And, I again have clothes!

Luggage arrived. That's the most important thing. This post is clearly for my mother, who is worried about me and my stuff.

Kigali is amazing. Can't wait to share it with you!

Happy almost CANADA DAY!

Kigali

I finally arrived in Kigali with Sara. We got in at 8:20am on 28 June, flying Kenya Airways--so I cant blame Royal Air Maroc for my lost luggage this time.

Yes, again.

Hopefully the rest of the day progresses well! Will update on the amazing city soon.

Tribute to MJ - Part II

For my last night in Cotonou, we hit my fav restaurant again—the fabulous Shamiana’s. Nate, Katharine, Shaloo, Nina and I had way too much food and planned to follow it up with karaoke at local haunt Chevalier.

We hit Chevalier a bit early, and there were only 3 other people there. We picked our spot and ordered bottle service for 4 – one in our party went home after dinner, so the 4 hardcore’s went out for the second weekend. A bottle of Gordon’s and 4 tonics later, and we were set to go. We didn’t realize, however, that karaoke here isn’t like normal karaoke where people actually sing. There are 5 or 6 staff who basically perform a concert to karaoke tracks. The songs were in French, English and Fon (local language) and it was amazing. All of the performers were really talented. There was a particularly rousing “We are the World” where the entire bar sang the chorus together and a Michael Jackson video played in the background. We decided after a few hours and while on the second bottle of gin that it was time to hit the club next door. There wa slots of dancing and fun times, followed by me almost breaking the gate at Shaloo's trying to get

back in, and being locked out of the house at 4am for awhile. But, we figured it out eventually.

After a fabulous sleep, I had a delightful brunch--Benson cooked me an omlette! I thought this was pretty fantastic. It's a rare day when a man cooks me breakfast. I took what I thought would be a quick run out to the store to get some food for a surprise supper (really, leftover maple curry pasta). Unfortunately, it was only 3 pm and the store was closed til 4, so I ended up buying Paul (the driver) a beer and talking about his life and how he was left heartbroken by a mean North American who had his child and left him to return home.  I grabbed more brie and wine at the store, and made supper for Shaloo, Nate and Katharine-- my last meal in Cotonou. Strangely, it was kind of sad.

Shaloo took me to the airport. We were both pretty exhausted, and when I got to the airport I

was physically ill. I had more anxiety from seeing that hell hole again than I've ever had before. I even tried to have a beer and relax a little bit failed.

After saying goodbye, I went thru security where the customs men asked me if I was ever coming back to Benin. They told me I should come back and get married. Had to get in one more marriage comment before I got out of the country.

Going through the metal detector and xray machine was fun-- they let me keep 1.5L of water, but took the batteries out of my camera and inspected my Blistex pot for 5 minutes. Someone else asked for my shoes-- I thought he was asking me to take them off an scan them-- but then I realized he was asking to HAVE them. I replied they were the only shoes I had. That seemed sufficient. It was a quiet departure from Cotonou--far better than my arrival. I had a great time with Shaloo and his friends and wish I was there for the parties planned on Tues and Thurs-- I expect Thurs will be epic.

Off to Kigali! Will post pics soon... my net connection is pretty lame as of now.

xo

Waking up to the news...

MJ has died. He may have been many things, but the most important of all was his iconic status as a brilliant musician. Sad, sad, sad. I had a ticket to see him in July, which unfortunately won't be happening now. But alas, so goes a superstar.

We are going out in Cotonou tonight for a MJ celebration, at the local karaoke bar. I don't even know if MJ will be a song option, but here's hoping. I have tomorrow in Cotonou, and depart at 11pm for Kigali, Rwanda, where the work begins.

Voodoo has nothing to do with dolls?

Ouidah is the birthplace of the Voodoo religion, and a centre of worship for practitioners. It’s about 40 km from Cotonou, and one of the few places where there are many sights to check out.

This morning I took Shaloo’s other driver, Herve, and after a quick ATM stop (my VISA works here!!) headed off for Ouidah. What an experience.

It is rainy season in Benin, so at any point it may spontaneously pour. This happened last night, so many of the roads were covered in meter wide puddles. Within the first 15 mins I had my first puddle run in—the driver had his window down and I was in the back passenger seat. A large truck went by and threw a liter of water into the car. The driver took most of it, but I had a significant amount of puddle water in my hair after the experience. What I have learned in Africa is you have to be flexible, and when things don’t go as planned just remember the mantra “ca va aller”.

