Please click here to see my pictures from January to July 2008! Also note the link under "Photos" to the left.
19 August 2008
11 June 2008
A note on the yovo, from the yovo
Yovo is the term used in many parts of this region for "light colored person." All whites are called this as well as even some lighter skinned blacks. I introduced this term when I was in Togo, but, finally, I am going to treat it on the blog because of its persistence.
The term yovo is not meant to offend. Some people here will describe it as similar to saying, "Monsieur" or "Madame." I once heard that there was an idea among some people that all white people come from the same father, named "Yovo." If someone does not know your name and you are white or lighter-skinned, your name is yovo. In the West African mentality, this is not an insult, and therefore it is taught from generation to generation as the term used to describe all white people.
As I walk down the street here, even in my own neighborhood where people have seen me day after day for several months, kids and even adults chant "yovo yovo" as I pass. It takes all my energy to understand that it is not offensive, especially coming from children. But day after day, giving so much energy to not feeling offense is tiring. Where I come from, if you call someone according to their race or skin color, it is racist. How do I undo this learning? Since childhood I have been taught by parents and teachers that it is offensive to call an individual "black" instead of that person’s name; it says skin color and not person. The history of my country has made it so that today my generation of Americans is sensitive to race and discrimination. And now I have lived about seven months being called according to the color of my skin every single day.
And what if, sometimes, it is offensive? When I was at the clinic, I would hear Goun spoken for most of the day. Oftentimes, I would hear a conversation in Goun, the word yovo, and then subsequent laughter. I didn’t understand how I provided such an amusing conversation for everyone everyday. To say the least, it got tiring. Though not all of the people there speak French very well, everyone can at least basically communicate with it. I was sick of people talking about me in Goun; it seemed so malicious, as if they used their language as a weapon against me. And I was sick of hearing myself referred to as yovo. Everyone at the clinic knows my name. There is no reason to keep calling me by my skin color.
So yes, I blew up one day. We were all gathered to learn about wrapping a broken arm (they wrapped it with the girl’s arm straight and not bent – can someone tell me if this is right?), and at the end there was discussion in Goun, and people kept looking at me, I kept hearing yovo, and subsequent laughter. I left the room, not trying to hide my anger. When I was approached shortly after by someone asking if I was angry, I finally let it all out. Yes, I am angry. No, my parents did not name me yovo, so if you don’t respect me enough to call me by my name, at least have some respect for my parents. I have nothing against your language, and I do not expect you to stop speaking it, but when it concerns me, I would appreciate it if you speak a language both you and I know. But I knew that although they could apologize, they couldn’t really understand. How many of them have traveled outside of the Porto Novo area? Out of Benin? I can’t hold it against them, right? They have no sense of the minority.
And in conclusion, what do I say? I say that it is all in my hands. It’s up to me to adapt; I know both the experience of the majority and the minority. I can’t ask them to know the experience of the minority. I can’t tell everyone that what their parents taught them is racist. I can say, "Non, c'est pas yovo, c’est Jaclyn," and that’s about it.
The term yovo is not meant to offend. Some people here will describe it as similar to saying, "Monsieur" or "Madame." I once heard that there was an idea among some people that all white people come from the same father, named "Yovo." If someone does not know your name and you are white or lighter-skinned, your name is yovo. In the West African mentality, this is not an insult, and therefore it is taught from generation to generation as the term used to describe all white people.
As I walk down the street here, even in my own neighborhood where people have seen me day after day for several months, kids and even adults chant "yovo yovo" as I pass. It takes all my energy to understand that it is not offensive, especially coming from children. But day after day, giving so much energy to not feeling offense is tiring. Where I come from, if you call someone according to their race or skin color, it is racist. How do I undo this learning? Since childhood I have been taught by parents and teachers that it is offensive to call an individual "black" instead of that person’s name; it says skin color and not person. The history of my country has made it so that today my generation of Americans is sensitive to race and discrimination. And now I have lived about seven months being called according to the color of my skin every single day.
