manage to find at least one other person to run with whenever I show up at the local track. I’m not as consistent as I should be in my running schedule, but I’m happy if I can get in a few runs a week. The local track club has tried to adopt me as their Canadian protégée, promising to train me into the next Canadian Olympic sprinter; and each week I find myself explaining yet again why I am not a sprinter nor do I ever wish to compete in any such track events. Nevertheless, I still end up participating in the sprint sessions, hopping up and down the cement bleachers, and providing a great deal of entertainment to the many spectators as I attempt to keep up with the local athletes. I put up with this several times a week because not only is it good for the health, but it’s also proving to be a rather good lesson in humility.

By the time I get home and shower, it’s usually 7:30pm and I have to think about what I’m going to eat for supper. I’m not good at planning ahead for meals; when I’m hungry I find the quickest and simplest thing to eat, and when I’m not hungry, I’m not thinking about food. This approach results in too many omelets and tuna sandwiches, sometimes yogurt and granola, if I remembered to make some during the week (yes I DO make my own yogurt). I try to cook a proper meal once a week, usually on Sundays when I have time to sit around and think about what I might want to eat. Nothing in Parakou is “instant” (except Nescafé), so meal preparation is a bit of an ordeal. Short of killing and plucking the chicken myself, it’s quite the process to prepare a simple chicken and rice meal with veggies. You can buy chicken at one store (across town), the rice at another shop (be sure to check for weevils), and then you have to brave the market to barter for your veggies. Oh, and my stove is outside, and while it is a great conversation piece, it does not get used very often. My Beninese friends are quite impressed with my oven that produces cakes and pizzas (only on weekends), because most of them just use charcoal or wood fires for cooking. I’m still trying to work out a recipe for baking brownies on a wood fire…

Saturday’s are full days for me, starting at 6:30am when I head to the track on my scooter. I spend an hour or so training with a few of my friends, then swing by the bakery to pick up fresh croissants for breakfast. I love my Saturday morning breakfast, because not only do I have fresh croissants with jam, but I also treat myself to freshly ground coffee, brewed in my French press (bodum). Yes, I still have a supply of coffee beans from Canada stashed in my freezer, but the supply is quickly dwindling, so if any of you feel compelled to send a care-package, dark roast coffee beans, Starbucks, or Tim Hortons are always appreciated… J (Address package to: (me) c/o SIM B.P. 15, Parakou, Rép. du Bénin) I spend the morning on my veranda sipping my coffee and journaling, listening to the birds chirping around me. There are a few birds that squawk and shriek more than they chirp, so when the noise becomes unbearable, I chase them with my slingshot. I’ve never actually hit anything with my slingshot, my aim isn’t very good, but I find that it’s a fairly effective scare tactic for birds, bats, lizards, and the neighbor’s crowing rooster.

Saturday morning is grocery day, since I work during store hours the rest of the week. I usually zip around on my scooter, and come home balancing the bags of groceries over my arms and shoulders. I also try to do my laundry on Saturday’s, but the water cuts are so random that it’s hard to plan for laundry day. If the water is cut, then I have to hand-wash a couple pairs of shorts/socks and hope that they dry by the afternoon. I head out for soccer practice at 2:30pm, equipped with a bag of soccer balls over one shoulder, and a large dry-erase board strapped on the other shoulder. I usually pick up a passenger along the way, and she helps me balance the equipment on my scooter as I weave through traffic. By the time I get home from soccer at 6pm, I am a dirt-streaked, sweaty, and slightly sun-stroked; nothing that an ice cold coke with lime can’t fix. J Saturday evening is usually spent watching a movie either at my house or at my neighbor’s; pizza is also a Saturday night favorite.

The next morning I put on my Sunday best and zip across town for a lively 9am church service in French and Bariba. A regular service is about 2 hours long, which is really quite short for a local church service. I could add more about the Sunday morning services, but this blog is already too long, so I’ll save it for another time.

Sunday afternoon is when I practice my culinary skills (or lack thereof) and enjoy proper meal and prepare for the week to come.

That’s my week in a nutshell, with a few variations here and there, including pickup games of volleyball and soccer at the high school across the street, supper at friends’, and sleeping in on Saturday's (like today...). Oh, and if I hit the rooster with my slingshot (by accident of course), you’re all invited for chicken & rice! J

Ehi zandé!

