The air smells like motorcycle exhaust and over ripe fruit as we round the corner and the first vendors become visible. There are piles of color, each tended by their own reigning "mama" and her daughters. Papaya, mangoes, apples, baby bananas, pineapples, and melons are heaped in baskets. Eggplants, potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, small spicy peppers, onions, carrots, cauliflower, and long rough skinned yams are placed in ordered rows and stacks. The multi-tiered tables are invisible behind this opulent produce so overloaded it seems to be reaching towards potential buyers as they search for the best looking ingredients for dinner tonight. Then there are the meat vendors, women sitting in front of large basins of fresh shrimp, whole dried fish, and some sort of curled and thick brown slab my friend tells me is sea cucumber. This is the place the flies love, where the air is thick with the scent of fish.
I absolutely love going to the market. It is something I do with my friend Olivia at least once a week. I love the market because it makes me remember where I am. Market walks, coming home with heavy bags of fruit and vegetables, connect me to the community and I am just a bit more a part of African life.
Today, we are in search of the biggest papayas we can find (previous market ventures have taught us that these are the best), and ingredients for Olivia's Chinese stir fry. Underneath the patched tin roof, an isle runs between each booth like a maze. By now, we know that the best vendors are towards the back and as we walk in looking at today's quality of cabbage and onions, the women poke their pineapples and bananas at us. It is a mistake to approach a stand if you are not looking to buy. Let me tell you, there is a pursuit involved! These women will show you every single item they are selling if you let them, and walking away with out a mango or an apple just seems rude after all the effort. So we walk exactly in the middle of the rows of mama sellers, not tending towards one side or another discussing which fruits look good and bad without actually pointing to them. When we find a source of beautiful string beans for the stir fry, Olivia, asks for 500 CFA worth (about $1) in French. The lady starts filling up a thin plastic sack, and Olivia kicks in to bargaining mode. 500 for that! Those beans are small! And the woman throws in handful more. I'll give you 400, Olivia says. No, the woman shakes her head, and she starts unloading the beans back into their basket, slowly, bluffing an unwillingness to settle. 400, Olivia says and turns to walk away. I realize we are arguing over twenty cents. The vendor stops us and offers the bag, now full again and we hand her four 100 coins that she quickly tucks away into a dirty piece of cloth tied into the waist of her skirt. Merci mama, we say with a smile, and she smiles back. I put the little plastic bag of beans into my shopping bag, and we walk on to our next purchase.
I think about what it would be like, to sit and sell food, trying to get the best price, often settling for less, but making it back from the non-french speaking yovos who pay way too much. I can tell that the women in charge hold all the power in their families. They are large and matriarchal. They are teaching their ten year old daughters how to manage a business, making sure their toddlers stay close, fanning away the sweat and napping a little when the day is slow. They are the money holders. They are strong, but their sons and the young men carry in the heavy bags of produce for them. They are women respected.
Olivia and I do eventually find the big yellow-ripe papayas and we buy three. I can't wait to split them open for the pink flesh and the population of black fish egg seeds inside. We also grab a dark eggplant, some candied peanuts, and a special kind of white carrot I have never tried before. We can't pass up the ripe mangoes on the way out and soon we are headed back to the ship burdened with black plastic sacks. We will eat well tonight, and it is nice to know that we have contributed to a family's dinner too. We drop a mango off with our security guards as we climb the gangway and I am happy to be here in Benin, in Africa, for this simple experience.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Pendjari
It is the cool of the morning in the north of Benin and still dark. I am alive with excitement, and as the blue van approaches to pick us up I can't help but smile in disbelief that this is my life. Do you ever look at yourself from the outside to realize the body you are in, the place you are standing, the adventure you are about to have? It is the morning of Easter Saturday, and I am on my way to Pendjari wildlife park to go on a safari! I remember thinking about this when I was a little kid, about going to Africa, proving to myself that elephants and hippos and lions really exist outside of zoos. And now I am living it.
The twelve of us pile our backpacks on top of the van and squeeze together with our guide and driver for the ride to the park. I have my head resting on the seat the whole time so I can look out the window at the trees and villages we are passing. It is very green here, with red earth and the same red packed into mud bricks to make the circular huts of civilization. The roofs are straw, and there are no windows. Children stand naked on the side of the road waving and smiling with chickens and pigs. We stop on the way at one of these villages where our guide has friends. Someone has brought tootsie rolls and I help pass them out to the flock of children gathered pressing so close. All I can see are outstretched little hands waiting for me to put a candy in them. It reminds me of sea creatures, like a rock full of barnacles, their feathery attachments waving in the water to grab food, darting in with the catch and then back out again for more. I can't keep track of who I've given these prized candies too but the kids are smiling and when I run out, they step back and and stand, the smallest in the front for the best view, just observing our group. When it is time to leave, they are waving and chasing after us and I am warmed.