And what if, sometimes, it is offensive? When I was at the clinic, I would hear Goun spoken for most of the day. Oftentimes, I would hear a conversation in Goun, the word yovo, and then subsequent laughter. I didn’t understand how I provided such an amusing conversation for everyone everyday. To say the least, it got tiring. Though not all of the people there speak French very well, everyone can at least basically communicate with it. I was sick of people talking about me in Goun; it seemed so malicious, as if they used their language as a weapon against me. And I was sick of hearing myself referred to as yovo. Everyone at the clinic knows my name. There is no reason to keep calling me by my skin color.
So yes, I blew up one day. We were all gathered to learn about wrapping a broken arm (they wrapped it with the girl’s arm straight and not bent – can someone tell me if this is right?), and at the end there was discussion in Goun, and people kept looking at me, I kept hearing yovo, and subsequent laughter. I left the room, not trying to hide my anger. When I was approached shortly after by someone asking if I was angry, I finally let it all out. Yes, I am angry. No, my parents did not name me yovo, so if you don’t respect me enough to call me by my name, at least have some respect for my parents. I have nothing against your language, and I do not expect you to stop speaking it, but when it concerns me, I would appreciate it if you speak a language both you and I know. But I knew that although they could apologize, they couldn’t really understand. How many of them have traveled outside of the Porto Novo area? Out of Benin? I can’t hold it against them, right? They have no sense of the minority.
And in conclusion, what do I say? I say that it is all in my hands. It’s up to me to adapt; I know both the experience of the majority and the minority. I can’t ask them to know the experience of the minority. I can’t tell everyone that what their parents taught them is racist. I can say, "Non, c'est pas yovo, c’est Jaclyn," and that’s about it.
06 June 2008
The Date is Set
As most of you already know, the mini-campaign for Noellie was a great success. Now the date has been set for her to take her papers: June 22. With the amount raised, Noellie has the ability to leave the clinic after taking her papers whenever she pleases. Thanks to all of you for your support and concern for Noellie's success. And she is even more grateful than I am.
IDID it, I started with a new NGO
As I write I am sitting in the meeting room (my unofficial office) of the NGO I started working for on Monday. I am now an intern at IDID, Initiatives pour un Développement Intégré Durable (Initiatives for Integrated Sustainable Development). This NGO's primary project is a four-year, Canadian-funded, evaluation/action initiative on adaptations to climate change in the agricultural sector of Benin.
A friend here in Porto Novo knows the director of this organization and gave it good reviews, and I can see why. My first impressions of the organization are that it is very well-organized and professional. The project on adaptations to climate change is strong in not only its research, but also in its practicality.
Climate change is not a debatable topic in Benin. With the majority of the population reliant on agriculture for income and the rest of the population reliant on its production, changes in climate greatly affect the country as a whole. While reasons for climate change may be debatable in academia, the reality of the shorter, late, early, or weaker rainy seasons in Benin is apparent.
Thus this project catalyzes the communication between producers and local officials to seek community-specific solutions; gives producers access to information on climatic alterations by way of bulletin distribution, personal contact with representatives in each region, and radio broadcasts; and encourages the use of new technologies and strategies in the areas of soil science and hydrology to maximize agricultural production. IDID is heading up the project, but several other NGOs, university researchers, and the national meteorological center are also involved.
So where do I fit in? Personally, I am interested in climate change and human health (as expected). This aspect is not an official part of the current project, but I hope to benefit from my own individual research to try to piece some things together. From all the potential topics, of utmost interest to me is how climate change affects variabilities of species or denisities of vectors such as mosquitoes. I have already had the opportunity to speak with a molecular entomologist at IITA (International Institute of Tropical Agriculture) about this topic, and though it could turn into a study that would take years, I hope to at least come out with a decent literature review.
