Posts filed under 'Benin'
“No worries; we are always together”
By Andrew Whiteman, KF8
My fellowship in Benin is nearly over. It has been ten weeks of hard work, but I have learned a ton and I have great stories to take back to the US. Some everlasting memories include taking a baboon for a walk (yes, on a leash), being told that I could only wear a speedo at the swimming pool, and visiting a sacred forest, the home of a tree that was once a king. More importantly, now I better understand my reason for being here. During my first few weeks, when everything was stressful and confusing, I remember writing in my journal, “Why I am here? What difference can I, a foreigner, make?” Now, I think I have found a good enough answer for myself. Here are a few things I have learned:
Development takes a long time. Democracy in Africa is at most fifty years old. A working financial sector is even younger. Benin was communist in the 1970s and has therefore only recently adopted a market economy. Although the example is dated, our own country had a lot work out in the first fifty years of its history. Many people, including myself, want an easy answer to all of the world’s problems. But it doesn’t work that way. We work on a problem and then others build on what we have done, slowly resolving the problem. Microfinance is a perfect example. It is a relatively new field and we are all working to make it stronger. It is not perfect right now. It is often hard to see a real impact after someone has taken out three loans and they are still selling a small stock of goods on the side of the road. But at least, people are learning how to manage their money. Many borrowers on Kiva have already received a loan from their MFI, meaning that they are considered financially trustworthy. In the future, an MFI might decide to offer advanced money management courses that help people establish financial goals. More Kiva Fellows go out into the field to make Kiva’s work better. As the Kiva community, we should always be thinking of ways to improve what we do, but also we should be patient and give development a chance.
Our world is shrinking whether we like it or not. We are traveling more, learning new languages, and meeting people who are different from us. People in Benin listen to American music and watch Lost and Prison Break. In the rural north of Benin, people are starting to receive Internet service via cell phones. We no longer have the choice to remain separated from the rest of the world. It is our responsibility to engage each other, to figure out where all this is going. This is one great benefit of the Kiva Fellows Program—you enter a totally new environment and are forced to interact. I believe that it is hospitality that can connect us all. Almost every culture in the world places a high priority on hospitality. People in Benin often offer to pay for me, even if they do not have very much money. It is a sign that I am welcome in their country. Often when I say goodbye to someone in Benin, they say, “no worries; we are always together.” Luckily, if we all hold onto our shared generosity and hospitality, we have a lot to look forward to in the future.
In short, engaging the world is relevant and necessary. It is easy to be cynical or overly optimistic about international development, but I think it’s better to be somewhere in the middle. A lot of work still needs to be done to promote development and increase cultural understanding, but through Kiva, we are doing our part. As a Kiva Fellow, I have been able to meet some of the people that you lend to from thousands of miles away. I think this is powerful and I am fortunate to help make that connection. I look forward to continuing to lend to others around the world over the years. I wonder what microfinance will look like in ten, fifteen years…
Part tour guide, part Kiva-in-Benin promoter, here are a few photos of this beautiful country:
Ganvier, the "Venice of Africa", located thirty minutes north of Cotonou
On the road to Bassila. During the rainy season, Benin is quite green.
A mosque in Porto-Novo
A view over the Dantokpa Market in Cotonou.
Andrew Whiteman is a Kiva Fellow (KF8), currently working at Alidé, a Kiva Field Partner, in Cotonou, Benin.
Please consider joining my lending team, Friends of Benin. Together, we can make a difference!
7 comments 20 August 2009
Thank You – Beninese Style
By Andrew Whiteman, KF8 in Benin
A view over Dantokpa Market, where many Alidé borrowers sell their goods
One day, I walked into one of Alidé’s offices in Cotonou to work with the loan officers. Right inside the gate, in the outdoor waiting area, I saw about thirty women seated patiently in perfect rows. Everyone was wearing their best pagnes, brilliantly colored Beninese fabrics, so I could tell that it was an important day.
After working for a little while, I started to hear drums and shakers. The sounds were sporatic at first, as if the drummers were warming up for a performance. Soon enough, I heard lively chanting and a quick-paced rhythm. It was very close by. The neighborhood around the office is often noisy, so I assumed that the drumming was coming from some other building. I had to go outside to investigate because the music was too good. Low and behold, the drumming and chanting was coming from the women who I had seen earlier. All of them were dancing and moving to the drumbeat, smiling and having a great time. One woman was leading the rest in front of the group, in a call and response fashion. The space was full of energy. With thirty people dancing their hearts out around you, it is impossible not to want to join in.
