Love by any other names...

I easily get attached to people, when their spirit is compatible with mine.



I've fallen in love with ALL the women in my familly here. My grandmother, my aunts (Tadah Chris and aunty Rach) and my cousin Marlène. These women are so wonderful, each in their own ways...



Gran is this 70 year old woman who has lived several lifetimes... She's so full of stories, anecdotes experience... she's soft and lovely, knows how to show respect and definately has a heart of gold, she is patient, unassuming, beautiful, with the colour of old yellow lemons, the envie of MANY (think skin bleached women lol).
She has seen a LOT, lived through the death of her first child and other heartbreaks, but she stayed strong and giving, an unwavering faith in God, and though she isn't 'charismatic' nothing can shake her trust in God and His perfect ways.



Tadah Chris... She is this very youthful and beautiful woman. She reminds me of myself, we are very similar, whether she knows it or not. She is the artsy type, open minded, full of admiration for what I like, poetry, Jazz, travelling... I like her youth, she's wise and mature, but has innocent and simple fun, at no-ones expense. She's a firm believer in equality and DOES NOT recoil at the though of persecution for what she believes in. She's self-made and quite succesful, and though she enjoys life, she is the most down to earth woman, simply BEAUTIFUL. She's around 50 but reall?... she's 25 and familly oriented.



Aunty Rach (Rachelle)

She's Marlène's mum. A real force of nature, a fighter, a joker... She's an inspiration to all those who have been told: You can't. She's a fashion designer, quite succesful here, and I remember when she started... a LONG while ago. I admire her and get really exited whenever she comes to visit.
She has a VERY contagious laughter and is larger than life. I was a bit afraind oh her at first, felt like could hurt my sensibility by her frankness and direct ways, but if you're straight with her, she is the most wonderful ally!... And I'm straight :)

Marlène...
she's one of those rare ladies who wears her heart on her sleeves. She accepted me and stood by me, although she BARELY knew me. She is a wonderful mother, young at heart full of life, simple and down to earth. She is strong but knows kindness like it was a next of kin. I really like her, REALLY, she's warm hearted and I enjoy her company. She's fun and funny, without the "extraness" of it, you know the intelligent-snobish remarks... She doesn't mind my "europeaness" and my ignorance about the way things are dones here, she tells me simply, what is acceptable, what isn't, the weird things that happen on a daily basis... She LOVES my amazement at how precarious things can be here, even for those better of financially.

I love these women. They all inspire me. Feels like God has been kind to me and has added to my mother and her mother's wisdom, that of the women on my father's side.

Ouidah Trip (Slave Route...)

I went to Ouidah (historical city) in Benin. Unfortunately, ALL my photos have been wiped out from my memory card. It sucks, but we live and move on.



Ouidah... the road was parallel and running alongside the sea. Beautiful. I saw skme fishermen at work and their wives working on the fishnets, a real community, they were all smiles... Some children were using dried up palm leaves to make brooms, the african type.
The road was an hour long but ever so enjoyable, with all its bumps and water pools.
Ouidah itself is full of touristic resorts.
We went to Casa Del Papa. You know the places you see on travel prospectuses? The EXACT same thing, MAN! The beaches were a lovely shad of blue an the sand was WHITE very fine soft, like a middle east carpet. I loved walking bare feet, eating on the porch, listening to the waves... the sparse palm trees were a welcomed shade, it was truly warm on that day.

During the day we left the resort and I looked at part of the slave route, looked at the place were humans were stocked before parting. I didn't go inside but I shook inside a little. This side of history, that I know inside out, became real in my heart. I know in my head all there wis to know about slavery and colonialism, but being there, seeing the place of doom for many, a long time ago, brought it home. I began to see and imagine the ordinary faces I saw there, as poentials forhuman trade, including me.
The place is touristic attracion now, they sell wonderfl art in front of it, the memorial is grand and very beautiful, an arc and some greek columms it's a thing... I MUST reurn to one day to take pictures of.
There's another site a bit further on, that has a wall, with the map of Benin hollowed in it, all colours and paintings, very nice too, but the thing that's in my mind is the door... of no return, the bit tht made it all sink in for me...
That for me is Ouidah.

Calavi

I went to Abomey Calavi, for my step grandmother's birthday.