I will also benefit from this project by having the privilege to travel to many of the sites where the organization has set up communities of producers that are participating in the study. This opportunity will give me a better picture of specific climate changes and daily life in rural Benin.
Stay tuned for more updates on rain, mosquitoes, and corn!
A friend here in Porto Novo knows the director of this organization and gave it good reviews, and I can see why. My first impressions of the organization are that it is very well-organized and professional. The project on adaptations to climate change is strong in not only its research, but also in its practicality.
Climate change is not a debatable topic in Benin. With the majority of the population reliant on agriculture for income and the rest of the population reliant on its production, changes in climate greatly affect the country as a whole. While reasons for climate change may be debatable in academia, the reality of the shorter, late, early, or weaker rainy seasons in Benin is apparent.
Thus this project catalyzes the communication between producers and local officials to seek community-specific solutions; gives producers access to information on climatic alterations by way of bulletin distribution, personal contact with representatives in each region, and radio broadcasts; and encourages the use of new technologies and strategies in the areas of soil science and hydrology to maximize agricultural production. IDID is heading up the project, but several other NGOs, university researchers, and the national meteorological center are also involved.
So where do I fit in? Personally, I am interested in climate change and human health (as expected). This aspect is not an official part of the current project, but I hope to benefit from my own individual research to try to piece some things together. From all the potential topics, of utmost interest to me is how climate change affects variabilities of species or denisities of vectors such as mosquitoes. I have already had the opportunity to speak with a molecular entomologist at IITA (International Institute of Tropical Agriculture) about this topic, and though it could turn into a study that would take years, I hope to at least come out with a decent literature review.
I will also benefit from this project by having the privilege to travel to many of the sites where the organization has set up communities of producers that are participating in the study. This opportunity will give me a better picture of specific climate changes and daily life in rural Benin.
Stay tuned for more updates on rain, mosquitoes, and corn!
20 May 2008
Noellie
What I haven’t told most of you yet is the story of my friend, Noellie. First off, I must comment on my relations with the Beninese, particularly women. It is difficult to “make friends” here because of the many differences that stand between me, coming from the United States, and everyone native to Benin. These factors separate me from women (and most men) here so much that I have not been able to connect with very many women in the same way I can connect with American women. I live a very different life than most women here because of societal expectations, economic capabilities, and educational background.
Noellie has become a dear friend of mine over the past few months at Fifadji. Actually, at first, I thought she didn’t like me because she seemed closed off and even cynical. Once I learned her life story, I found out that I probably had this first impression because she has suffered much in her life. She is Beninese but spent most of her life in Gabon. Based on her accounts of life there, Gabon seems much more developed, hosting many internationals from all over the world. The quality of life she experienced there is more comparable to the quality of life in which I have grown up, so we have had many things to talk about, mostly around the subject of food. We talked about pizza a lot, which was actually torture at times in a place where pizza is nowhere to be found. Even these small connections made me feel like I had a friend here in Porto Novo.
Her family history is a difficult one, leaving her in a place now where no family comes through for her, no one close to her has the means to help her, and some family has even turned against her because of wrongs done to her by a family member in Gabon. Her father, her most beloved family member, died when she was young, and just before he died he said that before she would become something great, she would endure much suffering.
Noellie has spent over five years at the clinic. Normally, after about two years, a trainee at a clinic such as Fifadji takes her diploma and goes to find work elsewhere. Traineeships do not pay, and oftentimes, the trainee even pays the clinic for the training. Since Noellie has had no monetary family support, she has not been able to present the funds necessary to finalize her time there. And how can she? She has no opportunity to make money, so based on this system, she will be there indefinitely. Everyday she eats what people give her. Noellie and I have the same tastes in food; if I had to eat what everyone else was eating there everyday, I probably wouldn’t be eating that much.