I had to ask what all this was about. Drumming and dancing was not something I would have expected from a microfinance institution. An Alidé employee explained to me that these women were part of a women’s group and had all recently been granted Alidé loans. The woman leading everyone in the singing and dancing was the group’s president. They were expressing their gratitude to Alidé for the ability to have access to credit. For some reason, I found it hard to imagine singing and dancing happening in the United States when someone received a loan. Well, I guess maybe these days.
Women’s groups like these are very common in Benin and in the world of microfinance. Their purpose is to help women manage their money. The members help each other sort through the loan policies and to remember to repay each month. In this way, the mutual support and subtle pressure helps prevent borrower default and delinquency. During the meeting I witnessed, the president stood up and spoke very sternly to the group about a few women who had not paid their loans back. Groups like these are responsible in part for the low loan default and delinquency rate on Kiva. Alidé’s clients are about 90 percent women and many are members of such groups.
The singing and dancing soon stopped and everyone took their seats again. Two of the loan officers approached the front of the group and started speaking rapidly in Fon. The Alidé employee sitting next to me told me that the loan officers were now giving a training session on Alidé’s policies. After borrowers are approved for loans, they are required to come to the office to learn all of the necessary information about interest rates, loan terms, and repayments. The loan officers also gave some practical advice. They stressed that the women should discuss their loans with their husbands and take care of their health.
These groups, with the help of loan officers, are helping women to better take control of their lives. Virtually all of Alidé’s borrowers on the Kiva website have received more than one loan from the institution, meaning that they are reliable customers. Each new loan means a little more money, greater inventory at the business, and greater profits. The singing and dancing I witnessed showed me how important the access to credit is to small business owners here in Benin. It was a heartfelt, genuine thank you from people in need. I am convinced that microcredit an important service that can only be expanded to more people. Since witnessing my first Beninese thank you, I have seen several others at Alidé offices. These types of experiences keep me in love with Africa and its rich culture.
Andrew Whiteman is a Kiva Fellow (KF8), currently working at Alidé, a Kiva Field Partner, in Cotonou, Benin.
7 comments 12 August 2009
A Small Step Forward
Like most of Africa, Benin’s education system is riddled with problems. Its educational woes start at the primary level. The main language of instruction in Benin is French. Educational resources written in Beninese languages hardly exist. Therefore, children whose native language is Fon or Yoruba have to learn material while trying to understand a new language. This problem is particularly evident in the rural north of Benin. As a friend of mine said to me, it would help if more students started school in their native language and gradually transitioned to French. But this is a long-term goal.
Students must pass two national exams in order to graduate from high school; however, the pass rate of both exams is very low. The first is the BEPC, Brevet d’etudes du premier cycle, taken at age fourteen. Then students take the Baccalaureate, or Bac, at the end of high school. When you visit Benin’s national education website and scroll through Bac results, it is startling how few students pass. Because entry into the few national universities is guaranteed to students who pass the Bac, the exam is very difficult. Therefore, many students struggle repeatedly just to pass high school. Even smart, dedicated students have trouble moving to the next level. Many are simply unprepared to advance.
Unfortunately, things are far from ideal even for those who are lucky enough to pass the Bac and go on to university. Cotonou is the only major economic center in Benin and few jobs exist even for the brightest of the bright. It is no wonder that everyone wants to move to Europe or the United States. Imagine how frustrating it must be to graduate at the top of your class and have no opportunities to use your talents. Many are also frustrated by visa requirements and a lack of fluency in English.
And yet, despite the odds, education remains an important priority for people in Benin. I was sitting at a hotel lobby a few weeks ago, watching TV. The hotel manager came running into the room and asked if he could change the channel. The BEPC results were set to come out that day and they were to be announced on TV. Judging by his excitement, I imagine that he had a child or another close relative who had recently taken the exam. Soon enough, more people trickled into the room and we watched the results together. It was obviously a big day in Benin.
