Not So Blind After All
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June 2006
My revelation came when I got the chance to teach a class in a language that I don't even speak well. This was during my lengthy stay in the West African country of Benin.
The teacher or "facilitator" for our Fon (the local language) class at the Women's Resource Center wasn't able to make it to class. The social worker at the center suggested that I tell the women to just read on their own and hope that the facilitator shows up for class after all. I walked over to do just that but after delivering that message to the women in the class, they looked at me with puzzled faces and said "you're here?what's wrong with you? Why can't you teach the class?"
I thought about it for a second and said "OK, let me go get a book and I will find an exercise for us." Oddly enough, my local language speaking skills are minimal but I can understand many things and read really well. Luckily, the women were in the process of learning to read their language so I was well poised to assist them.
The women were pumped! We had a great time. I even added in some American style teaching tactics like telling everyone that they were doing a good job and having the class clap after every person had their turn reading aloud. I helped them to recognize the different characters and their sounds and they helped me pronounce them with the proper tones.
Some people have a hard time believing that I am not Beninese because being African American, I look a lot like the people in this region. Some are even convinced that I know the local language but am trying to be "boougie" and not speak it. During class I overheard a couple of women whisper to one another in local language that they knew I could speak the language all along. It didn't help that I happened to understand that phrase and answered by saying that I really don't speak Fon that well but just happen to be able to read well.
Life here is so interesting but after the initial romanticism wears off and you really settle into living life in West Africa, things start to look a little different. I see so many social issues and so much poverty it's maddening. It gets downright depressing sometime. But at the same time, I see some of the most beautiful people that I have ever seen. Huge old women with bosoms that look like they weigh 400 pounds but with some of the smoothest, clearest skin I have ever seen. There is a lady that lives next door to my friend Celine's sister. This woman has to be at least 75 and is even missing some teeth, but she has beautiful high cheekbones, a complexion as brown and smooth as the richest milk chocolate, and always greets me with a big bright smile.
That being said, some days I hate living here. Just the day to day struggle to get basic life tasks like shopping for food or even crossing the street is a constant source of stress. I often feel guilty about having lived so comfortably in America while the majority of the world suffers and lives without the most basic needs like food, water, and even waste management.
And the celibacy! There are some GORGEOUS Beninese men (as you can imagine) but this society says that if a man is at all prosperous, he should have a number of women. Even the married ones. It would be like seeing Oprah driving a Yugo. One might think, "Oprah!? I automatically assumed she would be rolling something nice." Here, it is automatically assumed that a prosperous man hooks up with many, many ladies. On top of all that, I live in a village where most of the population is not educated. When I say "not educated" I don't mean not COLLEGE educated, I mean not educated beyond the third grade. I am not saying that formal education is the only way to become educated but a lack of education comes with a whole bunch of additional issues. At this point in my life, I can't just date people for fun and games. I am not going to hook up with a man that is cute but can't hold a conversation. Additionally, some people view friendships with people from developed countries as an opportunity to increase their financial and social standing.
Some of these men are downright predatory. I'm cute but DAMN! They think that hooking up with you is their "ticket out of the ghetto" and pursue you like an inner city kid goes after a basketball scholarship. I have even seen a married couple pose as brother and sister to trick an American woman into falling for the guy so that hopefully, he could marry the American. Then the entire family benefits financially. I'm not saying that all men here are like that, but I have seen trickery happen often enough to assume that it is common.
Some days I wake up and think to myself? "What the hell am I doing here? What am I thinking?!?" But then my little 5 year old neighbor Loraine will come to tap lightly on my screen door saying "Tanti Twahci" (Miss Tracy) just to see if I am awake and ready to play with her. Just when I am at the end of my rope and ready to pack my bags to leave, some sweet little old lady stops me on the street at random and I end up having a 20 minute conversation with her about the weather and the ever rising price of tomatoes which instantly warms my heart and reminds me of why I love living here so much. It's like every time God presents me with some great challenge, it reminds me of how much love I have in my heart and that I can withstand any challenge if I tap into that infinite source.
