Scared and unsure the only moment I let my guard down upon arriving to Matéri was at the sight of two puppies. Bennie and Izzy, which are the names I gave them a week after my arrival, when my Maman quickly discovered their presence always made me smile.
I have to admit I liked Izzy more than Bennie at first. She was the more attractive of the two, and Bennie would not let me pick him up right away. Then one night he slept in my lap for a couple hours, and after that day he was loyally mine. I felt like I had not chose him, but rather he had chosen me. When he got in trouble he knew he could run to me for safety. When I sit outside trying to read or nap, he’d insist on playing around me, and then nuzzling his head underneath my shoulder and sleeping. With the arrival of Beaugarde, Bennie’s jealousy, normally reserved for times when I petted Izzy, increased. He became increasingly needed, and when I would take Beaugard for walks, he always followed along. I thought of him as mine, but never took ownership, as he was my Maman’s dog.
I wasn’t surprised on Christmas Day when I found him sleeping in my chair on the front porch. But something seemed off, then my Grand-mama, said the word vomir, one of the few French words she knows. Bennie was sick. I picked him up and put him in my lap. Comforting him the best I could. He just looked tired and weak; I could see it in his eyes. I let him sleep, as I bustled around. Beaugard had acted the same way two days before and was fine an hour later.
The day after Christmas I left for Safari. I did not give much thought to Bennie, preoccupied with my own stresses. When I returned from Safari, I was so happy to see Beaugarde, and I vaguely noticed Izzy and Dit Peux Toi (Beaugarde’s mother) hoping about me. An hour later as I was talking with my Maman, she mentioned, as Beaugarde entered the house, that Bennie had died.
Talking about death does not leave me unnerved, but death here in Benin takes getting used to, especially since I have not known many people close to me who have died. I do acknowledge though that death as it exists in Benin might bring a slight smile to Charles Darwins’ face. Survival here exists in such a raw form, the strong or the rich survive, and the rest is a crapshoot it seems. A student of mines little sister died a month ago. The son of my surveillant died a couple years ago. The son of my friend died a year ago. Days of drumming can go by, all signaling a death. The louder and longer the drums go the older the person was who died. Dogs don’t get drums.
The Beninese don’t treat their dogs the way we do. In fact, I recently learned that the rumors were true. They kill dogs and eat them here, which explains the high quantity of dogs always running around in village. Now my family happens to be relatively nice to their pets in comparison to others here, but that does not mean they shed a single tear or thought when Bennie died. Knowing this and the way death can come into ones life so easily here, I tried not to look to upset at Bennie’s death.
That whole first day back in village I felt slightly depressed. I don’t know whether it was from not being around Americans, or the fact that it was New Year’s Eve, or as much as I did not want to admit, I was sad about Bennie. I noticed the sadness in Izzy and Beaugard, who slept all day; I was worried they were sick too.
I have recovered, and so has Beaugarde. We have each other, but I have noticed Izzy wanders more and seems distant. The day after I returned she went missing completely. We thought she had died too. She turned up later that day, so excited to see me. Her neediness and nuzzles now remind me of Bennie, and it as if she, like Bennie once did, has now chosen me.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
“At least you can say you did it”
I can think of almost no instances where I have watched a movie or a show in which a person has jumped off a waterfall and thought to myself that I would not want to do that. “That looks like so much fun,” I’d always say to whoever was with me, or if I was by myself I would think it. And after 23 years of talk I finally had the occasion to act on doing something I was so sure I would enjoy.
I am going to be honest with myself. I am a stable person. I am cautious, not to a fault of course. I go out of my way to secure my safety. In the states I carry keys between my knuckles at night and always call a friend as I walked to my car—my logic no one will attack someone on a phone. In Benin I rarely am caught out at night, and if I am I always have a male volunteer make sure I get home safely. In general I understand the risks of certain behaviors, and avoid them. This makes me sound like a square, which is misleading, but so is what I did a week ago.
After leaving Safari, we asked our guide to stop at the waterfalls. We had heard a lot about the waterfalls, including that you could swim and jump off them. I was so excited about the prospects of finally proofing all my talk all these years, wasn’t just that, talk.
I really can’t say what was more dangerous; the climb up to the top of the waterfall or the jump itself.
