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!

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.

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.

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.

Africa. Bénin.

It shattered my worldview, changed my perspective on life. It nearly undid me. I was at times stupefied by heat and pollution, tongue-tied by the language barrier, unable to process basic thoughts, uncomfortable from stomach ailments, so overwhelmed by poverty that I could not imagine how to improve the quality of life. But I was also fascinated by the many cultures, bonding with friends of every nationality, living each day full of adventure as it were my last, traveling, collapsing into bed bone-tired and loving it. Rediscovering my sense of wonder.

My experience defies any easy summary, an attempt to put it in a box and file it away. It is living, breathing, still breaking out on my skin Africa. Here are just a few memories to share with you to show what an incredible country Benin is, and to feature a special team of poverty-fighting Béninois called ALIDé.

Top 10 Bénin

1. Angels are real. I never believed in them before, but in the beginning I came to ALIDé a little lost, and they protected me and taught me how to live in the country. My friend Caroline especially showed me the true meaning of caring for others through her intense devotion to her work and to patiently helping me to interpret French, ALIDé office politics, and the culture of Bénin.

ALIDé Angels (from left: Caroline, me, Landry, Roselyne)

2. Voodoo is real. I know because I took a picture of a voodoo ceremony, and my camera stopped soon afterward. The country is permeated with voodoo – ceremonies of dozens of sects, Béninois staying in at night to escape curses, animal parts saved to give to fetishes after meals.

3. Bénin is a real melting pot. Béninois speaking Fon, Bariba, Mina, Gon, Adja, and many other languages, mix in the capital with the ex-patriot communities of Chinese, Lebanese, German, and French. I could have counted the Americans on my hand. This racial diversity also paralleled the rich religious syncretism of Catholics, Evangelicals, Celestial Christians, Moslems, and Voodooists.

4. Doucement = careful! Yovo = foreigner. Béninois seemed to have an obsession with calling out <<Doucement>> whenever I tripped, almost dropped something, or even when someone ran into me, which seemed unfair. By the end I got used to saying it as well. It annoyed me when people yelled Yovo at me after a long, sweaty day in the field. I got used to children chanting their Yovo song in the street, but it was the adults addressing me as Yovo that irked me more.

5. Igname Pilé, the unofficial national dish. A root that looks like an enormous potato – cooked, pounded, and shaped into a circular white mass, dipped into orange peanut sauce, and eaten with the right hand. Tastes even better when eaten with your four closest Beninois friends, after you helped them pound it.

6. Safety. Anxiety about safety was never far from me in West Africa. As a young, foreign woman who came to Africa alone, I made sure to stay alert and tried not to be neurotic. I walked with friends whenever possible after dark. A Peace Corps volunteer was killed two days after I left- why? No one knows.

7. The beach. Hours spent drinking a Castel beer, watching fishermen pull in huge nets in the mornings and fighting the dangerous tides to wonder- has there ever been a more perfect paradise?

8. Pagnes = West African cloth in loud, colorful patterns. Usually more Béninois wear pagne than suits to work. My friends and I became connoisseurs of pagne bargaining at Dantokpa Market, taking our designs to the tailor to get dresses made for 2 or 3 dollars.

9. Sleeping outside on a mat in the small village of Tayacou, in northern Bénin. It could not have been more different than the pollution of Cotonou. The stars were clear, and I slept in my Peace Corps friends’ compound with other village families on the cool ground.

10. Microfinance. It works. Most of the women I interviewed were illiterate, or had a primary school education, but their children were in school. The women overwhelmingly said that the loans helped them, they wanted higher loans faster, and they had plans to continue or build their businesses in the future. Goals were modest and loan terms long, but the progress was sustainable. And that is the reason I was there.

A Kiva Client preparing igname frites

Bénin, I will miss you. . .

Sarah Lawson is a KF6 Fellow recently returned from working at ALIDé in Cotonou, Bénin.

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.

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

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

____________________________________________________________

Sarah Lawson is a KF6 fellow in Cotonou, Benin . She is working at Alidé.

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.

 “We thought you were a Muslim from Togo,” the Director of Alidé told me on the way out of the Benin airport.

“Pardon?” I asked, wondering if I had heard correctly.

“You see,” he explained, “Lawson is a common Togolese name, even sometimes a Beninese one, and in West Africa Sarah is usually a Muslim name. So I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.”

I explained to him that Lawson was originally English in my case. M. Valère Houssou, the Director of the NGO Alidé in Cotonou Benin, is an immediately likeable man. He is a small, fast-moving person, who was recruited to head Alidé when Alidé separated from the French NGO ID (Initiatives Développement).

