You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2009.
Earlier this evening, I repacked my two suitcases and backpack to make room for more Benin souvenirs. My embossed leather jewelry case is carefully wrapped next to my bronze chicken (don’t ask) and carved bull horn. My silver Tuareg jewelry is stashed in my carry-on with a hand-appliqued tapestry and hand-woven fabric from my village. I’m on the fence about buying a sword before I leave. How would it look on my future living room wall? Tacky or bad-ass? I’ve spent too much time in West Africa to know whether anything is tasteful anymore.
Sunday morning, I moved out of my house in village. It was difficult and a relief at the same time, since I feel that the ball is finally rolling on the next part of my life. I’ve spent the last few days living (literally) in the Cotonou Peace Corps headquarters completing all the bureaucratic requirements before I can officially end my Peace Corps service: exit interviews with my boss and my boss’s boss, administrative forms, expense reimbursements, a final French evaluation, and all sorts of medical tests. By now, though, I’ve done everything required except one last medical interview and a final, five-minute signature-and-stamp exit interview with the head administrative officer.
My last good-byes to Beninese friends were difficult, but at least I’ll be able to keep in contact with them by phone. I’m ready to go, mentally and otherwise. I just hope it’s not too cold in London, where I’ll be spending the next two weeks before I head back to the U.S…all I have are flip-flops, khakis, and t-shirts!
Last night, two of my volunteer friends dragged me to a new supermarket in Cotonou, Benin’s largest city. They lured me with the promise that this supermarket would be special. If you ask me, supermarkets in Benin are already very special. They only exist in a small handful of cities across the country. When they exist, they’re very modestly sized and have a small selection of Western, Lebanese, and Chinese packaged foods. Only the wealthiest of the wealthy shop in places like that.
But I wasn’t doing anything last night, so I went to see the new supermarket. It’s out past Peace Corps’ office, actually next to the port in a very sparsely populated area of the foreigners’ portion of Cotonou. Pulling up on our zemidjans (motorcycle taxis), though, we could see that “supermarket” didn’t cover this new store. It was a Wal-Mart.
Not actually a Wal-Mart, of course, but it might as well have been. It was large, it was shaped like a box, it had sliding glass doors out front…and everything inside was sold in piles and rows, neatly stacked. The two other volunteers and I spent almost two hours walking up and down the aisles and wondering what was happening to Benin. We looked at cans of chilled duck liver, pre-prepared tapas, frozen pizzas, a wine section three times bigger than my house in village, and an enormous display of soaps, deoderants, and scented candles. We all agreed that we might as well be back in the U.S., and none of us was happy at the thought. I felt terribly out-of-place in my brightly-colored Beninese outfit. Even the Beninese customers in the store were wearing Western clothes.
My friends and I were quiet by the end of our tour of the store. We each felt the need to buy something. I went to the produce section and picked out a single nectarine, an apricot, and five cherries - the first fresh American fruits I’ve had in two years. The produce assistant bagged them individually, sealed the bags with green tape, and stapled a laser-printed receipt on each little baggy with the weight and total. The fruit came out to about $3.
Yesterday was market day at my post. If I’d wanted to go grocery shopping there, I would’ve had to pick my way through muddy aisles in a sea of little stalls made of scrap metal and woven palm fronds propped up on sticks. I would’ve had to bargain for each item in the local language with women wrapped in traditional boombas. I’ve long since mentally reconciled myself to the differences between American and Beninese grocery shopping…but it’s extremely unsettling to realize what a huge gulf is opening up between the rich and poor in Benin, that these two universes could exist not just on the same planet but in the same country. As I count down the very few days before my departure, I’m starting to realize how much Benin has changed since I arrived in 2007 and how much it will continue to evolve after I leave. If I come back in ten years, would I even recognize the country anymore?
