Sylvia's Journal

We completed the third of my work assignments yesterday, two coaching trainings and two launching workshops. The coaching training of this week leaves in place a small group of senior ministry of health officials who are to accompany the leadership, management and governance program that was recently set in motion by our local project.

We are still in the phase of clarifying expectations, demonstrating our approach and philosophy, and connecting the skills training to real results rather than the vague promise of better leadership, management and governance. These are, after all means to an end, means that have been found wanting according to official ministry documents.

The results we hope to see from our combined efforts have to do with malaria prevention for pregnant women, vaccinations and family planning. The exact focus may still shift a bit now that we have 20 people from the rank and file join us for the ‘scanning’ workshop that will take place the next three days, to be followed over the next 7 months by three others.

When they leave on Friday they will have their marching orders to practice good leadership, good management and good governance at work and in doing so make a dent in a few very specific challenges of the ministry of health. If we all do our jobs well we will have something to show for these combined efforts 8 months hence.

I must have arrived on the cusp of the rainy season. Late last week the water-soaked clouds rolled in and have stayed in place ever since, periodically dropping their wet load on the lands below – when they do all hell breaks loose, rain is very noisy here compared to the sound of rain in Manchester by the sea.

Black-outs are becoming more than once daily occurrences. We are learning to work alongside the loud hum of the generator in the hotel courtyard. It intrudes into our hall with its already poor acoustics, mixing with the sounds of the street as we revert to old fashioned airconditioning: open windows.

Still, at 1:30 AM early this morning the electricity was on, allowing me to connect via the internet with fellow trainees in my coaching program for our required telephone calls. One member of our team is from Argentina, another from China and three of us from the US. We had China and Benin on the phone, midnight for me, early morning for China. These calls are part of our many graduation requirements: 10 more such phone calls, during which our task is to learn more about executive coaching. Managing this during my travels is a bit of a challenge. There is another call on the program tonight.

My bathroom is modern, newly tiled and gleaming but there is not enough pressure to use the shower. The gizmo that attaches the shower head to the wall is already broken, as it is in most (less than 3 star) hotels I frequent.

The faucet produces only a small trickle. It takes about 15 minutes to fill the large plastic bucket. Its presence and the small plastic bowl inside it should have been a clue – I am to take my showers the old fashioned way – fill the bucket and scoop water over myself. At the end of that ritual everything in the bathroom is wet. I am lucky to have my own bathroom. Next week, when I will be camping on Cape Cod I will have a functioning shower but have to share it with other campers.

I have started to take my meals from a local supermarket in the form of crackers, laughing cow cheese, canned pate, dates, yoghurt, and soup in an envelope. I haven’t quite gotten to the ramen noodles but if I’d stayed a few more days I would have made that part of my routine as well.

It is not that there is no good food in Benin, there is plenty. But the hotel does not appear to serve it and serve it in a reasonable time and my ability to move around town is limited.

Every day the ‘plat-de-jour’ is the same; announced handwritten on a white board at the entrance of the restaurant: a salad of sweet corn and tuna (both from cans), poulet yassa (an onion/olives/chicken arrangement the Senegalese prepare masterfully) and ‘pommes fruit.’ I am not clear what that is and won’t probably ever find out.

I did try the plat de jour on Monday, skipped the canned appetizer and by the time the main meal was served our generous lunch break had already been surpassed by half an hour. I never tried the dessert.

The Poulet Yassa would have made the Senegale cry. It contained bits and pieces of at least one tiny sinewy quail that required sharper teeth than I possess.

Although a good part of the coastal area is planted with pineapples, and they are for sale everywhere, including right in front of the hotel, I have been unable to get them served in the restaurant. I am hesitant to buy one and serve myself in my room because of the steady stream of ants and the absence of sharp knives in this establishment. And so, after having lived practically on fruit and fish last week in Cotonou, I feel a bit deprived this week in the food department, which will be a short one as I leave tomorrow night.