Education is the starting block for progress and success anywhere. It is how people get ahead in life. People in Benin, like anywhere, want to get an education and succeed. But without a well-established, functioning system, people have to look for any work they can find. That’s why so many people are selling the same goods along the side of the road; they do whatever they can to survive. This is where Alidé and other microfinance institutions can help. By offering loans, microfinance institutions are teaching people how to manage their money. I have witnessed many training sessions during which loan officers explained interest rates, repayments, and loan terms. This is important information to know. Also, the access to credit gives people the opportunity to innovate and be more successful. With the help of a loan or two, a vender might be able to sell a new product and to increase sales. It might give someone else more time to study for a test. It is a small step, but an important one. As well, how could microcredit be used to further expand educational opportunities? Could microcredit function as a source for student loans?
There is no simple answer to correcting large problems in education and economics. Benin, Africa, and the whole developing as a whole will all hopefully become more prosperous in the future, but it will likely take a long time. A lot of work needs to be done to address huge problems. If anything, the importance placed on education in Benin is a good sign for its future. In the meantime, we can continue to support the financial system, which is helping people to learn money management and to improve their standard of living. Many borrowers in Benin rely on Kiva lenders for funding and we have the unique opportunity to help provide assistance.
Andrew Whiteman is a Kiva Fellow (KF8), currently working at Alidé, a Kiva Field Partner, in Cotonou, Benin.
3 comments 31 July 2009
A Holistic Approach
View of Cotonou Benin
Over the past two weeks, I’ve spent a fair amount of time at Alidé’s field offices. These offices are where the heavy lifting of Alidé’s work gets done. I often walk into an office to find fifty women waiting to be interviewed for a loan. Each office has about two or three loan officers, so, as you can imagine, these interviews are very time consuming. Interviews can easily last all day. Nonetheless, the loan officers patiently sit down with each person until the work is done.
I am quite impressed by the loan officers’ dedication to Alidé. I think that they have the most difficult and time-consuming job of the entire operation. While the whole city of Cotonou takes a two-hour siesta during lunch, they often do not have this option. With so much to accomplish, they can easily work well into the evening. Not only do they have to conduct interviews, they are also responsible for communication and follow-up with Alidé borrowers. For one, this involves conducting training sessions on Alidé’s policies. I can only imagine the difficulty of explaining finance to a group of borrowers who do not have a formal education or any previous experience with loans. Loan officers also have to make sure that borrowers actually pay each month, which can require a special visit to those who are delinquent on their payments. It is obvious that this work takes a lot of patience and hard work.
In the midst of this bustle am I. In order to better understand Alidé’s work and to conduct interviews, I need to go into the field. I have to work with the loan officers because they know the clients best and they can translate French into Fon, the local language. They help explain to the borrowers the reason for my visit. Such a link is crucial in a place where I am clearly an outsider. Understandably, I often have to wait until the loan officers have a chance to fit me into their schedules.
An experience yesterday with a loan officer really stood out to me. I was out in the field conducting borrower visits, with a loan officer named Gildas. We finished enough for that day and he told me that we had a few errands to run before returning to the office. We rode around the city, occasionally stopping to speak to someone. After a few stops, I asked what they were discussing. Gildas told me that he was reminding them of a meeting set to occur the next day. The subject of the meeting would be Malaria Prevention. Meetings such as these, he told me, were some of the social services that Alidé provides. Gildas and I went around the city to make personal visits to at least fifteen people.
To me, this is remarkable. These guys are so busy and yet they are still enthusiastically offering these services. It makes me really respect the work that they are doing and grateful for the time I have with them. Alidé obviously has a lot to do and yet it still makes time to go beyond its normal call of duty. Although a financial institution, its mission is much broader than just making money. One of my colleagues is working on a plan to provide micro health insurance to borrowers. On top of the health campaign, Alidé gives small interest-free loans to people who want to start business activities.
Alidé understands something important: to have a well-functioning society, people need basic services like health care, education, and access to a little cash. Everything is interconnected. Alidé’s efforts may be small in the grand scheme of things, but I think they have the right idea. The staff is very committed to the mission. I give them a lot of credit.
Andrew Whiteman is a Kiva Fellow (KF8) currently working in Benin.
2 comments 10 July 2009
Language Connection
Bonjour from Benin,
I am approaching the two-week mark of my fellowship in Benin and things are off to a good start! I am working for Alidé, an MFI based in Cotonou, the largest city in Benin. Alidé is a relatively new partner of Kiva and is showing great promise. The Kiva Coordinator at Alidé, my main colleague, is committed to strengthening the partnership and teaching the other staff members how to use Kiva. I have a good feeling that we will work well together.