First on the list in Ouidah was the Temple des Serpents. This is really a tourist trap as opposed to a temple, but it was formerly used as a Voodoo temple. In fact, a beautiful, large Catholic church is built across the road, and was paid for by the Voodoo religion leaders over a hundred

years ago. Apparently, they built it across the street to keep an eye on what was happening there. Now, the temple is used to house 40 pythons and offer fab photos to tourists. It costs 1000 to enter, and 1000 for pictures (about $5 in total) and the guide takes you into the python room for some pictures. Pretty much the scariest thing ever. The snakes aren’t slimy and gross as I’d imagined, but they move around and slither and look at you like they want to attack. Or, that’s what I perceived from my snake.

After this, we hit the Sacred Forest—I was pretty excited as I played Zelda as a child and thought I was walking in to find the Great Deku Tree or something. That pretty much happened, but with a lot more religious significance. Religion is an interesting topic here—in North America, it isn’t discussed a lot and it isn’t socially positive to question people about their beliefs. Here, people ask and talk about religion a lot, and though they may hold one set of beliefs, they are open to others and sometimes practice more than one. For example, people in Ouidah practice Catholicism in the day and Voodoo at night—probably one of the reasons Voodoo is associated in the west with evil and darkness—because when the slaves were taken to the Americas they were forced to practice Catholicism in the day and had to hide their

Voodoo at night. This practice has continued to this day. In the sacred forest there are many sculptures symbolizing a

multitude of Voodoo and animist deities and beliefs, my favourite being the Amazon woman.

Amazon’s are from this part of Africa, and they famously went topless into war to distract the foreign armies of men—before chopping their heads off. The forest itself is beautiful and lush—it just feels peaceful. It contains a huge and rare iroko tree that king Kpasse, the founder of Ouidah, is reputed to have turned himself into while fleeing enemies. None of the kings are ever said to have died—it is not allowed—instead, they have changed forms. When the king dies, there is a special drum which is beaten and it signifies to the people that the king has passed to a new consciousness. But, he has not “died”. There is a Voodoo cemetery, as they do inter their dead, but there is no service for their passing. I was told to place my left hand on the king/tree and make a wish, while leaving an offering for the king/tree. The highlight of this trip was when I heard a strange sound, like a tap being turned on, in the middle of the forest. I turned around and Herve, the driver, had whipped it out and was taking a piss. In the middle of the Sacred Forest. What a gem.

We went for lunch after this, at a restaurant of Herve’s choosing. I was told to order the chicken, which I was hesitant of, but there was nothing non-meat on the menu. I tried to order just fries, and the waiter wouldn’t let me. So, I ordered fried chicken (the safest, I figured) and french fries. Clearly, I only ate the fries as the chicken was definitely a track star and looked tough and deadly. Herve, however, loved it and licked the bones clean—after the slight let down that they

didn’t have rabbit, he had a good meal anyway.  .

We went back to the Musee d’Histoire d’Ouidah, which is open from 9-12 and 3-6. We had gone there at 11:45 and they told us to leave and return later. I was hesitant to go back, but I’m glad I did as it was very interesting and I met a great American guy who’s doing research on Voodoo and learned a lot. The museum is a reconstructed Portuguese fort from 1721, and houses exhibits relating to the slave trade and the links between Benin and Brazil. The slave trade artifacts are amazing—in a clearly horrific way. There were recovered chains and collars—the Portuguese bound the slaves 2 by 2 and marched them 2 km’s down the route des esclaves (slave route) to the Point of No Return. There were also paintings depicting slave experiences and how people were treated—over 10 million people were deported from Africa (this sounds really high… but I admittedly don’t know much about the slave trade) and were subjected to the worst possible conditions. Men were made to sleep face down, women face up—so the Portuguese could violate them if they so desired. About half of the Africans on each boat died before ever seeing land, and some jumped from the boats into the ocean off the African coast, as the preferred to die in their homeland than in a foreign one. The guide was the first I’ve had to speak English, and he even made a “joke”—when we went towards the souvenir shop he said we could buy anything and everything that we wanted—except “him”, referring to the counter attendant.  After all of that...definitely not funny.