Alidé means “another path always exists” in Fon, the local language of southern Benin. Alidé believes that another path always exists for the most poor, and aims to help the most marginalized women of the urban areas of Cotonou to move out of poverty. Alidé also stands for Association de Lutte pour la promotion des Initiatives de Développement in French (Association to Promote Development Initiatives), and is an MFI located in the capital of Benin, Cotonou, with 7 locations around the city. 

Benin is a small country in West Africa bordered by Togo to the West, Nigeria to the East, and Niger and Burkina Faso to the north. Its lingua franca is French, followed by Fon and Yoruba. Benin is one of the few countries in the whole of Africa that has had two peaceful transitions of power, and enjoys a close relationship with the United States. President Bush visited last February and has directed a lot of funding towards fighting malaria. Benin has had 18 years of multiparty democracy. Its staple crop is cotton, and GDP per capita is about $1500.  Many people practice Voodoo or an animistic religion, but Christianity and Islam are large minorities.

M. Valère Houssou stopped in a questionable-looking neighborhood not far from the airport. I tried not to feel scared as he said my homestay was near, and M. Vivien Hounkpe, one half of my homestay couple, jumped into the car to lead us into a more secluded alley.

I liked Vivien. He is 37 years old and the director of a smaller Alidé office in Cotonou. He served Valère and I chocolate cookies and Coke before Valère bowed out and I went to bed.

Or tried. I am not yet to get used to the intense heat of West Africa. I lay there in the humidity, thinking I was just not tough enough, and read a lot of Audacity of Hope. Finally, I asked Vivien if he could lend me his fan, and I slept for two hours before Alain picked me up at 7:30 a.m.

*     *     *

Alidé is covered in little inspirational quotes such as “One never gives you a dream without the power to achieve it” or “Demand a lot of yourself and little of others. Thus you will save yourself a lot of worry,” which are a good metaphor for the atmosphere of the place: optimistic and hard-working. Alidé is a small office of about 10 employees: the Director General, Valère, the Director of Operations, Alain, and the Internal Auditor, Michel. Landry is the Kiva contact, Rosaline the secretary, Caroline is starting a new program, and a few other young men work here as well as credit agents. There is a small yard in the back. However, the office holds two major attractions for me: air conditioning and Internet. These two attributes allow the 12 hours to be more enjoyable. The office day is structured quite differently in this tropical zone. We work from 8am-12:30pm in the mornings, and then break for lunch and at least an hour long siesta until 3pm. The workday officially ends at 6:30pm, but we usually leave at 8pm. I think the day is set up much more logically than an American workday as I never get any work done mid-afternoon anyway, I just wish it were a little shorter.

Landry is my Kiva contact here, and we are fast becoming friends. Following a morning meeting, Alain and Landry took me out to lunch at Maquis le Yao, or the Underground Woman in French and Fon. We ate rice, French fries, plantains, and fish of the sea. The restaurant was mostly full of men. Landry took me for my first motorcycle ride to change money and get a few groceries. From the start, it was a harrowing one as I ripped my dress getting on and burned my calf on the engine getting off. However, we were successful in all our transactions. As I grabbed some pasta noodles and eggs for dinner, I remarked to Landry that I had never been shopping with two men before (another man insisted on carrying my purchases).

The pollution in Cotonou is frighteningly awful, worse than I saw in China. It careens out of the back of a motorcycle as it slams on its breaks, and it coats the sky in the morning. Many people wear a handkerchief around their mouth, and I think I will have to emulate them because I find it hard to breathe. It is sad the way the environment is completely destroyed – it is rare to see a tree, or grass uncovered by trash. I now understand the impact of the rapid pace of urbanization in developing countries. It may be seen as a step forward for their economies, but the total devastation of the environment not only lowers the beauty of life, but becomes dangerous to the health of the population. I always joked about Hybrids and Priuses before, but watching the gas spewing out of the back of the motorcycle in front of me as I covered my mouth and coughed has made me a true believer in clean energy.

Most of the structures in Cotonou are low-ones, perhaps less than 25 feet tall, and look haphazardly constructed. The Marche Dantokpa of Cotonou, reputedly one of the best markets in West Africa, is simply a collection of topsy-turvy structures along the sides of an intersection.

I am still reeling, and cannot wait for a good night’s sleep tonight. Alidé has given me a spare fan, and I am putting it as close to my face as is humanly possible. 

*     *     *

Another Version of Day 1, Now that I can write about it

I won’t sugercoat it for you. My first night and day here gave new meaning to the term “culture shock.” It was my first time in the developing world where I wasn’t a tourist, and my first time in Africa. My psyche could not withstand the new world, and I quailed before the explosion of unrelenting poverty. I simply could not react to what I saw.

