(A little song I wrote inspired by a night spent in Lome with a few PCV friends after eating my first "American Food" in over 3 months.)

. (Sung to Simon and Garfunkle’s “The Sound of Silence.” )

.The Sound of DysenteryBy: Stephanie Lesho

Hello Toilet, my old friendI’ve run to sit on you againBecause of the BM suddenly creepingI nearly stained my sheets as I was sleeping!And the vision of that stain …It still remains.This could be the sound of Dysentery

Miserable upon this porcelain throneWith the knowledge that I’m not alone;Yes, in the other room my friends just mightBe talking loud so as to be polite… …The sounds split the night. I hope they can’t hear the sound of Dysentery

And in my mind’s eye I saw10,000 people dead—maybe more:The black crater where the toilet might’ve been—Diarrhea Nitroglycerine.Could this be a new terrorist WMD?! …Nope, just me.The explosive sound of Dysentery

If I turn on the faucet,Will that cover the sound of it?If I sing at the top of my lungs,Will that disguise these juicy runs?Why can’t they turn up the TV or just shout? …Or just get out…Trying to hide the sound of Dysentery

And when I’m done, I’ll bow and pray:“Let this thirteenth time be the last today!”I give my stomach this warning—My ass can’t take anymore chaffing!Is this what I get for eating a delicious burger, ladies and gentlemen? …Then I’d do it all again.

This is the sound of Dysentery.

"Goin' to the chap--err..Moh-osque, and we're--gonna' get ma-a-a-ried..."

My homologue's daughter, Nima, was recently married and I was lucky enough to be able to participate! The Kotokoli are traditionally Muslim and the wedding ceremony reflected this--though with a distinctive African twist!

Step 1. Henna.

It is tradition for Kotokoli women to adorn their hands and feet in a potent henna for marriages of their relatives. It was an honor to be asked to partake in this tradition! I made the henna myself (from the leaves of a local tree) and spent all day applying it/letting it dry/cleaning it off then repeating the steps 3+ times. The women continue until its black, but bright orange was enough for me! :)

Step 2: The Wait.

It is custom for the bride-to-be to sit, veiled, in a room from the night before her wedding until the afternoon of! Marriage is both a coming-of-age ceremony and rite-of-passage and this sitting ritual is notable because it allows the bride to reflect on her past and future life. Nima had been sitting here for over 10 hours when this photo was taken! Luckily women come in and out and stay with her during her sit to keep her company!

Step 3: Gathering of Women.

Kotokoli marriages are a women's affair. Here the women are gathering outside of my homologue's house where they will pray and sing praises about Nima.

Step 4: Giving/Presenting of Money.

When the singing ends, an elected woman (the women in green with the white veil) will stand and the other women will pass her money. She will announce the amount of money to the group, who it was given by, and then present it to the mother of the bride.

The Bride.

While the money is being presented to the mother, the Bride prepares herself for the main ceremony. Here is Nima in white surrounded by the women and girls in her party.

Wedding gifts.

Step 5: Presenting of the Bride.

The women gather again in a larger area and await for the Bride. When the drums begin, the Bride is brought out covered in a veil and kneels down in front of the crowd. Traditionally, she should be crying to not only show her sadness of leaving behind her family but also her joy of starting a new life with her husband. The women in the group line up and wait their turn to pour money or candy over her veiled head and pray over her.

Step 6. Saying Goodbye.

Directly after the ritual, the Bride is lead to a car where she will be taken to wherever her husband lives (in this case, Sokode, two hours away) to finish the ceremony there and start her new life.

Bye Nima! Bonne chance!

So. I had a very tragicomic day last month....

.

Sunday (February 7th) was my VERY FIRST formation ever (go me)! It was the training-of-trainers type thing for the Grand Moringa/Malnutrition Sensiblization I would like to have in May. Since I would like the entire sensiblization to be in Kotokoli—I held this seminar to teach the Peer Educators all the facts so they could then spread the information to the community. The formation that Sunday was originally only supposed to be for the Peer Educators—but in every preparation meeting with my homologue and the speaker, the list of invitees kept augmenting and augmenting until practically the entire CANTON (cluster of villages in a Prefecture) was invited! Now all the chiefs and presidents of the CVDs (Committee for Village Development) from all the surrounding villages, the infirmary staff, and other high-up notables were all attending. Needless to say, it gave me even MORE incentive to try and make everything perfect! I was so nervous and I just wanted everything to go well!

...............................................

Everyone arrived and after my opening speech (in both French AND Kotokoli) the formation began. Our speaker (the Moringa expert) was excellent and super animated! Everyone was having such a great time, they were engaged, and--most importantly--they were learning a LOT! I was SO pleased with everything and SOooo relieved!!

and then...someone died.

Yes. DIED. Passed away. Croaked. Met their demise. Kicked the bucket. To-be-no-more! RIGHT in the middle of my formation; RIGHT there in front of us--an elderly woman just keeled over and gave up the ghost! It was out of NOWHERE and we were all left stupefied by our surprise! The funny thing was that as I was stressing that they need to take her to the Disponsaire "right NOW!" they were trying to convince me that "Nawww...she'll be fine! She just passed out!" (*whispering through clinched teeth* "No! I don't think you understand! She. is. not. alive!") Interestingly, after she was taken away, the group convinced the speaker to go ahead and finish the formation (which he did)--now THAT'S commitment!

I told my fellow volunteers my story of woe—how someone died on my very first formation—and they all think my misfortune is hysterical. I guess in a way they're right. I'd like to think that she died—not out of boredom with our presentation—but out of sheer AWE! We wowed her to death!

Peace Corps always stresses the importance of being "flexible"—but DAMN!