The museum was quite good, but the real highpoint of the visit was the Route des Esclaves and the Door of No Return. The route starts near the Museum, and travels ~2km to the coast. Lining the route are different symbols and images—my fav was definitely the Tree of Forgetfulness, which slaves were forced to circle 5-7 times, to forget the land they were leaving. On the beach is a grand arch, a memorial Point of No Return—once the slaves crossed this line, they knew they would never see their home again. The front of the Arch, when walking through, depicts slaves in chains walking towards a boat. On the other side, once they have crossed and there is truly no return, the image changes to the front of the slaves, in line towards the boats. Between them, looking backs towards their homeland, is a beautiful tree. Trees are a universal symbol of life, but here it means even more—the tree is meant to symbolize that life is eternal, and when the slaves would die, their souls would return home to Africa for eternity. My pictures aren’t too great here, because I walked down to the ocean and suddenly, from a clear blue sky, the heavens opened up and dropped 20 liters of water on me. In about 10 seconds I was soaked, but it was a wonderful experience nonetheless.

This is a long post—but it was a pretty cool place and I learned a lot about the Voodoo religion and the horrors of the slave trade. It was clearly a horrific process, but I had never really thought about what it entailed or would have been like for those people.

Wine and Brie is Magic in any Country.

Yesterday, I went grocery shopping to attempt to MAKE supper (yes, actually cook) at Shaloo’s house. I have a classic Maple Curry Pasta recipe that’s always a hit, so I figured I’d try it out in Africa. We ended up getting home too late to cook it, so we postponed. This was probably for the best, as there was a massive thunder and lightning storm which cut the power for quite awhile and we wouldn’t have been finished cooking.

Note: whatever you may hear, I was not ‘scared’ of the lighting, I just don’t like it.

Cooking in Africa is an adventure in itself. For the groceries, I had to hit 4 stores and a market. Vegetable soup broth doesn’t exist here, but on my

4^th attempt I found bouillon cubes and made it myself. Curry paste is also impossible, so I bought curry and made a paste with olive oil that was a decent approximation. Cream cheese is also unheard of, but there is a cheese snack product called Kiri that made a good substitute. I also bought a 0.25 cent baguette and $15 in Brie in case this all failed and we had to eat cheese and bread for supper. Oh, and a couple bottles of vino. Clearly.

Paul, one of Shaloo’s drivers, took me around on my grocery store hunt. He’s very nice to me, and told me if he had enough money he’d come to America and ask my mother if he could buy me. I think it was complimentary. I told my mother a few hours after, and she requested that I relay the message that she is fully willing to sell me at any time.

We got home around 9 pm and started the process. I had onions, green peppers, garlic and carrots straight from some market, which needed disinfected. Benson, Shaloo’s

roommate, hauled out some chemical substance that was purple and we washed and set the vegetables in that for ~20 mins. The stove is propane (like, the type where you light a match and hope it doesn’t explode), so we had some fun figuring out the right temperature to melt but not burn butter and sugar on the stove. It took about 45 mins to cut all the vegetables and get a home for everything on the stove, but eventually it was going quite well. It was a hot night though, and I remembered being a child and my mother refusing to cook for me on hot summer days because it made the house so warm. On those days, I ate apples and sandwiches. I forgot that lesson though, and was dying of heat about 15 mins in. Eventually, it boiled down and I put the pasta and the sauce together

and…voila! It turned out very well, and was almost the same as home! We celebrated with more wine and brie and some Michael Jackson.

Benson washed all our dishes in the morning, after explicitly being asked not to, while I took pictures of the awesome house and washed my clothes, by hand, in the bathroom sink. I never realized how much I value a washer and dryer, but I think I’ll add it to the list of things I cannot live without. Aside from my brief encounter with a large cockroach outside the apartment, it has been mostly a nice place to stay, with everything I need magically appearing from the cook, Pascaline.

Supper was a success! This was the first time Shaloo had cooked in his house, and I’m pretty impressed that between us we figured out how to run everything. Though, much credit should probably go to Benson, as we wouldn’t have gotten past the “wash the vegetables” stage without him.

PS

The damnable power has gone out 4 times, and takes the net down with it. Alas, know I am well.

