Le fete de l'Independence

I have been incommunicado because the government has shut down two of the four cell companies in the country and the one satellite ISP that provided most of the internet service. Why? Because the companies were operating under contracts negotiated with the previous government and never enforced, so they owed the government somewhere in the tens of millions of CFA francs in license fees that had never been collected. The government said, “Pay up or shut down.” and these companies chose to test the government’s resolve – to their regret as it turns out. Unfortunately, it is to our regret as well. There is one working fiber-optic line from Cotonou to Parakou (PAIR-a-koo) which is about half way from the coast to the northern border, and that’s it for internet access. The two remaining cell companies have, predictably, jacked their rates sky high as a result of the decreased competition so cell phone service is a bitch to get at the moment also. There are only about 46,000 land lines in the country, which may seem like a lot until you realize there are 8 million people here. Imagine having only 46,000 phones in New York City…

August 1^st was Independence Day in Benin and like in the US on July 4^th there is a huge fete on that day – actually many fetes all over the country. All of the stagiers (trainees) were invited by the mayor of Aplahoue (AH-plah-way) – the biggest town in the district – to attend the fete there. I, on the other hand, was invited by my host family to attend the fete in Abomey (A-bo-may) – the largest in the country this year with the presidents of Benin, Nigeria, Cote d’Ivoire and South Africa in attendance. Well that was too good an invitation to turn down, so I told several of the trainers and my APCD that I had been invited and their universal reaction was, “Have a great time! It should be incredible.” So that morning we all got dressed up – me in my first Beninese tissue – and headed out to Abomey. About five minutes from the city we came upon a gendarme roadblock. And I didn’t have my passport with me. Not good. I was told politely, but firmly, that I couldn’t proceed without my passport. When we suggested that we would simply turn around and return to Azove to retrieve the passport we were informed that I would be required to stay AT THE CHECKPOINT until my passport arrived, since they had no guarantee that I would return if I were allowed to leave.

Say la Freak!

Now understand, they were very cordial, very professional and very insistent this whole time. So…I waited at the checkpoint, sitting in basically a grass hut, while my host papa first got his other relatives into another car headed for Abomey and then drove back to Azove (about 40 mins) to get ALL of my baggage (I wasn’t sure which bag the damn passport was in!) and drove it all back to the checkpoint. I dug through all my bags and found my personal passport and the photocopy of my PC passport and we showed them to the chef de gendarmes. At which point he told us we would then have to go to the Gendarmerie in Klouekanmey (CLICK-a-may) to get permission from the Commandant of the Brigade to pass the checkpoint. So we piled into the car, with a gendarme in the backseat armed with an AK-47 (I kid you not), and drove to the Brigade in Klouekanmey. The gendarmes there had to track down the Commandant, who interviewed us for about half-an-hour, took down all our information, made copies of all my documents and explained that it was all due to presidential security and he hoped we weren’t “inconvenienced.” He then got in his personal vehicle and drove us back to the checkpoint, where we were finally allowed to proceed. From our first arrival at the roadblock until we were allowed to pass was ultimately FOUR HOURS! And the whole time I was sitting in the little grass hut all I could think about was Officer Obey and “the twenty-seven 8x10 color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin’ what each one was to be used as evidence against us.”

Needless to say the parade was long over and all that was left of the fete was the drinking part (a BIG part of any fete in Benin). So we picked up the relatives, ate a little, drank a little and drove back to Azove none the worse for the experience. It was the quintessential example of our motto here in Azove, ”C’est l’Afrique” or as we like to put it – Say la Freak!