February 7th will mark the beginning of my third month at Post and my 5th here in Africa (almost half a year already!). I’ve heeded the advice from several current volunteers to take it easy for the first few months. I’ve spent much time getting to know my new host family, reading, and (most importantly, I feel) setting up my new house. Having been constantly on the move growing up, I know the significance and value of turning a house into a home. It makes me feel more grounded and that I actually live here—as opposed to someone who’s simply in transition and just waiting for the next move. Ole’ Ma’ and Pa’ taught me that no matter where I’m staying (be it a hotel, dorm room, or vrai house), always unpack and make it your own—then it becomes the one place in the whole world that you’ve colonized for yourself. Parents are smarter than we sometimes give them credit for, I think. ;)

While plusieurs of other new volunteers (who arrived at Post with fully furnished homes) are living as millionaires on their “settling-in” allowance, I’ve had to pinch pennies—errr CFAs buying everything for my home. I’ve added a table, desk, chairs, and shelving for food/books in my main room, and an armoire for my clothes in my bedroom. I’ve also tried to decorate as much as possible—including nailing a mat to the wall to pin up photos and stringing little flags from the ceiling of my room.

In January I started working on a few projects—in particular, my Moringa Sensiblization—and they continue to keep me busy with meetings almost every other day.

Moringa Sensiblization. Moringa (“Mor-in-gah”) or “The Miracle Tree,” is a tree that grows great in Africa’s climate and every part of it is useful—especially its leaves which are chalked full of protein, vitamins, folic acid, and other valuable nutrients that the body needs…which are severely lacking in the Togolese diet. Moringa can prevent over 300 maladies and is easy to prepare. By simply removing, drying, and pounding the leaves into a fine powder, you can add it to almost any soup or sauce! Plus, the tree will continue to grow after you’ve cut its branches (to remove the leaves) and you can take the cut branch, stick it in the ground, and it will grow into another tree. It’s great for pregnant woman and incredible for children! It’s as if the secrets to helping fight malnutrition are all here in front of us…unfortunately hardly anyone here knows about it. I’m working with a local Moringa expert in a nearby village to help me hold a “Grand sensiblization” for the community. This includes acquiring the aid of the Peer Educators to speak (I would like the entire thing in the local language, Kotokoli, so everyone can participate/understand), finding people to act in sketches, hiring a sound/microphone system, and planting the 2,000+ baby Moringa trees to hand out at the end of the sensiblization. I’ve never been the “Boss” before…and its so much more work and responsibility than I would have expected! Not only that, but as people continue to add in their ideas, this project keeps growing and growing! The first formation will be February 7th and 8th to first teach the Peer Educators about Moringa. After the “training of trainers,” four small “sensiblizations,” one for each of the four surrounding villages, will be held in April followed by the GRAND one in May. I’m hoping that this will give me the experience I need to hold more formations in the future!

In other news:

-I’m pretty sure I’m developing the Black Lung. Harmattan (the dusty winds that blow down from the Sahara Desert each year) has been harsh. The sun is almost blotted out from all the dust and dirt in the air and everything in your house (including yourself) is coated in grime. How do I know I’m developing the Black Lung? …it’s not scientific, but besides not being able to laugh without falling into a relentless coughing/hacking-fit—what’s deposited your tissue after you blow your nose should NOT look like tar…

-A common Peace Corps saying is that: Whatever you were like in the Peace Corps, you come out being the opposite. For example: If you came into PC impatient, easily annoyed or always in a hurry, you come out with saintly patience and more tolerance. If you come into the PC quiet and shy, you come out assertive and able to speak your mind. (This goes the same for physical appearance as well…except it almost always goes from good to bad haha). I’m waiting to see if this is true or not. Sometimes I feel I can see minor changes already… some (not all) days I feel as though I can endure even the most brutal irritations (men “PPPSSSTTTttt”-ing at you, the Yovo Song, babies in bush taxis who stare at you wide eyed as if they’ve never seen a white person (…oh wait…They haven’t.) and then proceed to rip out your earrings…and such)— and many things that used to bother me in the States mean so little to me now. Only time will tell and you’ll have to be the judge!

-If you can, please send your pictures! I have lots of naked wall space that I want to cover with your beautiful shining faces!! And also, thank you to everyone who has sent me letters and packages! The packages are incredible and I can tell you’ve spent a lot of time (and money!) to buy things and send them! In particular: Mom and Dad!!, Aunt Erin, Nan, MK, and Lars! As the Togolese say: GRAND MERCI! :)

I thought he was going to swerve…really!

A few weeks back while riding the back of a moto on a deserted road, a chicken sprinted across the road and just narrowly missed the crushing rubber of our tires! The side he crossed to was just as bare as the side he had left, there was no female chicken at his destination batting her sultry (or should I say poultry haha) eyelashes at him…and why did he wait UNTIL we were crossing to run? It really brought a whole new meaning to the old adage: Why DID the chicken cross the road?! The other day, I had a similar experience…unfortunately it didn’t end as well.

After charging my appliances in Bafilo—and enjoying the pleasures of running water—I flagged down a moto and initiated the bumpy ride back to Gandè. As we neared the outskirts of Bafilo, I spotted up ahead a baby chevre (goat) traversing the rue. Like the more seasoned animals who dare to cross the road, they linger in the brush till the road is clear in all directions and then sprint it…and if they are in the road already (unable to resist crunchy leaf that has fallen there) they know well enough to rush away fast at the sound of an approaching moto or bush taxi. This little chevre neither looked up from the leaves he was munching on, nor seemed to care that a 500+ pound moto was rocketing towards him at break-neck speeds…literally.

