An American's Take...
We've returned safely from Benin and Niger, just in time for Ghana's 50th birthday celebration. Photos are up (see post below) and there's much to say, but we're trying to organize it into digestible pieces. Project updates, crazy stories, and Happy Birthday Ghana thoughts all to come in the next few days...
In the meantime, I thought I'd give my perspective on the slice of Francophone West Africa we visited so briefly. As has already been beautifully described by my fellow blogger, the changes are stark and immediate upon crossing the border. Benin and Niger are poorer by all indicators--income, growth, infrastructure, roofing material--but have superior public services. In a funny twist, the currency is stronger (the CFA is pegged to the euro) and everything is more expensive. This felt so...stereotypically French...that it got me thinking.
...and I'd originally planned to keep those thoughts to myself, but then something funny happened. Here in Ghana, people really think that CLA and I are sisters. In Benin and Niger, everyone--regardless of education level and before hearing my present-tense-heavy language "skills"--could immediately peg me as American and her as French. I got a lot of all-knowing "ah, mais oui! tu es americaine!" in two short weeks. Because I apparently stand out so sorely, I have decided to do a little "ah, mais oui"-ing of my own. I hereby *embrace* my sunglasses (the Sahelian sun is hard on the light-eyed), my vegetarianism, my ponytail, my Western Girl self...and give you:
The Reasons Francophone West Africa is SOOO French:
(1) Sidewalks. Seriously, where else are the dogs supposed to do their business? Combine this with the covered sewers and the calls on the bathroomless bus for "ARRET PEE-PEE!" (no joke) and you have a very French equation for who gets to do what where.
(2) Baguette. It may pale in comparison to the wonders of Paris, my dear CLA, but HELLO?!? It's BAGUETTE! Really, when it comes to colonial food legacies, you have to give it to the French. Ghana seems to have inherited from the British a taste for stale doughy white bread, mayonnaise, and prehistoric scone-wannabies appropriately called "rock buns." Benin and Niger feel like little slices of heaven in the morning with tiny breakfast stands everywhere offering up coffee and baguette for the equivalent of 20 cents. Which brings me to...
(3) Caffeine. Niger might be the most caffeine-addicted society I've ever encountered. Coffee/tea stands abound. Tuareg Tea (like the tea equivalent of Turkish coffee) is something, well, to be tried...preferably before noon. My favorite manifestation of this caffeine-craze is a particular breed of entrepreneur in Niger--the walking coffee-man. These guys troll the streets with a toolbox-shaped crate holding coffee and tea fixings, glass cups, and spoons in one hand; in the other hand they haul a perpetually-boiling pot of water sitting atop a homemade 1-gallon tin can stove. They'll stop and fix you a cup whenever and wherever, and prices are delineated by strength: 50 or 75CFA will wake you up gently, 100CFA will start your heart, 200CFA requires bravery, and 400CFA approaches the liquid-solid phase-change boundary. Apparently at more remote customs posts, the coffee-men simply pose the question: "2? 4? 6? 8?"...as in, "how many hours do you want it to keep you awake?" On top of all of this, there's the booming kola nut business. When we asked about trying one, we were told in a very dramatic manner, "You might as well warm up with cocaine." We decided to save it for the next trip.
(4) Cigarettes. Smoking is far more prevalent in Niger and Benin, and the evidence of the puffing colonialists is everywhere: cigarettes for sale on pharmacy carts (!), smoky odor in restaurants, and a sucking sound permeating the speech--even of non-smokers. This goes something like: "Blah blip blah bee blee blah blah [suck in between teeth as though inhaling]...et PUIS...[suck in between teeth as though inhaling] blah bee blee blah." Oh yes, and the French expats in Benin and Niger are, predictably, chimneys.
(5) Everyone speaks French. Before you think, "Uh, Duh!" I am actually getting at something deeper here. The English in Ghana is generally deplorable, except at the very highest education levels. At primary and secondary schools, the official language of instruction is English, but in reality most use an English/local hybrid with the (acknowledged) result that many students don't actually master either. On top of this, many Ghanaians display an unsettling eagerness in any conversation to switch away from English to Ga or Twi or Fanti or Ewe...to the exclusion of others who had been part of the dialogue. Even at the prestigious university in Legon, it is safe to assume that any students speaking English to each other are foreigners. Not so in Benin and Niger. My theory is that it's the legacy of French assimilationist policies: anyone who's been to any school at all speaks the language reasonably well, and it's widely acknowledged that business transactions, important meetings, school lessons, and public conversations all take place in French. People only switch to tribal languages as a last (or later) resort, and even with my remedial skills, I frequently found it easier to understand the French in Benin and Niger than the English in Ghana.
