Over the Hills and Through the Woods, Around Benin We Go.

Being in Benin is an adventure for the spirit. Being alone in a village is definitely an adventure for the will. Eating fish complete with head and teeth and eyes is an adventure for the appetite. But traveling, traveling in Benin is an adventure all it’s own.
There are three ways for volunteers to travel in Benin: zemidjan, taxi and bus.
Zemidjan-Firstly, volunteers call them zemis. They’re a cross between mopeds and motorcycles with a little bit of ATV thrown in. Some are old and rickety and leave a trail of smoke behind while others are moderately newer. The Peace Corps requires that we wear helmets, which in my opinion does not ruin the experience. Zemi drivers go fast and when volunteers travel together they race each other! We zip through traffic at terrifying speeds—did I mention it’s faux pas to touch the zemidjan drivers—with your arms at your sides, or clenching your legs, as the zemidjan drivers weave through cars and run red lights. It’s our own little scene from Fast and the Furious. It really can be an adrenaline rush. The flip side is this: you’re riding a zemi to post, on an isolated road and the motor sputters, clicks, and finally shuts off. The zemi driver continues coasting as if nothing is wrong and for all you know nothing is wrong; maybe they’re trying to save gas. Either way, you’re scared that you’ll have to walk along the road until another zemi happens by or worse yet, you’ll have to walk the 20 kilometers to your post. I haven’t experienced the latter yet but I still have 703 days left, I’ll let you know when it happens.
Taxi—As I was typing the word I began to chuckle. Do not think New York Taxi Cab or any American Taxi Cab. A taxi for 5 people will always have 8 or 9 passengers, a taxi-bus for 9 people will always have about 20 passengers and a taxi for 15 people will have about 25 passengers inside, 3 passengers on the roof, one passenger holding onto the bike rack while standing on the back bumper, and one passenger hanging out of one of the various windows. Taxis are never new cars. The cars usually need to be refilled with oil en route, will be smoking by the time you get to your destination, have a lock broken on the door, and/or no rearview or side mirrors—this isn’t the worst thing about taxis though. The worst thing, and this is more an expression of fact that cultural insensitivity, is the 15-25 other people in the taxi who aren’t wearing deodorant. The smell can literally floor you, stop you mid-sentence and trip your gag reflex. It’s foul. Not a normal I-forgot-to-where-deodorant smell but a repulsive I’ve-never-worn-deodorant-in-my-life smell. It fills the nostrils with an acidic smell. The closest thing I can compare it to is the way wood smells when it’s burning, except this isn’t a smell that fills you with peace and causes you to breathe deeply. Oh no, this smell make you wish that you could not breathe but survive. I once went for a week without wearing deodorant and I didn’t smell 1/1000 as bad. Horrifying.
Bus—Imagine this: a coach bus, complete with air conditioning, a smashed in windshield and windshield wipers that clearly haven’t been changed in the bus’s 20 year existence. The bus is on a debatably two-lane highway with no center line, going roughly 70 mph, passing taxis and zemies and big-rig trucks without using a turn signal and while going around sharp turns. The bus holds the correct number of passengers thank God, but on the bus is a lady with a child who will cry for the entire 8-hour journey. She tries are hard to quiet it but when that doesn’t work she pulls out her breast and pops it into the baby’s mouth. Of course, there are people who aren’t wearing deodorant but the air conditioning helps a little, and there’s a lady selling her wares. Her voice starts high and pitchy and gets deeper and deeper as she ends each sentence. She goes from high G to low G not in a beautiful melodic way but a monotonous, repetitive way. The background music to this is a Beninese soap opera that is playing through for the third time and at such a loud volume that even with your i-pod at maximum volume you can hear the ladies squeaking and squawking.
So there it is. That is how volunteers in Benin get around. I am not complaining, it really is an adventure and there have been many times I’ve burst into laughter because of the absolute absurdity of traveling situations. It’s hilarious how people can fit themselves together, even more hilarious when zemi drivers race but don’t know where they’re going.