After expressing interest in jumping the falls, our waterfall guide, went and searched for a guide to climb to the top with us. Perhaps, he thought after explaining we had to swim across the water, and climb up rocks, we might reconsider. Nope.
So when the guide arrived, Jonny, Clay, and I entered the water, which is when I began to realize I had not thought this through really. I am not a strong swimmer, I mean don’t get me wrong I can swim, but dreading water and floating have never been strong points. About three-fourths across the water, which I imagine was maybe about a lap in a swimming pool, I was worried I couldn’t make it. I am half-ashamed and not to admit I did resort to the doggy paddle a few times.
Once across we mounted onto a small ledge, by grabbing a nearby tree that sacrificed living in rocks for what I imagine to be a constant abundance of water. I was last to climb up, and as we made it to the first jumping point, Clay decided he would jump from there. He hesitated and finally went only after our guide jumped in the water to show him it was safe.
Then there were two.
Jonny and I continued the climb, following the steps of our guide, who had returned after a quick dip for Clay’s sake. I am short and so the whole time climbing the rocks I worried about coming to an instance where my limbs just would not allow me to stretch and reach. Furthermore we were climbing up barefooted obviously on slippery rocks. I was more scared then I realized I know, because I had to stay focus on making it up without slipping. I did not even complete the images of falling onto rocks, even though the thoughts kept trying to cross my mind. Once at the top, I told Jonny I wanted to go last.
We watched as our guide jumped fearlessly the 48 feet down to the water. Standing behind Jonny I could see his leg shaking. I did not say anything. I don’t think either of us really wanted to admit that we were nervous, especially after gaffing a little at Clay jumping early. Before jumping Jonny turned and made sure I did not want to go first. I told him I was fine, and then he made the leap. I don’t remember the jump, but more or less watching to make sure he came back to the surface safe. He did, but he exhaled a little, and in his face I could see pain.
Alone looking out at the water and the trees surrounding me, I returned to myself. Calculating what I must do on my jump and worrying about what might happen to me if something did not go right. I needed to land like a pencil, and then I worried about not holding my breath right as I entered the water and then how could I swim all the way back. I am not sure how long I stood up there, probably a few months. I even crossed myself. A couple times I told myself, OK on the count of three. 1,2,3. Nothing. OK, on the count of five, 1,2,3,4,5. Nothing. Finally the guide motioned something that looked like he wanted me to climb back down. There was no way I was climbing back down the way I came, no fu***** way, I thought. I jumped. I don’t think I could mimic how horrified I looked, and I was so scared. I don’t think I have ever felt that scared.
The jump felt like forever. At first I was scared. Then I enjoyed the weightlessness and registered I had in fact did it. Then the insecurity returned as I had not hit the water yet. I did not even think of all the things that had worried me before jumping. I just wanted to land. And land I did, and not like a pencil. Like my face, I could not mimic that landing twice, but needless to say immediately after emerging from the water the whole side of my left thigh was red and bruising—and I don’t bruise easily.
Walking back to the car, I felt regret immediately for my body. Jonny asked, “Was that your first time jumping something that high?”
“That was my first time jumping anything like that.”
“Seriously,” Jonny said laughing slightly. “That’s intense.”
I am going to be honest with myself. I am a stable person. I am cautious, not to a fault of course. I go out of my way to secure my safety. In the states I carry keys between my knuckles at night and always call a friend as I walked to my car—my logic no one will attack someone on a phone. In Benin I rarely am caught out at night, and if I am I always have a male volunteer make sure I get home safely. In general I understand the risks of certain behaviors, and avoid them. This makes me sound like a square, which is misleading, but so is what I did a week ago.
After leaving Safari, we asked our guide to stop at the waterfalls. We had heard a lot about the waterfalls, including that you could swim and jump off them. I was so excited about the prospects of finally proofing all my talk all these years, wasn’t just that, talk.
I really can’t say what was more dangerous; the climb up to the top of the waterfall or the jump itself.
After expressing interest in jumping the falls, our waterfall guide, went and searched for a guide to climb to the top with us. Perhaps, he thought after explaining we had to swim across the water, and climb up rocks, we might reconsider. Nope.