There were no buildings, there were no Westerners, there was trash in the street, motorcycles, and no traffic laws. There were people living on top of each other, and dirt everywhere, and the pollution blotted out the sun. And I was going to be living in the middle of it, and working right off the street with giant potholes, or maybe just giant holes in the sand, with chickens running around. In the face of such poverty, I had a difficult time acting “normally,” I had to pretend to be “professional” and the lack of sleep amplified every difference. The morning looked bleak, and I wrote a lot of agitated e-mails.

A cup of coffee mid-afternoon helped the images sharpen around me a little, and I tried to stop literally stumbling around but I was still slow to process basic facts. I had not slept at all the night previously, covered with sweat and pressed close to the fan I had pleaded for at 3 a.m. after I could not breathe anymore in the room. That was when I broke down, and wished I was home, not so much for homesickness but because of the frustration with the Equatorial mid-night humidity. 

Improvement came in the form of lunch, but then I burned myself on the engine of the motorcycle. By the end of the day, I functioned at maybe a quarter of my usual self, and there were still a few more hours of French left at dinner. I convinced sleep to arrive by tricking myself into seeing the fan as cold waves of air conditioning, and my body slid restlessly into submission. 

 *     *     *

Day 2- Friday

Last night I ate at a restaurant with Vivien. We walked down the street and since there was no electricity outside, we ate in the dark. He used a cell phone light to show me my food. We talked a lot about microfinance. Vivien is very passionate about having me in his house. He has spent a lot of time with foreigners and also has told me that I must work hard at Alidé because they have very high expectations for me, a statement which filled me with the fear of disappointment. However, it was nice to eat with him, and it warded off the crushing homesickness that descends with the darkness.

The fan Alidé gave me helped with the heat.

 *     *     * 

This morning I thought, it’s poor. Okay, and moved on a little faster. 

I have my appetite back! For the first time in 2 days, I was actually hungry. As usual I satisfied my cravings with a healthy object – les biscuits chocolats (chocolate cookies). Landry and I went to lunch at the hospital, an unlikely place to eat, but there was a restaurant there and Landry ran into his childhood friend. When Landry introduced to me using my last name too he asked, “Mais, tu es Béninois?” (“But you are from Benin?”) Just trying, I thought, and answered, “Américaine.”

 *      *      *

Day 3- Saturday

Vivien and I started out eating a breakfast of Mielo (a coffee/hot chocolate mix) and sort of soft, but tasty, baguettes. The plan was to head to Porto Novo, a city about an hour away and Benin’s political capital, so we stopped by his parents’ house to borrow their car. The road to his parent’s house is very bad. In terms of appearance, Benin reminds me a little of Haiti. The road traveled from ok (where we live) to very poor, so poor that the sand road is littered with trash and excrement and the “structures” are really just lean-tos of rusty metal. I didn’t talk at all during the ride because I was trying to digest it all, and Vivien kept asking me if I was ok. I was, it’s just that I seem to encounter many situations in Cotonou where I don’t have a clue what to say, which is funny given that you can’t keep me quiet for one second in the States.

In France, people will usually ask me about American pop, or to talk about American culture. Here that happens very little, as people never ask, and I wouldn’t even know where to start explaining. The one American person we can talk about is Barack Obama. Vivien introduces me everywhere as “This is Sarah. She worked for Barack Obama.” This gives me immediate star power, and is totally great. Barack Obama is such a popular figure that I seem to gain immediate social capital from this statement.

We went first to to one of Alidé’s seven agencies, the Santa Rita Agence, where Vivien is the Director. It was very modest, but it had a little guichet (counter) through which to disburse loans. I met one of his friends with whom he studied abroad, and who now does research in sociology and law. He also works to stop the trafficking of children. This was a subject that interested me very much. I always thought I should be a sociology major, but chose international relations because it sounded more impressive. I told him the research he does sounds very important.

I also met the first Alidé agent who spoke a little English, Raoul. Unlike in France, where everyone attempts to speak English with you regardless of their level of proficiency, here everyone speaks French to me. A few people asked me if I could teach them English.

We were on the way to l’enterrement de son pere, or the internment of Gille’s father. Gilles is a loan agent at Alidé- Allada Agence. It reminded me of the first chapter of Camus’s The Stranger. The ceremony was crazy because when we got to the church, hundreds of people were outside along the grounds, just listening, because the church wasn’t big enough for everyone. I wasn’t sure if the Alidé people would be more observant, but they didn’t pay much attention to the service. In fact, there was a great feeling of camaraderie among everyone as representatives of different Alidé agencies got to see each other. Everyone greeted each other very warmly, and most of them are young men. I was happy when Caroline got there (Caroline sits with Landry and I) with her little sister, as I was one of the only women present. I hang out most of the time with African men. It’s a good thing I’m not in the least bit intimidated, because I’m definitely the odd one out. They do try very hard to include me. In most social situations however, everyone speaks Fon with just a sprinkling of French, so I didn’t understand most of the conversation. That was fine with me, as it gave me a chance to relax a little. Every time I start to daydream about home or to reflect on something here, someone says, “ça va, Sarah?” (“you ok?/how’s it going?”) So I realize I have to re-engage, or at least appear to be engaged.

