Bienvenue: The First Two Weeks in Rural Africa
*since i only have access to dial up I cannot post pictures right now. I will try to post when possible and internet is limited so blogs may be as well*
Sorry it has taken me so long to write but I want to share what the first two weeks were like in Benin.
So we are finally in Cotonou. It is considered the major city in Benin, a small African nation, wedged between Togo and the more popularly known Nigeria. It is a francophone country that has been politically stable for some years. After deplaning into the hot air, quite a change from Paris’ chilly winds, we entered the small airport, filled in landing cards, and made our way through immigration. After which we were met with chaos and an hour long challenge of collecting the luggage of 9 people, 8 Italians and me. The plan was to travel a bit around Benin with them until we landed in Dassa-Zoume, the city where THE Italian and I would stay put for a few months.
After collecting all of the luggage and having our baggage tags checked against the pieces that we had (a great practice which prevents luggage theft, a practice popular in developing countries) we took our bags to the minibus that would take us to the convent. Driving through the streets of Cotonou brought back nostalgic memories of being in Uganda and a feeling of “what have I gotten myself into.”
The next morning we went to change money, the Italians realized that I don’t speak Italian, and we all watched out of the window the hustle and bustle of Beninoise life. I cringed as some of the people I traveled with took many pictures out of the window, squealing with delight as they watched ladies walk down the streets with large, heavy baskets on their heads and babies on their backs. This was a practice that continued for days. One that made me feel like I was in a zoo. Although I wasn’t the subject of the point and shoot, to me these were my people, the object of their amusement and tourism. The same scene could be recreated in Uganda and that somehow made me uncomfortable. I smiled to myself when a group of fishermen angrily protested against having their picture taken.
As we traveled along the beach and through the countryside, we stopped at Benin’s single tourism point: “La porte du non – retour (The door of no return)”, one of many places in west Africa from were slaves began their trek across the Atlantic ocean prior to enslavement.
We continued on to Lokossa, a small town, or maybe city where we visited a center that managed rehabilitation for children that had corrective surgery for various limbs that were physically ill-developed. I will do another post on the center. Hopefully. It was a great experience overall. Over the next couple of days, we met loads of children that were supported by the Italian NGO that we would be working with. We spent hours and hours playing with children in orphanages, visiting a huge orphanage that they built with a goal of returning children to their extended families. We finally arrived in Dassa on Thursday, and the first stop was the convent that would be our home for a few months.
