For whatever reason, friends and family question whether or not I am happy in Togo. Yes, The Land of The Free has a great deal to offer: equality among men and women, reliable electricity, wireless Internet (Oh how I want that!), coffee shops, Häagen-Dazs Five ice cream (lemon flavor), and bratwursts. Although after almost a year of living in Togo—even without its NYC-style hot dog stands and McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish sandwiches (Judge all you want! I don’t care.)—it still manages to make me smile. The happy-or-not inquiry is usually followed by, “I am not unhappy.” And it is the truth. Peace Corps Togo is an experience for which I asked. Peace Corps Togo, though at times quite a challenge (culturally, physically and intellectually), is unlike anything else I have ever come across in all of my travels. And that, friends and family, makes me happy.

There are, of course, other little Togolese idiosyncrasies that either prompts a smile, a mini surge of laughter, or a snicker with a headshake.

So what makes me smile?The sound of my neighbor’s wife sweeping the compound outside my house early in the morningThe sceneryPhoto Cred: Katy ToddWaking up to “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” from the street, which is simply women and men greeting one another quickly on their way to workBiking around the city—working in a sense—and someone yells, “Yendoutien!” I turn my head and slow down to see who has called my name and realize a friend wants me to sit and drink tchakpa. The best is when this happens before noonTogolese fashion sense and older womenPhoto Cred: Katy ToddPassing donkeys on the street while bikingTaxi-motorcycle drivers sleeping horizontally on their bikes (anytime of the day)Truck drivers taking naps under semis on the highway because it is the only place with shadeEating spicy spaghetti at 8amTaking naps on the floor Having conversations with people while biking on the streetAn older woman at the market who sells only grapefruit and limes—we greet one another with the standard greeting but she is so kindhearted and she gives me great deals on grapefruitAchu, my site mate’s dog, is very strange (but cute) and whines every time I see him even if it’s only been 24 hours since I last saw him.Women offering their sons to me for marriagePassed out PCVs from either too much sun, too much work or too much… People telling me I am too old (at 25) not be marriedSeeing all the items motorcycle drivers attach to their motorcycles

Photo Cred: Katy ToddNeedless to say these are not the only tidbits of Togo that make me grin from ear to ear…just happens often enough to make me remember.

Inevitably I will add to this list once more spring to mind, or, that is, the next time I smile.

Until next time…

My idea of a marriage is a partnership between two people who love each other . I grew up watching my dad cook dinner for my family, my mom doing laundry, and both of them sharing bed time story duties for my brother and I. They had a partnership that arguably split duties of the family 50/50. When my mom suddenly became a single mother, I watched how hard she worked and try to manage the job by herself; arguably the hardest job on the planet. In Togo, more often than not a marriage is not a partnership, but rather a man enlisting a woman to take care of him and provide a family for him. Being a wife is a full-time job here! Imagine being a woman here, with very little education, married to a guy after courting for a few months, maybe one of many wives, and you have to take care of your many children, the goats and chickens, the house, the fields, the laundry, your husband, the food, and maybe even sell some stuff on the side to make money. All of this without any electricity or running water and without a husband who is your partner, but rather another person to take care of. All of these women shoulder these enormous burdens and do so without complaining. They are so strong and joyful, despite their 'status' as a woman, and inspire me in innumerable ways. In March (when I intended to post this), I participated in the Women's Wellness and Empowerment Conference (WWEC) as sector head for Environmental Action and Food Security (EAFS) in the Plateaux/Maritime region. There were three conferences in total so that we could reach women from all over Togo. Volunteers would nominate a woman in their post and from there, women were selected for the conferences. Ours was in Hiheatro, in the Plateaux region of Togo, and was held in a nice hotel with air conditioning, running water, toilets, showers, electricity…it had the works! Many of our 24 women had never experienced such luxuries or even traveled that far from their villages in their entire lives. During the conference, we taught them all sorts of things from stress management, to communication skills, to women's rights, to preventative health, to self confidence, to name a few. As an EAFS volunteer, I taught food security, container gardening, and moringa (a super tree) alongside another EAFS PCV. There were two sessions that stood out as the favorites of the women: morning yoga and our beauty night. The women looovvveeed yoga and were in stitches the entire time since they were all falling over and trying out poses and feeling silly. They kept on asking for us to do more yoga and by the end they were taking it very seriously! The beauty night also produced a lot of giggles as we showed the ladies how to make beauty products at home with what they would normally have around. We made an exfoliant, a moisturizing mask, and an astringent, and the ladies kept on putting the masks on over and over. They absolutely loved pampering themselves and spending time with each other. This weekend away from their families, duties, and back breaking daily lives was a once in a lifetime event for many of the women, and they lived it up!After the conference and getting to know the many strong women who participated, I felt empowered and ready to bash some gender barriers in my village. I have found it very much more difficult to do, but I am working to have any sort of impact on these women. If I can give them just a night to pamper themselves and let loose, I'll consider that a success. The conference gave me an insight into the determination and dedication many women across the nation have to improve their situation and live in a world that is gender equal. Like I said, the work is on-going and hard since gender inequality is so ingrained into the Togolese culture. It's truly the women who are the life and blood of this little country and they deserve to be treated as the intelligent, lively, hard workers that they are! My freedom as a female in the United States was something I took for granted and I certainly can't imagine growing up without it now. People here think it's strange that I have goals and aspirations that aren't #1 find husband #2 have babies, and that it's even possible for me to achieve such things as getting my BA, wanting to go to grad school, working and living on my own. All because of my gender! It's hard to be around at all times and I am very grateful for my little area of my village that is very culturally sensitive to my behavior and expectations. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sorry for my lack of posts lately! I'm definitely going to get on it. In being here for a while now, it's hard to articulate what all is going on, but I will continue to try! I am getting ready for a busy summer, which means more activities to post about! In my village, I'm currently working on a reforestation campaign, that will probably be on going throughout my entire service, my environmental club is alive and kicking, I'm going to be a camp counselor this summer, and I'm planning a lot of work with my neighbor of 20k, Sarah Beth, so that we can reach a larger group of people with our projects. I'm also trying to work with the clinic to increase maternal health, which is proving to test my patience so far. It's hard having to maneuver the culture and learn about communication techniques Togolese style, but it's coming along. My counterpart, Paul, has to translate my French into Togo French because no one understands my accent! For a while I thought my French was getting really horrible, but I guess I just talk funny ;)

This may be the end. For my blog posts complaining about the terrible heat that is. After a sweltering day Thursday – the first night I slept on my cot in a wet cloth – a big storm rolled in the wee hours of the morning and the rain poured for hours. I awoke to put out my buckets and when I woke up Friday morning, it was chilly- yes-that’s the right word- and I had fresh, cold water! And we’ve had five- count them- FIVE- days of rain and cloudy, cooler weather. Amazing how much easier life is when you’re not constantly sweating!

Unfortunately, Friday morning I also woke up with a nasty cold. This wouldn’t be a big deal because I had nothing going on and could rest at home all day, except that my house was a ruckus because…. I have a new baby brother! Yes, my host mother gave birth Thursday morning to a baby boy. I made it there about 20 minutes after she delivered and got to swaddle the little guy and show him off to all the neighbor ladies waiting in the hall, who went wild. I sat with my mom and urged her to drink and eat as she acted like it was nothing and soon was carrying on with the ladies about the latest market prices. After two hours, she paid the hospital fees (about $6) and we found moto-taxi’s and she took the baby and went home. Amazing. Then our house was packed with excited Muslim women and their arm loads of half-naked, noisy, dirty little rascals. So I spent a lot of time with my Ipod Friday. I couldn’t complain too much either because my gas finally ran out and my family kept me stocked with hot water for tea all day as they had a pot over the fire to bathe the baby.

Thursday was also exciting as the follow-up session of self confidence with my girls club went really well. I concentrated and prayed all week on taking the pressure off myself- just focusing on being with the girls and seeing my role and time with them as a positive part of their week—not a life saving/changing couple of hours that had to be perfect in order to be effective. I did this without knowing it for myself my English club and it’s amazing how much more joy and satisfaction that was bringing me! The few girls who had really gotten it the week before helped me re-explain it and we did some easy activities of giving each other compliments and drawing pictures of ourselves with positive phrases about what they can do and what they love about themselves.

After a yucky day Friday I had a great weekend with Melissa in Sotoboua the larger town about 20 miles south. I really like Sotoboua; less of the city feel of Sokode but with nice amenities (nicer post office, a couple cafes, a library/community center and a PARK –with benches and lots of trees and everything!). The PCV’s before us have established a deal with the radio station and every Saturday afternoon there is a 30 minute American music radio show called “Tune in Togo.” Melissa chose 7 songs about rain and we dedicated the time to discussing rain and its impact in here versus in the States. All in English, to music we know and love.. it was so much fun. It’s our way of “bringing America” to Togo- ha! Of course it’s likely only PCV’s with that radio station understand anything we say –but still it’s a cool cross culture activity. And, I think I may have found my new calling…. J

Sunday morning we helped at the monthly Club Espoir. An offshoot of Camp Espoir this summer, the organizations who work with HIV/AIDS impacted kids year round, hold monthly mini-camps throughout Togo. Fun was mixed with learning as we sang and danced for the first half and talked about malaria in the second. Finally, we made popcorn to show the kids a way to earn some extra money during the vacation time. For lunch we went to the café that makes fufu with great peanut sauce and fried chees, and enjoyed the park afterwards- such a nice ‘en ville’ day!

In addition to enjoying the nightly storms that cooled everything down (literally squealing in delight), we made some delicious treats (brownies and pineapple upside down cake) in Melissa’s dutch oven, and watched some movies. Not exactly chicken noodle soup, but still a great cure for my cold!

When I found out that I was coming to Togo, I spent a month or so checking out current Togo Volunteers' blogs. One of them, I cant remember which, had a quote to the effect of "PC service is a series of sad goodbyes and anxious hellos." As in you constantly have to say goodbye to amazing people as they finish their services. They are sometimes replaced by new people whom you hope will be cool too. I'm currently in Lome to see Jacqui off-- she was in Karen's stage but she decided to extend for 6 months. Her post, Bassar, isnt being replaced. At least not yet. Her house was awesome; you could stand on her porch and look out at the Bassar mountain. I have a lot of memories in that house-- I spent last Christmas in the bathroom there, got dumped there, made ravioli there, had a hooded onesie party (don't ask) there, etc. More importantly though, Jacqui is leaving. A piece of the fabric of PC Togo is leaving. She's done a lot of great things in her service. She just finished building a school in a village in the mountains near Bassar for example. People will remember her, like they remember most Volunteers, for a long time. Jacqui is probably the best/ classiest dressed Volunteer I know in Togo. That is saying a lot. Service goes on, but its like a stained glass window just lost a piece.

Anyway.

I was standing in front of my bookshelf the other day looking for something to read when I realized how much stuff by Russian, or Russian-born authors Ive read in Togo. Asmov's Foundation series, Chekhov, Dostoevsky, Rand (I refused to read Atlas Shrugged but the Fountainhead is really good), Pushkin, Boris Akunin, Boris Pasternak, and some others I cant remember. I have not read Tolstoy. I am not sure what this says about me.

One thing I've always found interesting about Togo is the clouds. I don't know if it has to do with elevation, latitude or what, but clouds here seem to hang lower than they do in the US. It makes for spectacular thunderstorm viewing. We were sitting at lunch today and I watched thunderstorms build out east of us, over the ocean and Benin. They looked like towering flying saucers. The other night there were a couple developing south of Bassar during Jacqui's going away party. The setting sun turned them into pink towers. Then the light went out and lighting lit them up from the inside.

Its sort of amazing how much I look forward to coming to Lome just to eat. Although, now that I think about it, its probably not that amazing considering I consider a bowl of rice covered in hot sauce a meal. However, Lome does have the best faux pizza in Togo. And Indian food. And Vietnamese. And it has Lebanese food. A lot of Lebanese food. I do not know why there are a lot of Lebanese in Togo, but I am thankful that they are here. D likes to go to Lebanese places to celebrate her roots.

Speaking of food, I love my region, but the food situation there sucks. We're entering the "season of famine." Most of last year's foodstocks are gone, or used for seed. This year's stuff isn't ready to harvest yet. The staple food is pate . . . pate . . . and more pate . . .. Bush food ( i feel like there is a word for this but i can't think of what it is) is really popular. Wild grapes are starting to come in. Anyway, this is weird because I can drive south for 4 hours down to Atakpame and eat fresh grilled corn and avacados. Its the land of milk and honey -- just because its been raining there for a couple months longer than it has been up north. oh well.

The rain difference is even noticeable between Kouka and Bassar, and they are only like 55k apart. Bassar is obviously greener than Kouka. The other day, my host dad was like "Rain for Nampoch is just wind.' Just goes to show that farmers are the same everywhere. They are always griping about the weather.

Wow, from writing about having a baby to celebrating two years as a mom. Time flies. The adventures continue and I hope I can get my act together so that I can write more often. For Maddie.

Somehow my latrine project has moved along very well this past month! It’s surprising because I was imagining so many different things that could go wrong during the construction process: the families wouldn’t dig the holes, we wouldn’t find the materials, or the workers would be busy or lazy; doesn’t it sometimes seem like anything [...]

This morning my homologue told me he slept much better last night than he had all week. Yesterday marked the last day of a three day training we gave for seventy community leaders on the importance of community waste management and public waste bins. After all the planning and worries that it wouldn’t go smoothly it was relaxing to finally have it over with, but there is still much more to do.

The three days of were only the first phase in a project to install public waste bins in Vogan. With the help of the mayor and the director of Hygiene and Sanitation for the prefecture of Vo we sought to educate the community leaders (including all Chefs du Quartiers among others) on why public waste bins are important and how they, as community leaders, can help make this project a success. The appreciation for the project was evident in the participation we received at the trainings, and of course everyone wanted a bin in their quartier.

Felicity and Delphine with an example bin.As of now we are installing sixteen public waste bins around the city in locations that are most frequented, such as the marché and public areas of assembly. We have had a local welder make the bins and we hope to get them all installed later this month. With the availability of public waste bins we hope to encourage people to place their trash in the bins rather than tossing it on the street.

Installing the bins is, however, not the hardest part of this project; it is going to be getting people to actually use the bins. Simply having public bins and a trash collection program in place doesn’t make people use them. It is habit for nearly everyone to toss their empty water containers and plastic bags on the ground and simply toss household trash into a pile on next the house. Hopefully the community will recognize the importance of a clean city and the bins will catch on and people won’t simply toss their trash at their feet.

To achieve this behavior change we trained community leaders, are having radio public service announcements, and are even working with the mayor to institute fines to those found littering. With the community’s participation I hope that we can make Vogan a cleaner city and that after we have set the example for the first few bins that the community will take the initiative to make them multiply.

Without the help of many of my Togolese partners, and the community itself, I would not be able to make this project be a success, because as I so tackily said is my speech at the training, “It is not the waste bins that will create the change, but the people of the community.”

Monday, I was in Binaparba, D's village, on my way home from Atakpame. The trip on Sunday up to Bassar from Atakpame was hell-ish. The bush taxi from Atakpame to Sokode was ok. But we had to wait for like 3 hours in Sokode for the Bassar car to leave. When it did, at like 1900, I was sitting next to a drunk guy who kept passing out on me. And the driver went extra slow through the mountains, but I digress . . .

So, Monday morning I called my regular zed-man from Kouka, Richard, to come get me. Richard and I are good friends, so I call him whenever I can. Anyway, later on, D and I decided to walk the 4k into Bassar from Bina to meet up with Saye. I texted Richard to just pick me up in Bassar. He called me about an hour later, said that his moto was broken, so he'd sent another guy who did not have a cellphone, so I needed to go back to Bina to meet him. Back in Bina, the zedman showed up at like 1330, no problem, and we left.

The road from Bassar to Kabou is new and paved. I was spacing out on the moto, listening to music and watching mountains and brooding thunderstorms pass when the back end of the moto started wobbling. Flat tire. The zedman looked at it, and saw that the valve stem had blown off the inner tube. He left me along the road while he went back to Bassar to fix it. I sat there and watched thunderheads build over the mountains to the south. Then I went and kicked a termite mound for fun. It hurt my foot.

The zedman came back and we continued. We were about 8k out of Kabou, going through the new road construction, when the back of the moto wobbled again. Same thing. Only in the middle of nowhere between Kabou and Manga. The only things in sight were a bridge construction crew and this line of dark clouds. I had just been ruminating on how it looked like we could outrun this storm to Kouka . . .

I was all for finding the nearest tree and waiting out the storm, but the zedman was like, "we gotta walk to Manga to find a mechanic." Ok. Then the rain hit. I, for once, was really glad I had my Peace Corps-issued moto helmet. Cause the rain was coming sideways. Then I realized that rain shouldn't be making a "tink" sound when it bounced off my helmet. This was just after the back of my neck really started stinging. Pea-sized hail. As shitty as I felt, I was glad I wasn't my zedman-- I at least had a helmet and a huge pack to protect part of me. He had nothing.

So we trudged down the road in the rain, him pushing his moto. Then the rain stopped, eventually. And the prefet came up behind us in his Toyota pickup. He's a nice guy. He had his driver stop, and I got in the back seat, and got a free ride back to Kouka. This is roughly analogous to a state governor picking me up in the US. If the US was the size of West Virginia . . .

Back in Kouka, I dried off, ran errands, and ate lunch/dinner. The zedman eventually made it back, and came to pick me up at Bry's. He was like "I just bought a new inner tube and a new tire. We're good now." So, about 1600 we left for Nampoch. Just over the bridge, the rear of the moto wobbled . . . we slide and spun around for a bit. The inner tube blew. Again. I was like "ok, I'm walking home." Fortunately, a friend of the zedman passed and took me the rest of the way to Nampoch.

I usually pay 5 mille for a trip that should take about 1.5 hours. That day, I left at 1330, got home about 1830, and paid 8 mille cause I felt bad about the zedman blowing 3 inner tubes.

I slept all day the next day.

The kittens are getting big. I got home and I couldn't figure out why my house smelled bad. Then I discovered that the kittens figured out the concept of the litter box, they are just too small to get into it . . .

Flies bite. They are more annoying than mosquitoes.

So our term as the editing team of Farm to Market is finished. It was fun. We just finished the last issue in Atakpame this past weekend. It was kind of a mess cause the Malaria Action Committee was meeting at the transit house at the same time we were so the place was crawling with Volunteers. But it was good. Read issues of Farm to Market here.

Seeing people is always nice. After I am around a lot of Americans, though, I find myself wanting to go hide in village for awhile.

I just shredded a chicken. I’ve watched mom do this a few times after she would buy a ‘wonder chicken’ from the grocery store. Oh what I would do for a bowl of her chicken and noodles right now. Rice and cabbage will have to do. Labor Day (May 1) is a big celebration here. In my more pessimistic moods I made a general and slightly cruel but true statement about the event, “they save what little money they have from what little work they have just to party for one day; to buy new outfits and meat.” They literally work to live. And maybe there’s something to be said for that, but sometimes it’s frustrating- especially when they go for weeks without protein and filling meals only to stuff themselves with carbs and meat for one full day. It’s a cultural thing I realize and I’ve got to accept and respect their way.

Aposto and the gang from the NGO and the local micro finance ‘feted’ together on Sunday as they wanted to save their party for the weekend instead of during the week. They eagerly invited me to join and I paid in for the meal and new pagna. (I guess I can’t comment on the tradition when I want to take part!) When we realized I had to go to Atakpame (3 hours south) last weekend for a quarterly MAC (malaria action committee) and couldn’t be there for the celebration, Nima and Aposto volunteered to save the meat I paid for and continue the party with me when I returned. So, last night the three of us made a giant meal of fufu and tomatoe sauce with LOTS of chicken. Oh I was so full. Aposto insisted we enjoy a cold drink at the bar after and then Nima left me with ‘my chicken.’ Knowing my lack of cooking enthusiasm/knowledge she me clear instructions of how to store the roasted bird overnight and insisted that I must cook it this morning. So that’s what I did. I’ve never felt more like an animal (well, this place has brought out a lot of animalistic characteristics but still) than when I was tearing into that scrawny chicken this morning; my excitement when I got to a decent size piece of meat! Protein for a week I thought!

