Saturday 26 February 2011

Money, Money, Everywhere

Afongadjia guys (that's hello, and yes it's taken me 4 weeks to learn it. By the end of my time here I'm pretty confident of managing a three word sentence...).

So I've got another cracker on the main Kiva website for you. I think last time I oversold the microfinance aspects - I'm incapable of writing much on that since I've only been doing it for a handful of weeks! It's a nice insight to the conditions here though.

Check it out here.

Thanks!

Ok so it's actually been a hard week and
apparently starting to show...

Wednesday 23 February 2011

A Weekend In Pictures

Just a few clips from the latest weekend jaunt: This time to PossotomĂ©, a little village on a lake slightly inland, which is Benin’s main source of mineral water.


Welcome to Chez Theo, the lakeside hotel
at Possotomé


The gang, chilling out by the lake


The entire restaurant is on stilts over the lake


The “African Queen” docked at the restaurant


Local transport…


And local fishing methods


Typical Beninese road freight


We took the "route de pĂȘche" (fishing road) on the
way home, which is just the long stretch of
beach all along Benin’s coastline


The few hamlets here are pretty basic,
housing the local fishermen


Every evening the whole village pulls in the sea
net cast out by boat earlier in the day.
This provides food and money for the entire village


Return to Cotonou. A bit of Sunday evening last minute relaxation on a rooftop bar.
(Left to right) Marc, Vincent, Patrick (housemate), Eliza, me


Friday 18 February 2011

Settling In...

Following popular demand, I’m once again changing tack on the levity of my blog – don’t worry plenty more fun microfinance ones to come later as required by Kiva!
So, what have I been up to in the last week? Good question. Good news is that I’ve not only moved, but as of yesterday I even have my own room, rather than sleeping on a mattress on the lounge floor, fully exposed to the security guard all night. Oh, and my room has AIRCON. But also a cold shower, which raises a great philosophical question: Is it better to turn the AC off and really appreciate the shower in the morning, or to have it on 16 degrees and then freeze in the shower? I don’t know. 
The Palace
 
My actual, proper room now!

The Lounge (and my temporary bed)
 
View to the sea from the rooftop terrace
New housemates are Patrick (Swiss) and Erica (Italian), both working at the UN for something or another…

More good news. There seems to be a string of ‘out of the blue’ bank holidays at the moment, quite nicely aligned to the run up to the presidential elections at the end of the month. Coincidence of course. So Tuesday, given it was Mohammed’s birthday (the prophet), I was able to go and sit on the beach all day, and make friends with some Lebanese surfers. It turns out that “surf chat” is pretty international, but I include the translation for completeness. 
My new surf bud

"Sup…"
Hello
"Pumping?"
Are there waves of a suitable standard for a beginner?
"No, it’s not like the lines at Hossegur…"
Unkown (I read this on a website once, think it’s ‘cool’)
"I remember this time in Morrocco…"
…I sat on the beach watching better people surf
"Massive triple overhead..."
One wave caught me on the shins while I was wading in the shallows
"Radical…"
It was quite thrilling
"Blah blah…"
More nonsense but I’m waiting for the right moment to ask…
"…Oh, can I borrow your board?"
And so I got to paddle out in the sort of rubbish you’d only expect in Devon, except that here you don’t need a wetsuit.


"Tearing it up"

Finally, a token mention of work: I’ve upped my hours recently, ever since I was stranded there till 20:30 in a torrential downpour and resulting blackout. My colleagues now think those are the hours I work and it’s awkward to explain that I didn’t actually want to be there but it was raining etc etc.
But I’m now out doing the rounds of all the branches, training the staff here how to do something new (a tip if you’re ever in sub-Saharan Africa being driven places on a scooter: wear sunscreen. 3 hours later, I was pretty fried. And don't repeat the same mistake the next day, even though you've already drafted such a warning as part of a blog). 
Included in these trips are the obligatory visits to some of their clients (they seem very keen on hairdressers), but that’s for another day…
Lastly, in an attempt to make this whole format more interactive: I’d like scores out of 10 on brevity, levity, and content. You might want to consider whether I’m likely to adjust with or completely against your suggestions…

It's not ginger. It's manly.