Okay Moto-Man...You can swerve at any time. Yep. Aaaaaaaaany time now he’s going to swerve…Yes he will—He’s going to swerve…going to swerve! Going to SWERVE-not going to swerve! He- is-NOT going to SWERVE! Oh my GOD he’s NOT GOING TO----

Buh-BUMP.

Holy PETERFRAMPTON! I just ran over a baby GOAT!!

It sounds funny to hear it…but it was horrifying! Moto-man and I went airborne (which I have to admit was pretty fun, despite the circumstances)! When our wheels touched ground again, I swiveled my head around as much as my helmet would allow. It was utterly macabre. Poor thing was writhing in the street—back obviously broken—desperately trying to stand. Moto-man drove on—not once acknowledging his hit-and-run. I forcibly and robotically rotated my head away from the gruesome scene—eyeballs wider than plates—and tried not to hear le chevre’s cries of pain that sounded distressingly like an infant wailing…it echoed in my head over and over for the rest of the day. Let’s just say I never took THAT moto-driver again! And when I’m on a moto and I see an animal in the road—I make sure to tap my leg gently against the moto-man just to make sure he’s paying attention…I never again want to re-live that!

Why, baby goat, why?! WHY did the goat cross the road?!

A few people have sent me messages asking what I would like to have sent to me while in Gandè. After spending a week at Post I can finally see exactly what I will need!

--FOOD! Eating fufu (pounded manioc) is okay to have for one or two meals a week…but in Gandè—it’s the only meal. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner it’s fufu with sauce. So, please be kind and send a sister some FOOD! Protein bars, oatmeal, boxed meals, cereal (the kinds that are good to eat dry...there’s no milk), pastas, beef jerky, spices—ANYTHING is good!

--Your letters and Photos! I love getting your letters in the mail! I covet them and read them over and over, so please keep them coming! Also, I am going to start a photo collage on my wall so please send me some good pictures!

--Stationary: Internet will be a bumpy 45 minute drive away, so I have a feeling I will be writing lots and lots of letters—and I’ve already run out of stationary! Completely blank cards (that you can find at any hobby shop) are great because I like to personalize your cards!

--Candles/matches (or lighter): It gets daaaaark there at night! You can buy cheap candles here, but they cost a lot and burn down fast!

--Books/Magazines/Newspapers: I will have a lot of free time on my hands at Post. I would love to read more classic literature, but also stay on top of what’s going on in the States. We are almost completely isolated from the world outside of Togo!

--Shampoo/Body Spray/Soap/Hand Sanitizer: In Togo, one can’t help but feel…dirty. Because of the oppressive heat, dirt roads, walking everywhere you go, and bathing with yellow water….lets just say that it’s hard to feel clean! Shampoo, body spray, and soap save me! I go through a lot of shampoo here…sometimes I have to wash my hair twice just to get all the dirt out! Body spray makes me feel human and gives me the hope that I don’t completely smell like a warthog. As for soap, the liquid Neutrogena facial soap (w/pump) is the best. It’s good for the skin and it doesn’t melt like the bar soaps (yes…bar soap actually MELTS here!). Oh! And razors too…it’s so hard to find razors here—especially ones that have more than one blade!

--Drawing books/Tape/Rubber cement glue: I drew a lot in Gandè and I’m already running out of blank paper! Also, double-sided/regular tape and rubber cement glue is so helpful! I use it to make cards and collages!

Right now, my address is still the Lomé one—but once I get to Post I will open up a personal Post Office Box in Bafilo that I will be sharing with Matthew and Andrew (my two closest PCV neighbors). Although it is incredibly expensive to start and keep up (on our budget, anyhow), I hear that it is worth it. Other volunteers have said that people with their own PO Boxes have a lower chance of having their mail/packages stolen/opened and that it’s a bit “faster” as well. As soon I start it, I will send out my new address!

Thank you to everyone who has sent mail (especially MOM and Dad for all your AWEsome packages!)! Whenever I’m feeling less than great, there’s nothing like a letter from home that really keeps you going! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!

Post Visit is the one week that you spend at your Post before you actually Swear-In as a volunteer. It is a time to become acquainted with your village/city, meet your community, set up your home a bit, and (of course) begin to assess the village/community needs.

We met at Hotel Zio in Tsevié early Saturday morning. It took nearly an hour to load all of our luggage (including bulky bikes, buckets, and water filters) on top of the near 15 vans (divided up by region) that would take us to our respective sites. I piled in with my homologue (whom I had just met at Homologue Conference the day earlier), three other volunteers, and their homologues.

Destination: Kara Region. Estimated Time: 7 Hours.

Our van looked like massive rusty cupcake with WAY too much frosting on top! From the window seat where I was sitting, I could see the large side-view mirrors…and I couldn’t help but continually observe the colossal load on top that kept shifting sideways at unnatural angles. Every time we hit a crater in the road (which was quite often) I was SURE that THIS would be the time we would finally just flip over. But! The drivers here are skilled and are (luckily for us) quite used to driving on these…“weathered” roads.

Gandè was the third stop of the day. I didn’t start feeling the minor pangs of anxiety until after we dropped off the second volunteer. It was right then that I realized that I knew absolutely NOTHING about Gandè. My mind went into overdrive with questions: How many more kilometers?! What if Gandè is completely different from my expectations? What if they don’t like me? Did I leave my door in Tsevié unlocked? …Great. I didn’t bring a razor, did I? I was told feelings of anticipation mixed with terror were normal and expected, but that didn’t stop me from experiencing them!

