Next days after the whipping festival, I was back in my town ready to get some work done when my boss in the artisan association told me if I wanted to go to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso? Ouagadougou pronounced Wagadugo holds one of the biggest artisans festivals in all of West Africa every two years. My boss wanted me to go to check it out and get some ideas to see how we can organize the artisans of my town, and just to get out check out Burkina Faso. Of course I was all for it and excited to go, so I call Peace Corps to ask permission to go and say that the trip is work related and in a way it kind of is, but I was in it more for the trip and to see a country that only a few months ago I did not know that existed. I talked to Peace Corps and flat-out they said its last minute and I need to tell them at least a week in advance so I can do all the paper work and get a Visa, with Peace Corps there are so many restrictions to what we can do and not do, paperwork is needed for everything well in general its American bureaucracy. Well I did what any curious Peace Corps volunteer would do - I left the country without Peace Corps permission- Since the beginning of the program we are told that these are very clear grounds to get kicked out the program and be sent back home. I was nervous because I had just started my service and did not want to get kick out of Peace Corps. So my boss told me that he would cover for me in case anything would go wrong and the other artisans really wanted me to go with them and had already reserved a seat for me in the van they rented out and the next time the event will be held I will be back in the States, so that was enough persuasion to go, even if I only needed a mere fraction to get me to go.


One the way to Burkina Faso we stopped for breakfast at a town near the border, were a good friend, Mike from Connecticut is living. Now, a couple a days ago when we were at the whipping festival Mike and I mentioned going a to Burkina, but dismissed the idea since we could not travel out of the country until three months of being volunteers. I asked my boss if we had enough room for one more person and there was room for him, I called Mike and before I even finished telling him he was already to go to Burkina Faso. So we were off, in a couple of minutes we were at the border and since we did not have the proper Visa and passport we got some shit from the border patrol which by the way were a bunch of fat men dressed in raggedy out uniforms napping under a shady tree snacking on some melons, but all they really wanted was some cash on the side so we gave them the equivalent of 20 dollars for each of us and we were on our way to Ouagadougou. Things changed from Benin to Burkina Faso, I thought Benin was poor until we got into Burkina and I saw that people here were even poorer, less infrastructure, less houses with electricity, natives rode around in donkey carts and a car or two was seldom seen, more people selling fruits, dead animals and little things on the side of the road, and when we stopped to refuel halfway to Ouagadougou we were swarmed with beggars and children asking for money. An hour to the capital out van breaks down in the middle of the road and while Mike and I stayed under the shady trees to escape the scorching heat of the morning the others are working on getting the van fixed. Three hours later we arrived in Ouagadougou. The contrasts were incredible, outside the capital the people are poor and the places are underdeveloped, Ouaga is no New York City, but for African standards, the city is modern. With people selling things and preparing food at every corner, on the streets there was either a beat-up old car that you are surprised that it is still running or either a phat new Mercedes-Benz or BMW, I rarely saw anything in between an old car and a brand new ride.


We found a place to stay, a university that was out on summer break, the place was very nice and the agricultural work very gothic with arches and domes. That night we were out talking about the day and planning for the next day when Mike said “Alright I am going to bed, I am passing out” and after that he says that he passes-out right in front of me, he hits his head on the hard concrete wall and I turn him around, then he starts convulsing and shaking. At this moment I am so scared because I had no idea if he is having a seizure, if he is diabetic, or he has any medical condition that I do not know about. A million things run through my head, “What are we going to do, how are we going to explain this? We are not supposed to be here, we can get kicked out for this. How I am going to explain this to Peace Corps? Is Mike going to need professional medical attention? My mind is racing with a million things at once and I am asking Mike if he is okay. About 2 or 3 minutes later that seemed like hours Mike gains consciousness and comes to, the first things he says is. “Yo, somebody just passed the fuck out” It was you, you dumb ass I said laughing and relieved. After a couple minutes he feels better and we come to the conclusion that he passed out from heat exhaustion. Since we were in the blazing car for 8 hours and outside when the car broke down without water.

Next day and for the following 2 days we went to the artisan festival and checked out the crafts, events and things going on. There were expositions from countries all over Africa and some from Europe and the Middle East. It was very interesting looking at all these handmade crafts from all over the continent and outside of Africa. Bronze statues depicting African life, and tradition, there were amazing wood carven figures of animals, people and things for the house like chairs and tables etc, colorful woven tapestry that could have easily taken months to complete, there were paintings that were incredibly well done. There were so many expositions and so many nice things that we were very impressed with the ability of these people create such beautiful artworks. But after the second blazing hot day we were getting tired and the charm was wearing off because everything was too expensive to buy and big to be carrying around, although Mike did by a warrior spear that was cool. Also some vendors would be aggressive and grab you by your shoulder so you can go to their exposition and buy something, some vendors would not let us leave until we bought something from them or flat out started to get nasty with them, it was also brought to our attention that we also had a guy following us for about an hour, and he looked suspicious. So by the second day the charm of the event wore off and Mike and I dedicated the majority of our time eating street food. One night we ate between us two 60-meat brochettes, a huge watermelon and 4 beers. I puked all night long, I barely slept that night. The next day in Ouagadougou we went to the biggest outdoor market of Burkina that was incredibly large and dirty too, we also went to see the touristy sites like the presidential house and the congressional palace as well as other places of interest and then the next day early morning we were off to Benin again.. In all it was a really good time

So far the craziest thing that I have seen in the last 5 months that I have been here is a festival that takes place in this little village in the middle of nowhere, where nobody has electricity or running water nor do most of the people speak French but their local languages, but this village is famous throughout Africa for their Whipping Festival that takes place the last days of October. The Whipping Festival is like a coming of age for young boys and where men prove their manly hood by whipping the hell out of each other, I guess that is along the lines of a quince añera in Latin American tradition, sweet sixteen or a Bar Mitzvah but with an interesting twist, whips.