Sunday 13 February 2011

The Kiva Fellows Phenomenon

Hi all and thanks for checking out the latest update – this week I’m fulfilling my “official” duties to Kiva by beginning my series of slightly more microfinance-related topics on the main Kiva site – I’ll warn you it’s a little more US-centric so forgive me for any OTT sentimentality...

Check it out here.

Oh also, isn’t this just a beautiful sight to behold?

Fresh clothes!!!

Monday 7 February 2011

It's a Hard Life, Helping



Let’s lighten the mood a bit since last time. I’ve gone for a photo approach today, based on some aspects of my week of settling into the heavy demands of expatriate life here in Cotonou. A quick update first – the bag still hasn’t arrived. “Next Tuesday” turned into “No, Next Tuesday”. Here’s hoping I get it tomorrow – The only pair of trousers with me now are heavy jeans and they’re really starting to smell…
 
The hotel room my brother booked for me as I ran across Brussels airport panicking I’d miss the flight because the one from London was so delayed (thanks Phil!). Basically: great food; well looked after; “officially not a hotel so hush-hush”; and AIRCON!!! I felt it was cheating until I turned it on. Then I just didn’t care.

On the back of Gregoire’s bike – he helped me out massively driving me around to places I could buy replacement stuff.

I’m going to skip the rest of the week for now, and focus on the weekend. Some of the guys I’m moving in with next week were heading out to Grand Popo, on the coast right by the Togo border. I thought I’d join them.


 
THE BEACH! Yep, this is Benin’s “most popular tourist spot”. How true – at one stage there were two of us in the sea at the same time, which was outrageous.
Sticking with the theme of showing you where I sleep at night, this was the view from my room at Grand Popo, just off the beach.
   
We took a quick punting trip up the river – Africa-style in a pirogue, not the flat bottom boats of Oxford. Grand Popo is the home of Voodoo (or rather Vodoun as it should be written) so this was a quick intro to the “religion” – I won’t elaborate here as I’m hoping to do something a little fuller on the subject later.

As part of our little boat tour we did a walk around a traditional Vodoun village seeing all the fetiches etc. I felt a little awkward doing this in a poor remote village (“look at the rich white man coming to stare and take photos”) until we reached a group having a Sunday afternoon tipple. Not to back down in a cultural confrontation, I obviously drank whatever it was they gave me (“African gin” – felt like white spirit. Still, the UK’s name is safe in this village). After that I had this strange, euphoric feeling and a general love for all things………….






Local fisher boys out collecting shrimp and catfish in a pirogue. Later in the day Maude, one of my companions on the trip, was taking photos of sea fishermen pulling in the day’s catch until one of them starting chasing her around with a stick shouting angrily…

This week’s final instalment of “where I sleep” – I’ve temporarily moved to someone’s roof, where local cats come to sleep on my face every night. Nice.
 
And a little something to leave you with. As I say, sometimes it can be very hard, helping.


Thursday 3 February 2011

Bags and Bribes: Bienvenue au Benin

Saturday 29th January, 10:45pm.

The Air Brussels flight comes cruising into Cotonou, Benin, and I look out the window to... darkness.

Now I'm not trying to have a Joseph Conrad moment here, but it was a genuinely impressive sight to see just how little ambient light comes up from the country or indeed the capital - you can pick out individual flickers here and there, some white (halogens) but mostly yellow (sodium and quite a few fires).

My time in Benin kicks off pretty promisingly - off the plane early and cruise through customs with barely a look and a "bang" as the stamp comes down on the passport. No questions asked.

I'm through to baggage claim and in for a rude awakening...

Cotonou Airport, Benin. 11:15pm.

The first bag arrives, one of the first – great. I watch the numbers dwindle around me as the bag feed slows and eventually stops, the three of us left look at each other with a mixture of puzzlement and worry.