During these first few weeks, I have definitely noticed the language barrier. I came to Benin with a good, working knowledge of French, but there have been inevitable difficulties. People here in Cotonou speak French, but the accent is unfamiliar and conversations also include many words in Fon, the language native to this region. I often find myself struggling to keep up. Unfamiliar languages are common in almost every fellowship. Even if English is a national language, fellows immerse themselves into cultures that use Swahili, Arabic, Samoan, or Cambodian. There is bound to be frustration for everyone due to communication difficulties.
However, so far, I’ve found that learning a language has an incredible power to foster connections between people. Around the office, I greatly appreciate the patience and grace of Alidé’s staff when I do not completely understand something in French. I’ve seen the hospitality of the Beninese people by their willingness to help me out. Also, whenever I use a word or phrase in Fon, people instantly light up and become eager to teach me more. They appreciate the attempt to understand their language and culture. An instant friendship is born. Using Fon is a great way to gain trust and to create a connection with Kiva borrowers.
The power of language is one simple way that Kiva’s mission to connect people is being implemented. When you are forced to find ways to communicate, you gravitate towards shared beliefs and experiences. I find that when communication is possible, the payoff is rewarding. That reward is the knowledge that I have developed a relationship with someone who grew up in a different country and culture, and speaks a different language. Fostering connections is part of the Kiva experience that fellows, lenders, and supporters all share to some degree. Kiva allows us to understand the importance of engaging the global community. I am fortunate to be a part of such an organization.
Andrew Whiteman is Kiva Fellow (KF8) working in Cotonou, Benin.
4 comments 22 June 2009
Life is Beautiful in Bénin (Doucement, Yovo!)
An appreciation for the people and culture of Bénin
Continue Reading 4 comments 17 March 2009
In the Time of Voodoo and Soy Cheese
Dedokpo
Moise, the loan officer at Alide- Dedokpo, and I drove into the neighborhood of Aglas Hlazountas. In the mid-afternoon, the local market was pretty quiet, but we needed to scarf up some Kiva clients to interview, so Moise alerted the leader of the group, the woman selling charcoal. Evidently the word spread fast, because soon the Kiva women were upon us, joined by their entire group. Moise explained that the entire group consisted of 50 women who all shared the collatéral of the loan. Only a few of the 50 women were Kiva. They came ready to see us with baskets of wares on their heads. I asked for the honor of their photo. 
Moise explained to the leader of the group that only some of the women were to be interviewed. This caused some panic amongst the clients ; they assumed that the rest would not receive loans. Even though Moise assured them that they would all be receiving loans, some milled around, still upset.
The first woman interviewed appeared a little suspicious of me during the interview, but after her photo, Mouhïnatou Kadiri was ecstatic.
Mouhinatou Kadiri
She left to go sell her articles, trumpeting to the market that now she was sure to receive a loan because of the interview. Beninese ladies generally do not smile when photos were taken, but when I asked Chantal Akoutey if we could take a picture together, she got a kick out of it.
Chantal Akoutey
As I relaxed during the interviews, I found the women more open with me. One of the other women sold soy cheese. I explained my family at one point had grown soybeans. We finished up the market interviews and went to make house calls for the women who sold out of their houses or stores. Moise and I paid for cooked soy cheese from Madeleine Agbedevi; it was delicious, and very Californian.
Madeleine Agbedevi
By the time we concluded our last interview, late evening was falling in Aglas, and Maurice and I sipped our bissap, hibiscus flavored tea which tastes like cranberry juice, out of icy cold bottles and jumped on his Chinese motorcycle to head back to town.
Alide and Kiva clients and me
Voodoo
At the Alide head office the electricity was cut again, and I asked Landry to explain the key concepts of Voodoo to me. I was having trouble making sense of what I had seen at the biggest Voodoo festival in Benin on January 10. Why did the dancing practitioners cut themselves with long knives?
Landry explained that the Voodoo priests, or féticheurs, chose January 10 as a day of prayer, communion with Gods, jubilation, and initiation. Like Catholics, Protestants, and evangelists, Voodooists have different groups such as the Sakpata, Dan, Lissa, Hebiosso, Djaguidi, Zangbeto, Oro, and Egoun. The Zangbeto police catch bad members of the community; The Djaguidi are those that communicate with their god through or cutting themselves. The Oro do not allow women to witness their ceremonies, and the Egoun represent the African dead, brought back to life. According to Landry, originally Voodooists used fetishes to protect themselves against evil. Certain groups also injure their fetishes to cause pain to others. Many Beninese practice voodoo, but it is hard to pin down exact definitions of the religion.