It was nice to step away from Cotonou and discover something a little more rural. In Calavi, the earth is red. Dusty but smooth, even when you leave the main road.
It took my aunt Lola, my sisters and I about one hour to get there. The journey was nice, it felt like a road trip to the countryside.
Life seems a lot more village like, but it's not a village.
The birthday celebration was nice, I didn't eat the food, I didn't like the look of it, and to be honest, the hygienic standards had to be checked. Not being arrogant or anything but I do have to look after my gut, my anti-bodies are not that tough yet.
I don't know if they felt offended that I didn't eat, or if they thought I was a stuck up Afro-pean. I hope not, but it doesn't matter, my bowels come first.

My dad was there, presenting me like a trophy child to everyone, it was slightly unerving, but after talking to a close friend (and personal guide) I realised that he was proud to have me around, and liked to show off. I know the feeling :)

The women gathered up together at some point, in a circle, and danced some traditional dances.
Impressive, they looked nice and belonged to the surroundings.
There was a marquee of fortune that we sat under, near chickens running free, half naked children, low wooden stools, earthen stoves... it was a nice atmosphere.
Loads of flies though, I could barely leave my drink alone...

The experince was pretty fun, I really want to go back and take more pictures in red earth and green settings.
When (if ever) I go back, I want my special guide to take me. Things will be that much more beautiful and interesting ;)

Cotonou By Night.

I've met some amazing people, through my cousin Marlène. We decided to go out one week-end, at night, to some beautiful places in town.

We went to a really cool restaurant on the beach, at night it seemed magical. The waves crashing on shore, the candle light atmosphere, the arranged garden we were in... VERY beautiful and soothing.
We played a game: "What is your favourite" Memory, present etc...
It was nice to discover what people usually held dear. As expected it was the things that came free in life, that always came out to be the most important.

Here, I've noticed that CREAM ( Cash Runs Everything Around Me) rules, there is so much poverty, that to live a decent life, you need quite a lot. I understand the dynamics of that, but being me, in love with all things simple and meaningful, money is just a tool for me. It is not the most important thing, and is only there to make already fulfilled lives better.

Cotonou is beautiful at night, the town comes alive, lights everywhere, people sell food and other things by the side of the road, and there are so many 2 wheel-taxis (zemidjans).
It's nice to just drive around and see how life unfolds, how people go about there businesses, smiles, frowns, transactions.
And I'm discovering all this with amazing people, who have become friends of old, in an instant.
On one of these week-end outings, I got dropped home late, so late that everyone at home was asleep, and no one picked up their phones to come and open the door. Marlène's friend stayed with me, waiting talking trying to find a solution. It was genuine friendship even if we barely knew each other.
People here are cool, the one's I've met are not self-centered, if it's my problem, it's also theirs.
I like.

Dantokpa (Lock Woman)

Dantokpa is for the thick skinned. First, it is VERY big, with several different areas and lil alleys. It's easy to get lost.
I went with my stepmum and another aunty. I was mainly looking for waist beads (I have a thing for them)
We found them and my stepmum haggled for a tiny lil while, not much to argue about, the price was already low...
People walk pass you and bump into you, wandering sellers come right up to you and are genetically modified to not take NO for an answer, some people beg for money, after they see you buy something, and a lot of the women at their stalls are either lethargic or agressive. Most wear a top and an african cloth... They either look tired or agitated when they sell alone, but when you find two or three people selling, they are smiles all around and jokes... I guess the more the merrier huh? The guys pushing the "pousse-pousses" (2 wheeled carts) are dangerous, they can go over your foot without a second thought and their carts are usually heavily loaded.


We went somewhere else after, still in 'tokpa. It was in a building, which I recognised from my vague memories of Benin.
There was a woman selling african art in one of the many narrow alleys. I naturally stoped. For half an hour! Choosing what I wanted took a while, haggling took WAY more. My stepmom did it all, in "Fon" (her language). It would have cost us 11000 Francs CFA, it ended up costing 7000. Hats off to her!
I think every stall around us must have seen how long we spent there and guessed I was "foreign", I tried not to look incongruous, and blend in with a blasé air. Didn't work, they grabbed my arms as I walked past and didn't let go, they held me back against my will, trying to sell gold or cloth or even skin bleaching things! (the INSULT).
The guys were the scariest, they'd stand right in front and wouldn't move until my stepmum would intervene, they'd call me "LOCK WOMAN" and talk in what I guessed to be pidgin english... The alleys were too narrow to go around them politely, so I had to endure the same thing at every stall until we were far from the place we stoped. I guess people there, hadn't seen me buy half of the african art woman's stock.