Anyway, the weekend in Atakpame was nice. After another frustrating girls club Thursday evening (explaining self-confidence proved more difficult than I originally thought-easily the most frustrating session yet- but I’ll spare you the details) I headed south Friday morning. The trip was smooth and the highlight was definitely seeing and being with Vanessa for the first time since February. That girl is so awesome- my total opposite and I think we complement each other so well. With another PC committee in town along with the group of us MAC leaders (2 PCV’s per region) it was a full house- literally. PC has a house where volunteers can stay (8 beds) and work with a computer, a kitchen and living space and lots of books. So, Ness and I retreated to the quiet little hotel run by nuns at the edge of town. I took advantage of the beautiful mountainous scenery in Atakpame and went running each morning. Saturday and Sunday were filled with MAC work; defining our goals, brainstorming ways to motivate and inspire other PCV’s to do malaria related work in their villages. It’s tough- creating a program from nothing and trying to get others on board. Add in the difficulty of doing work here in general, and the natural communication frustrations and you’ve got quite the challenge. I’m enjoying being a member and not leader on this one J.

Saturday was rough for me. I realized what day it was mid-morning sitting in the MAC meeting; YESS Duck Derby day. An exciting day I had been anticipating; even received a sweet ‘duck filled’ package from the YESS crew who had included me in the pre-event excitement. The Duck Derby-the event that had been a giant part of my life the past two years in Des Moines, was happening. I knew the day was coming and had been generally very excited for it, but at that moment the sadness and missing the rush of the day just ran me over. Add to that, my mom graduated with her masters Friday night from my school – UNI- and it killed me to see pictures of my family at the ceremony on the campus and in CF where I have so many memories. So proud of you mama. Finally, one of my dear friends, Sky, got married on Saturday in sunny Texas. These three combined for a deep longing for home. Thankfully, Michael listened as I whined from the pity pool later that afternoon and Ness and my other friends were very understanding and comforting. Don’t get me wrong- I know I’m meant to be here in Togo. I know that if I was home (having never left) I wouldn’t be happy with myself. But, there are moments when home is all I want. Again, fighting the grass-is-always-greener mentality. Later over a avocado and banana smoothie (the PC house has a blender- and there’s a store in Atakpame with REAL MILK) I thought and talked over the excitement of this PC adventure; the good work I’m doing here and the opportunity I’ve taken advantage of and will one day look back on with irreplaceable memories.

Then God reminded me He was there. I had returned from a nice run Monday morning as it was cooler and the sky was overcast, protecting me from the early morning sun. I was stretching at the hotel, watching the sky rapidly change as the clouds moved over the mountains and a new song by Britt Nicole came on my Ipod. “You never said the road would be easy, but You said that you would never leave. You never promised that this life wasn’t hard, but You promised You’d take care of me. So I’ll stop searching for the answer, I’ll stop praying for an escape and I’ll trust you God with where I am and believe that you will have your way. Just have your way.”As the cool winds surrounded me and the words filled my head and heart, I was so comforted in God’s presence and peace. Something I try to focus on and seek daily, I’ve realized it’s much easier to hear God’s voice and see His blessings when you’re in solitude in village. After struggling to find it with being surrounded by lots of others the past few days, this was a welcomed and wonderful moment and I walked through yesterday with a renewed spirit.

It’s still scary hot here; the locals say the rain will start this month. The PCV’s (who are more specific and realistic) say it won’t be until June that rain and cooler temps will arrive. On attend. We wait. In the meantime I’m trying to figure out a way to make a kiddie pool out of a plastic tub, (not really but that would be great if the water supply wasn’t so low) covering myself in mentholated powder and praying the electricity/my fan works.

Some days you just never know what will happen. And later, perhaps you wonder if you had done things differently—left your house a little later (or earlier), taken other means of transportation, encountered different people—you might have avoided an accident. (Ever seen Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow? Great movie.)

Yesterday was one of those days. Yesterday, a motorcycle hit another motorcycle and the latter hit me while I was biking. Luckily, I was wearing my helmet—as PCVs should. And luckily, only my left side received injuries, i.e. a large bruise on my thigh, a mini bruise on my hip, scratches and a couple deep gashes on my arm and foot.

Why was I biking? I needed to buy mangoes, avocadoes and tomatoes from the market. I also wanted to buy carrots but none of the carrot mamas were out selling—GIRL CAN’T GET A BREAK! Or is carrot season ending? L

I first thought I lucked out because I was just leaving the market when tout à coup a moto in front of me decided to turn around without looking behind him and I almost T-boned him—not that I really would have done any damage. What the heck, man?! Shortly there after, while biking on the main road the same moto passed me and the idiot said, “Pardonnez-moi.” Yes, thanks for almost killing me, you jerk. But, apology accepted.

About 200 yards later, the fun really began. I don’t really understand how it happened. Perhaps moto man #1 was drunk, or maybe he just doesn’t know how to drive—this is the case more often than not. But the handle of moto man #2 hit my bike handle just enough and caused me to tip over and slide on my left side a few feet. Moto man #2 fell just the same but the damage to his moto was far worse than my bike. Although he had fewer scratches, so I could give two shits about his moto. Ha!

People were nice and helped me up, asked if I was okay, and examined my bike for any irreparable damages. At first, I was fine; I was more pissed off than anything else. So I got on my bike and continued home to take care of my wounds. Didn’t want any infections!!!! On my return trip, things changed…

I almost got home when I started felling a little light-headed, begun to pedal slowly, and the countryside had a grey and white overtone. It was then I decided it was time to pull over. I sat on the side of the road for a bit, breathed slowly, calmed my nerves, and then I called my neighbor to come help me get home.

Long story short, I’m fine. I immediately hopped in the shower, rinsed off my wounds, applied triple antibiotic cream where it was needed, slapped on (not really) a few Band-Aids, and made some juice to ease the shock (sugar helps).

What did I learn?

· There’s a reason helmets were invented.· Men, too, do not know how to drive, so don’t generalize and say only women are horrible drivers. · I’m lucky there weren’t any serious injuries.· Shit happens and it’s not really Togo’s fault. Ha ha.

Want to see the battle scars?? Continue below.

The first meeting of the Assocation for People With Disabilities in Tchekpo Togo was held in early February in the community library. I knew it was important. I knew it was needed. I didn’t know what to expect. I had of course noticed people with disabilities around Tchekpo, but spread out, just seeing someone from time to time was deceptive. At that first meeting I realized just how serious this issue was. I never saw so many disabled persons in one place. I arrived about ½ hour early. Honou Koffi and Komi were already there arranging and tugging on tables and chairs to form sort of a circle. Honou on his crutches, Komi limping with his one foot that is just completely turned upside down. Honou smiled, and he looked very happy. He’d been looking forward to this day for many months, probably years. He said he didn’t need any help, so I just took a seat in the front of the room and waited for people to arrive….wondering how many people would come. Hoping for Honou’s sake that it would be well attended. He had traveled through the village for days to tell all the handicapped people he could find about the meeting.

One by one they filtered in. At least three of them literally crawled in, wearing flip flops on their hands and feet. One girl came in walking on her knees, leaving her wheelchair outside. Many arrived on crude, ill-fitting crutches. They were missing a limb or just maneuvering a limb that no longer works. One woman was carrying her twelve year old daughter. I was told that last year this girl was normal, running around like any girl her age, and then all of a sudden she couldn’t stand, and now she can barely sit up, but she was alert and smiling. Three or four arrived in Togo wheelchairs…tricycles which are powered by their arms not their legs. Many of the women had babies on their backs, or breastfed during the meeting. Nothing seems to stop them from trying to lead a normal life. No one, not one looked forlorn or depressed….just hopeful and happy. Twenty-nine people with disabilities showed up at that first meeting. Twenty-nine disabled people in the little village of Tchekpo. I would soon learn there were many, many more.

Last summer Honou Koffi and another young man, Komi, were lucky enough to attend the first annual Camp Joie in Pagala for handicapped youth. This camp was the brainchild of about four volunteers. I’m in awe of what they accomplished. Honou and Komi came back from camp with a new found self confidence. They were glowing and happy and excited about what they had learned, and about their future. When he returned Honou spent a lot of time talking about Lyle, Stacie, Meredith, Martin and Nahid; the Peace Corps Volunteers who founded the camp, worked the camp and set up the structure for it. They obviously inspired Honou and Komi, and Honou would tell me funny stories about each one of them.

Members performing a sketch on self-esteem If you’ve read my blog, you’ve read about Honou Koffi. He’s my very favorite, number one person here in Tchekpo. People use the word amazing too much, but I don’t know a better word to describe him. I looked up the word amazing in the thesaurus, and sure enough it gave me a bundle of words that describe him. Astonishing, astounding, remarkable, marvelous, incredible and on and on and on. I’m his biggest fan. What he is to me, is an absolute wonderment of the human spirit. To tell you the truth, I’ve pretty much forgotten that Honou even has a handicap, even though it’s very obvious, since he’s on crutches, and to get around he pulls his legs behind him. Get around he does….everywhere. Nothing stops him. And to top it off, he’s almost always smiling. A real, sincere, optimistic smile. Everytime I see him I think….how does he do it? And how could I ever complain about anything again.

The OfficersWhen he returned from Camp Joie Honou immediately began talking about starting a club for the handicapped here in Tchekpo. Ohhhhh. This was not on my agenda. This was not in my plans. This was no where on my radar screen, but I went along with him, told him it was a great idea, and that yes, I would help. I’ve done a number of projects with Honou. From the moment he mentioned it, I knew that he would do this. He was always out there way ahead of me, pushing me to get to the next step. On most projects and with most people here in Tchekpo I’m the one doing the pushing, the cajoling, the begging, but not with Honou. He comes by my house several days a week. He helps me with three or four projects that do nothing to benefit him. Each time he comes over, the conversation inevitably turns to his new idea about the club. I give him incremental information…We need to do this, we need to do that….thinking I’m buying myself a little time, but lo and behold the next time he comes over, he has made arrangements to do this and that. For example, I said we need to speak with the Chief, tell him our plans. Next time Honou comes over he tells me he met with Chief, and the Chief is very happy about this. The Chief would like us to do this with the entire prefecture (county).

The Chief has been very supportive of this particular project. He should be. There are so many people with disabilities here in Tchekpo. It’s hard to say what the primary cause is. Poor nutrition during pregnancy, polio, mishaps. Most seem to be birth defects of some kind. I know the Chief has several kids that live in his compound who have disabilities. I’m not sure how they are related to him, or even if they are. So the Chief has indeed taken a personal interest in what we are doing. He has appointed a representative from his council who attends the meetings, and offers support. We are trying very hard to do this professionally. Set up a structure, so that we can get this registered by the Togo Government as an official association. We elected officers and the secretary takes notes of each meeting. We also hold an officers meeting once a month.

The meetings are inspirational and pertinent to their needs and desires. We have an average of twenty people show up for each meeting; however the Chief really wants us to expand our current reach. Each meeting there is a topic of interest that is discussed, and then the members will perform a little sketch about the topic. Some of the topics we’ve covered have been about self-confidence, health and hygiene, family life. They collect dues (whatever the person is able to pay), sing songs and pray. We now have a “wish list” that they go over at each meeting. The wish list is things they’d like to see the association do, as in having a demonstration of income generating activities, or talking to the churches about helping them raise funds. We’ve had several speakers come from the bigger villages. One man came from Tesvie and talked to them about the benefits of being an official registered association as opposed to just a club.

MeredithThe most appreciated speaker so far, was Meredith. Honou was just about beside himself when he heard she was coming. Meredith was one of the principal Peace Corps Volunteers who started Camp Joie. She traveled many hours by bush taxi, just so she could see Honou and come to the meeting. I do think that it was very rewarding to her to see what she started. There’s of course another camp this summer. She asked Honou to come and be a counselor. Meredith delivered a very inspiring animated speech. She told them how excited she was and how proud she was that this was the first village Assocation for People With Disabilities in Togo. She’s just a little wisp of a young woman, but she had a powerful message. Du Courage!!! You can do this!!!

Sidenote: If you’ve read any of my blog, you understand at depth that “nothing is easy in Togo.” Certainly the heat and the terrain, not to mention the poverty and hunger are all daily challenges. It’s hard living and yet all of these people I have met with disabilities get around and go about their life, as if they are no worse off than anyone else. Amazing!

Recently a study came out that ranked countries based on happiness levels (http://documents.latimes.com/world-happiness-report/). The study was based on answers to questions and personal satisfaction/happiness rankings given by surveyed individuals. Hundreds of countries were surveyed and studied and somehow Togo came out at the bottom as the official unhappiest country in the world. My first reaction was to laugh; how did Togo, this tiny unknown country in West Africa, where I’ve been living for 20 months come out of this large, international study as the most unhappy place in the world to live? Togo is not in a conflict zone; there is no widespread violence nor is there any large-scale famine or starvation. Other countries, like Afghanistan and Niger, where these extreme situations that we associate with misery do occur, were included in this happiness study yet somehow Togo still came out at the bottom.

Since I saw the study about a month ago, I’ve been trying to figure out why Togo ranked last. My Peace Corps friends and I started thinking about how, in fact, Togolese people do complain quite a bit. The thing is they usually complain while smiling and follow the complaint with a laugh, but if you listen to what people say here, a lot of it is negative. Certain negative phrases are common throughout Togo in reaction to various situations. For example, people often say some variation of: “Nous, les togolaise, on soufre trop » (We, the Togolese, we suffer too much). Whenever you travel anywhere, people tend to say: « Oh ! Là-bas, c’est bonne, il y a tous tous tous tous » (Oh! Over there, it’s good, there is everything, everything, everything, everything). Wherever you are going, there is more than where you are (unless you’re going north from the south, then southerners warn you away from the poor, hot north!). Recently, when I was on my way to Benin, a Peace Corps staff member simply said to me with a smile, “You’re going to Benin! It is better there.” When I discussed the happiness study and Togo’s position with my homologue in an attempt to get his opinion on the matter, he simply turned to me, nodded his head, smiled, and said, « Tu vois, non ? » (You see, right?).

In general, the sense I’ve been picking up on more and more recently is one of frustration. The most obviously frustrated class is definitely the professional class (teachers, doctors, policemen, etc.) They are paid by the government and are sent anywhere in the country that the government tells them to go with little say in the matter. This means most teachers, nurses, doctors, policemen, etc . aren’t from the place where they work and live and they usually didn’t choose or want to be where they are. They often don’t speak the local language of their post and they often have no family there. I see this often in Mango and in the schools of the surrounding villages where teachers are frustrated living in a village where they are bored and not paid enough to visit their family several hours away or where doctors complain about the Mango heat and how they miss their family down south but yet, once again, aren’t paid enough to travel home. Students are also frustrated; they arrive at the university only to find overstuffed classes and not enough scholarship money to pay for books and photocopies. Recently, the students rioted in Lome and Kara over this matter and there are constantly strikes in the school system when teachers demand better pay and benefits. Farmers, too, have expressed their own frustrations to me. For example, the government subsidizes and buys cotton from farmers in my region yet after the cotton is bought up, farmers often wait up to a year to get paid for it, leading, once again, to frustration.

A lot of the frustration in Togo comes not just from the poverty, but from the feeling of a lack of control over and the poor distribution of resources from the government. Togo doesn’t exactly have a stellar democratic history. One president ruled for almost 40 years and after he died his son was elected and is now in his second term and has changed political parties in order to run for a third term. As you might imagine, most people feel that they don’t really have a political voice and that they can’t really affect the outcome of elections. One friend of mine in my village said that he thought Togolese unhappiness came from the fact that nothing changed and the country had resources that the people weren’t seeing. It’s true that Togo does have some obvious money-making enterprises. They have one of the only, and one of the biggest, deep-water ports in West Africa and almost all trade to Burkina Faso, Niger, and Mali goes though Togo. They also have phosphate mines. However, the national road remains in atrocious condition despite the fact that all trade to the Sahelian countries must travel on the main road and many villages still wait for the promises made of electricity that are slow to come true.

However, lots of countries in Africa face similar situations and problems to Togo. The only reason I can think of as to why Togo came out as unhappier is Togo’s geography. Togo is a tiny country bordered entirely to the west by Ghana and to the east by Benin, two countries with similar culture, ethnic makeup, languages, and topography. However, both countries have a pretty solid democratic history, at least by African standards, have better infrastructure and, while still poor, are just doing better overall than Togo. This is especially true of Ghana, but Benin is also ahead of Togo. In Togo, you are never far from either the Benin or Ghana border. Many people have been to at least one of the two countries and people always hear stories from people who live there or have been there. Maybe it’s the constant comparison with Benin and Ghana, the sense that it’s better so close by and that it could be different in Togo which leads to such frustration and maybe unhappiness amongst the Togolese.

Despite all this, I don’t want to give the impression that I feel like I’m living in a depressed, unhappy place. I definitely don’t walk around feeling like I’m in the world’s unhappiest country. People here are just living their lives. There are marriages, baptisms, religious celebrations, and just, in general, a lot of parties. People are often smiling and laughing and joking and most Togolese are incredibly welcoming and hospitable. There are plenty of people who are happy and satisfied with their lives. I’ve asked my host dad very directly if he’s content and he genuinely is; he has land, cattle, enough money for his family, some security in case things go wrong, and status and respect in his community. He, like everyone, still gets frustrated. Just the other day, he told me, “le togolaise ne dites pas la vérité!” (Togolese don’t tell the truth) when he came back from yet another meeting where he wasn’t paid his hard-earned cotton money. However, he moves on and still manages to be satisfied with things.

So, is Togo the world’s most unhappy country? Who knows, but I doubt it. What is clear is that people in Togo are frustrated and they generally have a right to be. Most people here just require the same thing as we do in America to be happy: financial security, good health, a sense of opportunity, the feeling that our hard work will yield reward, and the sense that we’re being treated fairly and not getting the short end of the stick.

Hello, all! Long time no post... and sorry, this one is kind of a teaser. I promise more to come very soon (right after I finish my Men As Partners training conference this week).

In the meantime, Camp Etoiles du Nord is back again this year! Like last summer, we're bringing 30 top female students from villages all over our prefecture into Mango for a week of fun! The girls will meet professional women from the area, tour workplaces and learn about different careers, and gain life skills through sessions on self-confidence, contraceptive use, time-management, setting objectives, etc. This is a really great project and one of the best things I've done during my service; last year's participants still talk about their time at camp, and I have seen such a difference in their confidence, leadership, and schoolwork. Check out the link for more info (and to donate!): https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projdetail&projdesc=693-401

Grand merci! : )

I've been in Togo for almost a year now and I still can't get the seasons correct. Depending on who you ask it's rain season, dry season, hot season...etc. All I know is that since I landed in Togo last June I have been sweating continuously. I literally spend some days wrapped in a wet pagne (lapa/cloth) while sitting directly in front of my fan...still sweating....

Wow, I just realized I have one more year left. It's true when volunteers describe your days as going slow but the months go by fast. Honestly, I don't feel like I have accomplished much. However, I am reassured by many that it is completely normal to still feel like a loser when you reach your one year mark....

I do have a few upcoming events/projects that I'm excited about. Next week I start my vacation enterprise for girls in my village - teaching girls business skills and importance of savings so that they can make and save money to go to school. I'm crossing my fingers hoping that everything works out well. Also, I'm planning vacations: I'm planning on going to Spain (and maybe Paris *cross fingers*) for my birthday (woohoo!) and trying to figure out when I can visit Morocco and Liberia again...wish I had unlimited funds, but don't we all...

What I've always knew about myself: I'm kind, giving, understanding and laid back. I'm also short tempered, impatient, sarcastic and intolerant of bs. What I've realized since being in Togo: When faced with intolerable heat, my negative characteristics completely take over. On a daily basis so many people try to take advantage of me or treat me like a child (well...I do sort of speak french like a 4 year old) that I started building this armor over myself. I actually slammed the door in the electricians face the other way when he tried to take advantage of me. I know that wasn't the right thing to do but I'll be lying if I said it didn't feel good. *sign* I guess I need to start thinking about that saying "what would Jesus do?"....