Noellie is 32 years old, and in my opinion, she is treated like a prisoner at this clinic. It pained me every single day to hear about how badly she wants to be “liberated” from the clinic, and how it seems just impossible. She told me that every time something seemed to be coming through, there would be some strange situation that wouldn’t allow it to happen. I have been collaborating with a friend of mine here, who found me the clinic to work in, and he also knows Noellie very well. He even found her an opportunity to study in France a little while back. The head doctor at the clinic has inhibited Noellie from doing anything that would allow her to surpass her. So she forbade this move from happening, and Noellie stayed.
So I decided I would try to do something. When I thought I had money, that is. Turns out the total sum she needs would be for the papers to be signed and for the ceremony to present them. Noellie doesn’t particularly want the ceremony, so all she needs are the papers. I have offered to help her in this matter, and my friend presented this to the head doctor as if it was from him (there might have been problems if she knew it was from me). The head doctor is currently refusing to sign the papers in order to liberate Noellie so that she might go and find work for herself. The doctor will sign the papers if Noellie goes to work at the sister clinic to Fifadji, run by the sister of this head doctor.
Noellie has a character that is unlike many of the people I have gotten to know here: she is honest, kind, and cares primarily about developing her skills as a doctor. She has never asked me for anything, whereas all of the other trainees ask me every single day what I brought for them. She is the only person at the clinic, besides the head doctor, who is trusted by all the patients. She works well. She doesn’t care about money except to have the pride of making enough to eat the foods she wants to eat (or to eat at all). While the head doctor seems bent on making money from the clinic in order to benefit herself (I have so much more to say about this subject), Noellie takes no interest, not even to once again have the 'richer' things that she grew up with in Gabon. She just wants to work, make an honest living, and get far away from Fifadji. I don’t blame her.
And because Noellie is a woman unlike the typical Beninese woman, I have been able to connect with her so well in my time here. She honors education, work, and self-empowerment above finding a husband, having children, and getting by. She has suffered much in her life and continues to suffer at the hand of someone who claims to have done so much for her. The head doctor therefore traps her by guilt as well as withholding a diploma that she has earned three times over now. And there is no one to appeal to. There is no one to whom she can say, “Hey, I earned something here and she won’t give it to me!” There is no legal recourse. There is nothing. This is a cultural game she is playing based on the character of the person in charge, who wants Noellie around so that, in my opinion, she doesn’t have to work as much.
And where is Noellie today, at this moment? I went to the clinic today to visit,. Noellie is wearing the same piece of cloth, lying on the same mat, in the same small room she shares with three other trainees, now with a terrible toothache that the head doctor won’t help her with, waiting for something to come through. It breaks my heart, because, I haven’t mentioned yet, she is pregnant. So she is 32, a grown woman, due to have her first and perhaps only child in September. She doesn’t get proper nutrition. She is depressed in her situation. Now that my friend has suggested that the doctor sign the papers and let her leave, Noellie is not treated with the kindness that she received earlier. If she leaves without the papers, she has no proof of the five years experience she has in medicine. And where will she go? Who will help her?
I don’t know how to conclude this story. I have sat here for too long thinking about how to end it. There is no conclusion. There are many injustices to lament around the world, and this is only a microscopic one in the face of those affecting thousands or even millions. Just please hear it.
Noellie has become a dear friend of mine over the past few months at Fifadji. Actually, at first, I thought she didn’t like me because she seemed closed off and even cynical. Once I learned her life story, I found out that I probably had this first impression because she has suffered much in her life. She is Beninese but spent most of her life in Gabon. Based on her accounts of life there, Gabon seems much more developed, hosting many internationals from all over the world. The quality of life she experienced there is more comparable to the quality of life in which I have grown up, so we have had many things to talk about, mostly around the subject of food. We talked about pizza a lot, which was actually torture at times in a place where pizza is nowhere to be found. Even these small connections made me feel like I had a friend here in Porto Novo.
Her family history is a difficult one, leaving her in a place now where no family comes through for her, no one close to her has the means to help her, and some family has even turned against her because of wrongs done to her by a family member in Gabon. Her father, her most beloved family member, died when she was young, and just before he died he said that before she would become something great, she would endure much suffering.