We arrived in Gandè and while my anxiety still mildly lingered like a aftertaste, most of it was completely washed away by a crowd of cheering people there to greet me! After I greeted everyone I could (my face pleasantly aching from smiling so hard), I was taken arm in arm by my homologue, Madame Fati, and my neighbor (also the Social Affairs worker for Gandè), Mme. Mana, to my new home. They gave me the grand tour. Inside my petite maison I have a cozy blue bedroom and one larger (orangish) room which I will use to prepare/eat food and where I will do all my work. I also have a small screened-in patio around the back where I can sit and read or watch all the zoo of animals outside munch on crops. I have a bed, but I still need to purchase other furniture like a chest for my clothes, a coiffeuse with doors for all my foodstuffs, a desk/chair for my work, and a stove/gas tank.

Though I have my own private living quarters and toilet/shower area, I share a compound with the Sebabi family. Monsieur Issaka is the head of the household that he shares with his two wives, Mme. Abouya and Mme. Meminatou, and a surplus of children! I am so lucky that the children speak French because the adults only speak Kotokoli! Kotokoli is one of the sixty or so local languages spoken throughout Togo and the dominant language of Gandè and the surrounding villages. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it seems that the children are the only ones who can speak French in the village. This scares me a bit…If I want to communicate anything to the older population of Gandè (which I’m sure I MAY have to do SOMEtime during my stay haha), it looks like I’m going to be learning a LOT more of Kotokoli than I first thought! Bring it on, baby!

I spent the rest of my week in Gandè meeting and greeting as many people and organizations as I possibly could! This included (with the help of my homologue):

-Visiting every school in Gandè and surrounding villages (I went classroom by classroom and introduced myself)

-Presenting myself to the Chef (chief) of Gandè and the chefs of nearby villages

-Meeting the area’s NGOs, local microfinance group, and the CVD (Committee for Village Development)

-Introducing myself to Gandè’s Disponsaire (Infirmary) staff

-Making an appearance at the Marché (Market)

It was a lot of walking in baking heat, but I was able to see a lot of where I’ll be living for the next two years!

Gandè in a Nutshell:

-Population: 2000 (+/-)

-Regional Capital: Kara, 30km away

-Nearest big city: Bafilo, 8km away

-Electricity: No.

-Cell phone reception: (surprisingly) Yes.

-Internet: A 45 Minute drive away in Kara.

-Water Accessibility: Pumps located all throughout Gandè

-Primary Religion: Muslim (6 mosques)

- Schools: One Kindergarten (a rare thing to have in Africa! We are lucky!) and two elementary schools (there are also elementary schools in the three villages surrounding Gandè). The middle school and high school are in Soudou, a nearby village that is a grueling 4KM hike away that the students must make FOUR times a day! [*Tangent]: In Togo, one works until noon, goes home for lunch and repos (nap time), and then heads back to work (or school) at 2:30PM. Every single day the C.E.G. (middle school) and Lycée (high school) students must to wake up extra early to make it to school in time (tardiness is punished), saunter home in the oppressive sun for only an hour break, make the trek back to school, and then walk back again at 5:00PM when school finishes. When the students finally arrive home, they still have all their chores to do not to mention a few hours worth of homework to finish. It’s a rough day…and to be honest, I’m not shocked that many students drop out of school due the exhausting means it takes just to keep it up every day…

-Main Exports: Manioc, corn, tobacco, and millet.

- Marché (Market) Days: Wednesday (Gandè), Thursday (Soudou), Saturday (Bafilo)

-Perks: A super welcoming/enthusiastic village, a community center, a mini Boutique that sells laundry soap and a few canned goods, only 8K from Bafilo (the closest city with electricity, post office, etc), pretty view of the mountains…

- Stresses: Finding sustainable projects and the heat! (the temperature in Gandè is like 3 degrees below the air catching on fire! Even at night the heat doesn’t let up and it makes it so hard to fall asleep!) Also, the sun sets at 6 o’clock and it gets a bit lonely at night without lights (and your eyes ache trying to see with only a tiny flashlight). I need to find things to do when it gets dark! I have a feeling I’ll be writing lots of letters!

Stories from the Week:

--Salutations/greetings in Gandè are IN-TENSE! In a bouncy bow, hands on knees (and I was happily surprised to see that the men bow just as much for the women as they do the men!), one goes through an entire script that they must recite for every one they pass. The full spectrum of questions goes something like this: Good day! How are you? Did you wake up well? And your family? And your children? And the stress of work? And your patience? Your health? And THEN it gets REALLY interesting! At the end of these salutations (especially in the morning when you’re seeing someone for the first time) they go into what I started calling the “Eh Battle.” “Eh” is “Yes” in Kotokoli and also an acknowledgement. At the closing of the dialogue one person ends it by grunting an “Eh.” and the other person responds/mimics back with their “Eh.”—thus commence the “Eh Battle!” They literally go back and forth [Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh. Eh….] for at least TEN seconds or more—and believe me, ten seconds is a long time! The longest one I timed was 27 seconds! That’s almost HALF A MINUTE just saying EH back and forth to one another! It’s so awesome to see cool cultural differences like this!

--I have a new alter-ego! Shortly after I arrived in Gandè and settled in to my new home, I was taken to visit the Chef and the village “Notables.” I was given three choices of traditional names and I chose the one that best fit me. I was then “re-baptized” as Selima (“Sel-EE-ma”). From then on, I shed my American name and became Selima of Gandè.

--The second night in village I was shaking my body to the faraway beat of drums as I attempted to arrange things in my room. I was getting down low when I turned around to see Mme. Fati (my homologue) and my neighbor, Mme. Mana, staring at me from the door. I straightened myself quickly and scuttled over to the door, jumping over clothes and suitcases, to let them in. They chuckled at my dancing and in horribly broken French I tried to convey that African music—especially drums—lights a fire in my heart and I can’t help but dancing!