The Alidé men clowned around during the service, and then we got into the car and on motorcycles to go to the party afterwards. Of course I had no idea where were going, due partly to the dullness in my mind created by the tropical heat (oh, camus), and my general incomprehension of the French/Fon that kept floating my way. But I kept gamely spontaneous, and after getting lost a few times, we finally decided to go to a bar because no one had arrived at the party yet. After a few beers, everyone started shaking their shoulders in their chairs and then we all began to dance. They were excited when I tried to dance too.

We went to the party, and it was absolutely huge, as large as the service. There were at least 500 people, if not 700, and the party took over the whole street. There were both a DJ playing African rap and drummers playing traditional music. The servers brought out crates of drinks and then enormous coolers of steaming hot rice and meat, pâte, and fish. Pâte is corn flour, a mushy potato or grit-like substance, and is the staple carbohydrate of Benin. It is served with a spicy red sauce for dipping, and usually with fish and very fishy dark sauce. I haven’t yet learned to like it, but the rice was delicious. I sat with Clement, who works at another Agence, and the heads of the Porto Novo and Allada agencies.

Today I was the only Caucasian person at the whole party and mass. I read that there were 5000 foreigners in Benin, but where they are, who knows? Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen one Asian and two white people. Surprisingly, people don’t really holler much at me, they stare a little blankly, as if disbelieving that I am actually there. Yes, the little children call me “yavo” (white person), but the reaction is wholly better than I had expected.

On the way home the mood turned more somber as we passed Diamond Bank, scene of yesterday’s shooting. Last Friday night in the Dantokpa Market bandits entered and began shooting in the air. They were a well-organized and well-armed group from Nigeria. In April, the same group had tried to rob the same Diamond Bank in the center of Cotonou at Dantokpa Market. They failed, but robbed Diamond Bank in Cameroon and Nigeria. Yesterday they returned to Diamond Bank better-armed and robbed the Bank of about US $786,000 and won a 5-hour firefight with the police and some military back-up. In the panic that followed, 20-100 people were injured by stray bullets and a stampede that took place as people attempted to flee. The bank was targeted because of its high liquidity; the market women, some of whom are Alide clients, deposit their funds directly as they have nowhere else to keep it. The bandits escaped from the harbor in motorboats. As Valere put it, it reminded him of a “Western” or “Rambo.” Everyone here is frustrated by the poor security, and the fact that bandits were allowed to rob banks at least three times and get away with it. Most blame neighboring Nigeria, where the bandits have almost certainly sought safe haven. We watched the events unfold on live camera on the TV at Vivien’s parents house. Landry saw the panic as he passed by on his way home.

Late in the evening we went out with Vivien’s friend, Auguste, and his wife, Lareine. We began by talking about Ouidah, a nearby city which attracts a lot of tourists. We discussed tourism and also the different religions of Benin, namely animism. Vivien pointed to Lareine and said, “her step brother is the highest Voodoo priest in the country. Would you like to meet him?”

“Oui!” I answered. I think that would be fascinating. I tried to explain to them how Voodoo is a misunderstood religion in the U.S. I told them that since it had come to Louisiana, many people thought it was a violent practice and it had a somewhat negative connotation. I decided not to mention human sacrifice. Voodoo is the religion of about 45% of people in Benin. They agreed that I could help build a better reputation for Voodoo when I returned armed with knowledge. However, they emphasized that I would not be told all the secrets, and that I should take care to ask before taking photographs. Vivien added that if I was told not to bring a cell phone to a Voodoo ceremony and I brought one, that my cell phone would start to burn. I didn’t catch whether someone would light it on fire due to my insolence, or whether it would spontaneously burst into flame. 

Lareine also makes traditional African clothing, and she offered to sew me an outfit to take home. We ended dinner with a lesson in Fon. Vivien explained that they were actually speaking three languages at the table – French, Fon, and their village’s language. Auguste decided to teach me hello in Fon.

“ ‘AH-FON-ghan-ji-yah’ means good morning. ”We lo, Ah-do-ghan-ji-ya’ means fine, how are you?”

*    *    * 

I remembered striking up a conversation with the French woman standing next to me in the Customs line when I first arrived in Benin. After she complimented me on America’s selection of Barack Obama, I asked if she was staying in Cotonou.

“No!” She replied. “Cotonou is awful! Full of pollution. I would never stay there.”

I told her I would be staying in Cotonou for 3 months.

“Oh, well,” she said, “The people of Benin will make you forget the city of Cotonou.”

(Les Béninois vont vous faire oublier de Cotonou).

A fact which is proving more true every day here.