Mutiny

My teachers meeting was scheduled for 5 p.m. I, operating on my American need to be places when people expect me to be there and my American need to make a good impression, was there at 4:55 p.m.

Five minutes later I was joined by my colleagues, and we sat in the open-air classroom chatting while we waited for the rest of the staff.

Fifteen minutes later, when no one else had shown, we called our director. He was coming, he said, but had just left Savalou, a city 25 km south.

During my training, I had been warned repeatedly about Benin-time, and had experienced it several time. We would start French class at 8:20 a.m. instead of 8 a.m. My colleagues tell me “a toute a l'heure”, which means basically “see you soon”, and they come to my house an hour and a half later. 

Time is much more fluid here. You eat when you’re hungry. You sleep when you’re tired. You get there when you get there.

At 6:10 p.m., though, we started getting antsy. There were now eight of us. We all looked up as a moto approached the school, then went back to our conversation when we saw it was two more teachers. 

“This is 5 p.m. for you?” Martin yelled as the two approached, a sentiment we were all feeling that we really wanted to say to the director, but cultural standards of respect would never allow. 

After sitting for 5 minutes without any sign of the director, the two new arrivals addressed me after some grumbling in Ife. 

“We’re going to leave, right?" 

I nodded. "If we were in the US, I would have left 45 minutes ago.”

We were saying our goodbyes when we heard the sound of a moto approaching. I recognized the director as soon as he rounded the corner. 

We started the meeting at 6:23 p.m.