Enjoy the cute kid. 

I have luggage!

After the escapade of last night, there was no waking up before noon.

After binging on a lunch of orange juice (amazing here, btw) I trekked to the front desk to ask them if they’d call about my luggage. Turns out, the airport called to say my luggage had arrived at 10 am and the front desk had called my room… but I didn’t hear it. This was good news, and I immediately hopped in a cab to go collect it. 

I went into the customs area and explained my situation to them. They sent me to someone else, and I showed him my baggage claim form. He led me into a room FILLED (like, to the ceiling) with luggage and told me to find mine, and walked away. I eventually found it and with the help of a custodian got it out of the pile.

I even got the rest of Shaloo’s “From Canada” care package, as it was lost for awhile in the Great

Luggage Disaster of 09. I had brought him some gems in my carry-on baggage—2 issues of GQ, the Sports Illustrated

Swimsuit edition, a package of Peeps (he missed easter!), a carton of Pringles, and a Wall-E pez dispenser. The important things, KMS Hairplay mainly, were in the other bag. Finally, everything has arrived, and I can only hope to not have to repeat this situation with my next flight.

I had lunch with Shaloo and Sarah, a malaria researcher from Winnipeg, before hitting the beach. The road to the beach was dirt, and had been somewhat flooded by torrential rains. It took awhile to get there, but we made it eventually and even got to see Barack Obama St on the way. It was a beautiful area, but the waves were deadly. For real—as a former swimmer and lifeguard, I can say this is the easiest way to lose your life ever. The waves are huge and the undertow very strong. We watched some people surf while we laid on our beach recliners and drank. 

I've never been to Venice...

After my stellar arrival, I holed up in my hotel room but couldn’t sleep. I walked around checking the area out. I didn’t see any rabid bats, but apparently they exist. Awesome. The pool and deck area is incredible-- the hotel itself is straight out of 1975, but the facilities make it worth it. It's one of the expensive hotels in Benin, coming in at $87 USD/night.

Shaloo came over at 930am and we headed out for a walk around Cotonou.  Benin has one of the most stable governments on the continent, and a low crime and HIV/AIDS rate.

The only remarkable sight we saw, aside from unique side of the road gas stations (gas in liquor bottles) was Marie-Mere Notre Dame, an interesting red and white church. There were a large number of people standing outside in traditional African garb—big hats, bright colours, crazy prints etc. We thought it might be a wedding… til we saw the hearse. We stuck around to watch the funeral start and hear the INCREDIBLE choir sing French hymns.

We hit up the pharmacy (I needed hair products…) and the supermarket on the way back to the hotel (more alcohol in their supermarket than in our liquor store). There is a great covered over open-air patio here, so we had some lunch and Shaloo joked (I thought) about going out on a boat. It wasn’t a joke.

Hotel du Lac is, as you’d expect,on a lake, and I’ve spent the past 2 days watching people go out at 5 am in sketchy boats to fish. I saw one particularly ballsy Beninese guy take 3 strokes and haul out a bucket to pour out the water that was coming into his boat via the hole in the bottom. He would remove 3 buckets, paddle a couple more strokes, and repeat. So, I was hesitant about the boat situation. I figured it meant instant death—But, Shaloo had booked us onto a Hotel du Lac tour of Ganvie, what the guidebooks refer to as the “Venice of Africa” (note the PDF 'lifejackets' in the boat, but not in use). The people who live there fled when there was a war (ages ago) and just never came back. It is only accessible by water. We piled into a boat with some Belgians and headed off on our trek.

People in this area fish a lot. It’s their thing. There are shrimp and crab catching devices everywhere. We headed into Ganvie and there were children everywhere, some swimming, some driving their own boats, all prepared to strike when a tourist arrived. There were some great kids, but mostly they cover their faces from the camera when you try to take a picture. I figured it was because they thought we were stealing their souls or something…but Shaloo says it’s likely because they think we will sell their pictures to National Geographic and make millions off of them. Towards the end of our trip there, we stopped at a couple shops…

like, souvenir stores built on stilts. There was some great shopping here though, and I picked up some fabulous little souvenirs for friends. On the way back, we hit loads of waves and got soaked. Shaloo was laying down on the boat and we hit a wave and a fish came out of the water and hit him in the face. It landed in the boat and flapped around a little, before a Belgian threw it back to the sea. Anyone who knows of my extreme fear of fish can imagine this was not pleasant.