I never been really religious. I can't quote you any Bible verses, I don't speak in tongues, nor am I a great prayer (whatever that means). However, I feel like I'm becoming more religious here. I tend to read my Bible more (However, not everyday. Sorry Mom). I also been having a lot of conversations about faith with locals. I don't understand how you can say you're a strong believer in God and constantly be fearful of black magic/voodoo. But anyway, another day, another topic....

Oh and before I finish my random thoughts...I still miss my family and friends SOOOO much. It's ridiculous. I wan't planning a trip back to the US but I may have to reconsider...

Till next time...xoxo

Yesterday I wrapped up my Men as Partners workshop. Men as Partners (MAP) is an approach to teach gender equity through a series of activities that engages the participants in debates, games, etc.

I've been using this approach to talk about gender equity on a small scale to the local Imams (muslim leaders). They have really appreciated the tiny 8 person workshops, and I was happy doing it on a small scale. But, back in February, I was approached by the founder of Luciol'Envol (http://www.luciolenvol.org/) to see what kind of partnership Peace Corps volunteers in Tchamba could form with their organization. Luciol'Envol is a pretty amazing association. It was founded by a man who was born in Tchamba, went all the way to university in Togo, and is now working at CDG airport. Every year he provides scholarships for 50 tchamba girls to attend school in honor of his mother, who he says is the reason why he was able to go so far in his studies.

I talked about my work with the Imams, which got everyone in the association interested. Together, we thought of a Men as Partners training for the chiefs of each of the neighborhoods in my village, the CVDs (the person in each neighborhood in charge of community-development), and the woman responsible for women in each neighborhood. All together we had about 50 participants.

The day started early with an opening ceremony, followed by sessions on defining gender vs. sex, gender roles, HIV/AIDS, breaking gender stereotypes in households in regards to chores, work, and education, and finally a session on the meaning of family and what it means to take care of family.

The whole day was in local language (tchamba). I can really see a huge difference in a training that is held in local language vs. a training that is held in French. French is rarely someone's first language here, so a lot is lost varying from each participant and how much french they know. By having the training in local language, it really provides for a better comprehension, more participation, and more fun as people are comfortable making jokes in their native language.

Our Training of Trainers: 5 trainers 'examining their attitudes' through debates.

Opening ceremony with the village authorities. Can you imagine having a workshop in America and having the mayor, his council, religious leaders, and education officials all coming?

Talking about the difference between sex and gender.

Discussing gender stereotypes in Togo.

Yay! At the end of the day, everyone got their certificate. (If you don't give a certificate here, it's like the workshop wasn't official)Me with the trainers that led the sessions during the workshop! (People were so surprised I opted out of printing a certificate for myself...)

I celebrated my second birthday in Togo this past April 25th. To celebrate, I decided I wanted to throw a party for me and my neighbors. I’ve never really invited any of my neighbors over to eat a meal with me, so I decided this would be the best time and way to do it.

I got my party planner and best girlfriend in Tchamba to help me out with all of it. Together we sat down and planned a meal for 40 people. The meal entailed a salad (cabbage and hot dogs), followed by couscous with wagash (cheese from fulanis, a nomadic tribe), two chickens, one of them being my pet chicken (his name was garbanzo), and sodas for everyone. I also baked about 4 loaves of banana bread to have as my cake.

Some of my neighbors. I promise, they were more excited than this pictures lets on.

Some of the kiddos in the neighborhood.Lyle and Christa happened to be swinging through Tchamba on their way back from Benin so we all got to party together!

The closest people I have in village to a host mom and dad (since I don't live with a host family).The chicken was in a seperate bowl from the couscous. I kept wondering when Angel was going to pass it out, but she never did. Finally we sang happy birthday and cut the cake. After everyone got their cakes, Angel passed out the chicken (the real dessert). Everyone eats meat last here, even when there is cake.

Angel and me wearing the necklace she gave me for my birthday!

People actually gave me presents! I was SUPER shocked since most people don't have money to just buy whatever, whenever. I got a ton of cookies, dates, a porcelain bowl (left of the photo), a wheel of wagash (cheese), the necklace from Angel, and a new pair of flip flops!

The party was a super success and I really loved having everyone over. Everyone sang happy birthday, in both English and French, ate a ton, and ended up having a little dance party at the end. I can't believe I'll be leaving this neighborhood soon! This is the first time in my life I have 1) lived alone and 2) actually been really good friends with all of my neighbors. It's relationships like these that are hard to find in America, and I'm really lucky to have found them here.

This Tuesday, Togo celebrated their annual labor day, a derivative of the French holiday "Première May," also known as "May day." It was a spectacular event talked up by everyone all over town (the ladies at the post, the fruit vendors, the man who owns the boutique by my house, and even the annoying moto taxi drivers), and everyone asked me almost the same question "Tu vas fêter bien?" (Translation: Are you going to party well?) The day started off with what I can only describe as the one of the few well organized large scale event I've ever seen in Togo (even though it started 2 hours late…); a parade through the town center all the way to the outskirts of the city to the Mayor's office. My trusty companion/side-kick/site-mate Rebekah and I made our way out early to our usual hang out spot, a café right by the main road that runs through town to await the much-anticipated parade. After a while of waiting, we started to doubt what everyone was telling us and scoffed at the idea of an actual organized parade. But then, in the distance I heard the unmistakable noise of brass instruments, being badly played I might add, and then saw the first group of Togoelse to walk by. We jumped up, threw a wad of cash at the waitress to cover the cost of our morning breakfast, and ran out to the main road to get a good view. In retrospect, we didn't really need to hurry, the parade was inching along at a glacial pace and we were the only real spectators. As is customary for our lives here in Togo, we were much more the focus of the parades' participants attention than they were for us. People were shouting and waving at us standing on the side of the road and taking pictures of us with their camera phones. I quickly coined the term "reverse parade" as it was most obviously an inverse of what an actual parade is. In many ways, I feel that everyday is a reverse parade, but that's a different qualm I have with living here – and not one I really care to discuss at length. Even still, it was quite an event as probably over a thousand people walked past carrying the banners of their respective organizations/companies. My favorite "float" was the water company who what cleverly created a closed loop water pump in the bed of the truck and had someone standing continuously pumping water into a cistern – it was pretty neat, I gotta say. Afterwards, we went back to my house, made some banana bread, and hung out. All in all, a pretty good "fête."   Things are going splendidly here in Togo and I must say that the past 3 months have been the most productive in terms of my work and integration. I attribute this to many things, but mainly a higher level of comfort I now have communicating in French. I've also been pushing a lot to get projects going and thanks to the relationships I've forged with my Togolese counterparts, I have had much success collaborating with some very capable people. In fact, I credit most of my success these past three months to them.   My first large project was the Men's Health and Wellness trainings that I organized throughout my city. The project was based on a philosophy called "Men as Partners" which focuses on educating men to see the inequalities between the genders and to empower them to make positive decisions to advance their well being and that of their communities. The program follows an "ecological model" which is really just a fancy way of saying that the activities encourages the participants to draw their own conclusions on different issues presented to them as problems in their society. Within the realm of gender equality/equity, sexual health/reproduction, violence, communication, and drug use, the 40 men that received the training were encouraged to re-examine the status quo and determine for themselves if their position in society as men could do anything to address the issues. In conjunction with the Red Cross, my two counterparts and I trained eight Red Cross volunteers in how to facilitate the MAP (Men as partners) sessions and over the course of two weeks we held four separate trainings, each within the communities lasting for 4 days each. I would say that I felt the project was most successful in that the participants seemed motivated to share the information with their communities, and to inform other men of their responsibilities in the Togolese patriarchal society to promote change. Participants at every training thanked me at the end for giving them a new way of looking at their lives and I was surprised by how strongly some men felt about the topics we discussed. One man at the end of the last training came up to me and told me that after the training, he felt that gender inequity in terms of access to education was the biggest obstacle to Togo's development. He said that because he loves his country he would send each of his 3 daughters to school and ensure that all of them finished high school. I was very taken aback by this statement mostly due to the fact that this same participant who indirectly supported the statement on the first day that "men are smarter than women." It was a fantastic first project and it gave me a lot of experience with working with HCNs (host country nationals), managing a budget (it was a USAID funded project), and working on developing capacities at the community level. Over the next three months, the men in each group (four total) will carry out activities within their community and in September I will be doing follow-up interviews to assess their progress and whether or not the MAP philosophy made any difference in their lives. In all honesty, I'm not sure if I'll see the tangible results of this project during my service, but when considering the steps of behavior change, and getting people to implement things they learn, I feel that almost all 40 men made remarkable strides.   Other fun work activities that I've been doing include working with 12 Togolese NGO representatives teaching them basic Microsoft Word during an 3 day NGO conference organized by fellow volunteers; sharing enriched porridge practices with the participants at a well-being fair organized by a fellow volunteer; continuing my work with a youth club and mothers club at an NGO that supports people living with/affected by HIV; and starting a moringa garden at the Red Cross office in my town. (Moringa is a tree known as the "miracle tree" all over Africa for having amazing properties such as a high protein/vitamin content in the leaves in addition to nearly 8 other uses. A big part of the Peace Corps does in Africa is teaching people how to grow and use this awesome plant.) Approaching the year mark in my service (I know, when did that happen?!) has been good for many reasons, but mainly because I feel that I have developed some solid relationships with Togoelse and Americans alike, pushed myself a little to do things I'm not 100% comfortable with, and because I've learned how to "live" here and make myself happy. The other day I made an amazing chicken pot pie and brownies using all local ingredients, and it was DELICIOUS. I am always missing my friends and family back home and sometimes I get down on myself for not communicating as much with them as I probably should, but I'm trying. I know these blogs don't come as regularly as they should, and I'm working on it.   I also wanted to give a quick shout-out to any incoming PCVs who may or may not be reading this blog since it's linked to the Peace Corps blog website (personally I couldn't get enough of volunteers' blogs before I came to country. I'm still awkwardly dropping facts that I read on peoples' blogs to them…it's a bit of awkward at times, ha ha!) This experience is an absolute roller coaster, so just be prepared for it to be awesome and ridiculously ridiculous (e.g. reverse parade, green oranges, etc.) all at the same time. Please don't worry about what to pack, just bring what will make you happy. With everything else, you can manage here. My prized possessions from home: non-stick saucepan and hair products. Eat a turkey sandwich for me before you come, please!   Love, Ryan 

The good ol’ days…. I must be old if I am starting a sentence with those words. Ah, yes, I am “older”. In a few days, I will commence the last year of my 40’s.

I remember when...· My brother and I would spend hours fishing in a little creek near our home. · We also rode our bikes to a 7-eleven when a full-size candy bar was only 10 cents.· Going to a drive-in theatre was so much fun.· If I wanted to use the phone, I had to pick up the receiver to make sure there was no one else using the phone (yes, we actually had a party line in West Virginia). And yes, we could listen in on each others’ conversations.· Someone would fill up my gas tank, check my oil, and wash my windows. For free.· I’d dig up potatoes.· I typed term papers on a typewriter and used things such as ribbon, carbon paper, white-out, and my pillow to scream into when I didn’t leave enough room at the bottom of the page for my footnotes.· I sold the first IBM personal computer that had a 10 MG hard drive. “More storage than you’ll ever need,” was what I would tell my customers.· I sold the first Mac personal computer in 1987. And I loved it then as much as I love it today.· There was no such thing as the internet, cellphones, smartphones, and all that goes with it such as Yahoo!, email, or Facebook. Ah, the good ‘ol days. Maybe it's just the memories of my childhood and young adulthood. I didn't have a mortgage, bills to pay, or so much responsibility?So, how do my fond memories of years ago relate to my life here in Togo? Well, there is something to be said about contentment. While complacency may be a side-effect, there really is a wonderful aspect to being content.I watch kids play with rocks with quite some creativity, drag broken toy cars or an empty can tied to string, play with cards in some imaginary game, or play a fun hand-clap-feet-kick routine and laugh with such joy as they try to out-wit each other.My point is, what I watch is very sweet and simple and wonderful. And how I live is also just, well, simple.There are no grocery stores. There is one market. There are boutiques that sell a handful of specialty items, but no Target, Walmart, Costco, IKEA, or Staples. There is such simplicity to it all. I can’t be confused or frustrated in deciding which item to buy, because in all likelihood, there’s only one choice. And when I find joy by having lots of time to read a book or to know that it will take me one hour just to make it from one part of town to the other because I have to stop to greet everyone I know, I think I’m pretty lucky to have that time to be present. I am not stressed. I don’t feel rushed. There’s no such thing as “being late”.I wish you could be here to enjoy the simple life. And to be reminded of a time that was so easy, never rushed, and full of contentment.Reverse parade (per Ryan)May 1 was Togo’s Labor Day. Ryan and I heard about a parade and were determined to see it. Well, we saw it! About 12 – 14 organized groups walked or moto’d down the main rue.Now normally in a parade, there are lots of people who stand along the streets to watch the parade’s procession. They will wave to the people in the parade, take their pictures, shout their names, etc. Well, we had a “reverse parade”. All the people in the parade’s procession stared at me and Ryan (we were standing on the side of the road). They waved to us. They pointed at us. They took our picture. Some of the people recognized Ryan and some recognized me and so they naturally, shouted out our names to get our attention.It was a reverse-parade with me and Ryan as its stars and I must say, it was spectacular. It really was our 15 minutes of fame (and literally, the parade was about 15 minutes.)

When I do physical labor I become the village television. People just stop whatever they are doing to come over and see the show. Oh look, there’s Kossi working in the field. Let’s stare at him. There he is pulling up water. Let’s watch. Hey, there he is sweating and biking up the hill. How interesting.

Straining yourself and being the object of everyone else’s attention at the same time can be difficult, but eventually you get used to it. Today as it was getting hot I returned to my house, put on some dirty clothes, and went to help a friend build an enclosure for pigs. Villagers in Anfoin raise many types of animals. Most roam free: goats, chickens, dogs. But some, like pigs, they keep in pens. They build these pens the same way they build walls for their houses: mixing red clayish dirt with water and building it into a wall to to dry in the sun. Today we worked on the first part, rounding up a bunch of clay and mixing it with water to prepare to build walls for the pen.

As we used the hoes to scrape clay and a girl carried basin after basin of water over on her head to add to the mixture, passers-by just sat and watched. This job was not easy: the wet earth was heavy to get at with the hoe and to mix it we sloshed our feet up and down like going through a long swamp. My friend described the work as ‘decourageant,’ discouraging. However, I found that I was learning a lot: the consistency of mixture that was good for building a wall, how to get clay ready before the girl came to pour it on, etc.

I also noticed the amazement of some of the villagers that I was actually doing work. Unlike some Peace Corps Volunteers’ villages, most of the Togolese in Anfoin have seen foreigners before. But they have only seen them taking pictures at the market, driving quickly through town in nice white air-conditioned NGO vehicles, or together with other foreigners at a missionary compound. They have not seen them working.

Last weekend, I was helping Francis, a wood carver in a nearby village, build another pig pen but in a different way. Instead of building a clay wall for the enclosure, he was constructing a living fence using bamboo and a local tree called ‘Izopt’ with the occasional Moringa cutting. ‘Izopt’ cuttings will sprout when planted, like Moringa, and can be planted very close together to form a thick fence. When I went to visit Francis last Saturday, he was building this and I had nothing else to do so I helped him. Francis’ left arm got mangled in an accident, so he can only use his right for everything. He decided we were finished for the day, and his son chopped up coconuts for us to eat and I biked home.

I came back the next day to help Francis continue. By this time, my hands (which had gotten soft from preparing presentations for trainings, articles for magazines, etc.) had some nice cuts and blisters going on. We worked for a while and then put down the work to go over and watch an old man cut the throat of a goat and a chicken and douse the local fettish in blood to honor ancestors. Then we worked for a while more, and when it got too hot I took a shower and got ready to bike home.

Before I could take off, Francis invited me to go somewhere. It could have been a funeral or giant gathering or tiny meeting, but I had nothing on the program so I agreed. We biked to a local ‘villageois’ buvette where there was a beer poster hanging outside and a dangling cord bringing electricity to the fridge from the main line. It was here that Francis told me how honored he was that I had returned to help even with all of the cuts on my hands. Francis is dirt poor, but he bought us lunch and tried to buy us both beers (an incredible luxury that the poorest villagers may taste once a year) before I said I would be getting those (I let him get the third one to share).

The walls and fences I help to build are made of clay and branches. But I like to think that at the same time I’m helping my neighbors become more open-minded, breaking down that idea that foreigners just don’t do this kind of thing. I get tired a lot faster than them, but I will still pick up a hoe and give it a shot.



My friend Francis chillin' on a mat

Christophe DJIKOUTIKE, my Togolese counterpart, is one of the few people I’ve met in Dapaong who just gets it. He fully understands Peace Corps Volunteers are not sent to cities and villages to give sizeable donations, to give cadeaux similar to those millions have received on The Oprah Show, etc. He gets that we are here to educate, to exchange cultural ideas and ideals, and to hopefully improve life in Togo.

At 7:54am, I received a text from Christophe. He officially invited Katy and I to celebrate le Premier Mai with he and his wife Martine—a woman half his age and twice his size. Niiiiiiiiice, Christophe. Nice.

At first I was hesitant to accept. Katy and I had already accepted two other invitations and we knew very well that such invitations would include food, drinks and dancing. Accepting the invitation was an absolute confirmation that our stomachs would despise us by the end of the day. End of the day??? No. That’s not correct. By the end of the afternoon!!!!

So what did we do? We accepted. Boom.

Thank goodness I ate a hand full of mixed nuts and a mango for breakfast!!

ROUND ONE:

Katy and I arrived at Christophe’s house shortly after 11. Christophe was out in search of la soupe de bon mil (a.k.a. good tchakpa), so Katy and I sat outside, stared off into space and occasionally came back to reality to admire the art of pounding yams. Fufu was on the menu. Score!

So…yes, we ate fufu with a tomato sauce and beef. I often enjoy dining chez Christophe because in addition to everything else he gets, he is fully aware of our disgust to stomach lining. Or is that just me?

I had nearly finished my plate when Christophe said, “Oh, il faut ajouter.” (Oh, it’s important to add.) Ummm…Christophe. I did tell you we had another lunch scheduled with Katy’s homologue. Did he listen? Nope! Fortunately, he gets a kick out of my sassy personality. So when I took the serving spoon from his hand and cut Katy’s second helping of fufu in half to split between us he just smiled.

Of course we couldn’t leave his house without taking a pitcher of tchakpa!!! I guess we were just hoping we could.

ROUND TWO:

We wanted to walk off some of our food before our second date, with Katy’s homologue. That, however, did not happen. First, we were so full we could barely breathe let alone walk a mile. Second, we were running a little late. Pfpfpfpf…l’heure africaine…we’re never late.

So we took motos. Before mounting the moto, my friend Robert walked up to say and confirm our date later. We confirmed and then told him we left tchakpa on Katy’s porch and he was welcome to take it and share with others. Little did we know…

Katy and I arrived at our second destination with no desire to continue consuming liquids and food. But what were we to do? Say no. Yeah, that would have gone over well!

We ate soup—but really it was tomato sauce—spaghetti and enough meat to fulfill my protein intake for the week. We struggled. I finished slightly more than half my plate but wanted to vomit. That was it. I was done. At least for an hour.

Before Round Three, we decided to walk (instead of taking motos) back to Katy’s house. No doubt I was waddling either like a penguin or a pregnant woman in her third trimester.

The hour we had to rinse off and GO HORIZONTAL (i.e. lie on a mat) was sufficient enough. Well, kind of.

ROUND THREE:

Since our rendezvouswas scheduled for 16h, we figured food might not be involved. Damn it. We were so wrong.

We met our favorite seamstress at Bar Obama. That’s right. Obama!