So when the guide arrived, Jonny, Clay, and I entered the water, which is when I began to realize I had not thought this through really. I am not a strong swimmer, I mean don’t get me wrong I can swim, but dreading water and floating have never been strong points. About three-fourths across the water, which I imagine was maybe about a lap in a swimming pool, I was worried I couldn’t make it. I am half-ashamed and not to admit I did resort to the doggy paddle a few times.
Once across we mounted onto a small ledge, by grabbing a nearby tree that sacrificed living in rocks for what I imagine to be a constant abundance of water. I was last to climb up, and as we made it to the first jumping point, Clay decided he would jump from there. He hesitated and finally went only after our guide jumped in the water to show him it was safe.
Then there were two.
Jonny and I continued the climb, following the steps of our guide, who had returned after a quick dip for Clay’s sake. I am short and so the whole time climbing the rocks I worried about coming to an instance where my limbs just would not allow me to stretch and reach. Furthermore we were climbing up barefooted obviously on slippery rocks. I was more scared then I realized I know, because I had to stay focus on making it up without slipping. I did not even complete the images of falling onto rocks, even though the thoughts kept trying to cross my mind. Once at the top, I told Jonny I wanted to go last.
We watched as our guide jumped fearlessly the 48 feet down to the water. Standing behind Jonny I could see his leg shaking. I did not say anything. I don’t think either of us really wanted to admit that we were nervous, especially after gaffing a little at Clay jumping early. Before jumping Jonny turned and made sure I did not want to go first. I told him I was fine, and then he made the leap. I don’t remember the jump, but more or less watching to make sure he came back to the surface safe. He did, but he exhaled a little, and in his face I could see pain.
Alone looking out at the water and the trees surrounding me, I returned to myself. Calculating what I must do on my jump and worrying about what might happen to me if something did not go right. I needed to land like a pencil, and then I worried about not holding my breath right as I entered the water and then how could I swim all the way back. I am not sure how long I stood up there, probably a few months. I even crossed myself. A couple times I told myself, OK on the count of three. 1,2,3. Nothing. OK, on the count of five, 1,2,3,4,5. Nothing. Finally the guide motioned something that looked like he wanted me to climb back down. There was no way I was climbing back down the way I came, no fu***** way, I thought. I jumped. I don’t think I could mimic how horrified I looked, and I was so scared. I don’t think I have ever felt that scared.
The jump felt like forever. At first I was scared. Then I enjoyed the weightlessness and registered I had in fact did it. Then the insecurity returned as I had not hit the water yet. I did not even think of all the things that had worried me before jumping. I just wanted to land. And land I did, and not like a pencil. Like my face, I could not mimic that landing twice, but needless to say immediately after emerging from the water the whole side of my left thigh was red and bruising—and I don’t bruise easily.
Walking back to the car, I felt regret immediately for my body. Jonny asked, “Was that your first time jumping something that high?”
“That was my first time jumping anything like that.”
“Seriously,” Jonny said laughing slightly. “That’s intense.”
Safari Part II: Peace and Quiet
I think when you are own Safari your soul can’t help but feel at ease. I was reminded of a time right before I left for Benin. I was watching “The Bucket List” with my grandmother, and they went to Africa on safari. I remember my heart fluttered at that scene, with the excitement of my impending move, and the serene beauty and rawness Africa offered.
I am willing to admit not all of Benin is beautiful, there have been many times when I can do nothing but let my thoughts be consumed by the wide expanses of open land that surround me. On Safari though, I truly believe I finally took in the definition of clean air.
Sitting on top of an old van, pumping along a dirt road, going an hour or more with seeing nothing more than the birds and deer that are everywhere, I just wish I could have captured my face. The wind, much cooler than I am used to, whipping my hair around, knowing had nothing to do today except look for animals.
I am willing to admit not all of Benin is beautiful, there have been many times when I can do nothing but let my thoughts be consumed by the wide expanses of open land that surround me. On Safari though, I truly believe I finally took in the definition of clean air.
Sitting on top of an old van, pumping along a dirt road, going an hour or more with seeing nothing more than the birds and deer that are everywhere, I just wish I could have captured my face. The wind, much cooler than I am used to, whipping my hair around, knowing had nothing to do today except look for animals.
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