I look next to my boarding pass stub - my bag tags had been taken off me at the transit stop in Brussels. The worry deepens.

 I haul my single bag then through to the baggage claim man. On the way, the scrupulous baggage checkers see an opportunity as I can't verify it belongs to me. "Don't worry about it sir, that's fine. Enjoy your stay".
Well that's nice at least.
As I turn away a hand grasps my elbow, “You have been to Cotonou? You know how it works here? Something for a little Coca-Cola?”. This turns out to be the first of many “donations” tonight…

“No tag, no bag”, granted maybe a poetic translation but reflects the initial response from the man sitting comfortably in his air conditioned office (it’s around this time I realise I’m still wearing a cashmere jumper and the real heat overload starts).
After some pretty insistent pleading, and what I thought was placating type into a DOS programme on his part, he turns with a triumphant smile on his face, “Je l’ai trouve!”.
$5 to the man.
Bag in Brussels.
Next flight in three days.
"Come back then".
Who needs trousers anyway.

I emerge from baggage claim. I'll sort it later from the hotel, i think to myself. I look around at the drivers assembled.
Hotel Ibis - No.
Hotel L'Entente - No.
Hotel Mirage - No.
No driver.
Damn.
I look to my phone - no number for the hotel. 6% battery, no access to internet.
I'll do it the old fashioned way.

My loose dollars are spent (I realise I should have more, and local currency would help too…) so my next stop is the bureau de change. I know it’s not strictly a bribe, but late night exchange rates tend to include a sort of special commission; “ah, $20 notes? The rate is less then…”
Damn.
Note to self: bring $100 notes.

 Next up, the security guard at the exit of the airport. I know better than to ask for his help but it’s late and I’m reaching boiling point.  “Yes I find a taxi. Where you going? I don’t know it. What neighbourhood? I don’t know it. This is my friend, he drives.”
I look down to my available cash.
No loose change from the teller at the bureau.
I hand him lowest value note I have.
Damn.
Note to self: never convert that value to Sterling.

I get into the taxi. A nagging feeling arises - something that I should have remembered - one of the sacred rules of travelling.
Oh yes, there it is; Always Negotiate First.
Damn. Damn.
“8,000CFA,” sixteen dollars. Although I don’t know where we’re going, I’m sure that’s a rip off but there’s surprisingly little bargaining power as we start driving away.
Damn. Damn. Damn.

And as we drive I get a chance to take a deep breath and gather my wits; I’ve just asked a “security man” to ask his “friend” to drive me somewhere where he “knows the area” – although clearly not the guesthouse. I realise I'm a white guy, alone, in a completely unknown west African city, with a valuable hoard of electronics in the back of the taxi, and no phone numbers to call.
Damn Damn Damn.

For a couple of minutes we drive up a main boulevard.
Streetlights - check
People - not so much
It's hot. Unvelievably hot.
I'm tired. It's now 12:30am.
My nerves start to play tricks on me.

We pull off the main boulevard into a dirt road immersed in only darkness.
Another piece of common travel advice - at night, no lights equals no go.
Damn Damn Damn.

At this stage the worst horror stories of tourist in Africa start manifesting themselves in my mind.
"Attendez ici".
I'm alone. A couple of shadowy figures emerge out of the darkness, congregating on the taxi.
damn damn damn damn damn damn.

And as quickly as my panic started 15 minutes earlier, it's dashed with typical African joviality. The driver returns - still no hotel, but starts bantering with the others - it's clear to me this is all honest.
Oh.
I was being silly.
RELIEF.

With 4% battery left I go to the ultimate, ever-helpful last point of call.
"Mum"
"How are you! Tell me all about it!"
3%
"Not really the time - Help"

And with seconds to spare before my iPhone dies before me, I've got it. A number. We call. We're there. As in it's literally right behind us.

The hotel boy comes out to greet me.

"Bienvenue au Benin monsieur!".