(“until next time” in Fon, and I have no idea how to spell it…)

Dead Manchester Fan Walking

I really don’t follow professional sports at all. I know, it’s shocking, because I love playing and coaching sports, so you would think that I would take an interest in watching sports as well, but I don’t. I cheer for the Calgary Flames simply because I used to live 15 blocks from their home ice, so they are literally my “home” team. But even then, I never followed their games until play-off’s began, and even then, I’d only pay attention if I was actually in the Saddledome (in the 1^st or 2^nd tier of seating – I won’t bother for the “nosebleed” section). I don’t even own a Flames t-shirt, let alone a jersey.

In Africa, soccer is the ONLY professional sport, and it is watched religiously. The Champions League tournament has been going on for the past while; I have no idea how long or how often it takes place, but I assume many European club teams play in it. Seriously, I don’t follow sports, I can recognize names of teams and what sport they belong too (pat on the back), but I have no idea what their ranking is, who plays for them, or even what city they are from. Not a clue. I don’t have a TV, but that’s not an excuse here, because most people do not have TV’s.

So the great big Champions League Final was last night. I wouldn’t have known about it if the girls that I coach hadn’t been talking about it all through soccer practice. One girl invited me to come watch it in her neighborhood; as the coach, I decided I should feign interest in the professional level of this sport, so I agreed to swing by to watch the game after supper. Maybe it would be like a Grey Cup party; I don’t like watching football (neither NFL nor CFL), but I do enjoy a good party with munchies around a TV (go Riders go!).

It was not at all like a Grey Cup party.

I arrived at Sonia’s place, and the power was out for the entire neighborhood – scheduled 4-6 hour power cut, rotates by neighborhood. My friend was already on her phone finding a new location, she hopped on the back of my moto (scooter) and off we went into the dark night to find another spot to watch the soccer game. I was thinking that it might be at her friend’s house, or cousin’s compound, something small. Hm.

We pulled up to a compound with about 100 motorbikes jammed into the driveway. Her brother motioned us in and pushed us through the crowd toward the entrance of the shack. The bouncer at the entrance grabbed me by the shoulder and yelled “What team?” Caught off guard, and still trying to get my bearings in a very loud, crowded, and potentially riotous situation, I blurted out the first team name that came to mind: “Manchester United!” (Isn’t that Beckham’s team?)

It wasn’t intentional. If I had taken a second to think before I spoke, I would have chosen differently (I think). My friends tell me that I do this sort of thing on purpose, I really don’t. You say white, I say black. You say right, and I’ll probably say left. If they say jump, I duck. I don’t know why, it’s just the way I am. I don’t go looking for trouble, it just finds me, honest! Friends call me a troublemaker (or worse), but sometimes I just happen to go against the popular decision. And once I’ve made my choice, well good luck changing my mind…

The bouncer grinned and pushed me into the shack, loudly announcing my allegiance as “MANCHESTAH!!” The 200+ spectators crammed into the 20x60’ shack responded with a unanimous “BARCA!!” Oops, my bad… For my Calgary readers, it’s like wearing an Oilers jersey on the Red Mile during playoff’s – generally a dumb idea. The Barcelona team, FC Barca, is revered in Benin, the star player Eto’o is more popular than Obama, and I would have remembered that if I had I paused to consider my response earlier, but oh well, I had chosen my fate and there was no going back.

It was a shack – 20 x 60 feet, 12 foot tin roof overhead and surrounded by cement/planked up walls, with no windows. At the front of this shack was a 60 inch flat screen TV, nice! My friend and I squeezed into some tight seats that were quickly cleared on the benches for us, seeing as we were the only female spectators! The air was so thick I could literally feel it move whenever a cheer went up, I had to breathe the hot and muggy air through my mouth, and sweat was already running down my back. Everyone was sweating profusely so most of the spectators had already removed their shirts, and the guy in front of me would clear the sweat from his forehead every few minutes by flicking it with his hand under his bench – onto my feet. :P Yuck, I would have been more disgusted if I wasn’t dripping in sweat myself, within 5 minutes I was drenched head to toe.

I figured I couldn’t possibly be the only Manchester supporter, so in order to get an idea of the fan base in the shack, the first chance I saw my team pushing into attack, I yelled out a very loud “MANCHESTAH!” three times, followed by an “ALLEZ! ALLEZ ALLEZ!” (Go! Go! Go!), and enthusiastically pumped my fists in the air.

I would like to clarify something at this point. I do not have a death wish. Contrary to the popular belief of my friends (and my mother), I do not have a death wish. I enjoy a good adventure now and then, I like to try new things, explore new trails, board in fresh powder outside the ski boundaries, but never do I wake up saying to myself, “Today I am going to purposefully endanger my life.” See, that even sounds ridiculous, of course I don’t have a death wish. Although sometimes I just find myself in “tight” situations.