I didn't like being touched so much, my arms felt violated, but we left the place alive and whole, it was fun actually, despite it all, it was very alive, and I admired the way people did business, living their lives, best they knew how... it was a nice invitation into ordinary beninese people's world.

Nada.

Not sure what to write about... But feel the need to.

This place feels more and more hostile. All I hear is how bad the country is, politicaly economicaly etc... bandits and gangsters, diseases, con artists, polygamous men and grougar women, nigerian invaders etc...



I wonder, hearing all these stories, why anybody who can leave, still lives here.

I've politely been asked by my father not to consider living here, and yet... this place is so welcoming! Familly, even with little money, is still THE place to find comfort in. Tensions and difference of opinions may arise, but after all, it beats loneliness, I'm sure.

And yet could I ever allow myself to live far from England? The place of birth of the woman I am? The poet!!?

I wonder how people resolve their love and hate relation with the land, wonder how I would? if life took me back here for good.

This entry is just food for my thoughts.

Beautiful like a Beninese sunset...

Name for me these african natives,
Beautiful like a Beninese sunset...

I had missed the flowers of this place.
The difference with which they bloom,
Their colours and the perfume they exhume:
Oranges and purples...
Petals of a cool blue shade,
With strokes of live yellows
At the center.
Name for me these african natives.

Beautiful like a Beninese sunset...

Trees and bushes bursting
With wild flowers, Aloe Vera plants
Brushing themselves agaisnt
Wall climbing greens,
Midnight Moon Daisies emerging shyly
From an ocean of thorns...
Palms and coconuts resting safely
In the nest of their mothers,
While their feather-like leaves,
Sway gently in the wind:
The cool breeze flying from over the sea...
Name for me these african natives.

And so it follows

Wow, it's been like a WHOLE week in this country, and it feels like a month...
I promised an emotional entry about seeing everybody and being back to a place I could vaguely remember in my dreams and memories.
I wonder if I will be capable of such a feat.
So many little things (that I find amazing) have happened, how can I remember it in details?
I may have to be a writer and 'fashion' my story, as opposed to being a historian... I hope you get the drift of this addage.

When we parked in front of the house, I saw my dad (Joel Chabi-Kao) waiting outside.
I don't remember how I felt then... he was there, but it wasn't surreal like a sight from my wildest dreams. I got out and hugged him and started crying. I shouldn't have. The tears were mechanica, less due to emotion and more to do with duty: subconciously, it felt like the expected thing to do...
I liked being in his arms though, I felt like it was my right to be daddy's girl for a moment, to be held because I was a child returning home. A child... not a step-child or a niece... a child, held by the person whose blood flows through her...

My cousin, Marlène (commonly called mahyoo), came out too. I saw her and embraced her, cried some more, on a roll you see.
I'd been, evasively, communicating with her on facebook for almost a year, so even though I hadn't seen her in 12 years, I knew her face well, and she felt familiar somehow.
By that time I'd completely forgotten my companion of fortune (Yérima).

Through the window, I could see two little heads sticking out. .. I guessed them to belong to my sisters. MY sisters! I shuddered... I felt as though I wouldn't be up to their expectations. Would they like their presents? Would they think me fun? Pretty? Weird?... Sister material???
I walked in and Murielle said hello politely (she's 8 and the eldest). I hugged her, she was limp. I was disapointed, slightly felt rejected. But Laurette RAN towards me and I picked her up and hugged her (she's 5). She smiled all the way to her ears. I put her down, I was tired, in heels and in our precipitation I hadn'd realised that she was a grown infant, my back thanked me the next day.
I went around and hugged every one else, my granparents, Pascal and Bernadette Chabi-Kao (I'd seen grandma a few months earlier in Paris, so she felt familiar too), my stepmom (Mireille) and a couple of others, only to realise that people DON'T usually hug here!
They do those kisses on the cheek thing ( 4 of them here, only 2 in France). They'd all felt strangely distant when I put my arms around them each... I quickly got it.

The first night was strangely odd and beautiful, I couldn't have imagined something better, worse or similar :) but so much more has happened, I don't think I'll relate it all. Some of it, is just little everyday happenings that I find poetic, because I'm MsPoe and see poetry everywhere, in everything lol.

Let there be... WATER????