(6) "I can't be bothered with you" attitude. We got a lot less attention for being white in Benin and Niger, which came as a very welcome break. Here in Ghana, people are incredibly nice when interacting one-on-one. They really do go above and beyond--offering use of their phones if you look lost, making sure you get off the tro-tro in the right place, walking with you to your destination if you ask for directions, showing you the back market alleys so you can buy a soldering iron--and they take a lot of pride in their international reputation for friendliness. On the other hand, this can also manifest itself as something that feels far more shallow and race-based in a way that is very difficult to stomach and understand. I usually get asked for my phone number before my name, many people simply greet me as "obruni" instead of saying hello, and I've seen taxis pull high-speed u-turns in front of brakeless tro-tros at the chance for my business--when I wasn't even looking for a cab and someone on the other side of the street was. In Benin and Niger, the live-and-let-live feel is far more prevalent. Of course, there are two sides to every CFA...This also means that bank workers, hotel receptionists, and bus attendants could not possibly care less about helping you change money, fix the fan in your room, or reserve a seat. I had to laugh on our first morning in Cotonou when we asked for directions from a man sitting on the corner. He was immediately *exhausted* by the request, like it was such a thorn in his side to raise his arm to point. Even when it comes to business...maybe the taximan wants to go where you'd like, maybe not. Want to buy a mango? Think again. We got turned down for small purchases by countless vendors simply because this would require getting change...from the stand three feet over.
(7) Nomads. There's definitely a different feel to northern Benin and Niger due to the presence of the Peuhl and the Tuareg communities. Peuhl villages can be found scattered throughout the bush and on the outskirts of towns and cities. The women--dolled up with eyeliner and brightly-colored face decorations--will use the local wells and sell in the markets; the men will graze their cattle right through medians, backyards, the stadium...until it's time to move on. In Niamey, Tuareg men march their camels--laden with hut-building materials--right down the four-lane street, traffic be damned. "But wait!" you say, "This has nothing to do with the French whatsoever." I know, but doesn't the whole "I'll do whatever I please" just fit?
(8) Line? What line? Um, yeah. You have to laugh...birthplace of the Enlightenment, and somehow the complete inability to wait in line not only persists in the boarding areas of Paris-bound flights worldwide, but also in the ex-colonies. Reserved seats on the bus? Still a granny-trampling free-for-all. Teller at the bank? March right on up and dump your documents in the middle of the current customer's sentence. Ironically, the one place we actually took a number and calmly waited (and got) our turn--the Air France office! So maybe there's hope!
In the meantime, I thought I'd give my perspective on the slice of Francophone West Africa we visited so briefly. As has already been beautifully described by my fellow blogger, the changes are stark and immediate upon crossing the border. Benin and Niger are poorer by all indicators--income, growth, infrastructure, roofing material--but have superior public services. In a funny twist, the currency is stronger (the CFA is pegged to the euro) and everything is more expensive. This felt so...stereotypically French...that it got me thinking.
...and I'd originally planned to keep those thoughts to myself, but then something funny happened. Here in Ghana, people really think that CLA and I are sisters. In Benin and Niger, everyone--regardless of education level and before hearing my present-tense-heavy language "skills"--could immediately peg me as American and her as French. I got a lot of all-knowing "ah, mais oui! tu es americaine!" in two short weeks. Because I apparently stand out so sorely, I have decided to do a little "ah, mais oui"-ing of my own. I hereby *embrace* my sunglasses (the Sahelian sun is hard on the light-eyed), my vegetarianism, my ponytail, my Western Girl self...and give you:
The Reasons Francophone West Africa is SOOO French:
(1) Sidewalks. Seriously, where else are the dogs supposed to do their business? Combine this with the covered sewers and the calls on the bathroomless bus for "ARRET PEE-PEE!" (no joke) and you have a very French equation for who gets to do what where.
(2) Baguette. It may pale in comparison to the wonders of Paris, my dear CLA, but HELLO?!? It's BAGUETTE! Really, when it comes to colonial food legacies, you have to give it to the French. Ghana seems to have inherited from the British a taste for stale doughy white bread, mayonnaise, and prehistoric scone-wannabies appropriately called "rock buns." Benin and Niger feel like little slices of heaven in the morning with tiny breakfast stands everywhere offering up coffee and baguette for the equivalent of 20 cents. Which brings me to...
(3) Caffeine. Niger might be the most caffeine-addicted society I've ever encountered. Coffee/tea stands abound. Tuareg Tea (like the tea equivalent of Turkish coffee) is something, well, to be tried...preferably before noon. My favorite manifestation of this caffeine-craze is a particular breed of entrepreneur in Niger--the walking coffee-man. These guys troll the streets with a toolbox-shaped crate holding coffee and tea fixings, glass cups, and spoons in one hand; in the other hand they haul a perpetually-boiling pot of water sitting atop a homemade 1-gallon tin can stove. They'll stop and fix you a cup whenever and wherever, and prices are delineated by strength: 50 or 75CFA will wake you up gently, 100CFA will start your heart, 200CFA requires bravery, and 400CFA approaches the liquid-solid phase-change boundary. Apparently at more remote customs posts, the coffee-men simply pose the question: "2? 4? 6? 8?"...as in, "how many hours do you want it to keep you awake?" On top of all of this, there's the booming kola nut business. When we asked about trying one, we were told in a very dramatic manner, "You might as well warm up with cocaine." We decided to save it for the next trip.