Voodoo Dancers putting on palm paint
When a group of ex-pats and I headed to the city of Ouidah, the old capital of the Beninois slave trade on the Atlantic Ocean, for the January 10 Voodoo Festival, we were certainly not initiated into the practices of voodoo. We had no idea what to expect. What we saw seemed chaotic and difficult to understand. The dancers were half-naked men and women wearing straw skirts and coated in palm oil and sand, which looked like wet yellow paint. They carried long knives, with which they cut themselves repeatedly, mainly on the legs and arms. Although many of the dancers were young, they had deep scars on their bodies. Blood ran freely as they danced, and sometimes Beninese who were not dancers would become possessed by the spirit and throw themselves into the group of dancers, who would encourage the possessed as they hurled themselves into the sand. As the dancers cut so swiftly their knives became blurs, I grabbed my friend’s wrist, unable to watch, but willing myself to remember that this was a sacred ceremony. Because there was no discernible boundaries, the watchers, a mixture of Beninese and a smattering of tourists, stood around the dancers, but had to run quite frequently as the dancers changed direction and ran towards us. Periodically men who were not clearly affiliated with the dancers would demand money from people taking photos. The dancers never used knives against each other or against the watchers, but as they were possessed it was best to give them some room.
Talk softly and carry a long knife
Caroline cut into Landry and my discussion. “The majority of Beninese are Catholic and don’t like voodoo,” she said, “Voodoo has been commoditized to sell Beninese culture to tourists.”
Landry protested that it was still an important part of the culture. There were some tourists at the event, but the vast majority of the people at the ceremony were Beninese.
“Do you want to be initiated into Voodoo?” Landry asked me a little jokingly, who was not initiated. “Voodoo will bring you peace.”
“Don’t listen to him!” called Rosalyne the secretary firmly from the other office.
As my group departed the ceremony, deciding not to stick around to wait for other groups, the Voodoo cortege arrived, men and women dressed in white, the religious leaders of Voodoo in the country.
the VIPs
Another Festival
Next Friday night was Alidé’s annual party. All of Alidé staff was invited. Our emcee joked that he would auction off tickets to Barack Obama’s Inauguration. For the loan officers, head office, and I, it was a night of bonding. Potato salad, spicy fish, fruit salad, and Castel beer mixed with pineapple juice competed for our attention until midnight. Afterwards, there was West African tunes, salsa, and zouk, combined with a few Beatles songs. Alidé staff hardly ever go out and work long hours, but on Friday we danced until six in the morning.
Clement, a loan officer at Alide- Santa Rita, and his date
Sarah Lawson is a KF6 Fellow working at ALIDé, a microfinance NGO in Cotonou, Benin.
Add comment 23 January 2009
The Power of Music: Crossing the Border into Togo
Abozu with Abby and I of "Why I can't give Abozu my Camera" blog fame
I spent the weekend in Lomé, Togo with Abby Gray, another Kiva fellow at WAGES. Wages is basically like Alide in a few years: larger, and with a deeper relationship with Kiva. To get to Togo, I had to cross the border from Benin to Togo alone, which was just a little bit more harrowing and stressful than was necessary between two small, relatively stable countries. I decided to go to Togo on the spur of the moment. Spontaneity: definitely a new quality for me. At 2 pm on Friday I left the office. I should have left at 12:30. In Africa, one should absolutely get to their destination before dark. It is not just convenience, but safety. Abby once crossed the border into Togo from Ghana at night. Chaos ensued at the border after a man was hit by a truck. They put him in the car to drive him to the hospital, then returned almost immediately as he was already dead. There are no traffic laws or lanes: huge trucks, smaller cars and taxis, motos, darting sellers plying their wares, and border crossers all vie for command of the center of the road. The result is anarchical.
There were a few options for crossing the border from Benin to Togo: a bus, a bush taxi, or a private car. Ideally I would know someone with a private car going to Togo that weekend, but as I did not, this left the bus or bush taxi. A taxi seemed safer because there are less people, and buses are known for a high rate of theft.