As soon as we walked up to the table, it was unmistakable…plates, cutlery and giant cooler. They waited to eat with us. Balls!

Couscous, chicken and beer. Need I write more? No.

Following the day’s pattern, we ate and we drank, but this time we danced. Togolese always get a kick out of foreigners doing the Moba dance. Of course, I didn’t expect everyone at the bar to stare at me while I danced. And somewhere in the middle of all the dancing I got a marriage proposal from a man whose wife sat right next to him and she accepted me too. Yikes!

I could write more, but just enjoy the photos below (Give me a couple of days. Internet is pretty terrible today.). It was a good day. We had some laughs, we ate lot, and we drank a lot. Reminded me of Thanksgiving.

Until next time…J

So, I've heard that the trick to surviving the Peace Corps is to go in with no expectations, however, I've already had to do an aspiration statement where I talk all about what I expect to do for Togo. How am I supposed to know if I can really change anything or if they'll even listen to me there? So switching gears, I've come up with a new list, of how I hope to improve myself over the next two years.

My new goals to focus on:

Become fluent in French (or a native language, or both)

Have a dream in said language

Learn to balance large objects on my head while I walk

Hone my letter writing/calligraphy skills

Spend time stargazing out in the middle of nowhere

Shake my booty like a real African woman

Master my bargaining skills

Kill my own meal (maybe...)

Find a nice Togolese boy (or maybe an expat, but no French boys, Grandma doesn't approve)

Dedicate more time to painting and drawing

Get better at photography

Travel around Africa

Ride a horse (doesn't really have anything to do with Togo, but I just want to)

Cultivate a detachment from all my stuff

Yup, seems do-able.

And then there are my fears:

That I start looking like a homeless person, which according to other volunteers is a real possibility

That I get lost in the jungle, in my mind another real possibility, considering how often I get lost driving here, with road signs, and a GPS

That I wont find anywhere to blow-dry my hair

And my sister's fear:

That the combination of my clumsiness and the "dangers of Africa" will lead to my demise

Let's hope not...

In the past month I have seen more of my prefecture Vo (comparable to a county) than I ever thought I would, and all of it was from the back of my counterpart’s motorcycle. From our journeys I am convinced my counterpart, Fogan, knows everyone in the prefecture or possibly just that he really really likes to wave and honk his horn. I have seen Vo’s phosphate mines and fields of manioc, napped under the trees, and stumbled off the moto with stiff legs, but most of all I have been able to speak with rural villages all over the prefecture about family planning.

In my work here in Vogan I have been so lucky as to pair up with a local NGO—ASFECDI—that works with health and women’s rights. Much of their work is with sixty-one different farming cooperative groups (groupements) around the prefecture of Vo; promoting women’s leadership and helping to connect these rural agriculture groups to sources of micro financing. For the past month ASFECDI has assisted me in working with these rural groups in another way—through educating about family planning—an endeavor the NGO hopes to continue after I leave.

For those of you a little rusty on what family planning is: Family planning is making the active decision of how many children you want and when you want them.

Along with Fogan and two women from the NGO, Felicity and Delfine, I have visited about four to six groupements every week to explain the advantages of family planning and the planning methods available in Togo. We tag-team answering questions and getting the group involved with a small sketch, and of course my three Togolese coworkers serve as my translators for local language.

Having a large number of children is ingrained in much of the culture and expectations of Togolese, but the importance of spacing births is an idea that is easily grasped once it has been suggested. Many people are eager to share their experiences with having too many children and their own bits of wisdom about the importance of family planning. There are of course concerns about family planning and we receive many questions.

Most questions pertain to rumors and side effects of using hormonal contraceptives and other concerns about effects of future children and fertility, but there are also some questions that are a bit different. The rumors people hear about using contraception can be amazingly bizarre and once they become comfortable people ask questions very freely. I have been asked by one man about his wife becoming a loose woman once she can have sex without the fear of having children, who would pay for the parents’ funerals if there were only a few children, having a child born with an IUD in its head if the mother uses that method, and whether or not I personally enjoy sex with a condom.

After our work is done each groupement insists on giving us a meal or drink as a thank you for giving our time. After a long day I have been stuffed with food I can’t refuse, though at least it keeps me from having to cook that day Thanks to another day of groupements that fabricate sodebe (the local hard liquor) I have returned home from work hung over for the first time in my life, granted with the heat it is very easy to become hung over. All day long I was offered shots of liquor and to refuse would have been very impolite. Thankfully, I wasn’t the one driving!

Having closely spaced births is a problem that is very common in Togo. Without knowing how or why to space births many Togolese, particularly many of the rural subsistence farmers, suffer a huge burden by having more children than they can fully support. Not using family planning can have a significant negative impact, not only on the family itself, but on society. Family planning is one of those things that if used can make other behavior and development changes easier to accomplish. Many of the Togolese I have spoken with recognize the problem and I hope will begin using family planning or talking about it with their children and peers.

You may have notice that family planning and access to contraception has been a hot topic in the U.S. the past few months. I don’t want to get political, but I just want to let it be known that according to Togolese law all women are guaranteed access to contraception and family planning tools. It is true that in practice this may not always be the case… but seriously, come on U.S.

So I decided to do the type of blog post that is more therapeutic for me than informative to people reading it, so bear with me. As I’m preparing for service, figuring out all the things I need, talking with current volunteers on FB chat, and just reflecting on why I’m doing Peace Corps in … Continue reading →

Last year, PCV Superstar Lizzy Dupont planed, organized and directed a two-day conference – Conférence pour Mieux Vivre dans Notre Communauté – in her village. The conference, even though a success, exhausted Lizzy and she had no intention of leading it again. Inspired by Lizzy’s efforts and the benefits of the 2011 conference, people in her community decided to make it annual with or without Lizzy. Whoa. SUSTAINABILITY!

And like all PCVs in Togo, I received an invitation to present at this year’s conference on April 28.

Although each presenter had the right to choose his or her topic, Lizzy kindly requested that I present on family planning; my homologue to explain methods of contraception; and PCV Maggie McRae to demonstrate proper utilization of condoms. We accepted.

Most Togolese adults have at least heard of family planning – the words, the definition or the importance. At the conference, I focused my presentation on the future, the advantages of family planning (i.e. fewer children equals more resources for each family member). Americans often consider the future, set goals, have dreams, etc. Togolese, in contrast, seldom mull over the future and it’s a setback. The average Togolese take each day one day at a time. Thankfully, this mentality is slowly beginning to change. More and more high school students dream, even plan on attending university after graduation. Moreover, recently wedded couples no longer desire a family complete with 10+ children. Yes, some might comprehend the importance of family planning, but regular presentations and trainings are imperative. Similar to Togolese education, repetition is key to memorization.

We [Maggie, my homologue, a Togolese volunteer and I] left Dapaong early afternoon and headed south on a bush taxi. Conference organizers had called both Maggie and I the day before and urged us to arrive at the school in Sagbiebou before 5pm. Why? Because each presenter was assigned to a host family in village and it’s proper to arrive before dark.

This was when the fun began.

Spending the night Chez No Clue often reminds me of boarding blind at university. You must know what I mean. Those awkward first days of discovering one another’s quirks, habits, personalities (multiple for some) and etiquettes…ring any bells?? Well in a foreign country, it’s fairly similar only it’s A LOT more awkward—especially if your stay doesn’t exceed 24 hours.

Surprisingly, I’ve become accustomed to uncomfortable situations and random encounters. I suppose I have Togo to thank. Thank you Togo! Friday, April 27 was just another day, another random yet amusing experience.

We arrived at the school in Sagbiebou shortly before 5pm. After having been told the family assigned to host me, a guide led me to the house in BFE. It was very considerate of the organizers to guide presenters to their designated families. Can’t imagine anything more painful than to walk up to a house and say to the owners “Hello, I’m sleeping here tonight.”

I stayed with the village pastor, Pasteur KOMBATE, although I don’t think I actually met him. I spoke to his wife mostly. She was sweet and lovely, a classic African big mama. And she was Moba! For what limited Moba I know, she got a kick out of it.

After first introductions – How is your family? Children? Husband? Work? Health? – the mom offered me a chair. I sat and stared off into space for several minutes while the family prepared my room. It’s not unusual for a family to offer up an entire room, even their own bedroom for guests, especially Caucasian guests.

To my surprise, the room had a bed and a chair. Nice! They also sprayed some sort of perfume in the room. I couldn’t help but wonder what scent they hoped to cover up. Ah well. Shortly there after, I set my personal belongings on the bed and returned to my chair outside and watched. If you’re not a people watcher, don’t come to Africa. It’s not only an art but also life! What did I watch? Everything.

Since it rained early that day, I watched as one daughter scoop out stagnant water from holes in the compound floor. I gaped at the beautifully built mud houses, terrains made of compacted red gravel and large tree silhouettes. I also studied the animals in the compound. Well, I counted them first. Times like these, you’ve got to be a self-entertainer. Maggie named all the animals she saw in her host family’s compound. I counted mine. I first saw five chickens. Then I noticed one goat, a dog, two guinea fowls and four pigs.

When all you’ve got is time to think – since the family doesn’t talk to you – you often ask yourself a plethora of questions. These questions commonly arise when someone looks at you, smiles or laughs, but doesn’t speak.

What questions?

Do they think they’re special because a white person is sleeping in their house? Do they like my bright green pagne pants? Are they confused because I speak French, but I am reading an English-language magazine? Are they wondering why I am writing on this magazine? Why are they staring at my toe ring? Do they also believe that anklets on a right ankle mean a woman is single? Is she married? (Why? You going to offer your 10-year-old son to me?) Does she eat African food? (I sure do!)

A DUCK! Boom. Any more animals?

While I was unaware of the dinner menu, I was surely aware of the dinner plan. That is, the mother’s plan for me to eat alone at a clothed table with separate cutlery and separate portions.

Although she had no intention of dining with me, I insisted. She smiled, laughed and said she would join me after she fed her children.

When she finally sat down at the table, I had already finished one-and-a-half portions of spaghetti with tomato sauce. I stared at my empty plate for a minute before I gave in and added another half helping to ensure we ate together. Naturally, two helpings of spaghetti weren’t enough. She insisted I eat more. I made a sound, which translated into English meant “Holy balls, Mom, I’m full!” Nevertheless, I obliged. In addition to the THIRD HELPING of spaghetti, she ordered me to eat the last sardine. I respectfully refused and told her I already ate one and she must eat the other. It’s only fair, right? So what did she do? She took off a sliver (amounting to a tablespoon) and said I must eat the rest. I laughed, shook my head, removed my plate from the table, and said I wouldn’t finish unless she took it all.

And so she did. Ha ha. Sucker! Needless to say, she officially liked me after the battle over who eats the last sardine.

The night got a little exciting after dinner. A storm hit. A torrential downpour mixed with violent winds nearly removed the tin roof. As I sat with the family indoors, rainwater sporadically dripped on me. Pfpfpfpfpf. I didn’t mind at all because the storm cooled the air.

After the storm mellowed, I decided it was time for bed. It was time in part because I was exhausted and in part because no electricity equals early to bed. Done.

The next morning I woke up crossed. I was angry because the storm’s cool breeze didn’t last the entire night and thus I woke up several times drenched in sweat. But mostly, I was irritated and confused as to why nobody killed the dog that barked outside the house from 10pm until 4:30am. WTF. Togolese are accustomed to sleeping through anything and everything, but come on! It was ridiculous.

Although the dark circles and bags under my eyes were evident, I told the mom I slept well. For breakfast, she made me coffee (How did she know?!?!) and placed a whole baguette (pain sucré) next to the cup. The coffee tasted like watered-down skim milk with coffee flavoring, but it was drinkable. I might have been exhausted, but the family was so pleasant I just couldn’t bring myself to show the fatigue.

The day of the conference was a bit crazy. Although my booth was informative, most spectators seemed to be interested in contraceptive methods and the condom demonstration.

For lunch, all presenters were ushered to the “reception hall” where Maggie and I were invited to sit next to the prefect. Oh yes, we are THAT important. Maggie sat next to me and I sat next to gendarmes with AK-47s. “Hi…is that on safety?!”

Anything else??

No, not really. Overall I think the conference went well. There seemed to be too many children and not enough adults at the event.

I got a certificate. Yay!

We left for our return trip to Dapaong once the conference ended at 4pm.

Hope you enjoyed this story.

Until next time…J

I did not ride a rollercoaster in Togo, nor would I if one was available. (Because I probably would not trust its stability). But, this month reminded me of riding a rollercoaster at sunset- a fun, non-stop, everything-at-once ride, where once in a while, you get a lag that is just long enough to take in the world: earth and sky. April was wonderful; just like riding a rollercoaster at sunset. I was so busy, and so much happened, but everything was good (except for this weird abscess on my foot).

THE HIKE

There’s a small pathway from Travis’s village to Niamtougou, a large town with a super duper market. You walk from his house, to the mountain a couple miles away by the waterfalls, then ascend and descend two mountains, cross a stream and reaching the road. It’s a difficult hike, but with gorgeous views, and I had wanted to hike it since Travis first mentioned it about a year ago. So, one day, early in the morning, three of us (Travis, me, and Travis’ friend) started the hike, crossing the barren fields, and hiking the two mountains. The first mountain is very steep and rocky. It’s like you’re climbing up a cliff and if you misplace your foot, you’ll just tumble the whole way down to the valley. As we were climbing, a group of women came up behind us. They were all barefoot and carrying huge basins filled with stuff on their heads. And they passed us! I can’t imagine doing that – climbing the mountains with just my own weight was strenuous enough (like Old Rag-if you’ve ever hiked in the Appalachians) – but then to do that while carrying a heavy load on your head! And barefoot! And maintaining balance on the cliff! – and for the women who had babies- carrying the baby on your back! Wow. We made it to the market at about 9am, and spent the whole day just exploring the market, eating market food, and drinking lots of cokes (it was sooo hot and sunny). A couple of Travis’s friends and a couple volunteers met up with us, and as heat of the direct sun started to subside, we left the market to go back to Travis’.

The way back was gorgeous again, but much more difficult. After taking in the view at the top, we began the descent down the steep rocky mountain. It took a lot of time and concentration; I would not want to do that at night or in the rain. We finally reached flat ground and started making our way through the barren fields dotted with village huts. Soon, though, we heard this huge noise coming for the mountains behind us- it reminded me of the rain in Kanté- how you can hear it pounding the tin roofs a mile away before reaching your own roof. We couldn’t see rain, though, so we didn’t know what it was, but decided to start speed-walking. The sky was getting darker, and the wind was picking up, like it wanted to rain, but still no rain was in sight. Soon we realized what the noise was, as a huge gust of wind seemed to push us from behind and then swirl all around us. I had to close my eyes and cover my mouth and nose with my shirt as I felt dust and dirt and random things hitting my back. When the wind subsided enough so that I could open my eyes to slits, I saw this strange black cloud of dust moving across the landscape with the wind. It was weird because it was darker than and separate from the sky. Some fires had started too and they looked incredibly dramatic against the backdrop of black dust. I tried to take pictures, but the combination of my inability to see (because my eyes were just barely open), my fear of breaking my camera, and the incredible amount of dust and wind, I think only one picture turned out. The fires seemed untamed, and you could see the wind pulling the flames into the sky and further into the dark landscape. We decided to speed walk/ run as best we could with eyes half closed; the sky was getting darker, and the wind didn’t seem to be letting up. We were about a half mile from Travis’s when a raindrop started to fall here and there. The small rain with insanely strong winds and dust, moving everything, regardless of whether it’s a tree, leaves, dust, fire, or me – seemed so powerful – It felt like I could just jump and the winds would let me fly. Luckily, I didn’t decide to jump or try to fly, but just laughed as we ran/walked along the small rocky path towards Travis’s house. Somehow, the downpour held off for a bit, letting us get to shelter. And not one minute after we arrived at Travis’s did the rain come, pounding on his tin roof. The three of us cooked a little food (we were starving) and then ate and watched the rain. You couldn’t even talk because of the tin roof noise. It was the strangest storm ever.

EASTER

Easter here was very busy. Friday, I went with my friend Pauline (Pauline the runner; I know about 5 different Pauline’s here) to participate in the way of the cross. This is when you follow the path Jesus took before being crucified, stopping at certain points to remember certain events of the “walk”. It was noontime when it began, and the sun was directly overhead, and it is the middle of hot season. I was covered in sweat the whole time. And the man who played the role of Jesus was carrying a real wooden cross twice his size and the men who played the soldiers were actually whipping “Jesus” with tree branches. “This isn’t how we did it in Catholic school in the states,” I thought “this is much more intense.” We walked around town until about 3:30, when we arrived at the Catholic Church and they up righted the wooden cross, and “Jesus’” arms were tied the arms of the cross, and he hung, in the hot sun, for a good 20 minutes. Then we all went into Church for a short service.

The next day, Saturday, everyone was talking about midnight mass. So, I decided to get dressed up and go. But, two hours in, my friend sent someone to get me, telling me to come with her. So, I left to see what was up, and realized she just wanted someone to go get a cold drink with her. So we went to get a cold drink. The next morning, I had to run an errand, and passed by church to see my friend eating at the breakfast porridge stand outside. “Mafisa! Bonjour! Come over here and eat with me!” she said “Are you going to church?” “I don’t know,” I said, “Are you going to church?” “Yes, I just stepped out for a minute to get something to eat,” she said. “Ok, well I will wait with you while you eat and then we will go to church together.” We then went to church, which was completely packed. She told one of her kids to get off the benches and I took that spot while the kid sat on the floor with the billion other kids. Everyone in the church was singing and dancing. The crazy lady who hangs out by the station was there; she danced so much her shirt came off! (Literally). At one point, they had collection – when everyone gives a small coin or whatever they can to help the church. But, this collection wasn’t like the collections I was familiar with in the US. Everyone had to dance up to the front of the church, drop their coin in the basket, and then dance back. The mass continued and then my friend asked me what day I was born. “Friday,” I said. “Ok,” she said, “you go up when they call Friday”. Everyone started singing and dancing to this song involving the days of the week. First was Monday, and everyone who was born on Monday started dancing towards the front of the church, where another collection basket waited. The days of the week continued until they called Friday. “Go!” my friend said, “This is Friday! This is your day!” So I grabbed my coin, joined my fellow ‘Friday-born’s, and danced my way up to the front of the church. At the end of mass, it was announced: Friday won! We raised the most money! The Friday-born who was sitting nearby came up to me “We won! We are the best!” Yes, I had no idea I was going to be involved in such a competitive situation when I entered church that morning, but I enjoyed it. Church was fun, and even though it had been awhile since I’d been in a Catholic mass (and needless to say, this mass was so different than the masses I knew), I could still see the comfortable structure, and it reminded me of home. After mass, I went to my friend’s house where she gave me a huge plate of food, which looked like it should be eaten over the course of 3 days. I stuffed all the food in my mouth, even though my stomach was pleading with my brain to stop, because it’s impolite to not finish a meal. Then I half wobbled (because of my giant full stomach) and half ran (because I thought I was going to poop my pants) back home. That’s when I discovered my neighbor Clarisse just had a baby!

CLARISSE’S BABY

Clarisse, my neighbor, had a baby!!! I was so excited because it seems like she’s been pregnant forever! I saw her at the Easter vigil (Saturday night) and she was fine; big stomach, smiling face. And then the next time I saw her she was in so much pain after walking just a few hours after giving birth. The baby is lovely. It’s a girl, but they haven’t officially named her yet. They usually wait awhile before naming babies here.

FIREBALL IN MY HOUSE

One day, some of my favorite English club kids came over. I was cooking something for everyone when the tube that connects my gas tank (which is inside) to my stove apparatus fell off. This happens a lot, but I usually just stick it back on and continue my cooking. But this time, there was fire shooting out. I couldn’t quite tell where the fire was coming from; it seemed everywhere. I yelled for Michel, one of my English club kids, while I grabbed a bucket of dirty water, throwing it on the gas tank, which was surrounded in fire. The flames receded, but a split second later came back! Michel and the boys came in, and somehow, they pulled the tube (immediate source of the fire) away, allowing me to run up to the gas tank and twist the handle into the “Closed” position. The fire stopped and we all stared – speechless at my gas tank. After a minute, everyone started helping to clean up. Some kids started cleaning the kitchen (which was now covered in really gross water) and some started analyzing the gas tank - tube – stove connection. After everything was clean, and the tube was extra-securely fastened, I finished cooking, and we all ate a well-deserved meal.