When we got back, I was finally exhausted-after having not slept on the plane or upon arrival. I had a little nap and a bed picnic of pizza and Pringles before supper. Getting ready for supper was easy as I had no clothes, so we got into a car and headed to L’ Atelier, a little European restaurant, with Shaloo’s friends Nate and Catherine. The food wasn’t so hot, but the company was fabulous, and after a couple bottles of wine we decided to move onward—to La Verdune. La Verdune is a Kelly Wilson place, as I call them, meaning the shittiest bar you can imagine but with such character it’s impossible

not to love. When we walked in, the song “Footloose” was playing, and the centerpiece of the room was a crooked pool table shimmied up by coasters, and the 6 VLT machines were all occupied by very excitable prostitutes, all waiting to win the jackpot. I made friends with Suzanne (aka Chiquita) who first told me of her jackpot dreams. I wasn’t sure if she meant picking up the clearly affluent older white gentleman who was alone at the bar, or winning the literal VLT jackpot. I figured either. Or both. This proved correct. Chiquita was fabulous, and told Shaloo later that white people aren’t usually that nice to them, so I guess she was surprised

that I talked to her.

What can I say? I love prostitutes.

She asked me if I’d be her ‘copain’ and we danced to ‘It’s Raining Men’ before I got my drinks and went back to our table.  We decided the night couldn’t end there, as it was so far perfect, and moved on to New York, New York, one of the most popular clubs in Benin. I didn’t know what to expect- but I certainly didn’t expect what I got. It was FANTASTIC! Great music (there is amazing music everywhere here…even on the dirt road you can hear someone singing or playing music somewhere), great drinks, lots of interesting people….we danced til 430 am and gave up—but the party was still raging. I moved my marriage proposals up by 2 and got a few phone numbers along the way. At this point, it was just Nate, Shaloo and me, as Catherine had gone home, and we realized we no longer had a drive. Cabs aren’t too common here-people use the much cheaper “moto”, a cheap version of a motorcycle where you pile on behind the drive and hold on for dear life. None of us were willing to do that, so we had to find a cab. We found one guy with a car who was willing to drive us, for 10,000 (20$ USD). Shaloo was like “6000 or nothing”…and the guy basically said screw you and walked away. Nate and I stood around wondering how the hell to get out of this mess, while Shaloo approached random people with cars asking for a ride. One nice Lebanese guy told another guy he had to find us a cab, so he did, and we got our 6000 drive without too much more trouble. It was a perfect, random, crazy day.

Now to find my luggage.

Unceremonious African Arrival...

So, I'm in Africa. The adventures started upon landing.

Some things I have learned:

1) I can't live without Colgate Wisp's. They are little disposable tooth brushes that don't require water and have a minty gel thing in the middle that makes your teeth feel lovely. WAY better than having to carry toothpaste and a brush/using the airplane water to brush your teeth. Im a teeth fanatic and can't deal with swamp mouth, so these we a great find. $1/2 pack at my local Wal Mart (love American Wal Mart...)

2) Two other must-have travel items have been discovered on this trip. One is the Body Shop's Vitamine E Intense Moisture Cream and the other is Polysporin Lip chap. This replaces my old standard, the Blistex medicated pot. Gotta thank Jacqueline for these ones-- she gave me a going away/survival package pre-Africa which contained these gems.

3) Royal Air Maroc is truly the most crap airline of all time. Far exceeds Air Canada in crap-ness. The food is heinous (more than most airlines), they lost my baggage, and they don't print all the via points on the tickets. I flew Casablanca-Cotonou (Benin) but we mysteriously stopped in Lome (Togo). It was a scheduled stop of the route, but it wasn't listed on my ticket so I had no idea. Not impressed. In the end, I had no bag in Cotonou and when it did arrive (next day) the nametag and lock had been removed, and someone had rifled through all my stuff. 

Ok, onwards to the real story.