“Oh! So you love African music?” (Mme. Fati)

“Of course!”

“Good. Get changed.”

“…………….”

I was…completely confused. I changed into the nicest clothes I had brought, but I still wasn’t sure why. When I walked back out into the second room and showed off my outfit, I could still hear the distant drumming. I inquired about them—asking if perhaps they were for a funeral or marriage.

“Oh! The drums are for the accueiller.”

“Ohhh! The accueiller! Of course! …….what does ‘accueiller’ mean, again?”

I looked up the word in the dictionary and my heart stopped. “Welcome.” It was then that I realized that those drums were for ME. (*Gulp!)

I opened my front door to six women waiting there for me dressed in their finest pangnes—their heads adorned with the highest quality embroidered veils. They stood when I stepped out and we all shook hands, bowed, and went through the greetings. I was told that we were going to the center of Gandè where the entire village was waiting for me for my welcome reception (*BIG gulp). The women, including Mme. Fati and Mme. Mana, formed a square around me and we set off towards the beating drums. As we neared the enthusiastic thumping of the tam-tams, the woman began to sing and clap their hands. Later that night I wrote down their song as it sounds and Mme. Fati translated it for me.

Dédé Selima qualité-Óooh (Our Selima is quality!)

Dédé Selima qualité-Òoh

Dédé Selima qualité-Óooh

Dédé Selima qualité-Òoh

Way-nita ja-na-gé way-lam ah-cha-dá (And those who don’t like her are just jealous!)

Way-nita ja-na-gé way-lam ah-cha-dá

Dédé Selima qualité-Óooh

Dédé Selima qualité-Òoh

The music intensified. We were almost there! I could see the entire village both sitting and standing in a large circle. Traditional Gumbé dancers danced in the center to the lively beat of the drums. With the women surrounding me and singing, we came up over a small hill and stood before the entire community. The villagers erupted into a loud cheer and clapped vigorously—even after I had taken my seat next to the Chef. We all sat and watched the Gumbé dancers dance in perfect harmony to complicated choreography that I don’t think I could have replicated even if I really tried! One older gentleman dancer lead the three younger males and they spun, stomped their feet, and got really low—never once falling out of unison. I clapped along to their spectacle and the Chef handed me a handful of candy. I looked at it curiously and Mme. Fati whispered in my ear that I was supposed to go up and give it to the dancers. As she said this, I witnessed other villagers walking to the center and pouring candy over the dancers or placing them in their front pockets.

Huh…interestingggg.

I walked up and bowed before each dancer as they continued to dance and placed candy in their pockets and thanked them for dancing. I also walked over to the drummers and singers and showered them with candy as well. I took my seat once more and continued to enjoy the show. Shortly after I noticed that the lead dancer had locked eyes with me and was dancing closer and closer. My heart skipped a beat when he held out his hand for me to join him.

Oh lord…I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t go out there…Please don’t fall Please don’t fall Please don’t fall…….

I took his hand and came to the center of the circle. He began dancing and I mirrored his every move. The crowd cheered and my confidence grew. I knew if I thought about it I would mess up, probably even trip—so I cleared my mind and allowed myself dance unreservedly. The drums quickened and so did our feet. We spun in unison, got low to the ground, and danced around one another—never once losing eye contact or the beat. I’m not sure what kind of grigri was in the air…but our minds connected somehow and it was seamless! The village was going crazy for us and people ran to us and poured candy over our heads. When the music ended the village exploded into applause. It wasn’t till I sat down that I realized how badly my hands were shaking…my whole body trembled—but damn I was happy!

Afterwards the Chef’s secretary, Anglais, stood up and made his speech. He introduced me (as Selima) and told everyone what I would be doing in Gandè. He made sure to stress that the use of “Yovo” or “Anasarda” (the not-so-polite words for ‘white person’) were absolutely interdit (forbidden). Afterwards, I stood up and made a small speech in French thanking everyone for the incredible welcome and that I was so happy and proud to become a part of Gandè—which Anglais then translated into Kotokoli for the village. I shook hands with all the Notables and after one last song and dance, I departed back the way I came—surrounded by beautiful women singing and clapping. What a day!

At the end of the week I took a bus (thankfully not a bush taxi!) back to Tsevié. I arrived home and was greeted with my host family running towards me with open arms! What a feeling! :)

After spending a week in Gandè, I can definitely say that I am happy that I am going to be there—but it was definitely an eye-opening experience to the reality that I will soon be facing. In just a week and a half, all of my friends will be gone, I will be speaking only a foreign language, and attempt to find projects that I can do which will not only be useful—but sustainable as well. Training has flown by and I can’t believe that it’s over already!

Excité:

Every three years, Peace Corps changes Training sites. Just last June, Tsevié welcomed its very first group of Peace Corps Trainees (the CHAP and SED programs). Before me, a SED trainee named Matthew lived with my host family. As to be expected, I have been constantly compared to Matthew—but it’s been a pleasant surprise to find out that we’re actually quite similar. This fact was cemented a bit for me one night when Matthew and I ended up talking on the phone for half an hour after Papa Philippe called him to say hello. Later that night, Momma Fidéle mentioned that she wanted Matthew to come visit for a weekend while I’m still here so he and I can meet. Having just talked to Matthew, I was definitely excited for this prospect! In badly broken French I told her that I have a bug tent/sleeping bag and that he could sleep on the floor in my room! I then tried to express that I was excited to meet him! ...Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly know the French word for “excited,” so I did what I normally do: say the English version of the word with a French accent. After just mentioning that he can sleep in my room, I told her:

“Ohh! Je suis excité!!”