THE TUMOR

One day after a morning of helping with baby weighing/vaccinating, I was on my way out of the hospital, saying hi to people and about to get on my bike to leave, when one of the nurses (who I hadn’t seen in a long time) called me from the open window of a hospital room. “Mafisa! How are you!? Come here!” When I walked over, I noticed there were a couple other guys who I hadn’t seen in a while, as well as a boy who was lying on the table. After speaking the standard greetings to everyone, and responding to more jokes about how I should marry a Togolese man and live in Togo forever, I asked why the boy was lying on the table- was he sick. “The boy has a cyst on his head,” the nurse said, “we are going to remove it”. “Oh my” I thought “I didn’t think they did surgeries in this hospital.” “You should sit down and watch!” they said, “take your notebook and write notes and then when you go back to the US you can show the people there what you saw.” I looked at the kid- he looked scared. “Courage,” I said the standard thing to say when someone’s going through a tough time or doing something painful. I grabbed a chair and sat down to watch. As they prepared by shaving part of his head, I looked around the room, trying to compare this room with hospital rooms in the US. I was sweating from the heat and the occasional dusty breeze from the two open windows didn’t help the stifling-ness of the room. Flies were buzzing, zooming around as if this was just another hot room with interesting (for a fly) smells. Stains covered parts of the floor. I remembered back in December 2010 when a bus accident brought in so many people, that this same small room was full of blood and stitches and women crying out for Jesus. Maybe the stains were from that December? Or maybe another accident. Anyway, my thoughts were interrupted when they started injecting the local anesthetic. “Does this hurt” “Yes” “Does this hurt” “Yes” “Does this hurt” “No” “Ok. It is good. We can begin”. The nurse with the gloves cuts the boys skin with a razor, as the nurse without the gloves hands over gauze to catch the blood. The boy moves- trying to bring his hand to his head, as I cringe, and the nurse without the gloves holds down the boys arms. “It hurts” the anesthetic isn’t working. They try to inject a little more, but it doesn’t seem to help that much, so they continue cutting, while the nurse constantly holds the boys’ arms down. Eventually, the anesthetic seems to kick in and the boy calms. They finish cutting the skin and open the area, looking at the “cyst”. But, it’s not what they expected; they cannot cut it out. “This boy must go to Lomé and get a biopsy. Then they will know if this is a malignant tumor or not.” “Will he go to get this done?” I ask “Isn’t it expensive?” “It is expensive,” the nurse concludes, while stitching the boy up. I look at the boy. He is never going to go to Lomé and get a biopsy. That is so ridiculously expensive for a Togolese; it’s just out of the question. And then if it happens to be malignant? – I highly doubt there is any treatment available in Togo, except maybe for the president and his buddies – but for a small unknown village boy? Why don’t they just laugh in this boy’s face? Yes, there are treatments – there’s a solution to this medical problem - but not for you, small boy! And the sad thing is, he probably paid so much to have this small “surgery” done – the gloves, the anesthetic, the syringe; everything must be paid for by the patient. Life – and death- are viewed so differently here than in the US. And I think this is the reason why. There is no money to pay for medical procedures. So people die. There’s nothing you can do about it. In the US people go to all extremes to stay alive, which is good – science and medicine continue to improve the lives of so many people with cures or medications that alleviate symptoms of conditions, infections, etc.. People live longer – and know what to do when they’re sick and how to send death away when it’s knocking on their door. But sometimes it’s sort of a relief to accept death like it’s done here in Togo. Accept death and celebrate a life.

SCARS

One hot and sunny Friday, I went to the market, and ran into my old neighbor and her kids. I missed having her family as my neighbors, so we sat down at the tchouk stand next to her market table where she sells random things like hot peppers and dried beans, and we drank and caught up with one another. Somehow we started talking about scaring. A lot of Togolese you see with have scarring – on their face, arms, hands, ankles, back... all over. There are different types; some symbolize the ethnicity of the person: whether they are Lamba, Moba, Kabye, or one of the other >40 ethnicities of Togo. But apparently one type of scarring, as my friend mentioned while she grabbed her 2 year old before he could cause trouble at the tchouk stand, is independent of ethnicity. Three lines of scarring, she said while pointing them out on her kid, at the eyes, shoulders, elbows, wrists, lower back (and probably some other places I can’t remember), are given to infants to protect them. According to the story she told me, there is a bird that comes in the night to search for infants and kids. If the bird finds a baby, he can grab the baby and fly away with it to a sorcerer. The evil sorcerer will cause bad things to happen (he’ll die or have a bad unhealthy life). But, if a child has the scars, the bird cannot take him/her. A few days later, a few hours after Clarisse gave birth to her baby girl (and had already pierced her ears); I asked when the new baby would get the scars. “No,” Clarisse’s brother said, “She will not be scarred. In the past, they scared babies, but it was for a superstition. See my face? I am not scarred. We will not scar the baby.”

PROMOHANDICAP

Things are picking up with PromoHandicap. The SPA aspect of the project (the hygiene stuff: water pump, latrines, shower area) has already begun because funds, provided by USAID, are already in-country. The other aspect of the project (school and dormitory buildings) is still waiting on donations. Please donate! And check out promohandicap.blogspot.com (a link to the Peace Corps donating site can be found there). It is so much work being involved in every single aspect of the project, but at the same time, it’s thrilling.

One day last week, our small team composed of Mensa, the blind man, Alphonse, the mason and teacher, Tcheou, the hard-working dedicated president, Alisha and I all gathered under some trees on the site of the future school to build the latrine. This latrine is different than normal latrines that are built here. This latrine is super cheap (less than $20.00), and is designed to be moved so that once the hole is full, a tree can be planted. Because latrines are usually viewed as a status symbol here (if you can afford a big pretty expensive latrine, you’re someone worth knowing), it was a little difficult selling this idea to the group, and it was even more difficult sitting down with the group to read the manual and figure out exactly how we would build it. After a series of meetings where we spent hours discussing the minute details of how to build the latrine, we gathered all the supplies and began construction. It was so exciting to see everyone involved and participating, Even Mensa, who’s blind, was able to help, and one of the students who are deaf showed up to help. Lots of women and men who were passing by stopped to help or bring us some food. The day was much longer than we expected, but at the end of the day, everyone was so happy to have actually started some type of building.

The pump has not yet been drilled; it should have been completed in April, but problems with the pump team prevented it from happening. Two of the pump technicians really dislike each other and had middle school-ish drama and fights that someone ended up affected our plan. Luckily, the boss of the group (an American missionary) just arrived, worked with the team to iron out problems, and planned a day for when the team will come up in May.

Another aspect of the project involves going around to allllllll the small villages and parts of Kanté. This is incredibly tiring and exhausting (since we don’t use motos to save money, we end up walking alllll day) Usually we leave the house at like 6 or 7, have a meeting or run an errand, and then start our village hopping. Arriving at the village, the chief greets us and we sit under a big shady tree waiting for other village members to show up. Then, we begin “N Kura ya! O we sartia?” “Alafia” “We’re building a school for kids who are deaf and blind for the whole community. Can you collect some gravel or sand or food to help us with the building process?” The village discusses what they can do to help are start organizing when/where/how much. Then, we thank them and leave, continuing to the next. It reminds me a bit of the Polio vaccination campaigns- how you are so busy you sometimes don’t have time to stop. But, it’s exciting; every village has been supportive of this project; it’s so cool to literally see how the different parts of the community come together to make this one thing happen. Food for workers from Tapouta, a truckful of gravel from Maye, sand from Worongo, and then 15 or so other villages, in addition to the schools.

MEDICAL THING OF THE MONTH: ABSCESSFor Kristine's birthday, a group of volunteers decided to go to the pool. And at the pool I stepped on something, and immediately pulled the weird white plastic thing out of my foot and forgot about it. But, the next day, a bump appeared on the bottom of my foot, and within a couple hours it had grown and started throbbing, and swelled the rest of my foot. The next day I called the med unit and they told me to go get antibiotics. In Togo, you dont need a prescription for anything, whether its ibuprofen or valium. So, I got antibiotics, started taking them, and sure enough, after a couple days of soaking my foot (so much that the infected foot looked like a plump clean cousin to my other foot, which was a typical dirt covered, grossly calloused peace corps foot), my abscess was all better.

A little over a month ago, I was asked if I wanted to participate in an international conference on shea in Cotonou, Benin. Since I live in the north of Togo, my program director assumed that I had shea trees in my village and therefore would be a good potential participant for the Shea Conference. Although I knew a little about shea trees and products like shea butter, I wasn’t really aware of the trees in my village. However, when I asked around, it turns out that several km away in the agricultural fields, there are tons of trees and women collect from them every year. However, the fruit is mainly harvested for local consumption and women only sell nuts (used for shea butter) to women in Mango who fabricate the butter to sell to other Mango women. Anyways, because of my potential to work shea producers, this past week I was able to go Benin with three other volunteers for the shea conference. This conference is organized annually by the USAID West Africa Trade Hub to promote exchange between shea producers, exporters, and buyers. Honestly, before hearing about and going to the conference I had no idea how big the shea industry is. Shea butter is used in many beauty and cosmetic products, but its biggest use is actually as a substitute for cocoa butter in chocolate. The shea tree only exists in a thin strip of land running from southern Senegal through northern Ghana, Benin, and Togo and ending in Uganda. Ghana and Benin seem to be well connected to the export industry, but Togo is hardly involved even though there are plenty of shea trees in northern Togo and women have been collecting the nuts for just as long as Ghana or Benin. Burkina Faso to the north is also a big exporter of sheanuts, but somehow Togo just isn’t as involved as its neighboring countries. So, it turns out that my village and many other villages in northern Togo are completely unaware that they already possess a resource that the international market actually wants.

Anyways, as you can see, going to the shea conference was a very interesting experience. We were told that we would be going to the conference as participants, but when we arrived, it turned out that the organizers were expecting all attending PCVs to help actually run the conference. There were PCVs from Benin, Ghana, Togo, and Guinea and we all ended up performing tasks like stuffing folders, registering participants, and setting up power points for presenters. We still got to sit in on sessions and I still learned a lot, but, as is typical in Peace Corps, there was some miscommunication along the way and somehow we didn’t get the message that we would be helping with the conference not attending the conference. However, we were put up in a hotel with air-conditioning and hot water, served delicious food, and given the chance to spend a week feeling clean, not sweating, and meeting other PCVs and development professionals, so I don’t think one of us regretted coming.

Although the conference was very international and professional, it was still clearly a very West African event. The mix of people was pretty entertaining at times since participants ranged from village women producers to European cosmetic company representatives to USAID officials to international businessmen. The first day, I sat in on a session presented by a botanist at a cosmetic company. Several women producers were sitting in on this session, listening with headphones to the translation in French, and one of the women who had a baby with her (there were at least 10 babies at this conference in typical West African style) started breastfeeding. Breastfeeding here is not a private act like in the States. Every day when I walk around, I see women breastfeeding their children. However, to see the culture clash of a Beninese women in African pagne breastfeeding her child while sitting next to a German business owner both listening to an American woman talk about marketing cosmetic products in one of the fanciest hotels in Benin was very amusing. I was wondering the whole time what these women from villages (most of which were probably similar to mine) must have been thinking entering this fancy hotel, experiencing air-conditioning and flush toilets, and, of course, the massive daily lunch buffet. I saw many women taking advantage of the buffet by piling massive towers of food onto their plates and sneaking some away for later in plastic bags. Although I’m sure it was a very eye-opening experience, I hope they got something concrete out of the conference and weren’t just completely overwhelmed.

Overall, going to the conference was a great experience. It was fun to get to just feel put together and professional for a change. In fact, getting the correct professional attire was a bit stressful as most of us dress in pagne wraps, mumus, and flip flops on most days. A day before the conference, we went to Lome 2, which is a massive dead yovo market in Lome. Dead yovo markets are places you can go to find secondhand clothing from Europe or the States. Most clothes were probably donated by people like you and me when we get tired of an outfit or have outgrown a certain style or size. However, the clothes are referred to as “dead yovo” because locals believe only a foreigner (yovo) who was dead would give up clothes like that. Anyways, Lome 2 is this massive stadium by the port just filled with dead yovo clothes. Most of the clothes aren’t hung up but rather lie in massive piles that merchants will go through searching for what you’re looking for and throwing clothes at you as they go along. However, despite the chaos, you can find really good and cheap stuff there. For example, for the conference I found a nice H&M dress for the equivalent of 6 dollars and leather black flats for 3 dollars. So, my PCV friends and I managed to dress ourselves pretty well after a few hours spent searching through the clothing piles of Lome 2.

In addition getting to look and feel good for a few days, being at the conference was very validating as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I met so many professionals with appealing jobs who stated how great and impressive the Peace Corps experience is. In fact, many of the Americans at the conference had actually been in the Peace Corps. The conference also reiterated the fact that the Peace Corps experience is not representative of the lives of most development workers in the field. Most live in a capital city, have access to amenities, and see other Americans on a daily basis. While standing in line for champagne at the conference cocktail party, a PCV from another country turned to me and just said, “Man, Peace Corps is hard.” It’s true, as volunteers we are always comparing ourselves to each other and getting down on our own work experiences. We often forget just how unique and deeply challenging the experience really is. So, seeing another side of the development world really reminded me of how great it is that I’m getting the chance to really live in and understand my community and the challenges they face and it also reminded me that a future career in development doesn’t have to mean more sweaty, crowded bush taxi rides, fan-less nights, and intense cultural isolation.

So, I learned a lot and had a good time. Now, I’m going to ask more questions about shea in my village and region and get information from the few groups that do buy and export shea and shea products in Togo. In 6 months, I won’t be able to form a women’s group that will export shea internationally, but I can hopefully get together some information and encourage Peace Corps to cover shea in training and put more emphasis on shea projects because it’s an area where Togo really has some un-tapped potential.

There was a saying we used to use on the farm growing up: red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. A dusk sky lit up in red would mean a beautiful tomorrow; red in the morning meant rain and less desirable weather. Lately, it seems my life revolves around surviving the heat, watching the skies to predict and estimate when the rain may come and relieve us, and praying for lots of red sky mornings.

Last night I went for a long run; a necessity after my weekly girls club. I love these girls but have noticed my frustration level after each session concludes, hence the run. After talking with Michael I realized how responsible I feel for these 25-30 girls middle school-aged girls. As if their lives, their futures depend on me and my ability to reach them with valuable information. Information and time focused just for them that I don’t know if they will get anywhere else. I feel so strongly because often I feel like I’m the only one in their corner; their biggest supporter and advocate for a successful life. Almost like their savior. As foolish as that sounds- and believe me I don’t believe that or want to be their savior, I just so badly want them to have more self confidence, stay away from sex and pregnancy, finish their education, go on to university and be successful, strong women! Combine this with my inability to effectively communicate in French and you’ve got the recipe for a long run – no matter how hot it is. However, like Michael pointed out, it’s impossible to reach everyone, no matter where you are or who you’re working with. He gave a great fishing analogy that helped me gain some perspective. So, I’ve accepted that fact that all work I do in LT will require a counterpart- a local Togolese who can translate my broken, not-with-the-right accent of French into what the audience (most often kids) can understand. This is a humbling realization but perhaps a way to make my work more sustainable. I can look at it this way; when I leave, the kids will have a connection to an adult from LT who they can go to for information or advice. In that way, I can only the hope the learning won’t end for this community when my service does.

Every day that it’s really hot I honestly think, ‘this has to be the hottest yet.’ But I know yesterday was different as it was the first time I had no appetite when I arrived home at noon. As I sucked down a cold plastic bag of citrus juice I just sat on my porch staring off. No energy to move or eat. No attention span to read. It. Was. Hot. Finally, I made myself eat before it was time for girls club, as I knew a run would be in store afterwards.

The morning had been productive before the sun got to me; working with Aposto to plan a small workshop on basic business skills (accounting, marketing) for 5 local shop owners. We watched on their small TV later, as the Independence Day parade made its way through Lome. Togo was 52 years old yesterday. We talked about how there are Togolese around today to tell of how life was before their independence from France. How crazy of a concept that was for me. As we watched the president shake hands and look very Western, I asked them if they think their president eats pate (their favorite meal of paste like corn mush). They both laughed and said of course! And Aposto went on to tell the story of how Togo’s president had brought in a family friend who could make his favorite sauce just the way he liked. I realized then that Togolese truly love pate. They don’t eat it because they have to, or because they’re so used to it, or have nothing else (as I had thought before), they genuinely love it and prefer it. I thought how you might say the same thing of Americans and fast food. How some might think of fast food as less than desirable, when actually a lot of us prefer it! *Usually I would add sadly to this sentence, but I would take any meal from a fast food restaurant at this moment!

I slowly made my way to my French tutor’s (Sinya) house in the near-noon sun, I wished him a happy independence day. We talked about the crops as he pointed out the yam piles I had helped to built were beginning to sprout. He told me how people who grow corn would plant and harvest twice between now and the fall. I told him of my dad’s planting season right now and how the corn would grow all summer and be harvested come fall. “Yes,” he said, “but you have big machines that can work so much better. Here, we work for a few hours digging and planting by hand and we stop because we’re tired.” These are always interesting comments to me because as much as my love for America has grown in my 11 months of service, I’ve also realized that more –or bigger- is not always better. But how can you tell that to someone who thinks America is shiny and good and everything is wonderful? Instead, I pointed out that Togo is young! And that maybe in another 50 years they will have more developed ways of doing things, like planting and harvesting the crops. “We can hope,” I said. “Yes, yes,” he said, “there’s always hope!”

The sun was setting as I headed west and made my way down one of my favorite routes; a dirt road that goes and goes out of LT and into the bush, surrounded by yam fields and dotted with mud huts. While I analyzed the girls club session and took it out on the dirt below my feet, Togo reminded me of where I was and restored my perspective. I ran I passed men, old and young, riding in slowly from their fields on rickety bicycles. Women and young girls (spending their Independence Day in the field) hauling in loads of timber all neatly perched on their heads, babies on their backs and basins filling their hands with the supplies they had taken for a long, hot day in the fields. Right, I thought, this is Africa. While I’m trying to burn calories so many people are just trying to survive. I run miles for stress relief and pleasure, they bike and walk long, but unmeasured distances out of necessity.

This morning after a hot, sticky, night of sleep, I rolled over, slightly dreading having to get up so early to go teach yoga with Catherine. I chuckled a bit and smiled to myself as streams of the red dawn poured into my room; my first red sky morning in Togo.

As some of you may be aware from my recent post on facebook, I had my hair shaved earlier this month. With the temperature rising in each passing day, hot season gradually made this a more desirable and realistic option for me. Some days, the temperature reaches more than 120° and I find myself sweating from just a walk around the block. Even staying indoors doesn’t always provide relief, and sometimes makes the heat more smoldering.

A few days after the shave

This decision wasn’t completely hot season generated though. I’ve always wanted to, or rather been curious about what having a bald/shaven head would be like. I don’t know if I would ever have the guts to do it in the States, but this situation seemed to provide that extra bit of motivation. Now, I can officially check it off my bucket list.

Temperature aside, I also felt more comfortable shaving my hair because it’s a pretty common style for girls here. Just like school fees and other supplies, a shaven head is required for girls and boys attending public institutions. That being the case, I didn’t have to do too much searching to find a barber. In only 15 minutes of my day and 200 Fcfa (roughly 50 cents) out of my pocket, the shave was done. I even added an additional 50 Fcfa tip for the barber, which I think shocked him just as much as the shave shocked me.

I glanced in the mirror just briefly before leaving the shop, expecting the whole community to notice and comment on the change immediately. Instead, I exited and walked down the street just as I had come—without much notice. Even when I passed one of the cafeterias I frequent and talked with the owner for a few minutes, he didn’t say a word about my hair (or lack thereof).

