Yovo



“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 even after 18 months at site and countless corrections. Strangers accost me with it, even shouting it at me as we pass each other in the market or on the road. Being called yovo, and especially having it shouted at me from hawkers and passing strangers, has often left me feeling alienated, singled-out, and flattened to an attribute. I frequently share brief conversations with people to explain that I prefer they use my name. I must confess, however, that I have also impatiently shouted my frustration in response on many occasions. Glaring at chanting children or hawkers, I’ve shouted in Sahwe or Fon, “yovo is not my name.”


Though valid experiences, frustrated feelings regarding the yovo label can fail to consider how local histories, ideas, and social influences developed it. Let’s first consider history. Almost all foreigners have come to Benin as missionaries, volunteers, or development workers (not to mention conquerors and colonists). Moreover, foreigners also come with positions of power as managers, financiers, and experts at the top of professional and social hierarchies. They distance themselves from the lived experiences of those around them by living on their own, holding onto power and money, or even imposing their ideas, priorities, and religions on local populations. The yovo label carries these histories and connotations; an outsider is called an outsider because they are or historically have been. Even the aforementioned children’s song has roots in missionaries seeking inroads with local Vodoun communities by handing out candy to children.


Underscoring this discussion of history lies the fact that skin color and foreignness are taken as more matter of fact in Benin. Americans often skirt around pointing out differences in people. Some think pointing out differences amounts to discriminating upon them, for why point out differences if they don’t matter? Such is being “color blind.” Beninese don’t carry our sensitivity to labeling based on skin color and nationality because they lack our specific racial and civil rights history. Instead, they carry their own, aforementioned history of racial hierarchies and differences, including colonialism. As a result, they tend to call a spade, a spade.


From a social standpoint, labels also have a different place in Beninese society than they do in Western cultures. Here, people often find it inappropriate to call adults by their first name. Depending on who’s doing the calling and who’s being called, Beninese call each other brother, sister, child, uncle, aunt, papa, mama, grandpa, and grandma. If someone has a title like chief, director, or pastor, people refer to them as such. Those with children are often referred to by their children’s name, such that, for example, “Mama Pierre” is Pierre’s mother’s nickname. In this way, most people understand yovo as a matter-of-fact label – a title even – that avoids using one’s name. That’s also why it’s used for Beninese with fairer skin or those who are more Westernized.


Being matter-of-fact about race, however, has other consequences that glorify fair skin in particular. Fair skin is associated with wealth, power, privilege, beauty, and movie stars. How could it not be when so many wealthy, beautiful, and powerful people are fair and all observable fair foreigners are wealthy, beautiful, and powerful? Some Beninese publicly say they want partners and children with fairer skin. They may even want it for themselves as Benin comprises part of the global cosmetic skin whitening industry that was recently estimated at nearly $20 billion (McDougall, 2013). Being whiter, or having “whiteness,” creates status and becomes a virtue by itself. An old man at the market once pestered me for not marrying a local or at least impregnating one because having a mixed-race community member would grant them a future leader.


All this context paints a complicated tapestry of history, culture, and social influences overlooked by knee-jerk reactions to the yovo label. My frustrations were premature because being called yovo means so much more than just a label based on skin color, which is what it felt to me. I was ignorant to the many, more well-intentioned meanings and motivations for the label. Ignorant, here, is the important word. Ignorance to racial perspectives underscores much of this whole discussion: the frustrated yovo is ignorant of the realities creating their label, and people of color who pine for bleached skin and fair-skinned leaders are ignorant of the beauty and power located outside of whiteness. Ignorance in all cases prevents a more complete understanding of both oneself and others, a failure to be self-starter and build bridges.


It would be easy if it all stopped there, but not all ignorance is created equal. The person of color ignorant in such a way may only be reacting to a limited set of social messages. (In fact, these messages may very well come from white people, even if unintentionally.) On the other hand, the yovo who embraces their ignorance and frustration does more. They also embrace a kind of arrogance that prioritizes their feelings over historical context, others’ perspectives, and the realities of social injustices like the legacy of colonialism and the glorification of whiteness. Moreover, the fact of the matter is that most yovos fit the definition regardless of how they feel about it. Many don’t speak the local language, eat local food, or adopt other cultural aspects of Beninese life. I’ve lived here for nearly two years, and the same could sometimes be said of me despite all my efforts to integrate. If my local language skills remain rudimentary, if I don’t joke and chat the same way locals do but instead buy tons of food at the market and travel frequently, I am still by definition a yovo. For anyone like me to demand not to be called yovo is arrogant. I am called yovo because I act like one.


The above quote from James Baldwin inspires and haunts me for this reason. We cannot know everything about ourselves unless we know the perspectives of those who see and interact with us. This is true for individuals as well as the identities they hold and the groups to which they belong. It's especially true for people and groups in power. One reason why yovo integration in Benin is difficult is because we’re often ignorant of others’ perspectives and experiences. This ignorance begets an arrogance that blinds us to said ignorance and everything it causes, further widening the gap between perspectives. To borrow Baldwin’s words, what yovos don’t know about the perspectives and experiences of Beninese reveals how ignorant they are of their privilege and the arrogance that blinds them to it.


The path away from this vicious circle requires effort, humility, and (un)learning, particularly on the part of yovos. In fact, the possibility of systemic progress fails without it. I think of this each time someone calls me by that name. Noé will always be better than yovo, but I rarely get mad when people use it now. I still find that song annoying, though, but now I sometimes sing along.







Cited
McDougall, Andrew (June 4, 2013). "Skin lightening trend in Asia boosts global market". Cosmetics Design Asia.

Acknowledgements
Chizoba Ezenwa and Ginnie Lin for reviewing my writing and always sharing excellent conversations.

Comments

  1. Thoughtful and spot on in so many ways. I remember having much the same reaction to the word ‘gaijin’ in Japan. It came with similar trappings. Lots to unpack there....thanks for sharing your thoughts and observations!!

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