Béré Adventist Hospital is located a short distance from the town itself. In recent years they have built an enclosure to provide security for the hospital and the adjacent homes. Due to our late arrival, James and Sarah gave me a quick tour of the premises and then whisked me away to the mud dwelling I now call home. With the sun setting, I was introduced to the other American volunteers, Liz and Sonya, before heading to bed.
Here is a brief description of my living conditions. The building itself is made of mud and bricks and is equipped with one door and one window. Along with the roof, these openings are covered by “carefully” fitted sheets of tin. When it rains, a common occurrence now that it is rainy season, I sit and listen to the sound of the raindrops as they fall on the metal roof. It is a comforting and soothing sound that reminds me somehow of Midwestern storms and my childhood. I feel safe from the elements in this structure of sorts.
My bathroom is a
nywhere and everywhere outside of the hut. Toilet paper is provided in the form of leaves or corn husks found along the ground. To shower, I first draw water from the well using a dilapidated bucket attached to a rotting chord. After pouring the water into a larger green bucket, I then haul it to a circle of bricks with an opening on the side. This enclosure is approximately 4 ½ ft. tall. It is here that I commence to bath, lathering soap onmy body as people pass by on the adjacent path. Some greet me on their way to the fields or the market and others just stop and stare. Little children become distracted from their playing and stop to smile at the pillar of ivory smiling back at them. “Lapia”, I say, and they respond nervously to my greeting.
The house I occupy is part of the extended property belonging to the school master and his family. They live a short distance away in their small compound. There was some confusion following my arrival, resulting in under nourishment for the first few days. The man of the house had left to work his rice field and failed to mention that I would be coming soon to rent from them. Culture demands that if a visitor approaches your home you must greet him warmly with a chair and a bite to eat. However, the school master’s wife had just contracted malaria and the daughters were instructed to only feed me the bare minimum. Intermediaries are essential to resolving conflicts here, so I sent James to explain things before my bones became even more exposed. Once the issue was discussed and the first payment of the month was made, the situation stabilized itself.
My diet consists of rice balls dipped in various slimy sauces, an oatmeal type substance made from millet, beignets and tea for breakfast, a soup made from tomatoes and yams, and the occasional guava. Mango season is still several months away and I am forced to wait in anticipation. The other day I ate an entire fish fried over hot coals, being careful to avoid scales and sharp bones. Cow brain is not entirely rare in these parts. Chunks of mysterious meat appear in the sauces they prepare and I eat without questioning. While eating or visiting, pigs and chickens migrate through, looking for any semblance of food spilled on the ground or grain left out in the sun. When left to roam the premises, these animals become a great nuisance. In fact, the majority of disputes that occur here in Beré are a result of livestock who wander unchecked through a neighbor’s property. Heated arguments over boundaries ensue when maize is found tampered with or the garden is found trampled. One of the Americans tells me that last night a fight nearly broke out near her home. By the time the daughters of the household got involved, everyone was at the point of exchanging blows. Confused by the shouting and the commotion going on, she asked her “family” what had happened. Turns out someone’s sheep had gotten into their neighbor’s garden and eaten most of their plants.
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