I found the bush taxis waiting by the Jericho Post office. Right away they tried to charge me over twice the usual price, but I bargained it down. I sat in the car while the brother of the driver stuck his head through the permanently open window and harassed me. None of the men, including the driver, paid any attention. He wouldn’t leave me alone, so I finally got out of the vehicle and contemplated going home completely. Not exactly an auspicious start, but I decided to stick it out. I was sitting in the front seat and the driver asked me if I wanted to “pris 2 places” or pay for two seats. I didn’t want to, until I found out that full capacity in a bush taxi is not 4 passengers, but 7 passengers: 5 in back and 2 in front. I paid for 2 seats (about $8).
There weren’t any other women, and I felt very nervous. The drive was slow and I could feel every bone in my body vibrating with apprehension and a little bit of fear. Was this smart? Getting into a car with five men alone? Near the edge of Cotonou, we picked up another passenger: a woman. I was relieved. There were now 5 in the back, and I could feel the guy behind me stick his elbow into the back of my seat to try to get some traction as we were thrown around on the potholed roads. The heat and dust were intense. I was soaked in sweat from the ride and my face was covered with a thin layer of red dust.
About two hours later we bumped into the actual border. Everyone else got out, and the driver kicked me out of the car because none of the other passengers were going on to Togo. He found me another taxi driver headed to Togo. I appeared to be the only passenger, but he didn’t want me to get out until we got up to the actual border. I suppose he thought I had no idea where I was going (which was true) and also didn’t want to lose a passenger. He kept asking me if I was married (I lied and said yes) and whether or not I would go out with him. Then, he tried to drive through the actual border when he should have let me walk and get passport checked. As soon as he drove through, the patrol became very angry and opened my car door and pulled me out of the car, not roughly, but just forcefully enough that my Beninois cell phone fell out of my hand and I lost it.
The driver accompanied me to passport control. I realized I didn’t know the exact address, just the neighborhood, of the place I was living at in Cotonou, or the area I was going to in Lome. Addresses in Africa are much more fluid. Finally the driver supplied, “Grand Marche?” or big market, which is the main market of Lome. The customs officer wrote it down on the form.
The driver left and I went to see the visa officer. The visa officer did what almost every Beninois man, married or single, does to a foreign girl: relentlessly hits on them. As he asked me pertinent questions, he kept up a constant commentary of impertinent questions – “You don’t know where you’re staying? At my place?” and “I will marry you even if you have two sisters to take care of.” I couldn’t believe the border officer was hitting on me now, wasn’t he supposed to be a law officer? I was so tired and having trouble understanding him. I felt like crying, but realizing it wouldn’t help, I instead looked gamely at him and said, “I have two sisters, and they’re very expensive.”
I walked across the no man’s land, searching for the driver, but couldn’t find him for a good 10 minutes. When I finally found him, he led me to a dirt road behind a few houses. Were we actually going to a car? I was starting to feel a little irrational. Several men followed us, all pointing at me and saying “yavo.” By this time I had just realized my phone was gone, but it was on the other side of the border. Everyone was staring at me. The “flee” instincts in my brain were already engaged, but where to? Not to the visa officer. I told the driver I would pay for two seats.
“But every place is already taken!” he announced, sounding scandalized.
Five men got in the back. The driver, myself, and a younger guy climbed into the front. The car was dead silent, and I could feel the tension radiating up my legs. The guy next to me and I were ignoring each other although we were ear to ear. As the driver downshifted into my left thigh, I wondered if the stupidest thing I had ever done, or the most interesting.
Then the driver put a tape in. The music played in tinny spurts. I could make out English, French, and what was probably Mina. Everyone began to sing along to the reggae tunes, some of it Nigerian English. The music segued into love songs. The men sang along softly in Mina, and a nice breeze came through the window as we sped through southeastern Togo. I began to notice the graceful coconut trees on either side of the road, the actual cleanliness of the environment, a pretty lake. It sort of looked like the Caribbean, and as everyone continued to sing, I began to relax, or as much as I could in my current cramped position. I smiled goofily to myself, laughing at my previous fears. Definitely the most interesting thing I have ever done.
The best moment during my weekend involved another round of music. Abby’s homestay brothers decided to teach Abby and I how to dance Togolese-style. They took Abby’s computer outside. One of the young men began to swirl his arms and jump around like a duck. “The Chinese duck dance!” he trumpeted. They put on Togolese music: hip hop, tribal tunes, reggae. We tried to move like they did. I recognized a song from the taxi ride. We hopped around on one foot, and we taught them the slap-hands game and shadowboxed. We sweated a lot, and finally formed a four-person dance train and jumped up and down the hallway of the outdoor courtyard, singing and panting as we tried to keep up with the beat. The rest of the family stared at us from below as they washed the house and we danced up and down the stairs like a bunch of hooligans. There it was again: the power of music.