She gave me a “What did you just say?” kind of look. “Tu est…..contente?”

“Oui!! Je suis trés excité pour Mathieu à viens ici!”

“Tu est…..CONTENTE?”

“Oui!! Bien sur!”

Then, for some reason, she told me that maybe he could just sleep in Claude’s room…but I shook my head and assured her that it was fine for him to sleep in my room (“I have a bug tent and sleeping bag!!”)

The next morning in Language class, I related the entire story to my professor, Adelaide, and to the other stagaire in my class, Meg. When I got to the final part, Adelaide’s smile disappeared and her eyes bulged….

So! APPARANTLY unlike many other English words that you can just say with a snazzy French accent and it’s the same, “excited/excité” do not translate over the same way. To say “excité” in French is to say that you’re sexually excited.

*FORHEAD SLAP*

After Adelaide’s explanation, my smiled faded and eyes bulged too!

“Are you SERIOUS?! I’ve been saying that to my Host Mom for the last few WEEKS! And NOW I’ve told her that I’m excité for another guy to come and stay in my room?! No WONDER she offered him to go sleep somewhere else!!”

So…it’s now become the inside joke between most of the Stagaires…we don’t even use the word “excited” anymore…haha And despite all of this, I’m still very ENTHUSIASTE for Matthew to come visit….

“Stephanie….you’ve been placed in……….”

I’ve waited in agony the last few weeks to hear those words—the five simple words that will designate where I will be living and spending all my time for the next two years after we swear-in in December.

On Monday, Rose (the APCD for the GEE program in Togo) drove all the way up from Lomé to give us a two and a half hour presentation on all 18 posts available. I had a vague idea of what I was looking for: a place I could work that allows for a bit more creativity and flexibility…in other words, a place outside the classroom. Schools here are cemented in straight memorization. The professor writes it on the board. You copy it. Memorize it. You’re tested on it. There’s very very little room for creativity in the schools…and often times, if you attempt to venture “outside the box,” you’re not taken seriously. Plus, I’m interested in talking with people…not at them…

Rose started from the Northern-most post, Dapaong and worked her way down South to Amoussimé. Togo is split into five major regions: (from North to South) Savanne, Kara (“Ka-Rah”), Centrale, Plateaux, and Maritime. Going into this session, I was sure that I didn’t care what Post I received—as long as it was in Plateau, I would be happy. Plateau is the arguably the most beautiful region in Togo—busting with green nature, high mountains, waterfalls, cooler climates, and two blessed rainy seasons.

But as Rose was reading the Posts, none of the Posts got to me quite the way Gandè did. Located farther up Northeast in the Kara region, Gandè (“Ghan-day”) is a predominantly Muslim village and supposedly very motivated for a PCV. Perhaps it’s some mild form of 6th Sense bogusness, but even when she first said the word Gandè, I got chills…is it possible that I just knew that Gandè was going to be mine? It sure felt that way…

Tuesday we had our interviews with Rose. We were able to communicate what we were looking for in a Post and even list our top choices. I expressed interest in Gandè…but the only response I got was “Well, I hope you’re flexible.” Hmm.

Wednesday…

Ants!

Ants in.

Ants in the.

Ants in the PANTS!

One by one we were called to the little Paillotte to have our Posts revealed by Rose. I looked around the Grand Paillotte…we all desperately tried not bite our nails and continuously look towards the door to see if the other person had finally finished. (God! What’s taking them so long?!) We were supposed to be working on our presentations that we would perform in front of a middle school classroom the next day—but how could we possibly expect to NOT think about our Post Assignments?? After all, this is where we will be residing for the next two years of our lives!

It was finally my turn! Haha I shot up so fast I almost flipped my chair back into the group of people behind me! It took physical effort to walk slowly…Gosh! How badly I needed to sprint over the stairs and to the little Paillotte where Rose was waiting!

“Stephanie….you’ve been placed in……….GANDÈ!!”

Again I had to restrain myself from tackling Rose with a giant hug…I restrained…but only mildly. I still jumped up and hugged her tight. After I composed myself a bit and slowed my heart rate down to only TWO-hundred beats a minute, I asked Rose if she only gave me Gandè because she knew that it’s where I really wanted to go. What she said touched me: “Stephanie, I was happily surprised that you expressed interest in Gandè because, to be honest with you, I had placed you in Gandè long before I even gave the presentation on Posts. A few years ago Gandè had GEE volunteer who made some great strides in the community—including the commencement of a brand new Girl’s Mentoring Center! After she COS’ed [Close of Service], another volunteer was placed in Gandè, but left after only a few months. The village was…devastated. I was looking for someone who is highly motivated, creative, very enthusiastic…and won’t give up and leave. This village has a special place in my heart and I think YOU are the perfect match for it. The village, though challenging in many ways, is very motivated and VERY welcoming! I think you will do great things there…”

I was touched and even more motivated and excited for Gandè!

I don’t have all the specifics yet, but from what I DO know, Gandè has:

-A Girl’s Education and Empowerment Center (just recently opened)

-Girl’s bag making/Knitting Income Generating Activities

-Education and Gender Committee

-Woman’s Cooperatives

-EEP coed Life Skills/Art Club

I have to admit that I’m a bit intimidated by all the progress of the previous volunteer (and my severe lack of French/local language) but, of course, I’m going to try my hardest to give the most of myself and make as much progress as I can!

In other news: POST VISIT (a one week visit to one’s post during training) is THIS SATURDAY. I’m so excited to get to see Gandè for myself and spend a week there getting to know everyone and begin “assessing village needs.”