Noellie has spent over five years at the clinic. Normally, after about two years, a trainee at a clinic such as Fifadji takes her diploma and goes to find work elsewhere. Traineeships do not pay, and oftentimes, the trainee even pays the clinic for the training. Since Noellie has had no monetary family support, she has not been able to present the funds necessary to finalize her time there. And how can she? She has no opportunity to make money, so based on this system, she will be there indefinitely. Everyday she eats what people give her. Noellie and I have the same tastes in food; if I had to eat what everyone else was eating there everyday, I probably wouldn’t be eating that much.
Noellie is 32 years old, and in my opinion, she is treated like a prisoner at this clinic. It pained me every single day to hear about how badly she wants to be “liberated” from the clinic, and how it seems just impossible. She told me that every time something seemed to be coming through, there would be some strange situation that wouldn’t allow it to happen. I have been collaborating with a friend of mine here, who found me the clinic to work in, and he also knows Noellie very well. He even found her an opportunity to study in France a little while back. The head doctor at the clinic has inhibited Noellie from doing anything that would allow her to surpass her. So she forbade this move from happening, and Noellie stayed.
So I decided I would try to do something. When I thought I had money, that is. Turns out the total sum she needs would be for the papers to be signed and for the ceremony to present them. Noellie doesn’t particularly want the ceremony, so all she needs are the papers. I have offered to help her in this matter, and my friend presented this to the head doctor as if it was from him (there might have been problems if she knew it was from me). The head doctor is currently refusing to sign the papers in order to liberate Noellie so that she might go and find work for herself. The doctor will sign the papers if Noellie goes to work at the sister clinic to Fifadji, run by the sister of this head doctor.
Noellie has a character that is unlike many of the people I have gotten to know here: she is honest, kind, and cares primarily about developing her skills as a doctor. She has never asked me for anything, whereas all of the other trainees ask me every single day what I brought for them. She is the only person at the clinic, besides the head doctor, who is trusted by all the patients. She works well. She doesn’t care about money except to have the pride of making enough to eat the foods she wants to eat (or to eat at all). While the head doctor seems bent on making money from the clinic in order to benefit herself (I have so much more to say about this subject), Noellie takes no interest, not even to once again have the 'richer' things that she grew up with in Gabon. She just wants to work, make an honest living, and get far away from Fifadji. I don’t blame her.
And because Noellie is a woman unlike the typical Beninese woman, I have been able to connect with her so well in my time here. She honors education, work, and self-empowerment above finding a husband, having children, and getting by. She has suffered much in her life and continues to suffer at the hand of someone who claims to have done so much for her. The head doctor therefore traps her by guilt as well as withholding a diploma that she has earned three times over now. And there is no one to appeal to. There is no one to whom she can say, “Hey, I earned something here and she won’t give it to me!” There is no legal recourse. There is nothing. This is a cultural game she is playing based on the character of the person in charge, who wants Noellie around so that, in my opinion, she doesn’t have to work as much.
And where is Noellie today, at this moment? I went to the clinic today to visit,. Noellie is wearing the same piece of cloth, lying on the same mat, in the same small room she shares with three other trainees, now with a terrible toothache that the head doctor won’t help her with, waiting for something to come through. It breaks my heart, because, I haven’t mentioned yet, she is pregnant. So she is 32, a grown woman, due to have her first and perhaps only child in September. She doesn’t get proper nutrition. She is depressed in her situation. Now that my friend has suggested that the doctor sign the papers and let her leave, Noellie is not treated with the kindness that she received earlier. If she leaves without the papers, she has no proof of the five years experience she has in medicine. And where will she go? Who will help her?
I don’t know how to conclude this story. I have sat here for too long thinking about how to end it. There is no conclusion. There are many injustices to lament around the world, and this is only a microscopic one in the face of those affecting thousands or even millions. Just please hear it.
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