Luckily there is a Peace Corps Volunteer in just about every other town in Benin, so a couple of us first year volunteers got together and set out to find this infamous event, we rented an old beat-up 1983 Peugeot, that broke down on us and later the door swung open and I almost fell out, but that did not slow us down, we were determined to find this festival. Every time we asked somebody where the festival was, we got a different response until we heard drums playing and whistles going off behind a large cornfield. When we got there, there where a lot of people dancing to the drums and the whistles, most of them were dressed in traditional elaborate costumes or funny outfits, a couple of them were even dressed as women from head to toe, kind of strange for a festival that proves manly hood. Well after about 10 minutes of dancing to the drums the music stops and the people started forming a circle, then two men jump out and they start whipping the fuck out of each other, I mean they go at it full force they hold nothing back, just the sound of the whips cracking on their skins sounds painful but they do not even flinch they just keep whipping each other then a couple seconds later 4 more men join the other 2 and it’s a freaking all out whipping party. Whips are flying everywhere and whistles are being blown and the crowd goes wild.

After a couple minuets the drums start again and the whipping stops and they start dancing and this time everybody joins in the dancing even the kids and the older women. The music continues for another 15 minutes and once again they start dancing, yelling, jumping and showing of their whips and battle wounds. After the music stops they form a circle and this time the gladiators in the circle are younger boys, ranging from about the age of 8 till 18 and they start whipping the shit out of each other just as hard as the older men, but I can tell they cannot tolerate the pain like the older men and I could see their eyes start to water, but crying is considered a sign of weakness so they hold in their tears the best they can. After about an hour of alternating from dancing and whipping I start to see bloody backs and arms, scars, their skins start blemishing and their wounds are very visible even at a distance you can see the marks that the whips have left. I can tell that some of these whippings they have received will leave permanent scars and disfigurement on their skin, because the wounds are so deep and they are not treated.


Although the whipping festival sounds like a savage and primitive event, things never got out of hand nor escalated to fights or hard feelings between the people who were whipping the shit out of each other. There were always people standing by making sure that things were not getting out of hand and jumping in between the contenders after a couple of minuets, just to make sure nobody was really hurt. I tried to figure out the origin of the festival, but figuring out the origin was like asking for directions, ask 20 people and you will get 20 completely different responses. The only thing I was able to figure out was that this is a weeklong event that starts in the neighboring country of Togo and everyday of the week it changes village.

After a horrible combination of procrastination, laziness and actually being busy I decided to start this blog of my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Benin, West Africa. I thought it would be cool to give an idea to my family and friends back home or anybody else who happens to be interested on the projects that I am working on and what my life is like in West Africa. Aside from doing my job, I am going to travel as much as I possibly can in order to get to know Africa the next two years that I will be here so this blog will be my journal of my African adventures.

So here is a little bit of background on me for those who do not know me, after giving up a pretty nice lifestyle, a good job and leaving my beautiful girlfriend of three years in order to pursue the crazy idea I had since I was in my second year of college of joining Peace Corps, after graduating from college in 2003 I got an internship in Walt Disney World in Orlando Florida for a year, I worked in EPCOT as a stocking/inventory assisting nothing glamorous and got paid below minimum wage, working for the Mouse sucked but it was the life outside work that was all worth it, I always liked Florida the night life is good, there is always something to do, the beaches are great, also got a chance to go into all the parks for free I also got my family in for free considering that its freaking expensive just to ride these suck ass rides and attractions. Yet, my biggest reward was finding my girlfriend. After my internship I returned to home base, Alexandria Virginia, and got a job working for the Department of State, Foreign Service Institute as a contractor employee, I really liked my job I got a chance to work with the coolest people who liked to party, met ambassadors from all over the world, important political figures and I also found my strengths and weaknesses, like my writing skills are atrocious. It also rekindled my interest in Peace Corps because a lot of Foreign Service Officers and State employees had done Peace Corps, I also could not imagine spending the next 60 years of my life as a paper pusher and not seeing the world like I also wanted.

So I applied and I here I am. In Natitingou, Benin, serving as a Small Enterprise Development (S.E.D) Volunteer. It’s more complicated then that but whatever. So here is the break down of my post, Natitingou. I have Internet cafes, there are vendors in every corner where I can buy just about anything I want, I have a big house with 2 rooms running water a toilet and electricity, I have it good and its exactly what I wanted, there are other volunteers who have to take a shit in a stinky ass whole in the ground with roaches and flies, they have to get water from a watering hole half a mile away, or have no electricity, fuck that, they can keep that. After a couple of weeks when the excitement of Peace Corps dies down life starts to suck and get hard that is the reason we have lost so many volunteers in the last four months we have been here. We started as 60 now we are down to 51 and there are more leaving, I am here for the long run and I am going to make sure that I will confortable.