I think that many people who visit West Africa do others a great disservice when they return to the US and share a fairytale-ish, hyper romanticized vision of life in Africa. They make it seem like as soon as you get off the plane, local people rush to you with open arms shouting "Welcome Back oh lost child of Africa!" presenting you with tribal cloths, jewels, and a new name complete with at least five syllables. I call it "Mothaland Madness". Sadly enough, many people are afflicted with it and some local people have learned to capitalize on it.
Often by calling you "Brotha" and "Seestah" while charging you 10 times the cost of the cheap assed trinkets and beads that are constantly being shoved in your face. Don't get me wrong. Not all people here are like that by any stretch of the imagination. But I have seen it often enough to call it common. Hell, my first time back from Ghana, I was also afflicted with Mothaland Madness because deep down inside I was too embarrassed to admit to people back home that things weren't at all what I thought they were going to be. It is usually easier to live in a delusional state than it is to face facts.
For me, the most beautiful aspects of life here are often intermingled with the most trying. Watching society treat Beninese women like crap is hard but has given me a rare glimpse of the true strength and resilience of the African woman in her ability to persevere and determination to find ways around the system to create a better future for her children. I see many of the same qualities that I have seen in my mother, aunts, and grandmothers and it makes me feel at home.
Often when I wear the local clothes, use the local language, and/or speak French with a Beninese accent, I am subjected to just some of the harsh treatment that local women have to suffer. Things like being talked down to, sexually harassed, or even pushed out of the way as if I don't even exist piss me off to the point that I am ready to fight. Anyone who knows me will know right off that I am not good at keeping my mouth shut, standing by, and accepting whatever poor treatment I get.
The experience in itself has given me an even deeper respect for West African women. It is a lot easier to tell someone where to go than to center yourself and go to a place of strength within you. I really get a lot of opportunity to practice that skill. Knowing how to center myself and remain in a positive place within myself is a skill that will help me immensely no matter where I am in the world.
That being said, I do recognize the value in being confident enough to be able to tell someone exactly how you feel and reminding them that they can't take advantage of you or treat you like a child just because they, for whatever reason, perceive you to be weaker than them. Sadly, I also see many of the same emotional scars that I see in myself and my sistahs at home which cause us to quelch our strength and tolerate certain things that such strong women shouldn't.
On the other hand, some days, I can't imagine ever leaving. I love my huge, beautiful house, and getting dressed up to go to the open March? with my friends to buy my weekly supply of tomatoes, beans, and beesap (a local punch-like beverage made from boiled flower petals). I love throwing on a tank top, wrapping a piece of fabric around my waist, and walking over the hill to the next village to visit my friend Celine's family and help them make Gari (grated, dried, roasted manioc) to sell at the market. I'll always remember showering in my roofless, outdoor shower while looking up at the stars and singing show-toons to keep the roaches away (it really works).
Working to help preserve a language which has existed for thousands of years and helping young girls to feel empowered just by standing up for myself in a way that many women in my community would never do makes it all worth it. Working to support a people that may very well have the exact same blood running through their veins as I do makes me feel like I am definitely in the right place doing what I believe to be the right thing. I have found a new type of strength within myself out of necessity. Without it, I would not have been able to last here as long as I have.
I have found Beninese people to be some of the proudest, most dynamic and interesting people that I have ever had the honor of knowing and living amongst. For every aggressive, rude, sexist man that I encounter who makes me want to rip his arm off and beat him with it (I might need a bit of anger management), I meet at least 10 great people (men and women) who remind me of just how lucky I am to have to an opportunity to be here getting to know them instead of having them play a part in some distant romantic fantasy that I have about Africa.
Some might say that me teaching a local language class is like the blind leading the blind. I say that my ability to see the beauty of life in Benin through the clouds of adversity which so often like to linger in my blue skies tells me that maybe I'm not so blind after all.
