uniformly different

In the UK, any woman who enjoys dressing up for a party would be very embarrassed if she arrived to find that another woman was wearing the same dress as her. But here in Benin, when there are events like marriages or church Christmas parties it is common for a particular pattern of fabric to be chosen which all the guests are invited to buy to make their clothes from.

Our colleague, Grace, will be retiring next month, and so the Monkolé churches held a goodbye party for her last Saturday. We were told a few weeks ago that some material had been chosen, and we ordered enough to make outfits for the whole family. A seamstress from the village took our orders, and delivered our clothes on the Thursday before the party. It was our first experience of wearing this kind of “uniform”, and it certainly made us feel like we belonged!

It was very impressive to arrive at the party and to see literally hundreds of people wearing the same cloth. Here are a few photos taken during the morning:

Grace, the guest of honour.

One of the choirs.

The youth group dancing for Grace.

Simon in his outfit (we forgot to take photos of us parents, as usual!)

confusing culture

One of the problems about culture shock is that it's hard to pin down exactly what is wrong. Part of this can be because in your own culture you know how things ought to go in any given situation, and you know when you are justified to feel angry or frustrated. If you are aware that your own cultural expectations are likely to be unreliable in judging such things in another culture, you are in for an uncomfortable time. You are often left feeling you are adrift in a sea of ambiguity and unrecognisable social cues.

Here are a couple of examples.

On Saturday, I found a piece of paper in our Post Office box saying that they had a parcel in my name (too big for the box) and that I should come to the Post Office with proof of identity to pick it up. The Post Office was closed on Saturday, so Simon and I headed back there on Monday. Marc had already told me that he couldn't figure out how things really worked when you went into the Post Office, so I had already decided to ask.

As we went in, I could see two desks with employees behind them, and what looked like a small hatch marked “Parcel pick-up”. At one desk there seemed to be two customers, and at the other, a group of 3 or 4 more customers. I knocked, without much hope, on the hatch, and there was no answer. A woman being served at the first desk said to the employees, “There's a lady here with a question!” which forced them to notice me, and I asked, “Is it this hatch or one of the desks to get my parcel?” One of the employees replied, “It's here, but you'll have to wait your turn!” (as if I was trying to jump the queue!) then said more politely, “Please take a seat,” indicating some plastic chairs the other side of the room.

This was reassuring, as it showed me that, 1) there was some kind of queuing system, and 2) they knew I was there and where I should be in the queue!

But then followed half an hour of the two customers at the desk going up to the desk, leaving again to come and sit down, being called back again, leaving again … the employees seeming to do nothing very much … and I realised that while it wouldn't be unheard of to wait for half an hour in a European Post Office, at least I would understand what was going on! You'd be in a long queue, hearing people called to different desks, watching the Post Office employees doing recognisable things like selling stamps, weighing parcels, dealing with people's accounts … and here I really didn't understand what was going on or why I wasn't being called. But I didn't feel I could be annoyed at being made to wait, because probably everything was being done according to the “rules”!

And yes, it is always said that Africans have a different idea of time, and don't mind waiting (a bit of an over-generalisation!), but when it is 37°C and you have a rather warm small boy sitting on your lap, you can't help thinking wistfully of your air-conditioned car sitting outside!

A funny twist to this was that a woman who arrived after me did go up to the desk before me, but the PO employee still called me up first (phew – the English side of me wouldn't have liked to see any queue-jumping!). He did then ask the woman what she wanted, in French, but she answered in another language (obviously not knowing French), and he rolled his eyes at me and said, “Oh, these other languages!” which was a bit odd, as I suddenly found myself included in the “us” of French-speakers against the “them” of non-French-speakers, where I'd been thinking of myself in the “them” of non-Beninese compared to the “us” of Beninese!! (No, I didn't attempt any Monkolé, as even if she had been Monkolé, I doubt I'd have understood her well enough to translate!)