Sarah Lawson is a KF6 Kiva Fellow in Cotonou, Benin with the NGO Alide.
One of our dance teachers
2 comments 23 December 2008
The Urban Field of Benin (Au Terrain Urbain du Bénin)
Maurice, Alidé’s loan officer, and I ventured into neighborhoods even dirtier and more fly stricken to visit Alide’s clients. On Monday we visited the most intense location ever – the lake country. It reminded me a little of New Orleans. The houses were built on mud and some directly over the lake, the log slats spaced almost wide enough for a foot to fall through. The area was muddy with lots of flies and very poor. We interviewed one of the few male borrowers, Moise Dossa. He was a happy, attractive man wearing robes of flowing colors. In his bare feet, he led us into the church. M translated my French into Fon; and Moise talked about how he had been forced to quit fishing due to a stomach or lung problem (cancer?) and had sold nets and logs with the help of an Alidé loan. He offered me a beer. It looked a little dirty at the edges, but it was impossible to decline. I could feel my stomach bubble suspiciously as I started to drink it. When we went outside, I tried to ditch it, but Moise admonished me in Fon, Maurice in French as if it was a cardinal sin. We took his photo in a pirogue, a small distinctly shaped boat.
Moise Dossa, a Kiva borrower
Time to leave. Most of the village had assembled, and I met the priest. But before we could go, I had to finish my beer. I tried to farm it out, but everyone simply watched me. I finally finished it, and tipsily mounted M’s motorcycle, and we zoomed down the road filled with muddy sad pits and kids yelling YAVO (foreigner) furiously at me as I went by.
Maurice and I entered a house not far from the lake, and were soon blinded by the smoke, which came from fish being grilled over huge black pots. The fish had to be imported due to the lake’s pollution, and the women were cooking hundreds of fish along with the help of at least 15 children who were surrounding the pots helping and staring at me. Flies were pervasive, and the host pulled up three chairs for the borrower, Maurice, and I. At the conclusion of the interview, we needed to show Daniel, one of the borrowers, in the lake at his place of business as opposed to at home. (He had finished fishing early in the morning). The three of us trooped down to the lake, Daniel with his basket, net, and oar, to get on a pirogue. The lakeshore was littered with mountains of trash. Pigs, chickens, goats, and birds scavenged through it. Daniel offered to buy me some bananas by the lakeshore, but I declined as politely as I could. When we went to a café to do his interview, I asked him if he had a problem with fish yields due to pollution, which he seemed to deny. However, a lot of the smoked fish were imported according to M, so either Daniel was in denial or I couldn’t understand his French well enough.
Ayoyoa ADANMITONDE, a Kiva borrower
M and I stopped by a client’s hair salon business where he had an identification verification to follow up. The lady’s husband sat in a chair, she was attaching light blond hair extensions to the hair of a woman sitting in the chair, who was nursing. As M talked, she turned on him all of a sudden, yelling in Fon. I had no idea what was happening, but abruptly M stopped, grabbed my arm, and said, “We’re leaving!”
“Wouldn’t tell me the date of her birthday!” He exclaimed as we got on his moto. “I don’t make the rules, the Microfinance Minister does!”
“Why was she so mad?” I asked.
“Forgot to call to say I was coming,” he said.
“Maurice!!” Her husband was running after us.
“Stop,” I said. Her husband ran up to us, handed over the identity papers.
“I don’t make the rules. . .” stammered Maurice, obviously upset, her husband was agreeing, saying he was sorry.
As we zoomed off on Maurice’s Roughrider moto, I eschewed the American shoulder pat in favor of a crisp French, “ça va?”
We stopped by another hair extension store. “Kiva?” I asked.
“Cherie,” (my darling) he answered happily.
A woman in bright yellow African pagnes (flowing outfit) stepped to the door. Unlike the normal pagne, this one plunged drastically low, and she wore purple lipstick and blue eyeshadow. She gave M beer, but I asked for a Coke, dehydrated as always.
“Do you have one my color?” I said, joking; indicating the hair extensions on the walls, some light but none as light as mine.
“Is she serious?” She asked M. “Does she want to look?”
I shook my head, sipping my Coke.