There was a moment of dead silence after my loud “MANCHESTAH” cheer, and then the shack erupted in a roar of disapproval as the Barcelona fans raised their fists and voices in stronger support of “BARCA!!” Thankfully the shack was a “no food no drink” zone, otherwise I’m sure I would have had all sorts of things thrown at my head; even my friend sitting behind me was grabbing at my arms, trying desperately to make me disappear. I was clearly the sole Manchester fan in the shack, and this left me with only one course of action: to cheer more loudly and support my team with even more zeal, it was 1:200.

Unfortunately Manchester played very poorly; they weren’t worth cheering for after Barca scored the first goal 12 minutes into the game. No matter that I had merely picked Manchester off the top of my head, I took my responsibility as a fan very seriously, dedicating my voice & energy to cheering them on. I think I did a pretty good job of riling up the Barca fans; I even held my ground after the 2^nd goal was scored 20 min into the second half, I couldn’t forsake my team now! It wasn’t until the final 2 minutes of the game that I finally changed my chant to “MANCHESTAH, L’ANNEE PROCHAINE!” – next year…

It’s not as though I wasn’t already conspicuous enough, being the only white kid in the crowd, and a girl no less, but I also had to cheer loudly for the “other” team. What can I say, it’s just what I do. I received many thumping pats on the back, jeers, and even mock “radio interviewers” came looking for my response to my team’s poor performance. I would like to say that I stood brave and resolute even in the face of defeat, I smiled and assured the crowd that Manchester would indeed return to challenge for the cup next year (is it played every year?).

After watching last night’s game, I have a much greater appreciation for spectator sports, I think I make a pretty good sports fan.

I can’t wait until World Cup 2010… maybe I’ll pick Japan. J

Joyeux Noel de Parakou

Merry Christmas to everyone around the world, whether it’s a white, brown, or green Christmas! It’s definitely a brown (with green patches) Christmas here in Benin, and instead of Christmas carols, I can hear the melodic Muslim calls to prayer several times a day. J

Yes, I made it safely to Parakou after a long delay in Tripoli; I arrived in Cotonou shortly after midnight Dec 22 (night) and was met by one of the mission staff at the airport. My only comment on Tripoli, would be to strongly discourage anyone from using Afriquay Airlines, akwai wahala sosai! Anyway, I made some friends along the way and so it made the delay in Tripoli feel much shorter, so that was nice.

Cotonou is the major coastal city of Benin and very humid, even at 7am I was sweating as I drank my morning cup of Nescafe (hm...). I was so grateful to have a ride with several church leaders in their air conditioned Toyota 4-Runner; especially after seeing many transit buses broke down or flipped over along the side of the road between Cotonou and Parakou.

This morning I enjoyed Christmas with my parents and good friend (ahem, also boss) Clara, we had Starbucks and Tim Hortons coffee (very special delicacies brought from Canada) along with our traditional cinnamon t-ring (like a cinnamon bun, in a ring), and the perfect Christmas weather at a balmy 26’C when I woke this morning. J The missionary team here in town is now preparing for our big Christmas dinner this afternoon, I think there will be about 26 of us altogether, so a great Christmas gathering.

Ok, I’ve included a few pictures below that tell a bit of a story about my first meal in Benin. Normally I try to ease myself into the local food, no need to risk my health too early on before I’ve adjusted, but this time as I was travelling with Beninese colleagues and I would felt it would be rude if I didn’t sit down and eat with them.

So, we stopped at a popular truck-stop about half way to Parakou, we had several little restaurant cafes to choose from, all complete with prime patio seating (hard to find in Calgary during the summer!). At first the pastors were quite concerned because they didn’t think that I could eat local food, but no I insisted I would be fine, I grew up in Niger and love African food!

We had a fantastic meal of “yam pili” (pounded yam) and peanut sauce with chicken (so they said – it had very thick skin). I diligently washed my hands with the soapy water provided, although now that I think about it, I have no idea where the water came from… The food was very tasty, just enough spice to make my eyes tear up, yum! I wisely chose to use the ladies’ room after eating, and it was there that I discovered the source of my “chicken”… hm (bonus points if you can identify the chicken in the picture below...).

The picture of the brick wall enclosure is only 3 foot high and was the ladies’ toilette. Oh well, the meal was very tasty, and I thankfully had no ill side-effects from the water used.

Well we’re getting the Christmas celebrations under way here and most of you will just be waking up this Christmas morning over in Canada, so merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all, God bless!

P.S. My internet connection is dial-up and infrequent, so if I don’t respond immediately to your emails, sorry!