When I left the cafeteria and continued through the market, I encountered the same response—nothing. This seemed so ironic to me, because normally in Togolese culture it’s okay to point out obvious, though less purposeful changes like, “you’ve got a pimple” “your clothes are dirty” or the no-longer applicable: “your hair needs to be braided.”

In some ways, I actually preferred the silence and quickly began to settle into this unexpected reaction. On my way to start doing some work for the day, I was greeted with yet another surprise. For the first time, I got to experience the wind on my head, an experience I will argue is much more satisfying that the wind in your hair.

Before I could enjoy this moment too long though, someone noticed the change and brought it to my attention. Just across from the radio station where I was heading, a lady selling popcorn and other snacks mentioned that I cut my hair and asked, “Is that what you want?” To be honest, I hadn’t yet figured that out for myself, but I responded with a quick, “Yes. It’s finished” in local language, and continued on my path.

At the radio station, I was greeted by the director who was sitting outside doing some paperwork. When he saw me coming, he just stopped and stared until I was close enough to conclusively confirm my identity. He also commented my hair, but asked a slightly different question, “Why did you do that?” Using French, I was able to explain the only good reason I had, “It’s too hot.”

On the other side of the short wall separating the radio station from a weavers group stood my laundry lady. She works washing clothes all over town and was scrubbing away when she stopped to look up at my head in horror. She only speaks local language, but fortunately (or not?) the radio station director I was standing next to delivered a translation for the next few things she said.

“You cut your hair… It’s not good. It’s not pretty. You’re like a man… It was nice before. Why did you cut it?” she demanded.

Before I realized she couldn’t understand, I responded back in French with, “It’s too hot” and then added the only applicable thing I knew to say in Kotokoli, “The sun.”

Again, she explained that my hair “is not good” along with several other things in local language I couldn’t understand and wasn’t given translations to this time. I only stayed at the radio station a few minutes longer before I went around the wall to take care of the second visit on my agenda, to see the weavers.

There, I was standing in front of the laundry lady face to face, and again she mentioned, “It’s not good.” This time she surprised me using English rather than Kotokoli or French. As I started to continue toward the weavers, she added a few more thoughts, now in Kotokoli, “You must put [on] jewelry. You look like men,” one of the weavers translated for me.

With the weavers, I received mixed reactions. However, in contrast to my initial reactions of nothingness, everyone noticed the change and made comments. Like my laundry lady, the weavers weren’t so bashful. The director of the group skipped through the normal greetings to instead say, “It’s not good for me. Your hair.”

Rather than responding myself, I asked another weaver what he thought. “It’s good for me.” He rebuttaled. This marked the first positive review I received. Quickly enough, my conversation with the weavers switched back to work, and in no time it seemed like my hair change was unnoticeable again.

On my way home, I was politely greeted by my neighbors, but again nothing was mentioned about my hair. It wasn’t until I went back out to the market late in the afternoon that things changed. Immediately upon stepping out of my door, my neighbors asked me, “You did your hair? Why?”

Then, at the market, all of the women that seemed not to notice earlier certainly did now. Repeatedly they said, “You did/you cut your hair” depending on the translation I received. Each time though, “Why?” served as the follow-up question. Some women were surprised and gasped when they saw me, adamantly saying “It’s not good.” Others raised their firsts and said, “It’s good! Good work.” Either way, they were all noticing.

Maybe more exciting than the market was another eventful part of my day. Outside my house I was greeted by a group of kids (not unusual), but rather than just say hello from afar, as I stepped toward my door, they ran to me. Several of them just wanted to touch me, so they grabbed my skin or waggled my hand too vigorously to be considered a hand shake. Then, they stopped and just stood there. They looked up at me with the biggest smiles until one tried to capitalize on the moment by throwing out the palm of her hand and saying, “Give me money” in local language.

This unusual, so I retorted with my default reverse psychology line, “Give me money” and put on my palm as well. After a brief hesitation, one of the wiser kids in the group grabbed a small rock from the ground and laid it in my palm. In response, I passed the rock on to the first kid who asked for money, and this seemed to quench the kids like an energy drink. The group started laughing wildly and took turns collecting rocks to put in my hand, or to place in the palms of the others. The more I continued along with the game, the more excited the kids became.

After a few minutes, I was convinced the game might never end, but one of my English club kids (and helpful neighbor) intervened. He shooed the kids a way and urged me to, “go back in your house so you can work. They will just bother you.” He explained.

While that game had the potential to last longer than I would care to play, I was still saddened by the abrupt ending of it. These kids didn’t let me down though. As I stepped inside my gate, the group followed in too with the reasoning, “we want to see your garden.” I didn’t mind that, so I let them in. The kids then started wandering around all over the yard, to the back of my house, and one girl even popped a squat to pee.

Again, the English club student helped me out by rounding up all the kids and again shooed them away. Once we got them out mostly the door, an old man walked in too. Thinking he was just curious about the parade of children exiting my door, or maybe that he wanted to see the garden too, I let him come in. He only spoke local language, but through the translations of my English club student, I learned neither of those reasons were of interest to him. Instead, he wanted to collect leaves. The English club student explained that he was a traditional medicine healer and wanted to collect some of the weeds growing in my garden to use for his craft.

Definitely willing to help him (and clean up my yard a bit), I let him go for it, and joined him in digging up the weeds he wanted. Before leaving, he also tried to give me natural medicine for malaria (not needed as long as I take my prophylaxis) and something for a sick stomach (not such a bad idea for any PCV).

From shaving my head without notice… to some notice, then to neighborhood notice (of that and of other things), it was one of those interesting days to be alive and in Togo. It also demonstrated the juxtaposition I often encounter here. As Volunteers, sometimes it seems like people don’t care one minute, but later on we might find a swarm of people waiting for us at home who do.

Peace Corps/Togo Third Annual Non Governmental Organization (NGO) workshop was held in the village of Sokede in Togo’s Centrle Region on April 12-14. The theme for the Conference was Building Communities, Bridging Continents.

Martin, SeauSo, TamaraThis three day NGO workshop was sponsored and funded by the International Rotary Club. Peace Corps Volunteers Tamara Mack and Martin Stirlicchi were the coordinators this year. The first annual conference was for NGO’s in the Maritime Region, second year was for NGO’s in the Plateau Region and this year was held in Sokede in the Centrle Region of Togo. It’s an ambitious project in itself, with many Togo challenges. Over twenty-five people attended from ten NGO’s. Five sessions were covered under the themes of project planning, strategic planning, human resource management, non-profit marketing, and IT during a 2-1/2 day workshop. This was a great opportunity for us to work with Togo organizations in various stages of professionalism, but all doing good work.

For the second year in a row, I agreed to give a presentation for the NGO Conference. Last year I partnered with Dillon Tindell, giving a presentation and leading a workshop on how to evaluate and measure success of an NGO project or program. This year I partnered with Beau Lore. Our presentation and workshop was on Strategic Planning for an NGO, program or project. All presentations and facilitations were given in French. The entire weekend was Francais! Mmmhmm.

Me and BeauBeau lives way up North but traveled to Maritime (about a six hour bush taxi ride) twice to meet with me and stay with me for a couple days to prepare our presentation. In addition he and I spent many hours practicing our presentation once we met in Sokede, working at least forty hours in preparation. It’s always more work than you think it’s going to be. Most strategic planning for non-profits is easily a three to four day session. We had to condense our presentation of that material into three hours total. We had great direction and reference material from Tamara and Martin, and Beau and I were well matched partners. Kind of a right brain, left brain partnership. We took it all very seriously, but had a LOT of laughs.

The conference itself was held at a large Catholic church complex on the outskirts of Sokede. We had one large conference room and a projector to show our powerpoints. When you think of a conference complex, of course you will think of a nice American conference Room with comfortable chairs and amenities. This was a slab of grey cement with wooden tables and chairs. No amenities.

Lunch/Dinner/Desert

We slept in dorm like rooms with bunk beds, three to four people to a room. I shared a room with Ryan, Tamara and Martin. Showers and bathrooms were shared by all; participants and presenters. It was rough, but everything was clean. We were served our meals, snacks and drinks throughout the two and half days. All of the food was Togolese; either rice or foofoo with sauces and banana’s for desert. Popcorn was served as a snack. For breakfast we had bread and coffee.

Tamara and Martin were great coordinators. They provided amusing entertainment; skits, dancing, telling jokes; in the evenings so that the presenters and participants could get to know each other.

Though this was a lot of hard work, I enjoyed it, and I certainly enjoyed the outcome. The Togolese NGO participants were alert and eager to learn. They were also very pleasant, friendly and fun to be around. It was a lot of information and fairly complex content for them to take in, but they hung in there.

Our Workshop After our presentation on Strategic Planning Beau and I facilitated a workshop to demonstrate one small part of strategic planning. We had the participants break into groups from their own association. There were three or four people per association. Their task was to pose the goal of their association into a positive statement; to define what the immediate objectives were to reach that goal, and finally to determine what the key results would be if they were successful in meeting their overall goal Then one or two of the associations presented their findings in front of the entire group. They did a great job. It was gratifying to see them examine their goals and what they needed to do. Walking around the room and listening to them discuss their NGO’s in analytical terms was very rewarding, and made all the effort Beau and I had put into it well worth the while.

These NGO’s provide Togolese with much needed assistance in health, education, advocacy, development and so much more. I’m quite sure that each person who attended this conference left with information and tools which will make themselves and their NGO’s more professional and more effective. I was really happy to be a part of it.

Sidenote: Fighting the elements of Togo is always part of the package and part of the challenge. It was hot and humid. So hot, we were dripping sweat throughout the weekend. The bunk beds were hard. There were huge spiders, and most of the showers didn't work. For each of the presenters it was easily a six hour bush taxi ride both ways. What makes it al,l not only bearable but so, so rewarding is the comraderie between the Peace Corps Volunteers and the earnest desire for change in Togo from the participants. My thanks to the International Rotary Club for funding; to Tamara and Martin for the endless hours of preparation; and especially to Beau, my right brain pal. We did it!!

I’m singing in the rain!

What a glorious feeling ‘cause I’m happy again!

The count for April showers…

Rainy days: 7 (and today is April 27)

So I officially declare it rainy season. Hot season averted (yes, I predicted it, being the optimist that I am and see? It worked!) Ok, maybe not completely averted. There were some hot days in between there but nothing like veteran volunteers had described. I did NOT have days where all I could do was sit on my concrete floor and melt.

April Fool’sWow, what fun I had with all of you who read my last blog with open mouths. Although I’m a tad distressed that you must think I am that kooky to have believed it. What does that mean?

And, after all these years that I continually convince you of the unimaginable, you still let me have my fun!

Pagné-aholicHi. My name is Richella and I buy a lot of pagné. A lot. Every two weeks, I have four new outfits. As I walk in the marche, the pagné calls to me; it beckons me to come over to feel their gloriousness, to accurately identify the best quality to the good to the eh, to see the beautiful colors and designs, and to bargain like a Togolese woman to get the right price.

And after so much experience, yes, I know what I’m doing. And I know the vendors, where they are, who bargains fairly, who is naughty, and who is nice.

Bright red, green, orange, brown, blue, purple – every color imaginable. And the designs! Big, bold swirls, circles, squares, diamonds, flowers, chickens, roller skates, whistles, fish – you name it, they’ve got it. The more wild and crazy, the better. And I want it all. Truly. I can’t stop looking; I can’t stop buying.

My tailor, Martine, laughs every two weeks as I wander into her home carrying my newfound treasure along with ideas for dresses. Her children sing my name as I walk into their compound. I can’t wait to try on what she has carefully and perfectly created for me.

So, yes I have a problem. A very serious problem.

But it makes me oh, so, very happy.

Home remodelGot me some new tile in my bathroom and hallway. And got me some new concrete in my living room (the new dark gray color doesn’t match the original maroon, but who’s looking?)

I have a question for anyone out there who is a plumber. When the home-renter tells you that there is a leak “in the wall”, why do you not believe her? Why do you demolish the floor and after discovering that the water leak IS in the wall, THEN, you believe her?

And when the water pipes explode four times in two days, what makes you think that doing the same thing over and over again, is the right thing to do?

I have a question for anyone out there who is a mason. When you replace tiles, do you purposely choose not to make them face the same direction? Why do you place them backwards? I would think that after all your years as a mason, the first thing to do would be to make sure the tiles are placed in a consistent manner? Maybe?

Yeah, the home remodeling experience is the same here as it is in Redondo Beach: frustrating but oh, so humorous.

My pride and joyYeah, my 16 ladies in my Village Savings and Loan are simply amazing. We start loans this Sunday and there are three who are interested in taking loans. I can’t wait. I am so, so proud of this project. These women are smart, fun, serious, and just blow me away with their awesomeness. I wish I could convey to you what it feels like to be with them every Sunday. It is truly my greatest joy to be with them.

Last notesI’ll have been here for 11 months come May 4. Yes. Me. Little ol’ me. I can communicate in French; I am Togolese; I have developed relationships with people in my community; I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.

. . . and dust to dust . . .

working dredging the barrage

girl taking care of a baby at the barrage

kittens - - just for you Manoba

This time last year I sat on my porch and watched thunderstorms march across the southern horizon and wept.

Now its been raining for about 2 weeks. Not steadily, but rainy season is definitely here. A couple weeks ago this big storm blew through Kouka (it missed Nampoch). The marche looked like a tornado hit it. There was this unfinished church (block walls, no roof) that was completely demolished. Trees down everywhere.

The rain isnt good for the dam dredging project. Shoveling/carrying mud is harder than shoveling/carrying dry dirt.

The funeral that i mention in my last post was a lot of fun. my cartier and a couple other villages all did theirs at the same time. My cartier killed 6 cows (which never happens), and a lot of other stuff. Slitting a cow's throat is kind of intense. Bry came out for 2 days of it. We went to a neighboring village and watched charlatan stuff for awhile (in which they tried to figure out why certain dead people had died). The next day we went from house to house, drank tchakpa and collected hunks of pig. It was a lot of fun.

I'm glad its started raining. The haze has been, mostly, washed out of the sky and the landscape looks greener.

The setting sun still looks like a vanilla wafer

I saw like 4 dead snakes on the road when i was biking into town today. they come out in rainy season cause their holes flood. The bad thing is that there is too much vegetation to see them . . .

So Ningan dropped 4 little bundles of joy on my bedroom floor one night a couple weeks ago. I got back from training in Pagala and discovered that they are now mobile-ish. Now my house is swarming with cats again. Two of them apparently cant tell the difference between my foot and mommy . . . .

People talk about guard dogs and stuff, but what about guard cats? Its so much more comforting to go to sleep at night with the knowledge that any creepy crawlies in my house will be a snack for Nighan.

Speaking of creepy crawlies, I am cursed with a screwed up curiosity . . . the kind that leads me to shine my flashlight down my latrine at night to see whats there. This resulted in me spraying enough insecticide (the active ingredients of which, im sure, are banned in the US) down there to turn my latrine into a toxic hell. Ants love immobile cockroaches.

One thing I love about it here is that there is always something new and cool to discover. Like yesterday, I went up into the northern part of Dankpen prefecture to talk to a couple cantons about this gender equality thing we're going to do in a couple of months. The last village i went to was up on this ridge overlooking two river valleys. It was pretty amazing. I could see Ghana on one side and a large chunk of northern Togo on the other.

Does time exist where there are no clocks? Yeah, seasons changes, stuff grows and dies, rains come and go, but does this require "time"-- the minutes and hours that constantly slip by like water droplets in a cosmically infinite ocean? the more i think about it, the more i find that looking at my phone is a way to measure the passage of my own mortality rather than to see how long ive been sitting in a meeting. In the broad scheme of things, i really dont have much better to do than to talk to people about how to reduce child trafficking or repairing their pump.

My host dad got a cellphone. Whenever it rings, its a big deal in my compound. In Togolese culture (i think west african in general), there is this idea of "saluating" people. That's franglais. It means that when you see someone you say hi, ask how he or she is doing, ask how the kids are, etc. its a sort of a ritualistic, formulaic process that has deep social connotations. If you dont saluate someone, its disrespectful, especially an older person. Conversely, Togolese love it when you can say hi in local language. No meeting starts without saluating-- late arrivals saluate everyone, and vice versa, no matter who is talking. Anyway, basically, now that Petit has a cellphone, he calls me like twice a day when Im gone to say hi and see if i'm still alive.

So i decided to extend for a 3rd year. in case i havent mentioned this yet

Watching my host mom with my little host brother, david, is interesting. She's tall, taller than Petit, has a gruff voice, and kind of an intimidating presence. When I first got to post, I was kind of scared of her. But watching her one on one with david is really cute. He's a year and a half now, he's walking, sort of speaking, and not as scared of me as he used to be. The other day he tried to help her lift a basin full of stuff up on her head. He had this big grin on his face. I cant really describe her reaction except to say that its probably in the dictionary next to "a mother's loving smile/laugh at her child." Ive been meaning to blog about it for awhile, but i find it hard to describe. Its just this example of unadulterated maternal affection that I dont see often.

Yesterday we stopped in a village to fix one of the motos and like 20 kids came up to shake my hand and say hi. then it started being a dare for the kids who were scared of me. Just one of those things that makes me laugh on a daily basis.

. . . and i dont really remember what it was about, so happy reading

There are a couple of things I miss about the US:

~1. The ability to buy a $1 candy bar with a $50 bill. Do candy bars still cost $1? Here, breaking a 10 mille note (what usually comes out of my bank’s ATM machine, when it works) requires foresight and planning. Like knowing which store is likely to have enough small bills to give you change without sending a kid on a 10 minute search for more. You have to plan your shopping trips in order of the denomination of bills you can use.

~2. Fans

~3. Decent haircuts. Seriously, I’d come back just for a good haircut. Here, haircuts for me are like Christmas—I never know what I’m going to get. Like today for example. My barber sort of knows how to cut caucasian hair, although he shares the Togolese dislike of anything resembling bangs. Hence why I look like I have a huge forehead in all my photos. His clippers sort of cut my hair, after several passes. He plays catch with the guards because they fall off constantly. I sweat under the sheet. I usually go home and use scissors to even out the random clumps he didn’t get. Today, though, was especially special. My barber shares his power line with a welder. Every time the welder welded, the power went out. And he must have been building something big today. For every 10 seconds of cutting, there was 30 seconds of waiting. Oh well, I have short hair now, that’s all that matters.

There is this little lake near Nampoch that was built sometime in the misty past by someone with a bulldozer for the purpose of watering cattle during the dry season. Over the years, the lake filled up with mud, thus reducing its storage capacity. A local NGO organized, and found funding for, a project to dredge the lake. A lot of my friends are working on this. I go down there some days to drink tchackpa, an essential part of a gathering of any type, and hang out with them. Basically, people are paid a certain amount of money (1 mille 350 CFA) per day for a certain number of days (40) to work on this project. Men shovel mud into piles, then into basins that women carry to the edges of the dam and dump. There are like 5 wheelbarrows, but they are used more for lounging than for hauling dirt. Its not easy work. Yesterday I shoveled an amount of lake bed in about an hour that I could have moved with a Bobcat in 5 minutes. Or less. Paying 100 people for 40 days of work in the dry season is better, and probably cheaper, than hiring a bulldozer or something like that to come do the same work in a fraction of the time.

The next time you are unhappy with life in the US, google images “noma”

I just worked out how about 1,350 CFA is in dollars. About $3.

Tomorrow is the start of a funeral fete in my cartier. The simplest way to describe funerals is like this—the funeral doesn’t end after the burial. There is a certain period of dancing/feasting/drinking etc that I’ve talked about before. Then, after that, there is another period of the same thing. This second period can happen a year later, or several years later. Usually is what seems to happen is a group of households who have outstanding funerals get together and have a huge party every couple of years. March is the month for this in the north. Last year I went to one of these parties in a small village near Nampoch. One of the traditions is that each household butchers pigs and gives chunks of meat to visitors. I’d never seen so many dead animals in one place before.