Things I’m excited about:

-Becoming acquainted with my new village

-Getting to meet my new homologues (my African counterparts in village)

-Setting up my new home and meeting my second host family

-Meeting Matthew (my closest PCV neighbor AND the volunteer who also happened to live with my Tsevié host family right before me)

Things I’m nervous about:

-My acute deficiency in both French and Tem (the Kotokoli local language) and no one there to help me translate

-The 15+ hour drive up to Gandè on crater-y dirt roads

-The potentiality of feeling isolated and lonely

I will post again after Post Visit…probably with lots of stories (hopefully all good! haha)

A list we’ve compiled of the Top Ten ways you can tell you’re a PCV.

You Know You’re a PCV When:

1. You give the ANIMALS fleas.

2. You accidentally ate your own cat.

3. You have to practice “Reverse Bulimia” (Throwing-up BEFORE you eat to make room)

4. You play the game “Dirt, Tan, or Bruise?” (*Note: It’s almost NEVER a tan or bruise).

5. Your only friends at Post are the parasites in your stomach.

6. You take life “one calabash at a time…”

7. You know what “doing a BONK” is…and that it’s not nearly as dirty as it sounds.

8. You clap after everyone speaks…and everything you do has a list of objectives

9. You understand the meaning of “Togo Goggles.” (Togo Goggles (noun): When EVERYONE starts to look real good…)

10. It’s ALWAYS “Tchook:30”

The Typical schedule for Mondays-Saturdays as a PCT:

3:30AM: Rasputin cackles out the first COO’COO-LaCHOO of the morning. I wake up and attempt to find a dry patch on my bed to lay in.

5:15AM: I wake up, brush my teeth outside, and give my seau (bucket) to Momma Fidéle who fills it with warm water for my “shower.”

5:30AM: Bucket Bath

*Steps for a successful Bucket Bath: Hang your pagne (“pahn-yay”: the brightly patterned African cloth used for clothes, towels, robes, and so forth) on the door so others know the water closet is occupied. After you make sure you have your soap in a separate dish (so that it doesn’t contaminate your fresh water and make it grimy), stand over the bucket and use your scoop to pour water on your body (letting the excess water run back into the bucket). Use your African body “sponge” (a net-looking cloth that exfoliates your body…by also removing the first few layers of skin) to wash your face and body. Rinse. Shampoo your hair and rinse by flipping your head over—but pay attention that you’re not getting your soapy water back into you bucket! The lighting is poor, so if you feel like shaving, you have to do it all by feel unless you want a Mohawk-looking hair pattern up your legs (or face, for men). When you’ve finished, if you’ve managed to still have some water left in your seau (and you want to feel super luxurious!), lift the bucket over your head and pour it slowly all over you. It feels…amazing…

6:30AM: Breakfast (My favorite breakfast that Momma Fidéle makes me is an omelet with cabbage, tomatoes and peppers; a small baguette with jam; and tea)

7:00AM: Walk over to Camilla’s house (my best friend here and also my quasi-neighbor!) and then walk together to the tech house. Every day, neither of us can walk outside without hearing the “Yovo” song chanted at us by any child who spots us. “Yovo (white person)! Yovo! Bonsoir! Ça va bien, Merci!!” Morning, afternoon, and night, “Yovo! Yovo! Bonsoir!” Mostly it’s cute…but it can get mildly old after the hearing it over and over again all. day. long…

7:30AM: Language class (French and Local languages).

9:30AM: Small break. During this time we also play the game “Dirt, Tan, or Bruise?” We compare mystery marks on our arms and legs and guess which of the three categories it falls into…and it’s rarely ever a tan or bruise.

10:00AM: Technical Sessions (to learn more about the GEE program, projects to do, cultural lessons, and bike lessons) under the grand paillot (“pie-ote”: a conical thatched-roof gazebo-like structure).

12:00PM: Walk home with Camilla for lunch and naptime (it’s too hot to do much during this time of the day—everything shuts down around this time).

2:10PM: Meet back up with Camilla and walk back to the tech house for afternoon studies.

2:30PM: Afternoon sessions commence (Language and Technical)

4:30PM: Classes finish. Two days a week I have an hour of tutoring after sessions end.

4:45PM: Head over to Albatross (the local “buvet”) as a group for drinks (I stick with the Fanta), or to the Tchook House for a calabash of tchook (fermented millet that tastes something like super fermented apple cider).

6:00PM: Head home.

6:30PM: Spend time with family and try to finish French homework.

7:30PM: Dinnertime.

*Note: My whole pre-departure “Africa Diet” (when you eat as much as you possibly can before you leave because you somehow believe that you won’t be eating much when you get to Africa) was an AWEFUL idea. Our host families feed us enormous portions that we can almost never finish and their feelings are wounded if you don’t eat it all. It is considered respectful to eat all what you are served and shows that you admire the cook and are strong and healthy. I have to say “Merci, ça suffit!” (“Thank you, that’s enough!”) about three scoops before I’m ready, because Momma Fidéle always adds a few extra scoops of food when I say I’m done. After every three bites she tries to add another scoop of food to the already HEAPING pile on the plate. I stuff myself every night for them and they still complain that I “hardly eat!” This is a common grievance among all the Stagaires (trainees) and we’ve decided that we need to start practicing “Reverse Bulimia” (where you throw-up BEFORE you eat to make room in your stomach)! Haha

8:30PM: Hang out in room reading and doing homework or with the kids outside.

9:00PM: Crawl into bed, tuck the mosquito net into my mattress and fall blissfully asleep…until 3:30, that is!