(4) Cigarettes. Smoking is far more prevalent in Niger and Benin, and the evidence of the puffing colonialists is everywhere: cigarettes for sale on pharmacy carts (!), smoky odor in restaurants, and a sucking sound permeating the speech--even of non-smokers. This goes something like: "Blah blip blah bee blee blah blah [suck in between teeth as though inhaling]...et PUIS...[suck in between teeth as though inhaling] blah bee blee blah." Oh yes, and the French expats in Benin and Niger are, predictably, chimneys.
(5) Everyone speaks French. Before you think, "Uh, Duh!" I am actually getting at something deeper here. The English in Ghana is generally deplorable, except at the very highest education levels. At primary and secondary schools, the official language of instruction is English, but in reality most use an English/local hybrid with the (acknowledged) result that many students don't actually master either. On top of this, many Ghanaians display an unsettling eagerness in any conversation to switch away from English to Ga or Twi or Fanti or Ewe...to the exclusion of others who had been part of the dialogue. Even at the prestigious university in Legon, it is safe to assume that any students speaking English to each other are foreigners. Not so in Benin and Niger. My theory is that it's the legacy of French assimilationist policies: anyone who's been to any school at all speaks the language reasonably well, and it's widely acknowledged that business transactions, important meetings, school lessons, and public conversations all take place in French. People only switch to tribal languages as a last (or later) resort, and even with my remedial skills, I frequently found it easier to understand the French in Benin and Niger than the English in Ghana.
(6) "I can't be bothered with you" attitude. We got a lot less attention for being white in Benin and Niger, which came as a very welcome break. Here in Ghana, people are incredibly nice when interacting one-on-one. They really do go above and beyond--offering use of their phones if you look lost, making sure you get off the tro-tro in the right place, walking with you to your destination if you ask for directions, showing you the back market alleys so you can buy a soldering iron--and they take a lot of pride in their international reputation for friendliness. On the other hand, this can also manifest itself as something that feels far more shallow and race-based in a way that is very difficult to stomach and understand. I usually get asked for my phone number before my name, many people simply greet me as "obruni" instead of saying hello, and I've seen taxis pull high-speed u-turns in front of brakeless tro-tros at the chance for my business--when I wasn't even looking for a cab and someone on the other side of the street was. In Benin and Niger, the live-and-let-live feel is far more prevalent. Of course, there are two sides to every CFA...This also means that bank workers, hotel receptionists, and bus attendants could not possibly care less about helping you change money, fix the fan in your room, or reserve a seat. I had to laugh on our first morning in Cotonou when we asked for directions from a man sitting on the corner. He was immediately *exhausted* by the request, like it was such a thorn in his side to raise his arm to point. Even when it comes to business...maybe the taximan wants to go where you'd like, maybe not. Want to buy a mango? Think again. We got turned down for small purchases by countless vendors simply because this would require getting change...from the stand three feet over.
(7) Nomads. There's definitely a different feel to northern Benin and Niger due to the presence of the Peuhl and the Tuareg communities. Peuhl villages can be found scattered throughout the bush and on the outskirts of towns and cities. The women--dolled up with eyeliner and brightly-colored face decorations--will use the local wells and sell in the markets; the men will graze their cattle right through medians, backyards, the stadium...until it's time to move on. In Niamey, Tuareg men march their camels--laden with hut-building materials--right down the four-lane street, traffic be damned. "But wait!" you say, "This has nothing to do with the French whatsoever." I know, but doesn't the whole "I'll do whatever I please" just fit?
(8) Line? What line? Um, yeah. You have to laugh...birthplace of the Enlightenment, and somehow the complete inability to wait in line not only persists in the boarding areas of Paris-bound flights worldwide, but also in the ex-colonies. Reserved seats on the bus? Still a granny-trampling free-for-all. Teller at the bank? March right on up and dump your documents in the middle of the current customer's sentence. Ironically, the one place we actually took a number and calmly waited (and got) our turn--the Air France office! So maybe there's hope!
posted by Unknown at 5:02 AM
2 Comments:
JAB, you are too funny.
Wow do I miss you guys! Long time reader, first time commentor! Life in the bay simply isn't the same without you ladies. I hear we are shipping Monica out for a visit, hope your beer supply is adequate ;) Take care of eachother and make sure to wear supportive sports bras!
Tutaonana,
Gail
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