Introductions are in order

Welcome to my blog! This is where I'll post updates, stories, and reflections from my 2 years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Benin. I offer no promises on the frequency of posts or their general character, but I promise to write in ways that avoid minutiae and lecturing.

The blog should be a good way for loved ones and those I know in the United States to feel connected with me. That being said, I know I'd enjoy a two-way street whenever possible. I don't expect you to create your own blog, but any updates you can share would be greatly appreciated once I've begun volunteering. Who knows, I may figure out a way to coordinate a snail mail system for those interested in staying connected that way. Stay tuned!

I still have 23 days before I go to Staging in DC, which will last two days before I fly out to Benin. I won't post anything until then, so in the meantime enjoy the rest of your summer!

Cordially,
Noah

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Yovo

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“Whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves.” James Baldwin When walking or biking around village most people call me Noé , a name that is no more than the French equivalent of Noah. I like the name. It's basically the same as Noah but still different, a kind of metaphor for who I feel I am in Benin. Other people in village and just about everyone outside of it call me something else: yovo . Many Beninese, especially in the south, use this label for foreigners, particularly those of a foreign race. Yovo becomes my name away from village, how strangers greet me, and the punctuation of shouts in my general direction. Generations have even passed down a song, often sung by children, with lyrics to greet and attract the attention of yovos: “Yovo, yovo, bonsoir! Ça va bien? Merci!” The label has often frustrated me. Some people in my own neighborhood still call me yovo instead of Noé eve...
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Marketplace Moments

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Noah Nieting, PCV

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The other day I woke up with the immediate need for contemplation. I wasn’t sure why and to what end, so I brought the thought right back to what I was doing: waking up. By now I was standing at the window, peering over the setting of this recent act. Tin rooftops populated my foreground with the expanse of lake emerging beyond them. It was not quite light, but a large harvest moon lit a fisherman heading early to his acadja with oar in hand and feet solidly planted in his pirogue. Distant drums beat the tune that had woken me up for a few moments earlier in the morning. They no longer seemed a nuisance with the impending dawn so near. A glance at the grove of trees a few blocks over failed to find any of the monkeys I happened to spy the previous morning. I marveled at these details and thought back to where else and how I had woken up this year. In Benin, I most frequently wake up in a village not far from Lokossa, the site of our training center. Kids are already giggling ...
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