Sink or swim? Staying afloat.

“Yovo Yovo

Bon soir

Ca va

Bien”

… and repeat. The term “Yovo” here means white person, or foreigner and the above is a song that children sing when they see me, or any other person with lighter skin than them. From what I have heard, they are taught this in grammar school. It basically represents the level of fluency a “Yovo” has in Benin and their limited ability to communicate. I am no exception, of course, though I wish I were. Some people become very annoyed and agitated by this label and the song and reprimand the children who say it. It doesn’t bother me, however. The term yovo does not have any racial implications. For a lot of these kids, I’m the first white person they’ve seen, or at most, one of the few they’ve seen, and they’re just curious and observing what they see. The polite thing to do in Benin when greeted with the Yovo song, or just “Yovo!” is to say “Bon soir” or “Bonjour.” However, this becomes a little exhausting when I am running and in between breathing the humid, dust-filled air, dodging zemidjans (and hoping they return the favor), and attempting to maintain a challenging pace, I also am saying “Bon soir! Bon soir! Ca va bien, merci.” Woof.

This past week has been a three-ring circus of new sights, tastes and experiences in general. We were placed with our host families and have begun our intensive language, technical and cultural training. My family is very kind and patient – thank goodness. My French is coming along, though I still have a lot to learn. Familiarizing myself with the city of Porto Novo Is quite a challenge, also. I have a fairly good sense of direction and have my bearings on the cardinal directions here, but I still have to remember landmarks such as the corner with the excessive number of goats, the fence with a monkey tied to it, or the road with erosive water damage in order to get home at the end of the day. Supposedly, the streets have names, but I am yet to see a single sign. For now, my method seems to be effective; just don’t ask me for directions.

On the subject of getting around Porto Novo, we received our mountain bikes this week and I have been riding mine to school everyday. This is not the typical “ride-my-bike-to-school” image you may have of a smiling kid with a cute basket-bearing bicycle and a red horn. This is get-your-clip-on-shoes, where are your bike gloves?, hold on tight, grit your teeth and go, ride-my-bike-to-school image. There is a reason they give us mountain bikes. Whoa. It’s better than being on foot, most of the time, but it’s certainly no smooth ride in the Boston suburbs.

Life here is, as one might suspect, a whole other world from the one I have always known. Nothing is simple. Drinking water requires 4 hours of planning ahead; boiling then allowing to cool then filtering. Doing laundry is a 3 hour feat of intensive labor that involves retrieving well water, transporting it to the washing site, scrubbing, rinsing, hanging and then disposing of the water. Going to bed at night entails spraying myself with Deet-concentrated bug spray, climbing under the mosquito net, then tucking it in at the sides to ensure no malaria-infected insects try to nibble on me. It has left me wondering – what did I do with the extra time I had when the modern amenities in America were readily available? Obviously, we always find ways to fill our time, but time seems even more precious now. The moments of freedom from daily obligations are more rare, yet of more value. It’s interesting to think how my concept of time will have morphed when I return to the States. Time is something I hope to never take granted.