Hello Everyone!
I am tired today and want to crash into bed, but I want to
tell you about my day first! I had a new French class, and I got to take my
first big steps into having some Beninese clothing!
The new French class was a little bit of a struggle. I knew
all along that I had been really lucky in my old French class, to have such a
dynamic, and organized facilitator, and to have such a good thing going with my
classmate Heidi. I really like my new classmates, but I am nervous that I am
not going to be learning as fast as I was before, and I don’t find my new
facilitator’s style to be as intuitive as the previous one. However, we are
only in these French classes for a week before it switches up again, so I
suppose there isn’t mush point in being fussy.
Before lunch we got to go out into the community and shop in
the grand marche. That was great because I really wanted to get another
notebook, and some nail polish remover. I think I did reasonably well at
haggling down the prices. We also looked at a lot of fabric, which was so much
fun. I considered buying some, but the last time I talked to my host mama about
it she said she was going to pick something out for me, and I didn’t want her
to feel like I overruled her or anything.
After class some people wanted to go to a local buvette, or
bar, to have a post-class drink to celebrate the birthday of another Trainee,
Victoria. I seriously considered going, but I don’t really know Victoria really
well, and when none of my closer friends were really motivated to go, I decided
to go home. On the zemi-taxi ride home, I wondered if I ought to be a little
more adventurous. Even then, I appreciated the irony of sitting on the back of
a motorcycle taxi, watching giant baskets and colorful fabric whoosh by, feeling
like a home-body.
However, it turned out to be very good that I did go home.
After I chatted with my host mama a bit, she told me that she actually had
bought some fabric for me that day. Thank the Lord, I really love the fabric.
It’s navy blue with light blue accents and broad stripes of golden grain. I
think it was a very good choice for me, and I was so complimented that she
picked it out for me.
We were actually able to go to the couturier pretty
promptly. It turned out that the ‘couturier’ was actually a mama who lives two
streets over, with no sign on her house to indicate that she sews things for
people. Clearly people have figured this out though, because her sewing room
already had some other fabric piled up, and large posters with pictures of
different styles of dress on all of the walls.
I looked at a lot of different styles and commented on a few
that I liked. However, on the walk to the couturier, I had told my mama that I
would probably get a ‘boumba’ which is the staple dress for women. My mama
wears a boumba almost every day, and it’s what all the ladies wear to church,
even my host sisters Onelia and Cena. It consist of a shirt with a wide boat
neck and three-quarter-length sleeves, and a wrap skirt or ‘panye’. I told my mama and the seamstress that I
would just get a simple boumba like the one my mama was currently wearing.
However, I have learned from other volunteers that couturiers tend to add a
little accent, even if you tell them not to, so I was prepared for and open to
that. I chose to trust my mama and the seamstress. However, as I was being
measured, they were chatting, and I kept hearing the word ‘ballon’ with some
gesturing to the stomach area, and when I asked the price my mama said that it
was a little more expensive than the basic outfit. I am pretty sure my mama
said ‘I am trying to fatten up this skinny American, so leave lots of room in
the stomach!’ Just kidding. My mama does have good taste, so I kind of trust
her better than myself to be able to think of and successfully communicate
something pretty and culturally fitting. I will just be surprised to see what
that winds up being! I should know on Friday!
More to say, especially about perceptions of body weight,
but for now I have got to catch some Z’s.
Thanks for reading!
With love,
Lauren
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