As you can guess, I've arrived in Benin. After the perilous two weeks in France... the real trip begins.
The flight took Yérima (the famous lil cousin) and I, 5 hours, during which I listened to Lauryn Hill and Billie Holiday, and watched Alice in Wonderland as well as HALF of the Princess and the Frog (Yérima and I, pinky swore to remind each other to watch the rest of the movie on our return flight ;)

At the airport (pretty precarious but beautifuly simple), people were fighting to 'help' us with our luggages. I later 'learned' that they weren't employed to 'help' passengers, (they weren't employed PERIOD). They were more like scavengers looking for fresh faces who didn't know the system. I was the PERFECT fesh face, my pro-black mentality ready to give them a chance. I paid a hefty price... literally off course. Funny thing is, this guy who 'helped' us asked the 'douanier' (look it up people) to not look through our luggages (thinking he was earning browny points with me) because we were with him. And the guard DIDN'T look, he let us go through!!! DUDE! I could have like tons of drugs or something more sinister (Britney Spears CDs!!!)
... I should have insisted that he did things proper, but I was tired and a bit annoyed at everybody shoving and pushing around us...
ANYWAY... My aunt ('Tadah Chris' as I have christened her, without her blessing... or her knowledge as a matter of fact) rescued us in the end.
We drove (or more like got DRIVEN) and arrived after 10 mins.

I still can't remember the driver's name (although I keep 'bumping' into him).

My dad was standing outside the gate of my Grandparent's house (or should I say mini mansion,
reminiscent of the African 50's?). I'll write up the emotional stuff in another blog entry. Back to reality...
Humid! My body is hot and sticky. There isn't much breeze, and all I'm breathing in, is water anyway. The air is 60-Bloody-per cent WATER! (Excuse me, I'm French). I don't remember when was the last time I SWEATED this much...
This place is lovely but boy! No one said it would be this HUMID! The air is thick, like just before a monsoon ( I imagine) and there isn't much rain yet, it's gathering up in the clouds I think...
I'll get used to it, but never have I LOVED cold showers as much, NEVER.
Oh and my locks... oh my locks... I'll put up photos of the frizz ball :(

Lots of love from the Southern Hemisphere :D
Leine.

21st Of June _ Part 2

'Fête De La Musique:

Exhilarating. Music everywhere, each corner of Paris resonating with pulsating vibes, african drums or electric guitars, buskers, professionals in bars and accoustic amateurs. Friendly melodies or hard core sounds... I went to La Banane Ivoirienne. We sat and enjoyed a few "prestations" from a local but Ivorian-at-heart group.
Drums and Maracass "de fortune" (Improvised instuments, west african style, wooden with a net and some "cauris").
The stage covered with Akan cloth a backdrop with similar decorations.

The musicians varied in sizes, heights, hairstyles skin tones... They 'ambianced' the little place. I felt nostagic, hearing these guys play live BaBi music and was in awe at the composition of the crowds: Black (African-Caribbean) White and North Africans.
I must admit that (at the risk of sounding like an ignorant somebody) I half expected to find any person who was not from subsaharian Africa, dressed in'Vlisco' shirts, baggy trousers, ethnic jewellry dread locks etc... you know the stereotypes lol, but NO, they were your regular average people, who just came out to play.

It was beautiful, filled me with joy, especcially when I got on stage (with Oscar Wilde's Sybyl Vane) and danced...

21st of June_ Part 1

The name's Kao, Chabi-Kao...

Embassy trip (finally).
I forget the 'letter of invitation', home. Well no, I didn't forget, I just didn't have one you see... and I was told it didn't REALLY matter.
But it did, as anything I DON'T have these days...
So in the queue for two hours ( after two 'gentlemen' casually pushed in front of me), I finally got seen, only to be told that I actually CAN'T be seen.
But thank God ( or the african mentality) that my aunt was in the car waiting for me. I must explain...
My grandfather was the first Minister of Finance (in Benin). His cousin was also the first Prime Minister (tautology NOT intended).
My grandpa is also the man who found and set up the Benin embassy in France, so he is known. He's name is Chabi-Kao Pascal. My aunt, who married into the familly, has the same first name (Pascale, with an E because she's a woman) and since she's married, the same last name too. SO... she used her supposed influence to help me out, she said she was his daughter (Mr Chabi-Kao's) and I should not bebothered... and I wasn't.
Surprisingly, at first, I was glad I got to use my 'relation'. Only afterwards did it feel a little like corruption, getting to NOT do what is proper because of my familly's affluence.
Wasn't I perpetuating the ''not-so-mythical-now-huh-leine?'' myth that you have to KNOW somebody to get anywhere? Not proud of me... But at least now I know what it feels like, and I am less inclined to judge... I hope.

Excusez-moi, s'il vous plait...

Still stuck in the land of frogs...

The last few days have been filled with discovery, frustration, results and experiments ... and in that order!

So!... ASH ESS BAY SAY (HSBC), doesn't deal with bank accounts from Britain. I should have known!

I had an extra £100, sitting in my account, just waiting. It hurt because I was broke and just on the other side of the Channel.

I decided to send the money to my mother's account (online banking, a BRILLIANT invention!) and go to the closest Western Union branch (which wasn't close at all!) and erm... wait, till mum was able to send it back again. All that before I went back to the embassy to apply for my visa (which closes at 1:30pm for some reason). I left the house at 9am, and only managed to get the money by 12:00pm. Left in a hurry, thanking God that the tube here takes only a minute between each stations. I was at the station "Porte de Montreuil" and had to find a way to get to St Sulpice (actually getting off at St Placide would have made life easier, but trial and error was the order of the day). The french underground system (try to find the afore mentioned stations on the map) is the same as the London one, you just have to know where you're going and use your brain to make the connections.

But I DID get lost trying to find the Benin embassy!

Walked for a few hours, asked for directions, got blanked a few times (LITERALLY). Finally got there... at 2:45pm. !§%$£!

I got the vaccin done, (at the famous "Institut Pasteur") at least. Cost me 36 euros to get immunised against Yellow Fever, I couldn't afford the others (rabbies, hepatitis A+B).

I had to wait roughly 4 hours, first, in a room full of screaming babies, running children, grumpy old men, sweaty middle aged hairy women and spotty/chatty teenagers, armed with nothing but an iPod and a charming poem( sent in the morning by a lovely "friend") to defend myself against "l'ennui".

Not bad ey?

So... Monday it is for that darned visa then. The man ASSURED me they only take 48 hours.

Oh and I almost forgot to add, I did it! Yes, after years and years of putting it off, years of keeping myself pure and free from any erm "culinary" absurdity, after being tempted on more than one occasion, I FINALLY gave in: I have tried "escargots".

Delayed...

Ahhhh...

I like the french underground
It doesn't stay UNDERGROUND, it comes up quite often, and Paris is a very beautiful sunny city, sight for sore eyes :)

Apart from that, and the food, my stay here is getting rather annoying to say the least.
I left my bank card home. So off I'll go, today, to ASH ESS BAY SAY (HSBC) with my passport, HOPING they'll be merciful and "sympa".
I STILL haven't applied for my visa, because I need to PROVE that I'm going on "holiday" to my father's country (honestly, you'd think it was the most renowned touristic destination in the world, they should be HAPPY I even WANT to set foot there) so tomorow off I go with Plane Ticket, an email from my aunt saying she's INVITED me and a letter from my Grandpa to prove that I will sleep in his house (like I can afford a suitable hotel anyway), and 40 euros... That I need to get from the bank.
Pffff... (for lack of a better expression, and not being allowed to swear!!!!!!)

Oh and the BEST part yet??? I'm not leaving until the 25th of JUNE, because I'm due to leave with a little cousin of mine (that I do love but... anyway). I could have been at Kobe's and David's birthday celabrations mehn! (18 et 23 "Juin").

So yea...I'm stuck in "PAHRIE" for another week and a bit, doing NOTHING but eat cheese and watch "Le Journal". GRRRRRRRRR!!!

Love you all,
Leine.

From France

Dear all,

I've arrived in France, safe and sound. This world hasn't changed much since the last time I was here: people still speak with the same intonations and accents, in the streets, they still haven't learned the etiquette of the British: queuing and saying "excusez moi", please or "merci" etc... (I have gotten used to this you see). However, people DO greet you good morning or good evening when they see you.
Strange.
I've not done much except look for a place to retwist my locks (as expected very few salons do it and those who do, charge exhorbitant prices; 40 Euros in my case) but I'll do it myself, thank you.
I'm anticipating the REAL trip, I know I won't be able to write online as much but I'm determined to capture and record my experinces the best way I can.
I am yet to buy everybody presents and get my visa (get a move on Leine!)but I've decided on barbies and school stuff for my sisters, perfum for the grown-ups and teddies for the babies. That ought to do it.

Ok... I just wanted to give some real news and set up the new travel blog.
I hope I have not BORED you to death, as this entry does seem pointless even to myself.
Missing you all (some more than others:)

Love,
Leine.