The second example is a young man who called round today to ask us for some clothes. Not only do we not have a whole lot of clothes anyway, but we didn't know him from Adam so had no idea if he really needed them or would just go sell them at the local second-hand market! Marc chatted with him for a bit, then hinted that he should go away (if you call, “Au revoir!” a hint!) and the guy then leaned over the bonnet of our car and fell asleep there!

It seemed to us that it wasn't just our Western culture that made us think that was a bit strange, and that was confirmed when some Beninese colleagues came round and also found it very odd behaviour!

We've always been told that you have to be careful to welcome people here, but they told us we don't have to let just anyone into our house. They said you should be ready to talk to anyone, but that if you don't know the person it is fine for Marc, as head of the household, to talk to them at the gate of the compound, and only invite them in if he thinks they are genuine.

We are very thankful that we do have wise Beninese friends to advise us about this kind of thing. We really want to avoid offending anyone, but don't particularly want to be taken advantage of either!

(And in case you're interested, the parcel was well worth the wait!)

worlds apart

We are about to begin a new phase in language learning with the pastor of the church here in Pèdè working with us as our language helper. I am currently trying to plan different ways for us to learn, to keep it interesting for both us and him. I also hope that some things will be accessible for Simon too, as it would be good for him to learn a bit more Monkolé (he currently knows a few greetings and numbers).

One idea I read about to help gain vocabulary in a new language is to use a children's book with lots of pictures. Simon has an excellent book like this, called “1000 Words and Pictures” (thanks, Grandmum!). However, when I looked at it to see if we could use it with our language helper, it turns out that the majority of the book will not be very useful to us.

We will be able to use pages such as: Bodies and families, actions, wild animals, opposites, colours and numbers, and shapes and comparisons.

Some pages are of no use to us because they illustrate places unknown to your average Monkolé, such as:

The Park
The Supermarket
The Railway Station
The Airport
The Seaside

Other pages might sound as if they should be useful, but the places illustrated bear little or no resemblance to the Monkolé equivalent:

The House and Garden
The Kitchen (theirs are outside)
Partytime
Builders and Buildings
Games and sports (they do play football, but skiiing? Judo? Ice hockey?)
Clothes (again, some are similar, but some very different)
Weather and Seasons (you can imagine!)
All about plants

This is, of course, no criticism of the book, which is brilliant for the purpose for which it is intended, and will be very good when we want to explain to Simon and Benjy about European seasons, houses, parks, parties and so on! But for our language learning we will need to be more imaginative. I recently read an article in which the author suggested taking photos of daily life in the local culture and using them to learn vocabulary and descriptions, and I think we may well use this idea.

We could come back to the picture book later when our Monkolé is better to discuss differences between our background and daily life here, but I think we first need to concentrate on local culture.

Speaking of which, the “chef d'arrondissement” here – I think kind of like a county councillor – recently got the opportunity to travel to France as part of a twinning programme. He is from our church in Pèdè, so we know him a bit. Before he went we chatted to him one evening about what he should expect, and insisted that he take one of Marc's jumpers with him, as he said he only had one. He was unconvinced … but when he got back he told us he'd had to wear it every night! He thoroughly enjoyed his trip – except the cold – and when Marc visited him on Saturday he was telling his friends about his journey in the aeroplane. It is interesting to have someone from our new world here visit our "old" one!

A Monkolé kitchen (coincidentally belonging to the "chef d'arrondissement"!):

Dry Season Bible School

For the first four weeks of March, we were busy attending Monkolé Bible School. It is held every year during dry season, since that is the time when there is no work to be done in the fields, and therefore people have more time. It's open to anyone, and this time there were on average 15 men and 5 women who turned up each morning. The teachers were our Canadian colleague Grace and Monkolé Pastor Samuel (see photos below). Another one of the elders of the church gave a few lessons too. The sessions took place in an open-sided hut with a blackboard, and people sat both inside and outside (in the shade of a mango tree).