I knew when coming to Togo that most Africans had a different outlook on time than Americans. Americans hate when people are late, rush to complete errands and view their time as a valuable work component. Togolese, in my experience, operate on ”l’heure africaine" and only show up at meetings once they know you have already arrived, they bike slowly on the road until they notice you passing them (at which point they speed up), they can space out for hours in a long bush taxi ride, and they wake with the sun, not an alarm clock. Despite this, I have learned that they are surprised when I am on time and respect me for it. I have learned that they get impatient when a bush taxi is full yet the driver takes an additional 30 minutes to leave and we form a comradeship over our shared frustrations. I have learned that they don’t like to wait in line and will march to the counter and demand service immediately without thought of the others already waiting. However, when I refuse the instant service offered to me because of the color of my skin and declare that I will wait my turn, their irritation quickly diminishes. I have learned that they will continue with a time-consuming task even after you show them a faster way, purely for the enjoyment of the company they share. Most importantly, I have learned to slow down and take the all that I can during the quickly depleting time I have left here.

Hot season. Those two words have haunted me since the day I came to Togo. Conveniently, my stage arrived in June, the beginning of rainy season (and also the end of mango season–yum!) so I had a good 9 months to ask Togolese and older PCVs how they survive and how hot it really gets. The answers I received didn’t calm my fears at all. One PCV said that during hot season she would quickly run inside to house to retrieve something and then rush back to the safety of the mango tree shade. I can now officially say that I have survived hot season (or so the Togolese say–I don’t know, today was HOT). It normally lasts through mid-May but the weather this year has been odd. Rain usually does not touch the Togolese Savanna region from mid-October to mid-May, but this year it rained–no, poured–in the beginning of February, again at the end of the month, and a few more times, as recently as last week. Some villagers have started planting and, with one more rain, the rest will follow.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know that I have escaped a fiery hell of heat, but it has still been hot. Probably hotter than I’ve ever experienced living in California. There have just been more “not so unbearably hot” and “still hot but with a breeze” days than there are usually. A PCV who lives about 5k north of me clocked the temperature one day at 122°. We’re not sure of the accuracy of that reading though because his digital thermometer may not be able to record temperatures higher than 122°. You can look up the weather for Dapaong online but I can’t verify the validity of their resources.

What is like to live in extreme temperatures? Well, for starters, every pore in your body exudes sweat. Your thighs sweat, your shins sweat and area where you butt becomes you legs sweats. Your bottom looks like to wet yourself when you stand after sitting for just 5 minutes. Your clothes have salt lines from your massive pools of sweat. Sleeping naked at night with a fully powered fan pointed at you still causes there to be a wet sweaty body outline on you sheets when you get up. Food rots and starts to smell within a day of buying it. Your dog would rather be locked in the house all day than forced to be outside because he’s found a special cool spot under your bed. It’s completely acceptable to do absolutely nothing from 11am-3pm every day. You continually have a salty layering on your skin despite the 4 showers you take daily. You avoid cooking because it means that there is a good possibility that the epic beads of sweat cascading down you face will make it into your meal.

I have had the added pleasure of experiencing an extreme heat rash. It’s normal to have little spots of it on different parts of your body but my body has chosen to have it all over my neck, back, chest, stomach and face consistently for the past few weeks. I had experienced a few cases earlier on in hot season but they only lasted a few day. Heat rash is also called ‘prickly heat’ because it can feel like someone is sticking a thousand needles into you skin. I’ve tried everything recommended to lessen it but nothing seems to be working. I have had Togolese pointing at my red spots and expressing their sympathy (or asking why my face looks like that of a pubescent 13-year old–Togolese get heat rash but the red spots show up a lot easier on my light skin).

So how exactly does one survive hot season? Find a magical mango tree to snooze under (it’s amazing how much the temperature drops under one of these things), flag down a fan milk (essentially frozen flavored milk) guy, order a sport actif (closest thing Togo had to Gatorade), wrap yourself in a wet pagne with the fan blasting on you, befriend the workers in the air-conditioned post office, and befriend the workers in the air-conditioned bank (you can never have too many friends). Or you could just strategically plan a long vacation and escape West Africa all together.

24 April 2012 It has been such a long time since I updated my blog! Sorry friends. I got back to Togo at the end of February and it’s been a whirlwind ever since. Coming back to Togo after being in the US was an extremely difficult adjustment for me. I did not come back ready to hit the ground running, but rather came back in a state of disbelief that I actually got myself back on the plane to West Africa. It took a while, but I’m happy to say I’m well adjusted and very happy to be back in Togo. I’m looking forward to finishing up my service and coming home in August. Now highlights of my time in Togo since I’ve been back: Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conference (WWEC) in Sokodé. As a co-regional coordinator along with two other awesome girls, I got to watch one of the most memorable projects of my service unfold. We brought 18 women from the central region to a 3-day intensive training focusing on improving self esteem, physical and mental health, financial independence, and food security. The hotel, Hotel Central, is an extremely nice (by Togo standards) hotel where the women were treated to hot showers, air conditioners, and TV. Most of the women didn’t even know how to turn on the TV, much less change the channels and volume! It was truly the experience of a lifetime for these 18 wonderful women. We had delicious meals and the women bragged about getting fat. (This is a good thing in Togo!) Despite small problems, like women bringing their kids and complaining that they wanted their normal village meal of corn mush, the conference was a huge success! Things that stand out to me: Doing yoga each morning on the tennis court. A “beauty night” where we set up stations for the women to get facials, manicures, and pedicures. The candlelight ceremony the last night when the women spoke about their experiences throughout WWEC. One woman cried, another said that she never know black people and white people could live together and eat together at the same table, and every one said they couldn’t wait to get back to village and share everything they learned with the other women “chez elle.” Seeing the women leave, singing, laughing, hugging; it was obvious that there was a tangible difference in their lives. It was more than just the sessions we presented. We touched their lives because we formed a community, a bond of sisterhood. All of the women from Pagala came back ready to work! They already taught their Mother’s Club about stress and how to cope with it. That’s the first in a series they want to do on self-confidence, women’s rights, and others. Two of the women work with an afterschool girls club where they want to introduce yoga. But it’s not just the work I see. I see their faces light up when we see each other in village. They give me hugs and I feel like, not only have they changed, but they have changed me. I moved into a new house. I am SO much happier! I feel much safer in the new house. I’m in a compound with several families. Lots of kids and even more mangoes! There’s a giant mango tree in the yard with hundreds of mangoes ripening in warm sun. However, I learned that I can’t eat them because I have an allergic reaction to them! My face broke out in a rash, luckily it wasn’t too obvious and it healed quickly. Anyway, I totally love my neighbors and I’m a lot closer to everything I need in village. I now have 13 Village Saving and Loans Associations (VSLAs)! We have over 250 people in the groups saving each week and taking loans monthly. We expect to save over 15 million CFA combined this year, which is $30,000. Not bad for a bunch of villagers in Africa, huh? Tomorrow, I’m heading to Benin with my boyfriend to go on a safari! We’re so excited to finally get to see some wild animals in Africa. Two weeks from today is my official completion of service (COS) conference. It’s going to be held at a nice beach resort near Lome. Our administration’s way of saying thank you for two long years of service in Togo. After that, I plan on officially “COS-ing” at the end of July. It’s only 3 months away!

On March 15-March 18 we organized a Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conference (WWEC) for Togolese women within our region! With this conference we empowered, educated and created a sisterhood among each other. For 4 days we catered to these women. There were various seminars on a variety of different subjects which included agriculture, self-confidence, women’s rights, finance, and health. Other activities included a spa/beauty night, yoga in the morning, team building exercises, journal activities and a dance party at the end of the conference. WWEC was such a success and definitely one of the highlights of my service. Huge thank you to the Central team for their dedication and hard work!

Saturday- April 21Sitting in the darkof my house. Just returned from the market where I ate bean cakes, made animpulse buy of cloth that was purple and yellow (GO PANTHERS!).. and enduredthe ‘white person’ chant by each and every child I passed. and now I sit withsweat running of my face, the fan cutting in and out, but the internet connectionis good so other discomforts are disregarded. I prolonged getting up this morning to go to lead yoga for a friend andher kids.. she called me ten minutes before my alarm “We’re waiting for you.” YesI thought- I will be there at the time we decided- 6- not 530..ugh. I tried tosurpress the negative thoughts and have a decent session with her and the 5middle school aged kids, once I got them calmed down enough to take mybreathing commands seriously. I took a light ride on a back road for my morningworkout; my legs were sore from yesterdays long run.

Spent the morning sweatingincessantly even after a very cold buck shower as it was hot by 7, without acloud in the sky. Stopped in at a localhealth agent training (after 20 minutes of trying to find the group at threedifferent locations- disorder at its finest) and fought the urge of irritation;why do we speak to these grown adults like their children? Because that’s howthey’ve been trained, I realize. Thesystem, from the time their little, beats into their head perfection; if you don’tanswer 100% correctly, you’re wrong and may be shamed for it. Thus, in myopinion, it diminishes self confidence, creativity, and the nerve it takes toanswer a question with self-assurance. Frustrationat its finest for me; not to mention the beads of sweat soaking my dress. I looked through my planner and tried not tobe annoyed as a simple exercise of how to use a thermometer (these are not NEWhealth agents!) takes over an hour. Finally, a break and I biked 20 min home in the noon sun. Rinsing off witha few scoops of water, but the relief from the heat only lasts momentarily. Iput on a light dress and enjoy a cold water I bought from the 2 stores in townthat have refrigerators. I read for abit then laid down inside where its cooler, wrapped in a wet cloth, closing myeyes, hoping for a breeze or for the power to return and my fan’s comfort. Tried not to count the minutes until 4, when thedaily heat torture subsides. Finally, rouse myself enough to prepare somethingfor lunch; cucumbers, eggs, and some tasty pesto some thoughtful someone sentme.

Then it was off tothe market; it’s Saturday and the day people wait for all week- when there’sactually something going on. Someexcitement to be a part of. Nima (Aposto’swife) helped me buy a basin for my new table I had made with a big hole in itto replicate a ‘sink’- sick of doing the dishes on the ground. We wind our waythrough the market; the sun is finally behind a cloud. Nima buys things to make the sauce (broiledfish, sardines, tomato paste)- theitem in the Togolese meals- it’s all about the sauce. I don’t buy any of it because I don’t makesauce. Instead I head to the stand wherea girl sells delicious sweet, fried bread. It’s my treat to myself eachSaturday afternoon. We sit and drinktchouck- local fermented millet beer- at one of the stands that makes up theborder of the market. A woman passes bywith cloth (pagna) one uses to make outfits here. I think of how I was no goodat envisioning if a dress/shirt would look good on in the States. This is aneven larger challenge. You have to be able to look at a piece of fabric and decideif it would make a pretty skirt or dress. I’ve learned bright colors are great on dark skin; dark colors better onlighter skin. I’ve had my fare share of failed attempts. But the excitement of the market has gottento my logic a bit and I stop the woman, attracted by a blue and blackstyle. “It’s nylon,” she tells me. “Isthat good?” I ask Nima, clueless. No, not like the cotton I’m wearing. She returns with a cotton variety. That’s how shopping works here. You sit andsend small children after something you want (more bean cakes), or the peoplewill bring things to you; everyone needs to make a few cents. Her second selection doesn’t impress me buther attempt does and soon Nima and I are off to see her stand. Sure enough, theyellow and purple fabric catches my eye. So much for this week’s budget.

And now here I sit,waiting until the last possible moment to take a shower and cool off; in theattempt to not sweat when I get into bed. Alas, I need to cover up soon –this dresswon’t cut it with the infringing mosquitoes (big, cool rainstorm Monday night- broughtmuch relief and joy..and many biting annoyances). The mice are scroungingaround above me; at least they’re not in my house—or at least that’s what Ithink. And the ants. We’ve come to learn to live with each other. Ormore, I’ve given in to their tenacity. We will live in harmony as I’m not willing to throw out MnM’s becausethey’ve conquered another ziplock bag. SoI’ll either eat them or smush them one at a time as they crawl over me at mydesk and couch. Oh and the basin I bought at market; the one I’ve been waitingweeks to buy, it’s too small for the hole the carpenter made. My fault, not his but cringing at the thoughtof the non existent ‘return policy’ here… will have to hope the market mama whosold it to me will remember my face (think I’ve got that one covered) and bekind enough to allow me to exchange for a bigger size. Oh this life. Is it tooearly to go to bed and start all over again tomorrow?

A saberepos.

Bom tardeindeed! I am just returning from my first vacation and a week later findthat part of my brain is rather doubtful that I ever left Badou. When I was inCape Verde I imagined that resettling in to Togo would be mighty cumbersome buthere I am, phased more by how natural my Togolese routine seems (and howdreamlike my last two weeks feel) rather than how foreign this all stillremains. But first let me relate how sabe,or delicious and enchanting, my petit repos was.

I visited Richard on the island of Fogo and was leftenchanted by the places and people. Witnessing how great he’s doing made mysoul smile :) I felt great ease pendantthese two weeks. Island-ways kept flourishing around me and I found my hearthosting nostalgia for my pueblo. Everyone still loves Tia Rosa who sends Abercrombiehoodies and iphones from America to her cool sobrinos on the isles. Sporting myAfrican pagne, I felt more ‘from-the-motherland’ than most of the young girlsthere that more often than not glammed around with skinny jeans and Americaneagle. The faces of the girls, boys, aunts, and grandmas reminded me of someprima or tia. The light green eyes, caramel complexion, nappy hair are all sohappily familiar to me. By the end of the two weeks, I was managing my “cafiche,” “bom dias” and “tudo dretu” alright.

Cape/Cabo Vert/Verde is, well I’m sure others have foundmore complete adjectives, beautiful. Myfriend Laura used the term ‘other-wordly’ to describe an image and in someinstances this is appropriate – especially considering the Mortar-esque vistasof the volcano and Cha (excuse my misspelling). When I was atop the volcano, Ichatted with a new buddy, Alyssa, about how I never had imagined that I’d bewhere I was at that instant, seeing what I was seeing. Sweetness is in what isunexpected. I found myself thinking of my parents, too, often throughout thetrip. At that point, I was considering what my dad or mom would say about medoing things “out of the ordinary.” When I was little, I feared being out ofsight of my parents. I always clung on to them; as we say in Spanish “de bajode la falda de mami” – literally “underneath momma’s skirt.” And so my parentsnever expected me to leave Danbury. And then I left for Boston (not a bigthaaang for you, but I was a girl that had maybe been to one sleep-over in herentire life and it was at my cousin’s house). I studied abroad in Niger (esa muchacha, que la Virgencita la cuide). Then I moved toTallahassee FL. And then Peace Corps blah blah blah, y’all follow. But for me,seeing things as awesome and unique as the scene from the volcano made me thinkabout home, about my parents and what they’ve seen and I felt so grateful forwho I am and for what life has brought. La vie, it’s a beautiful thing.

So, yes, I was treated very kindly in Cabo Verde. Buried mylegs in a black sand beach, hiked a lovely trail up to the town settled intothe shadow of a volcano, climbed a volcano, slept outside on a stoop, floatedin blue-green tide pools…pure honey. The in-betweens are just as noteworthy,involving several scrumptious katchupa breakfasts, goat cheese, fresh bread andcoffee, a block-wedding-party, listening in on band practice, and all the othernooks and crannies of la pura vida. Ifeel very blessed.

9 April 2012

While in Dapaong this past weekend, I learned that my early COS date of June 11 has been officially approved. I’m heading our early to take the MCAT and apply to medical school, but I’m still trying to figure out if I have a shot at getting in this cycle. It’s been over 5 years since I took many of my pre-requisite courses but I’ve also got some life experience other applicants may not have: I’ve spent two years talking about poop and pregnancy.

So now I’m at the stage in my service where I’m supposed to see if my work will continue when I leave. I sit back and let my counterparts carry on, always in the background to help with minor problems. It’s too late to be planning future projects; whatever is in the works is it. I’ve got a business skills training in May for my apprentices health class, my counterpart KM and I are cementing his tailor-shop and turning the walls into billboards for various health causes, my Pathways Scholarship mentee and I have finished our shadowing expeditions, I’m wrapping up my health class, and we’re supposedly hosting the second edition of the well-being conference.

This is what it looks like: 6:00 Wake up (was supposed to go running, but I’m tired and it takes me 30 minutes to coax myself out of bed, so I don’t have time)

7:00 Go to apprenticeship center to teach a class on healthy pregnancy and safe home birthing procedures. I was supposed to teach the class Friday, but they got a rush order for a next-day wedding so my class was cancelled.

8:00 It’s the day after Easter and still no one has showed up to unlock the door of the center. I’m still sitting outside with the guard and the apprentices who are leafing through the pictures of fetuses.

8:30 My counterpart KM comes looking for me before he heads off to collect money for the conference. He’s so responsible. He convinces me that no one is coming to open the door so I go home. I tell the apprentices to come get me if someone opens the door and I will hold health class. (No one comes.)

9:00 I’m tired because I only drank three sips of my coffee. I drink the rest and read The Good Husband of Zebra Drive. I call the girl that helps me with laundry- she says she’s coming.

9:30 I get restless and decide to take on a project I’ve been putting off for a good 6 months. I get my paint brushed and start writing out a quote on my kitchen wall.

10:00 The laundry girl says she’s at school and that if they finish before noon she’ll come. It’s vacation. It’s the day after Easter. NO ONE is a school. For the first time I realize she’s probably been lying to me every time she says she’s a school on a week-end. I go paint-wild and head outside to paint the side of my latrine that faces the main road.

12:00 My latrine wall now has a picture of a huge black man with huge dirty pink lungs. His head is far to small and his chin far too large. He’s smoking what looks like a white celery stick with ketchup on the end. “FUMER = MALADIE”(Smoking = Sickness)

13:00 I finally accept that she’s not coming. This is very disappointing because I really need my shower drain cleaned. That’s a task most people avoid in the states. I refuse to attempt it here. I go to collect water. I run into two students that study at my house regularly and they collect three more basins for me. I go to the market to buy tomatoes, onions, bread, and eggs. I find a new egg sandwich stand opened by a Fulani guy from Conakry. He says “yea” in English a lot.

13:30 I saved up my dirty dishes hoping that the girl I pay to clean stuff for me would come to make some money off of them and give me a day off of dish duty. Instead I do dishes so that I have something to make lunch on. I use the rest of the I’m-pretending-it’s-not-going-bad butter I brought back from Dapaong to make mini-Texas toast with Vache Qui Rit cheese and egg. I read more of my book.

14:00 KM and his seamstress friend come buy to check out the reading glasses my mom sent. They each find a pair and get giddy over the idea of being able to thread a needle on the first try (again).

14:30 I sweep, fill my water filter, shower, and prepare my house for the well-being conference meeting at 15:00.

15:00 My counterpart TA’s daughter (10) comes by with her granddaughter in tow (6 months) to tell me that she’s sick and won’t be at the meeting. There’s a cool breeze so I lay in bed and wait for people to show up.

16:00 I call my APCD to ask for an extension on my semesterly report. I downloaded the template over a month ago but my computer won’t read the file (again). I tried to access it in Mango (no internet and unbelievably rude staff) and Dapaong (I-want-to-throw-something-at-the monitor-slow connection). I don’t want to leave post again before I have to. He understands. For the first time in my service I feel like I understand the word “bored.” I call the matrone in Koumongou to confirm our meeting for tomorrow, again. I could pick up my MCAT books, but I spent three hours dripping over them yesterday… I call SS, I call RS, I call ML. No one answers.

16:30 KM drags another conference planner with him to my house. I walk outside, “It’s 16:30.” They stare at me. “What do you want to do?” KM recites his program. He’s the only one who understands time management (a skill I proudly claim to have taught him- I did SOMETHING with my two years!). We postpone the meeting until Wednesday. I call another organizer to tell him. “Oh, ok. I’ll try to make it. I’m selling cotton today.” (Again. And didn’t tell us, again.) We have 20 days until the conference. Not sure it’s going to happen. And I can’t just “take charge and make it work” because that would go against the whole “sustainability” thing. What would they do next year? Sometimes you just have to watch people fall on their face before they can succeed. It’s painful. And boring.