On Mange (We eat)
Maurice and I sat in the restaurant near his house where he knew everyone. In Benin, lunch breaks last from 12:30 to 3pm. To try to do something during this lunch break is a mistake. The first hour people usually eat, afterwards they sleep. Lights go off in offices, people bust out their sleeping cloths, and Alidé locks their doors. Before being seated, Maurice and I greeted people by shaking hands with a snap at the end. I got some fried igname (like French fries, but harder) and a light doughy pastry with spicy pepper dip. It tasted really good and was 100 CFA; cheap, I thought, and converted it to about 40 US cents. The other day I bought a loaf of bread that I have been eating for dinner and breakfast everyday for the grand total of 1 dollar, so at least I haven’t been spending money on food. Maurice got slippery-looking pate (ground igname flour) and a fish head with spicy pepper sauce.
At the field office
I am sitting in V’s office, Christmas music blasting in French and German. Like the Head Alidé office, this one is furnished with monk-like simplicity – not an extra decoration in sight. It is painted blue, with cardboard boxes holding Alidé’s records, a bulletin board, 2 computers, one fan, a faded yellow and blue shade over the window to keep out the tropical heat. The soaring music of “Ave Maria” makes me feel like I am in a Cathedral instead of this small room. Every morning mostly female borrowers wait in a covered area just outside where trainings are held. There is also a direct entrance to the counter where loans are dispensed at certain times.
I also got to meet some of the groups of borrowers who came to Alidé for consultations.
Alidé Borrowers and Me
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Sarah Lawson is a KF6 fellow in Cotonou, Benin . She is working at Alidé.
2 comments 12 December 2008
Candles and Converters
After a few days, I felt mostly adjusted. I liked what was I doing and I had gotten used to fans only at night. I was sitting at Alide at 3pm at Friday when the electricity went out. The A/C stopped its whir, the computers had to be turned off to save battery. The water had already been off for 2 days.
We wandered outside. For the rest of the day, the young people of Alide talked in Fon, French, and faltering English. I showed them my photos, they made fun of me, they switched back to Fon to gossip to each other. When the electricity had not come back 3 hours later, Alain drove me home.
Using the light from our cell phones, Alain helped me light candles in the empty house, as Vivien was not home yet. When we had put on two candles, Alain turned to me to say good-bye. As I walked him out, I resisted the urge to ask if I could stay at his house. In the shadows, I could see the homeless people in the sandy alley, the women selling their wares with candles, unaffected by the outage. I locked the gate behind Alain, contemplating the slimness of the veil separating me from the street.
I double, triple locked the door to the house. I was shaking. Inside it was completely dark. I thought, this calls for some chocolate cookies and Audacity of Hope. The only problem was the candle did not yield enough light to see the book’s pages. I lay back, frustrated, trying to sleep, soaked in sweat. Something bumped the window. I pulled out my cell phone. No signal as usual. I would have cried, but it was much too hot. I mastered myself.
I would read outside! I threw open the doors, placed my candle on the stoop, opened Barack’s book. The tiniest wind blew, threatening to snuff it out. Not enough light to see; not enough wind to provide relief. Desperation forced me to my neighbor’s door, where I could see a light.
¨Bonsor,¨I said. “ Can I read on your stoop?”
“You can read inside,” she answered.
“Sarah,” I introduced myself.
“Honorine,” she said in return.
They must have their own generator, I thought, as she gestured me towards the couch and flicked the channel from Béninois to French without my requesting it. (As I write this later, the lights flick on and off for the second time tonight). Her three children stared at me. I think adults are too composed to stare, but if they had no inhibitions they would stare at me with the same intensity as their children.
“Salut,” (Hey) I said to them, trying to be casual.
“Bonsoir,” (Good evening) they answered, taught to be formal with strangers.
I sat on the couch for the next two hours pretending to read but smiling at the kids as the kids pretended to do their homework and stared at me. I was so happy to be there, out of the darkness. The second oldest girl was old enough not to be shy of me, too young to pretend that she was unsurprised by my presence. She brought the baby over, and I cooed at it and she played with it and I tried to talk to her, but she didn’t really understand me.
Presently Vivien (my homestay) came home. I made to go, but first walked to the back where Honorine was speaking with her sister.
“Merci,” (Thanks) I said. I really meant it. Maybe she understood how grateful I was, maybe she was just being polite, but I think we both knew how much of a stranger I was to the neighborhood.
“Come, come,” called Vivien. There was light in our apartment, and I wondered how long it had been there.
3 comments 3 December 2008
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