I am Chinese, if you please.

My first week of classes I asked my students where I was from, and they said Spain, which I could not understand. Later I learned that there were Spanish nuns working with my villages Catholic church. Of course this doesn’t account for the countless people all over Benin who assume I am anything but American, or even if they get that right, then they think the United States is a part of Europe. Yet, my favorite misstep thus far happened a month ago.

It was a Saturday morning and I had finished coaching volleyball. Our electricity had been out for a couple weeks, so I had left my phone at someone’s house to get it charged. As I waited for them to bring me my phone, a man wondered into the concession in search of sodobe (imagine something like Everclear). It is not surprising for men to be drunk at 9 a.m. in the morning; in fact, I have seen men as early as 6 a.m. starting to drink. As the man is waiting for the Maman in the concession to pour him a shot, he asks if I am for him. The Maman explains I am hers, she got me in Porto-Novo. He accepts this answer, as if white people really are bought in Porto-Novo, or anywhere in Benin for that matter.

Five minutes go by and the man starts saying Madame, Madame, Madame Blanche. Literally, Mrs. White, as I am white. I turn to him and he says to me, “Are you American or are you Chinese?” He was not joking. I of course say I am Chinese, not avoiding a moment to amuse myself. He then asks if that means I know English, because you know Chinese people speak English. I say no, I don’t know any English. He questions me more, and I insist I don’t understand any English. He seems satisfied with my answer and then proceeds to drink the shot that has finally been poured for him.