17:00 I blog. I review plans for the next week multiple times and cross off days on my wall calendar. I look at the plan of all of the tasks the conference committee has failed to accomplish on time and think about how much more successful of an event it would be if I just did it for them. Then I remember that I’m supposed to let them figure out why planning is so important that hard way. It’s like watching a child fall while they learn to walk. Painful but necessary.

18:00 I think about what I’m going to cook. I don’t feel like cooking or eating, but I know I need to so that I don’t throw up my Doxycycline (malaria prophylaxis) like I had been for the previous month. I’ve got the old brand now that has a thicker coating and is supposed to prevent nausea. (We’d switched to the new one because it was cheaper- thanks budget cuts.)

I’m grateful for the breeze that allows me to focus on something other than my perspiration rate. I prepare the house for the students that will come over in an hour or so. It’s the last day of their spring break so it might be the last time we play checkers and the game with the golf Ts from Cracker Barrel (thanks, dad). We call it “tee.” One more day and they’ll be back to memorizing lines of carefully manicured red and blue script and scratching away at my makeshift blackboard.

Tomorrow I’m traveling out to the mango-breeze town of Koumongou, behind the river. It’s their market day, the only day you can get a car out there. I’ll be visiting the clinic to help them request a PCV, talking to the 8th grade girls about Camp Etoile du Nord (top three girls in the class get to participate), picking up some clay jars my cluster-mates ordered, and probably drinking a few rounds of Tchakpa whether I want to or not. It should be a pretty full day.

Thanks mom and TR for the boxes! Home in two months J

7 April 2012

A few days ago I biked out to Maboukou, a small village with a new primary school “awning.” The entire school is made of four tree posts with a thatch roof, branch “benches,” and a blackboard. Upon my arrival I realized that the blackboard had fallen over in a storm. Unlike my last visit when I was greeted by the adorable disharmony of the pupils singing in military lines, this time I was following by one lone and curious four-year-old in a blue soccer jersey.

I’d brought my posters on nutrition, moringa seeds, another kind of seed that an NRM PCV told me would provide good shade at the school, and a book on disabled village children from the Hesperian Foundation. The chief asked about apparatuses and treatments for his disabled son (who received an unclean injection five years ago that retarded his ability to walk). The teacher, a four-foot-five and jolly Moba transplant from Dapaong, requested the seeds for the schoolyard, and the parents had requested the nutrition talk.

They received a letter from the conference organizing team that the meeting was scheduled for the 10th and they thought that meant I wasn’t coming. The chief presented his excuses. Plus, it was funeral season so everyone was in the big city for their respective funeral fetes. I was tired and eager to have a break.

We talked about seeds, exercises for the chief’s son, and then they brought me to get Tchakpa. Everyone wanted to buy me a calabash of local beer. This was incredibly enjoyable for me, since I live in a Muslim village where I’m not supposed to drink in public. It was nice to let loose a bit and experience a familiar form of bonding.

I explained that I had to bike home and it would probably be best if I wasn’t wasted. I asked them to help me drink my cadeaux and received no objections. We took pictures and they offered me their children (in jest). We set another date for the nutrition talk and talked about how they have very many chickens. Then I biked home listening to my iPod under an overcast sky and an oppressively stagnant heat. Flying between Shea trees were these captivating birds with turquoise, blue, and black Navajo-blanket-like patterns on their backs. Another PCV had just sighted them in her village and all of us suggested she was hallucinating; we’d never seen anything like it.

On Friday I fulfilled a promise. I fille dup half of a bush taxi with students and took them to Mango to see the town. We went to the post office, the internet café, the hospital, and tried to go to the bank. At each stop they asked the employees how they trained for their jobs and what they do. They learned about how the different “series” in high school can lead to different careers.

The post office also works as a bank and the students were fascinated by the “fake-bill” black light machine, the computers, and the wads of money. The staff at the internet café were rude as always and misinformed me by telling me the bank would be open when I called ahead. At least I was kind of expecting it.

At the hospital, the ophthalmologist taught them all about eye health and possible diseases. I learned that the child I’d seen on my flight through Benin was suffering from a Gonorrheal infection in the eyes. He said he wanted to learn English. I smiled, nodded, and reminded him that there are many English teachers in Mango. He explained multiple times that he wanted to learn to speak like me; could I please come back and teach him, he’d love to see me again. I turned red (it’s one thing to have no boundaries for flirtation in private, but in front of teenagers!) and practically chased the kids out of the office, smiling and agreeing to return. I lie so much here.

Later I told the students that while he may be a very talented doctor, that it was inappropriate for him to speak to me in that insinuating manner. I’m pretty sure the students just think I hate men.

Then the matrone took the kids aside to talk to them about family planning. She was a big woman that commanded the attention of the room. Clearly she’s used to being listened to, even when what she’s saying isn’t exactly accurate. She was trying to use an HIV-themed boite d’image (storyboard?) to teach about FP. It was published by Peace Corps and it’s a storyboard I use a lot, but I let her go with it. She had some interesting interpretations of the images, though none harmful. Her stories kept their attention and made them fear unsafe sex. Mission accomplished.

From there I sent most of the kids back to village and took my Pathways mentee up to Dapaong. That night we met with an amazing friend of mine, LM, who works for the regional direction of education and she spoke to my mentee about confidence, hard work, perseverance, and appreciation. She was full of joy as always despite all that I know she is suffering through personally. Breast cancer is trying to destroy the women in her family, but somehow they make it seem like they’re winning. She was planning a trip to Tanguieta Hospital in Benin the next day for a mammogram, but if she didn’t find a car, we were invited over anytime. My mentee really wanted to visit her again.

Then we went to the transit house to get our assignment for the next day’s Club Espoir, a monthly club for kids affected by HIV/AIDS. There’s singing, dancing, games, and an educational component. The next day’s theme was gender equality. My mentee and I were charged with an activity that asked the kids to classify jobs by gender, the conclusion being that men and women can do the same jobs.

She laughed when I suggested a woman could be a carpenter or a chauffeur. “They can and they do, maybe you just haven’t seen it yet…”

It went well, but she participated more than led the session. I think she got a lot out of it. Then we saw the bank, the post office, the “Kinkos,” the weavers, the market, the big shops, and finally, the hospital.

They gave us a tour of the wards. We saw people whose faces or an entire side of their body were completely burned off, femur tractions constructed using cardboard and cement blocks, ribs in the shape of a pyramid, a child in a full-body cast, and some horrible motorcycle accident cases.

I realized that the patients thought I was a visiting physician. They were looking at me with hope and increased confidence in the hospital knowing that a blanche was overseeing things. This aspect of my white privilege makes me uncomfortable, but I also feel like I know how to handle it better now. There’s no point in me explaining racial equality during such miniscule interactions. In this case, I was giving people completely unfounded illegitimate hope, but it was still hope they needed, so what was wrong with that? I stood taller and took on more of an air of authority. I smiled, asked people humanizing questions, and said “du courage,” a lot. My mentee saw this change and I think she understood, trying not to stare and the children who have no idea how pitiful they look until they see it in your face.

Then the PT gave a scrubs, we shared a giddy moment while changing, and he invited us in to see a minor surgery. My mentee almost passed out at the sight of a very large woman in her underwear getting stitches from an accident, but then the surgeon made fun of her and she toughened up. We almost had to leave again when they were drilling the rod through her ankle for the traction, but she made it. Her eyes doubling in size was priceless.

We saw a man we know from the Oti Prefecture undergoing treatment and he was incredibly complimentary of the services provided. I was surprised by his gratitude. He was shirtless, thinner, hiding any pain very well, stuck in a hand-welded traction device, surrounded by twenty other people with serious conditions. Yet he was smiling after two weeks. It made me wonder, what was it like before?

After the surgery, my mentee assisted the PT in placing a cast on a former Peace Corps homologue that had just been in the accident with the large woman. Her job was wetting the casting gauze and she couldn’t have been more excited. She even got to wear gloves. All of the casting materials cost 12 USD and the PT’s fee was 16 USD. How is that possible?

After we finished, the PT took us to the third floor and my mentee saw the view over all of Dapaong. Normally, she’s very timid and never asks for anything.

“Can you take my picture in front of the city like this?”

There must be so many things she’s seeing for the first time that I take for granted. She’d never been to Dapaong, but I guess I assumed she’d seen a third-story view of a big city before. Nope. Never.

The PT asked me to go out with his and his friends that night. I had led him to believe that I was married, suggesting that my local name came from a husband instead of the chief. He still asked me out. That’s normal. I said we had a meeting with the other PCVs, but next time I’d stop by. Before we left I wrote down his P.O. Box to send pictures but I think he was expecting money. He didn’t ask, so I will send him those pictures and maybe some medical supplies some day.

We visited LM at home, met her sister who must be one of the bravest women I have ever met. She was kind and smiling, appreciative and welcoming. All the while she had two huge cavities in her chest from the butcher-surgeon who performed the mastectomy. Her husband and family kept her company and I hope that she was high on codeine.

We went back to the transit house and played on the internet. The kitchen was a 10-PCV-deep mess but we managed to make some pain perdu. My mentee passed out in front of the computer. She was so tired she couldn’t even think of a sentence to type. We walked back to the hotel and, with the bit of energy she had left, watched a few episodes of Scenarios d’Afriques, all about people affected by HIV/AIDS (they’re the only films I have in French).

This morning at 5:00 we took motos to the house to catch the Peace Corps car going south. I slept until noon.

Thanks ML for all of the amazing (and expensive) phone calls.

April 25th is World Malaria Day. A day to get everyone on board with stomping out malaria around the world. It’s scary to think that malaria is currently the biggest killer over here in Africa, and that it’s also one … Continue reading →

Theproblems that plague Togo are numerous and overwhelming for volunteers. I chose for my first 2 years in service tofocus on projects that I was interested in and had a lot of community supportbut were not necessarily in my particular program, Small Enterprise Development(SED). For example I worked with a smallvillage close-by called Tembio. In thisvillage I talked to the chief and he asked me if I could help them in someway. This is a normal request, but whatreally made me want to work with him was that he didn’t ask for money he askedfor education and training. UnfortunatelyI didn’t know quite what to do because I’m not a NRM Peace Corp volunteer (NRMis Natural Resource Management which is the sector that deals with agriculture likebetter farming techniques, etc. Now thesector has changed its name to EAFS: Energy and Food Security) so I said, “wellI don’t know, maybe you can plant different things than what you are currentlygrowing. You can start a garden withcarrots, beets, green peppers, etc.” To my surprise they seized enthusiasticallyon the idea. I bought the seeds thoughbecause I felt that I would hate myself if the village saved money, bought theseeds and they couldn’t grow it or worse, they couldn’t sell the produce. So I spent around 2,000CFA about $4 andbought them tons of seeds. Theyimmediately planted the seeds and did all the work themselves. I checked in once, a few months later andeverything was growing well. Many monthspassed and I hadn’t had the opportunity to go out and see the village becauseof other responsibilities. Finally I didand they asked me where I had been because they sold everything. I wasshocked. I was even more shocked whenthey said that they saved all the money and was waiting for me to come back toshow me. They had around 45000CFA, $90and this was all profit (well, minus the seeds). On top of this they sold the vegetables to myvillage, Adjengré therefore increasing the access to nutrition for the people inmy town where, normally, there is only onions, tomatoes, okra and somethingthat tastes like spinach, but isn’t. Iwas very happy. Besidesthe village garden there were numerous other projects I did such as an EnglishSummer Class for 2 hours every day and teaching girls who are involved in a groupement(the translation is group, but hereit means more of a co-op where each person works and puts in some money andthen the group shares the profits) that has a small farm of ginger or makesbaskets, money management techniques for their business. Towards the end of my first year I also becamean editor on Farm to Market for a year. Farm to Market is a magazine that Peace Corps volunteers from Togoproduce. The articles are written byPeace Corps volunteers and help Peace Corps volunteers all over West Africa bygiving them ideas of projects and information that they can use in their work. The magazine covers topics that are both SEDand NRM related. It is read by a lotPeace Corps countries. Towardsthe end of my second year I was gradually doing more and more work specificallyfor the Peace Corps Togo office in the capital, Lomé, like organizing ourresource center into Dewey Decimal, entering books into the library managementsystem, and creating an offline database of the resources available sovolunteers would be able to search what resources are available and requestresources while they are in their village, not the capital where the resourcecenter is located. In order for thedatabase to be updated the librarian has to send out an update over email. Still even that is difficult here because of thelack of available internet and even when you do have internet it is shotty atbest. I also have worked on a bettercontact directory of Peace Corps volunteers that will soon include staff andmade it easy to import directly into your Gmail or Outlook. Just simple things that make Peace Corpsvolunteers lives and Peace Corps staff’s run a little more smoothly. Formy 3rd year I was planning on wrapping up projects in my village andcontinue work for the office, however fate intervened and my Country Directornominated me for a conference in Senegal on the new Peace Corps MalariaInitiative. I was planning on turning itdown. I had no background in malaria andthought that other volunteers would benefit more from such a conference. I was planning this until friends convincedme otherwise. I’m very glad I went andI understand why she chose me. I wouldbe a perfect conduit to teach those who had never done any work on malariabeing someone who didn’t do any work on the topic myself. It was in September 7-18 and it wasintense. 10 days of practically 7am-9pmcrash course on what malaria is, what is happening nowadays with malaria andhow to implement the initiative in our respective countries. There were about 20 people there, representingsomething like 11 Peace Corps countries. It was really interesting getting to know those who attended theconference learning about the different Peace Corps cultures in the variouscountries. However, what I learned aboutmalaria has stayed with me and fueled the projects that have been consuming mostof my life from then until now. Malariakills one child in the world every 30 seconds according to the UN. 90% of malaria deaths are in Sub-SaharaAfrica where I am located. It can kill achild within 2 days of the initial bite of the mosquito giving families notenough to get to the local hospital if the family can even realizes that the childhas malaria. It is a disease that is consideredto have been eliminated from the United States in 1951 yet it is endemic inAfrica to this day. It accounts formillions of dollars lost of GDP and millions of dollars of healthcare costs. As if that isn’t enough according to WHO itis the leading cause of death for children under the age of 5. The number one reason that little kids die isbecause they get sick with malaria. InTogo alone, according to 2009 data from the National Malaria Control Program ofTogo, an average of 50% of deaths of infants under the age of 5 were due tomalaria. This is unacceptable and thisis what I and now other volunteers are working on combating here in Togo. When I came back from the conference Istarted up a new committee called MAC (Malaria Action Committee). Volunteers applied to become a member of thecommittee and currently we have 11 members. We have already been requested by WHO to be the independent evaluatorfor their latest mosquito net campaign. Thishas involved designing a rapid household survey, explaining the survey andindicators, training Peace Corps volunteers and Togolese and creating a systemto rapidly compile the data. We plan ontrainings to be held May 15th and the surveying to be done aroundMay 20th. It is a lot ofwork, but we are doing.

For those interestedin additional in how malaria works watch this really awesome video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szlfndj0TFETo follow our MalariaAction Committee (MAC) visit: mactogo.blogspot.com A warning, it hasonly just begun so we have 2 posts on there and we haven’t put any pictures ormade the blog as nice looking as we want it.To follow the PeaceCorps Malaria Initiative called Stomp Out Malaria visit: http://www.stompoutmalaria.org/

Iwill be moving down to Lomé this month to finish out my service. In Lomé, besides malaria work, I’ll beworking with WHO and other NGOs in order to develop work opportunities forPeace Corps volunteers who want to do a 3rd year. Also I’ll be working more in the Peace Corpsoffice. Improving efficiency and helpingautomate a lot of tasks with my programming knowledge. I am sad about leaving Adjengré, I have a lotof friends here and it is very calm here, but I will come back and visit. I am also excited about the work that I’ll bedoing down in Lomé and happy to not to make the 6 hour one-way once or twice amonth!

Now, I posted my packing list and said that I would updateafter I had been in country for a while. Instead of going line by line listingwhat was useful and what was not. Instead I’ll give a general discussion. Iwill list the items I have found are absolutely necessary as well as the itemsI wish I had brought more of with me.

I remember packing and preparing for Peace Corps. It was astressful experience to say the least. I was entirely convinced that I neededto bring everything. I kept thinking “I’m going to be in Africa and won’t beable to get any of this stuff.” I also think that obsessing over packing was acoping mechanism. Preparing for Peace Corps was scary and packing was a way tocontrol the situation and way to funnel my fears into sometime productive.

Looking back now having been in country for seven monthsnow, I realized that I over packed. It wasn’t like I didn’t read the journalsfrom other volunteers cautioning about over packing. I believed them, but wasunable to make the tough decisions on what to get rid of from my bags.Everything seemed important and something I couldn’t live without. There is abig chunk that I haven’t even touched since getting here.

Though it is true that I can buy most things in the capital, I have found some items to be difficultto find or very expensive. Here is a list of things that are hard to find, impossible,or expensive:

-Conditioner (shampoo is easy enough to find, butconditioner is next to impossible)

-Disposable razors (can find by they are not very goodquality and are expensive)

-Deodorant (I have never been able to find any even in Lomeother than the spray kind . . . bring plenty)

-Sauce packets for pasta

-Unusual Spices (you can get the basics here but any unusualspices you like bring plenty)

-A good quality but small book bag (I’ve bought two marchebags and both have broke)

-Maple Syrup

Here are items that have been invaluable to me here:

-Solar charger

-Battery operated fan!!!! (There is a small one called O2Cool that uses D batteries)

-Solar battery charger

-Good frying pan

-My two good kitchen knives

-External Hard drive

-Headlamp (love this thing)

-Bug Hut 2

-Exficio underwear

-My Eagle Creek Bag

-Nice pillow

-Fitted queen sized sheets (you can get the flat sheets, butnot fitted easily)

Things that I didn’t bring that I wish I had:

-Hammock

-Nail polish (You can get it in marche, but it’s not thesame quality

-More cotton tee shirts

-More Capri pants (you can have pagne skirts made reallyeasy)

Things that didn’t work out as planned

-Nalgine bottles (I got two with wide mouths and they don’twork for bush taxi rides. Love them but buy one with a smaller mouth unless youwant to be wearing your water).

For any perspective volunteers, remember to not over pack.Your back will thank you. Don’t wait tothe last minute to pack your bags. Pay attention to the weight of your bag(you’re going to be lugging it around).

…the words of my awesome placement officer Fritz on my new assignment description! Yes, PC Invitation #2 came today!  It looks like I will be redo-ing my passport and visa applications, including getting passport photos AGAIN.  I’m hoping the cashier at CVS will mistakenly only charge me for two photos like last time : ) … Continue reading →

I have officially been invited to be a Girls’ Education and Empowerment (GEE) Volunteer in Togo, starting July 11th, 2012!! This was my first choice after speaking to my placement officer last week, so I am thrilled. I had some options of switching to the Secondary English Education track, but I knew I didn’t want … Continue reading →

Well, the Peace Corps is pulling volunteers from Mali, and I will not be going there for Peace Corps service.  Things are just too unstable and unsecured there. I spoke with my Placement Officer twice today, and he spoke with me about some exciting options for reassignment.  There is also the possibility I might switch … Continue reading →

So last week there was a military coup d’etat in Mali. This all happened just weeks before the president Toure was set to step down as president and elections were to be held. Military leaders, saying their efforts fighting rebels in the north have been underfunded by the President Toure’s government, took over the capital … Continue reading →

Yesterday I received my invitation to begin training in Mali! Peace Corps Invitation Above is  a picture of the invitation, which came in a beautiful invitation packet pictured below:               I will be serving as a Basic Education and Literacy Volunteer.  Some of my duties will include:  a) Promoting … Continue reading →

So tonight is the last long night of waiting before receiving my OFFICIAL invitation to the Peace Corps in the mail.  It was sent on Friday, but of course it just sat in UPS, immobile, all weekend so it will be getting here tomorrow (Tuesday). I have been checking the UPS tracking website SO OFTEN … Continue reading →