When we finally reach the park and drive past the hunting zone into the refuge, it is quickly growing hot, but we are hopeful for some animal sightings. Some of us climb to the roof of the van and perch on top of the luggage for a better view and we start down the rough dirt road again. We are armed with cameras and anticipation. Our first sighting is a troop of baboons and the driver slows so we can watch as the ponder us and run by. There are some antelope next and they race through the trees at the sound of our vehicle. We are all captivated, little do we know that we will see so many of these animals in our next day and a half, we will no longer stop to give them special attention.
It is dry season in Benin, so we drive to a watering hole for the highest concentration of animals in this heat. As we arrive, there are water buffalo, wart hogs, antelope, birds of all kinds, baboons, and crocodiles posing for our cameras. Off in the distance, we can see two hippos surfacing for air and then sinking back down into the cool. I think about how long I would like to stay here just to observe the natural traffic, but our guide is ready to leave and other people have arrived eager to see as we have.
We move on, making our way to our hotel and I am riding on the roof now, wind rushing. Wait for it, wait for it, and then the driver hits the breaks and we stop with whispers of "Ele! Ele!" Off in the distance, two massive grey shapes curl their trunks and fan ears that are over five feet long. This is unreal, but it is not the closest encounter we will have. Still, we are filled with excitement as we arrive at the hotel for a mid-day break. At four o'clock, we will continue experiencing these god-given gifts. Our hotel is more of a camp ground, at least for those of us without rooms. We plan out a place to sleep underneath three trees to which we can tie ropes and hang our mosquito nets.
Our four to eight o'clock trip is filled with all the animals we have seen before. As we are heading back, our guide tries one last spot, where he says we will see elephants if we have luck. We turn off the main road and start towards the river Pendjari, the border between Benin and Burkina Faso. As we round the last turn before the river, the border guard is waiting for us. He is large, almost the size of our van, and peaceful on the bridge. He is a beautiful male hippopotamus not 100 feet in front of us. How great is our God?! We watch as he slowly turns and lumbers back to the river, and we follow at a distance to watch him vanish into the bush.
Sunday is our last day in the park and we wake up again before sunrise. This morning, we see a pack of over twenty elephants all walking to the watering hole. In the silence, we can hear them crushing the branches and dry grass under their heavy steps. Their presence is completely overpowering thought they are at least 300 yards away.
The twelve of us pile our backpacks on top of the van and squeeze together with our guide and driver for the ride to the park. I have my head resting on the seat the whole time so I can look out the window at the trees and villages we are passing. It is very green here, with red earth and the same red packed into mud bricks to make the circular huts of civilization. The roofs are straw, and there are no windows. Children stand naked on the side of the road waving and smiling with chickens and pigs. We stop on the way at one of these villages where our guide has friends. Someone has brought tootsie rolls and I help pass them out to the flock of children gathered pressing so close. All I can see are outstretched little hands waiting for me to put a candy in them. It reminds me of sea creatures, like a rock full of barnacles, their feathery attachments waving in the water to grab food, darting in with the catch and then back out again for more. I can't keep track of who I've given these prized candies too but the kids are smiling and when I run out, they step back and and stand, the smallest in the front for the best view, just observing our group. When it is time to leave, they are waving and chasing after us and I am warmed.
When we finally reach the park and drive past the hunting zone into the refuge, it is quickly growing hot, but we are hopeful for some animal sightings. Some of us climb to the roof of the van and perch on top of the luggage for a better view and we start down the rough dirt road again. We are armed with cameras and anticipation. Our first sighting is a troop of baboons and the driver slows so we can watch as the ponder us and run by. There are some antelope next and they race through the trees at the sound of our vehicle. We are all captivated, little do we know that we will see so many of these animals in our next day and a half, we will no longer stop to give them special attention.
Our four to eight o'clock trip is filled with all the animals we have seen before. As we are heading back, our guide tries one last spot, where he says we will see elephants if we have luck. We turn off the main road and start towards the river Pendjari, the border between Benin and Burkina Faso. As we round the last turn before the river, the border guard is waiting for us. He is large, almost the size of our van, and peaceful on the bridge. He is a beautiful male hippopotamus not 100 feet in front of us. How great is our God?! We watch as he slowly turns and lumbers back to the river, and we follow at a distance to watch him vanish into the bush.
We end our adventure covered in red dust and so happy, standing before a waterfall and large deep pool. There is nothing more inviting when you are this hot and covered in sticky dirt-sweat skin. I climb to the top and jump to the water 50 feet below with two local boys. Exhilaration fills me and I am feeling perfect. Just enough excited, relaxed, cool, content, and thrilled. Top that off with a cold Yuki fizzi and a bucket full of ripe mangoes. We drive back to our hotel to spend our last night and this is bliss. On top of it all, this is the day Jesus has risen, the day we were saved, and that is something to be truly joyful for. Maybe this is what heaven is like, the combination of bliss and joy, only it is sustaining, perpetual. This weekend is just a taste of God's splendor.
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