The subjects covered this year were baptism, eternal salvation and a study of several chapters of the Gospel of Mark.

It was good for Marc and me to hear so much Monkolé, and although we didn't understand most of it, some days we were encouraged by the improvement in our listening skills. The other useful thing about Bible school was that we were able to meet and start to get to know people from the church. It will make it easier for us to go out into the village and visit!

At the end of the month, after the last class, there was a party with Kool-Aid, popcorn and prawn crackers (not traditional fare in the village!) and you might notice a small gate-crasher in one photo!

the humble "pagne"

Wax block printed material is sold here as a “pièce” of 12 yards length or a “demi-pièce” of 6 yards. I have been thinking about all the different uses for a “pagne”, which is 2 yards of this, and I've come up with the following (non-exhaustive) list, some of which are traditional uses, some of which were invented by us! The photos demonstrate a few of these uses:

- wear tied around the waist as a skirt
- make up into clothes
- tie around head
- carry baby (small baby with arms and legs inside, bigger baby with arms and legs out)
- use as nappies or folded into underwear for a woman's monthly needs
- if tied as a skirt, part of it can be twisted at the waist to hold money, as a built-in purse
- make up into curtains
- sleep under when it's hot instead of a big sheet
- tie up against car window to shade children
- hung up from mosquito net poles on bed so that children can't see each other during naptime!
- to make dressing-up clothes for kids
- to make a playhouse for kids
- as a safety belt for a baby on a sofa

I really don't know how we managed without "pagnes" in Europe!

mystery fruits

So here are my mystery fruits ... any guesses?

And I also forgot to mention that oranges and lemons also grow here ... and that my strange boys love eating raw lemons ... here is the photographic evidence! I really don't think they are that deprived of Vitamin C!

munch munch lovely lunch

A few people have asked about traditional foods here. Various cereals are grown in Benin, including corn, millet, rice, sorghum and soja. Rice is eaten in grain form, but the others are generally ground into flour and then made into “bouillie” (a sort of thick drink) or “pâte” (similar in texture to smooth but stodgy mashed potato). Bean flour is used to make savoury “cakes” - a great favourite of Benjy's, usually eaten with an oily, spicy sauce. There are other foods made from carbohydrates, such as gari and tapioca, made from manioc. Potatoes, yams and sweet potatoes are also grown in Benin, and pounded yams are another common dish.

Beef, chicken and guineafowl meat are widely available, although how often an average Beninese person can afford to eat meat is another question. In some towns pork can also be found. Fish can be found, particularly in the south, but it can be bought in dried or frozen form further north.

Most sauces served with “pâte” are based around onion and tomato, and a bouillon cube gives extra flavour! There is also the famous green “sauce gluante” (gluey sauce?!) made with okra. Spinach is popular too. Homemade peanut butter is often added to tomato sauce too.

Other vegetables available (depending on the season) are marrows, squash, carrots, cabbage, green peppers, red and green chilli peppers (hot!), aubergines, cucumbers and beans (both green and several types of dry).

Fruits include bananas, plantains, pineapples, mangos, papaya, guava and coconuts (or are they nuts really?!). Also some fruits I'd never seen before, but I'm leaving them for another post with photos! Peanuts and cashew nuts are also harvested in Benin, and can be bought all over the country.

Snacks range from “couli-couli” (kind of like baked peanut butter mixed with chilli peppers!) to sweet doughnuts.

Of course, I am far from being an expert in Beninese cuisine, and may be able to give a far more detailed and complete version of this in a few years time! I like cooking, and have enjoyed the challenge of learning to cook new meals. But I sometimes have to stop myself from thinking about the meals I used to love cooking and eating back in Europe! (I have already started a list in my head of foods I want to eat when I'm briefly back in the UK for my sister's wedding at the end of May!)

Benjy eating bean cake, with Maman Sera, who used to look after him during our language lessons in Parakou: