My First African Holiday: Tea Parties, Lion Chasing, and Falling Water

Three Cups of Tea in Benin

It is a tradition as old as civilized culture, I believe, to sit down with those whose company you enjoy a share a steaming cup of something and discuss topics of the world, of life, of liberty, misadventure - you, know coffee shop banter.

I have come to enjoy the taking of tea here in Benin. Several times a week, I am invited to tea with my good friend Souleman and several other familiar faces he conjures to share in the joys of drinking. We assemble under the shade of the mango outside his boutique, and we delight in small talk as he prepares the liquid lovin’. Now, being an ex-Starbucks employee, I have seen my fair share of café accoutrement, but the preparation of this tea is so deliberate and delicate, so crafted and cared for, it greatly outshines the simplicity of its preparatory instruments. In a small metal canister, that looks more carafe than teapot, the basic ingredients are applied to the pot - loose aromatic leaves, raw grainy sugar, and water. The pot is than shaken - not unlike a martini - and nestled in between red, burning coals in a small fire pit. Then we wait - the process is slow-building and soothing - so we use just enjoy one another’s company, the sun on our faces, the soft Harmattan zephyrs flowing through the lazy shade of the trees. As the fire strengthens, so does the brew, and soon enough, the canister is steaming from the spout, ready to be poured through the simple screen into glasses for our refreshment.

There three very distinct rounds of tea that get poured from each canister. More often than not, there are not enough tiny, glass shot glass-like tasses to go around, so we share. As with most things in West Africa, there is a tradition, a purpose, a tale behind the communal consumption of tea. According to folklore, the first round of tea is “bitter like death.“ The second round of tea is “sweet like love.” The third round is “sugary like life.” The week before I was set to leave on my holiday vacation on safari, I did my finally bidding of good-byes to my village friends, and my dear friend Souleman invited me to afternoon tea to celebrate the New Year early. Of course, I enthusiastically accepted. However, I thought, in honor of the New Year, in the spirit of welcoming the new and reflecting upon the old, I held to take this tea in remembrance.

Bitter Like Death

The first drip is very, very potent - a taste bud tour de force. As I throw it back against the palette, I can’t help but feel reminiscent of taking shots of cheap whiskey at a drive bar; your face turns disgusted before your lips part of to accept the sacrament. This round is “bitter like death.” And like death, you don’t look forward to it; it’s a shock to the system, but it’s soberingly expected. At the very end of November, I experienced my first death in village. A woman who lived in the concession next to mine dropped death of heart failure in her kitchen - in front of her husband, children, nieces and nephews while preparing food for the Muslim festival of Tabaski. She was not a woman of great wealth or public stature. She held no celebratory, martyred no great cause - yet regardless - everyone in the town grieved her loss. Boutiques closed to show their respect and condolences. It was almost as if everyone in town lost their Mama, their Tanti, their Tata. The outpouring was incredible. It reminded me a Jewish shivah. People came to the family’s concession, baring food and deserts, sat in circles around family next to kin, and shared stories celebrating this simple woman’s life. Her bereavement was overnight; a hole was dug near her family’s concession, her body was buried, and the grave covered in multi-colored stones. A month before I left for Benin, I lost two people very close to me. My childhood friend Michelle’s mother lost her yearlong battle with a brain tumor. In the same week, my neighbor, mentor, and confidant, Edward Osborn, succumbed to his fight against cancer. Truly, it was a godsend to me that I got to see them alive and say goodbye before I left for the Peace Corps. In honor of Mama, Yasmin, and Ed, I swallowed my own bitterness over the inescapable loss that is essential to every life.

Sweet Like Love

There is an old adage proclaiming, “Absence from love is like the wind; it is extinguishes small flames and strengthens great bonfires.” After spending five months, miles oceans, and continents away from all the people and things I’ve ever loved, I’ve learned just how true that expression really is. When the second round of tea, is poured, it is incredibly saccharine. Left steeping, the sugar granules melange with the sweet aromatic flavors of fresh, green tea and it goes down, smooth and easily. As I sip, it’s almost impossible not to be reminded of the incredibly decadence that is the gift of loving. So close to the holiday season, it’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind and stresses of present-buying, food preparation, Christmas caroling, light-stringing, and the general anxieties of holidays. But in Benin, there is a complete absence of all those distractions. No mega malls with electronic Santas singing holly jolly tunes. No mass-marketing of “sales” and “deals.” You are forced to focus on the simplicity of the season, and the reason for it’s existence in the first place. Even those so subscribe to a more secular view of the holidays have to note it’s magic. You can almost feel the difference as Christmas Eve approaches, as everyone you love - friends, relatives, acquaintances - flow in from all corners of life and celebrate being together. Christmastime (and Hanukkah for that matter) is about being with the people you love, breaking bread, and celebrating the joys of togetherness. It’s not always easy to remember that when you’re caught up in the glitz and glamour and clamor of the holidays, but in less commercially congested part of the world, it’s lot simpler to focus on what you love and who you miss. I am very fortunate that I have found many loves in Benin. The friends I have made, who share the unique bond being here with me - of being Volunteers - and have brought great happiness, joy, and affability to my time in Africa. I spent my holiday with about twenty other Volunteers in the northern city of Kandi, and it helped all of us being together during a time of the year specifically reserved for celebrations with the closest of kin. I have the respect and love of the community of Kalale; I love my job as an English teacher; I love the feeling of the hot, African sun shining down on me as a walk to work in the morning; Pirate love letters plundering my inbox. I am happy here, and I have been happy here, because I found love here. It must be noted that, even though I have opened my heart to this place, I could never have transitioned so easily without the tremendous amount of love and support from home. For all the letters, phone calls, words of wisdom, care packages, and little blurbs and updates on life, I am forever grateful to all those who I left behind five months ago. You are in my thoughts, a part of all my actions, patterns, and quirks, in the stories I tell of my American life. So, I took my second cup of tea, and I as it warms my chest, I can feel the same warmth rising from my heart, reminding me that now, I have expanded my love around the world. A little bit of a sickeningly sweet statement - oui - but so true.

Sugary Like Life

Variety is the spice of life, “they” say. Well, I suppose it “variety” had an actual tang, it would probably be sugary. Sugar is everywhere, and in general, is universally loved. Shooting the last glass of tea, all the flavors of the brew hit you at once. All the sugar that has amassed at the bottom of the canister, the deep simmering flavor of sitting tea leaves, the hot water that has been the kept closest to the coals - it is the most varied and magical tasting round of tea. I have had no trouble finding the versatility of sugar in my life. When a neighbor generously offers to help me string a clothesline I am struggling to McGuyver (much akin to “borrowing a cup of sugar from your neighbor). The giving of a big, warm, bear hug to a grieving woman who has just lost her mother (“Gimme some sugar“). I often use sugary biscuits to bride my students to participate more in class (a highly effective method). Even though sugar came be found quite easily in most parts of the world, it is usually a pricy commodity, and Benin follows that general rule. Because it is expensive, many people have not developed an immense craving taste for it the way it is gorged on in the States. But, alas, there is an exception to every rule. My post mate and I have befriend one of the town’s barbers, and I am pretty sure he is hypoglycemic. He is rail-thin, but he eats like his next meal may never come! He has a sweet-tooth like I’ve never seen before. He is constantly force-feeding himself cookies, cakes, sucking on lollipops and licorice candies. It’s unbelievable! When we dine with him, he is always so generous in generously distributing his supply of sweets, that we have taken to calling him Papa Sucre (Sugar Daddy), and he loves it. But he is also a very interesting, well-versed, traveled man. He runs his barber business, takes on odd jobs in the big cities of Parakou and Cotonou. He is endlessly interested in American customs and culture. He is fluent in more languages than anyone else I know in village. He is always up for a road trip or a refreshing nightly walk around town. He is always introducing us to friends and acquaintances new and old - and it’s a pleasure to hang out with the characters he bring around. Papa Sucre has found the sugar in his life, and it has made him a sweeter man for it. As Volunteers, it is a part of our job description to integrate, to adapt and change, to constantly immerse ourselves in the varieties of our surrounding. But I have found, that often times, it accomplishing those tasks are better done without a lot of impetus on our end. Just sit back, take in the world around you, approach everything different and new with and open mind and heart, and you will be changed for the better - life becomes a lot sweeter. There are so many sweet things life here has to offer - learning new languages, dancing to African music in the streets with children, a surprise serenade by a traveling minstrel playing a gourde violin, walking through the beautiful, multi-colored forests as the sun looms overhead, sprinkling the day with warm and light. The sweetness rubs off onto other facets of your life as you move through it. So, with my last sip of tea, I must remember to find the sweetness in everyday things as I approach the New Year, take time to enjoy the tea, and pass the cup around.

The Park Pendjari

As I have aforementioned, I had the amazing opportunity to spend my holiday vacation this year on safari in West Africa. In the northwestern corner of Benin, is the Park Pendjari - a chunk of Benin used solely as a wildlife preserve that is opened from December through June for safari expeditions. Most of the tourists of this particular park, are European thrill-seekers, local expats, and Peace Corps Volunteers, but they run a good business, and the park is lovely. My good friend Cara is posted near the park, and her assignment as a Small Economic Development volunteer is to facilitate tourism for the park. Well, Cara, being the brilliant mind she is, decided to look no further than her own peer group in rallying troops to support the park. In mid-October, a group of eight of us decided to go on safari at the Park for the holidays in the hopes of spending some time together and having a little African adventure.

Beep, Beep. Who’s Got the Keys to the Jeep ? Vroom . . .

The object of the game when going on safari is quite obvious: see as many animals as possible over the course of three days and two evenings while caravanning atop a large, old Volkswagen van, not alike that used by the Partridge Family. Each day, we’d go out into the brush twice on approximately four-hour long stints, once at dawn and again at twilight. When we got to the entrance of the park, our guide told us to climb onto the roof of the van to get the most scenic view. So, like eager little lemmings, all of us piled atop of van, eyes wide open, just waiting for a lion to attack and gazelle while grazing the vast plains whizzing by us. At first we were snap happy with the cameras around our wrists and necks, taking picture of every little deer and antelope that roamed. But after a bumpy, dusty three-hour tour through the park to our hotel site, we arrived slightly sunburnt and feeling a little empty handed. When we checked in, we asked other safari-goers of their finding, and we hear one Big Fish story after another of lion-sighting, elephant-spottings, hippopotamus photo-ops, and lush, beautiful scenery. We all turned as green and bitter with envy and anxious, debating back and forth on where or not to fire our tour guide and replace him with a better version, to insist on taking the paths of the more fortunate safari spectators. A long afternoon dip in the ground’s pool cooled off our raging tempers. All our griping was put to rest as well settled on waiting for our second tour of the day at twilight before we made any rash decisions about reorganizing our tour and manpower. So, at 16:30 hours, we all boarded the top of our van again, waiting in vain for the twilight to turn out the cast of the Lion King. But as we pulled, back into the park that night, our hopes were shot down like a bird in the sky, and we returned to the hotel that night with little more the scenic vistas of African terrain and a few shots of deadbeat buffalo trapped in the lenses of our point-and-shoot camera. We ate dinner at the restaurant, drowned our sorrows of an unfortunate day of safari sight-seeing in cold beer, and went to bed with a bitter outlook on what once promised to be the adventure of a lifetime.

Welcome to the Jungle, We’ve got Fun and Games

We woke the second morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with the glowing African sunrise, infused with new enthusiasm that today would bring us more luck than yesterday. We embarked atop the van again, wrapped in blankets and sweaters in the cool morning. We cool see the cool fog of our warm breath in the cold, morning air, and something felt different about this sunrise - today was our day to capture Mother Nature, Mama Africa, in all her glory. And deliver she did! As the sunlight broke through the horizon around us, we were taken aback by the beauty of the colors against the sparse, black outlines of the horizons. Brilliant shades of orange, red, yellow, and gold ripped through the early morning black, blues, and purples, dancing between sprawling cracks of morning sun. It hit our shoulders, necks, and backs, warming us slowly and gently, encouraging us of better things to come in the day. As the day brightened, we snaked into a jungle path - grand canopy trees turning everything a glistening green in the sunlight. Just then, Sam yelled, “Arret! Ici! Ici!” The guide stopped immediately and we looked after where his finger pointed, and lo and behold - JACKPOT! A large, brown elephant stood camouflaged between equally massive tree trunks, slowly, yet mightily, lifting his trunk to munch of twiggy tree branches. Click, click, click - our cameras flashed as fast as we could manage, and a rush of hope ignited us all. Once the elephant disappeared into the brush, so did we, continue on our sojourn through the park. Snaking through the park, we looked as brightly colored birds fluttered through treetops, singing songs of the African wild, and small game scurried around in the high-rise grasses. Next stop, the hippo lookout. It was a small, covered wooden porch resting on the banks of a lake in the middle of the park, rather gluttonously referred to as Mare Bari (calling it “sea” seemed like a grave overstatement of size and proportion to me). At the lookout point, we saw large lumps of black flesh almost completed submerged in water. Hippos are rather aggressive monsters who spend the majority of their lives cooling themselves in pool of water. Unimpressed with us tourists, they just lay in the water, oblivious to our earnest, hopeful infatuation with them. A crocodile emerged from behind a small bush on the banks of the lake and trekked quickly to the water’s edge, and then dove into the lake - narrowly escaping our camera lenses. In almost the same instant, as we were distracted with the croc, a massive hippo mouth emerged from the water’s surface, opening his great, toothy jaws to let our a mighty mid-morning yawn. Our luck was in full-swing now, and we once again boarded the van, the gentle breeze of the whizzing vehicle billowing through our hair, hot sun against our grins, excited about what may lie just around the winding brush bend. We approached a gathering of safari cars, all stopped along the sides of the road in a pack. They were looking at something, but what, we could not distinguish from our distance. The guide slowed down and nestled in a spot next to fellow gawkers, and there she saw, lying under the shade of a feathery-leaved trees, being admired in all her glory - a sleek, long, lioness. She was no more than 20 meters away from our van, but she was docile, which made us overwhelming excited and underwhelming nervous considering our proximity and her ability to tear us to bits with her razor-sharp teeth. As so as we had our filled of the Queen of the Jungle, we continued down the road to find yet another safari treasure - a troop of baboons! We regarded them with delight as the shook their big, bare, blue butts in our faces, shrieked with glee as they through pebbles and bits of grass at our van, and gazed on in awe as swung from trees with easy, listless energy, and unyielding grace. We were thrilled! As we headed in for our afternoon break to lounge poolside again, we couldn’t help but compliment the wisdom and acute accuracy of our tour guide, our tremendous luck, our elation and self-pride on being such observant safari-trekkers. On our twilight decent into the bush, we were satiated enough by our earlier finding to just enjoy the magical savannah sunset from our rooftop perches, blasting iPod tracks from portable speakers of the Lion King soundtrack and “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” into the African ambiance surrounding us.

I Can’t Take This Lion Down

On our last afternoon noon in the park, we were quite gleeful. Our morning was filled with elephants, more baboons, beautiful chirping birds, and a marvelous, glowing sunrise. We were contented with what we’d seen, happy to spend the day just admiring our picturesque views from the top. As we traversed along a path we’d been on several times, we came around a sharp bend slowly and we heard it. A deep, mean, agitated roar. We scan the tall brush nervously. The sound came from too close and with too much fury for us feel excited or safe - we were scared and anxious. The van stopped and waited, all of us holding our breath in worry and fear. Another roar sent tingles down my spine, and I suddenly ached for the protection of shelter inside the van. We couldn’t move. We had no idea where this male lion could be. Then, at first just a shadow, striding from behind the tall grass, in one great step the entire hard body of a fully-grown male lion stretched across the dusty brown path in front of us. He was long, strong - the sinews of the muscles in his legs and chest striking fear into our hearts with each leg-length. He was beautiful, regal, majestic. It is easy to see in that instant why the lion is indeed the King of the Jungle. As he crossed the road, his form melted into another path of wide, tall grass, and again, we were anxious with fear. What you can see can make you scream, but it’s the lurking fear that you can’t see that makes you cower. He let out another roar. He again began frantically tapping on the roof of the car, begging the guide to get out of the impending death-trap brush, but he was blocked. A small, white Jeep, which I barely noticed until now, had parked itself in the middle of the road. It has obviously been there for quite sometime. From the roof, I could see some overly eager Europeans inside the fully-enclosed vehicle snapping pictures. They’d been taunting this lion for quite sometime, and now he was pissed. The lion emerged from the tall brush again, and this time, he crossed the street at an angle, heading towards our van. The two guys in front of me on top of the van instantly lost any of the cool they had try to muster, and climbed backward into my lap. The lion moved in again into the tall brush, continuing to a shaded spot under the tree and viciously roared again. That’s when we saw what all the fuss what about. Under the tree, an obviously pregnant lioness lay lazy. The king was protecting his queen and wanted us out of his domain. We began screaming at the parked white Jeep in front of us, urging them to move to the side, so we could get through. Completely entranced from inside their vehicle, they played no mind to us. Guide started the engine and attempted to move around the Jeep, forced to move through tall, dense grass to get around them. We got stuck. The lion, offended by the roar our van’s old, decaying engine, retaliated with and even mightier roar and began approaching us. In a sequence of events that followed each other so rapidly, I am not even sure I can recall it properly, the lion began marching toward us, our engine roared again, and our driver pushed through the tall grass, mere meters before the lion reached the front of our vehicle. For what felt like an eternity, as the lion stood, wild with wrath in front of us, I got a glimpse of his deep, untamed brown eyes. He was the most charismatic killer you could imagine. We all held our breaths van tore the ground underneath us and sped away. We ripped down the dirt path a kilometer, well out of the raging lion’s rage, before the driver slowed and asked us if we were OK. Unsettled and pale-faced, we nodded in agreement, the rush of tension barely cooling in our veins. Every once and a while, it’s great - and terrifying - to be reminded exactly where you link up on the food chain.

Chasing Waterfalls

After our lion chase, we all were thrilled to get out of the park. Too much excited for one afternoon. Just a thirty minute drive outside the park’s limits lay the last stop in our safari adventure. In the tiny, ridgeside village of Tanagou flows a snaking river the runs down the side of the cliffs to a beautiful waterfalls. The most breathtaking of the falls is five stories tall and cascades into a aquamarine lagoon, decorated by Mother Nature with pink and purple flowers and lush vegetation as far as the eye can see. However, the most thrilling things about this romantic setting is not the sculpted rock formations or the crystal-blue, precious water . . . It’s the fact that you can climb the sucker and then jump five stories down into the chilly water from just a ledge perched just above the cascade. To me, there wasn’t even a question; if I was here; I was going to do it. Three of my fellow Volunteers in the party held the same mentality. (What do you expect? The Peace Corps attracts thrill-seekers.)Under the instruction of a Sherpa-like guide, I walked my bumbling, klutzy feet to the water’s edge, dove into the clean, cold water of the lagoon, and swam across to the bottom of the rock face that would behind my ascent. First, you have to climb the branches of a tree jutting out from the side of the cliff to get to the first ledge point, I pulled myself up with my upper body, wrapped my legs around the branches, and swung up. So far, so good. Carefully placing my feet, I climbed the next two ledges, grasping tightly at the wet rocks, feeling the soft spray from the falling water on my face and shoulders. Then, I slipped. I caught myself immediately, but the slight shuffle of my feet shattered my confidence. I began breathing rapidly, now nervous, suddenly and rationally completely aware that I could very well not survive this. This was not a video game simulation. Game over, lights out - I’d been done. Now stunned, I moved slowly and cautious. The fervor of exploration and excitement had succumbed to fear. I’ve climbed almost halfway up now. I saw a ledge about four meters above me that would be a good enough place to jump from. If I could just make it there, I’d do it. This was much more terrifying the lion. The lion I had no control over; climbing the waterfall, the only person I had to depend on was me. Now, with the end in sight, and so much at stake, I climbed with shaking hands and unsteady feet. I breathed in and pulled myself up onto my destination ledge. I looked up at the top of the falls - it was so close, and I’d come so far. But here, right now, I knew I’d survive to tell the tale. And for maybe the first time in my adult life, I admitted defeat. I faced my own mortality. I chose the road more commonly traveled. Then, for the first time since I began climbing, I looked down over the ledge. It was incredibly high. I looked out to the banks of the lagoon where the others stayed to watch us climb. They were happy and waving. Yes, I hadn’t made it to the top, but I still achieved something. Look at where I was! Look at what I did! With my poor, sad, out-of-shape body - I made it here! With a cheek-to-cheek grin, I step of the ledge, my body straight as a pencil, and I jumped off the Tanagou waterfall. Once I crashed into the chilly water, I push up to the surface, my butt split in two by the deepest wedgie I’ve ever had in my life. I came up giggling and grinning. My fellow volunteers applaud my effort. To my surprise, the others followed my lead and jumped off the same ledge I did. Maybe they too felt scared. Maybe they too were afraid to admit defeat. Maybe they too valued their lives, their time here, their youthful bodies too much. Sometimes, it's best to stop chasing waterfalls; I must stick to the rivers and the lakes that I’m used to.