I arrived in Cotonou on Saturday, June 20th at 4:20am. I had to file a lost baggage claim form, so came out of the customs area at 4:45am. My friend lives here and was supposed to come get me... but he wasn't there. I, like an idiot, didn't have his number. This is made worse because I have a 10 page itinerary with everything I could possibly need, but I didn't write that down. Anyway, I was immediately accosted by 5 large, burly taxi drivers who wanted to drive me around. Bad idea, methinks. I told them, in French, that I was waiting for a friend. 20 mins elapse and they're like vultures to a kill. They come back and harass more. So, I went to the lady at the info desk and asked her who she trusted to take me to town. She pointed to a driver named Vincent, so I followed him out. We walked through the pitch black to a car in a sketch parking lot. I asked to go to Hotel du Lac, as it was the only place in town I had heard of. I got in shortly after 5am with nothing buy my carry on baggage and my purse, and checked into the hotel. I had 8 mins of battery life left before my Toshiba bit the dust, and my converters were in my other bag (the lost one). I quickly booted up and got my friend's number from my Outlook, before it died. I then called him 10 times until he answered, at 7:30am.

Me: Where are you?

Friend: Uh, where are you?

Me: I'm in Benin.

Friend: WHAT?

Me: *silence*

Friend: Shit.

There was a slight miscommunication. He thought I was coming in at 4:30am on SUNDAY, when it was actually Saturday. 

There is more to this day...it does improve significantly after this slight disaster. I would have killed for a serax at that point... but, they were also in the lost bag. Stay tuned for the tales-- an African funeral, the "Venice" of Africa (a stretch, in my opinion), and a nightclub that would put many Canadian ones to shame. Oh, and a bar called La Verdune that featured a crooked pool table shimmied up with coasters, VLT machines and Beninoise prostitutes...with whom I made friends. 'Chiquita' was my favourite. She asked me to be her "copain". Ha.

A bientot!

L'Afrique!

I have arrived in Africa! I will post my adventures (and there have already been a few) in blog form as soon as I get a real internet connection. All I can get is Google and occasionally email... bah! Just wanted to say "Hey, I'm alive!"

Voyaging to Africa, with a 'Fulfilling Childhood Dreams' Layover

I'm leaving in 4 hours for Africa... I still can't believe it. I thought I'd be more excited, but I still haven't processed that in a few hours I will be basking in 120 degrees. Basking or baking. Either way.
The flight from Halifax wasn't too exciting.  I had a red eye-- departing at midnight and arriving at 10am. Despite this perfect opportunity to sleep, I watched He's Just Not That Into You, Taken, and Gran Torino. These gem films however were not the highlight of my day. That job was taken by one Mr. Patrick Stewart.

I went down to the Haymarket Theatre and took my seat before a beautiful, simplistic set waiting to see Waiting for Godot, starring Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan. I had heard from everyone I knew that this play was heinous, very boring, and one where 'nothing happens'. I read it in advance and kind of agreed.This play, Stewart and McKellan's Godot, was spectacular. they added in some comedy and were the perfect pair, a 'performance masterclass' as the local critics heralded. I can't say enough good things about this show, and would wish for everyone the opportunity to see it.
I would also wish for everyone the chance to stand at the stage door and meet Patrick Stewart. This man is my childhood hero and it was my first real goal in life it meet him. He was gracious and lovely, as was McKellan, who posed for pictures with some fans. I was unfortunately alone and couldn't get anyone to shoot a picture fast enough-- but, strangely, for once (perhaps the first time ever) I didn't really care about the pictures-- just meeting these incredible actors was enough. (Though, I did get a full cast-signed program).
That's about it for excitement so far-- I didn't sleep til 4am due to Stewart-fuelled adrenaline. But, it was worth the exhaustion today. I walked into Helmsworth to send some postcards and a package and had lunch at the Five Bells Pub. In true British form, it was all meats of some sort-- some sketch, some I'd heard of, no chicken. The pub owner-lady referred to me as goldilocks and made some porridge comment before I got away and sat down. I enjoyed a Foster's and the best chips of all time, before trekking back through the footpath, beside the prison, to my hotel. That's right. When the concierge said 'Oh, walk down that path by the prison for 10 mins' I made a guffaw sound. He just looked at me in blank, British fashion and said nothing. So I stopped laughing and headed down the path. They're right about the Brits--they don't joke. It was a prison. From the look of it, not a light security one either!
Off to Africa in 3 hours! I'll be in touch. Photos to come. Oh, and editing. Don't have time for that nonsense.