Weekends: On Sundays the group (including the NRMers) usually meets at the tech house and plays a game of ultimate Frisbee together. Afterwards we all gather under the grand paillot and watch a few episodes of Arrested Development (or trek to the internet café).

After leaving Philadelphia on Friday evening and enduring a full 24 hours worth of both flying and waiting, we finally arrived in Togo Saturday night. Waddling into the tiny airport with our entire convoy of luggage, we looked exhausted and eerily like thirty-three illegitimate children of Where’s Waldo. Loaded down to the point of absurdity, we skirted through security and customs with relative ease. Thanks to Peace Corps, we were treated as “VIPs” and the entire process was taken care of for us. Had it not been for them, we would have been lost in the sea of confusion, mayhem, and sweaty bodies that distinguish the Lomé airport from many others. After filling a covered truck to the brim with our luggage, we accordioned ourselves tightly into four vans and caravanned to Mamy’s Hostel where we were affectionately greeted by several current volunteers.

Time in Lomé was spread primarily between Mamy’s and the Peace Corps Medical Office. The next four days were mostly spent downloading a surplus of information into our brains…and harpooning our arms with shot after necessary shot (Typhoid, Rabies, Hepatitis A-Z, Yellow Fever, and so forth)… Fun Activity of the Day: It’s easy! Just have a friend punch you in the arm as hard as they can over and over and over…then you might be able to know what my arm felt like after…

On the Wednesday after our arrival we departed Mamy’s and left for Tsevié (“Cheh-vee-ay”), a small town 30K outside of Lomé where all the GEE volunteers will spend the next three months of training. We arrived in Tsevié and drove into a walled-off compound. From inside the vans we could hear fervent commotion coming from behind another wall a few yards away: drumming, singing, chanting, and dancing which only intensified as our vans came to a stop. Sekou, a current volunteer who was riding shotgun, turned around to the rest of us in the back: “Ya’ll hear that?! That is for YOU!” We all looked around at each other shocked and with our hearts racing—I don’t think a single one of us had ever experienced such an enthusiastic reception in our entire lives! The entire village was there it seemed—all of whom were dancing, singing, drumming…“maraca-ing”—and for what?! All for US?!! It was almost too much to bear! I thought my heart would explode from sheer elation! We walked through a small doorway in the middle of the wall to the place where the crowd of villagers was eagerly waiting for us, and they exploded in cheers, hugs, and passionate greetings! For the next hour, we spent time meeting our host families, eating, and learning the Éwe (“Ay-vay”) dances. It was one of the best days I’ve ever experienced for sure 

I have been in country for nearly a month now! I have since moved in with my host family and they are incredible! They are generous and hospitable to the point of mild embarrassment, overly patient with my lack of French, and have taken me in as one of their own!

My family, the Adzehun’s (“Ad-zjhun”):

-Monsieur Phillippe and Mme. Fidéle, and their grandchildren:

-Edith (23) (actually a niece) is a seamstress and also helps around the house

-Djodgi (“Georgie”) (12) is growing into a beautiful young woman

-Steven (10) has a smile that makes my heart melt—he and I go on walks together

-Magloire (“Moi Gloire” is ‘My Glory’ in French) is 8 and full of mischief!

-and Dede (“Day-day”) is 7 and very bashful!

I’m not sure, to be honest, what I was expecting my home to be like (for these first three months anyways) but, as with everything else here, I was taken by complete surprise. In a very “Narnia-esque” way, once the steel door to our compound opens, you enter a courtyard full bounty! Beautiful flora such as coconut trees, palm trees, an avocado tree with avocados larger than my face, an orange tree (and because of the climate, all oranges here are GREEN!), a mango tree, and so forth are green, lush and in beautiful contrast to the rich red soil that I’ve seen all over Togo. There are animals also! Lizards and geckos take the place of squirrels here…there are everywhere! Chickens and roosters peck at the ground, and in the back, a little pin holds seven or eight goats that emit a sound that is jarringly similar to a small child crying.

I have a mild vendetta against the Rooster whom I’ve appropriately named Rasputin. Every morning commencing at approximately 3:30 AM, he “COO’COO-La’CHOO’s” at the TOP of his lungs every half hour for the next FOUR HOURS. Around 5 AM (and I’ve watched him do this) he marches over, neck pistoning back and forth with every step, to right under my window and crows in as loud as he can over and over. I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m pretty sure roosters have some super extra sensory ability that allows them to sense when a person is still sleeping. It drives him crazy and he will NOT relinquish until I leave my room to go take a shower. Even then, he follows me and continues to shriek at me from right outside the shower door! I can hear his thoughts: “Hey! Hey you! Hey are you in there! Is there someone in there? If there is, are you awake?? Is everyone awake??!” He is one frustrating mother clucker.

But! I finally had my revenge (and no, I haven’t eaten him…YET haha)! Dark falls here around 6:00PM and the animals settle down for the night. A few nights ago I snuck out at 11PM and tiptoed over to the rooster coop. I saw him in there…sleeping blissfully. I almost felt bad, but I had come here on a mission. Shining a flashlight into the coop, I grabbed the wires of his cage and shook them violently and !!!COO’COO-LaCHOO’ed!!! at him as loud as I could with out waking the rest of the compound! I scared him out of his feathers hahahaha  Sadly, it didn’t change much. The next day, at just the same time, he crowed just as loud as he always does…but for some reason I was strangely contended.

Well…that’s all folks. The end is nigh.

Join me.

I am standing alone high above the clouds on a monstrous precipice—the threshold—waiting (not so patiently) to dive into the depths. My clothes flap loosely around my body; my hair: knotted streamers Pocahontasing around my face and shoulders as I hang ten over the edge. Below me, far down past the clouds, I can distinguish fluctuating images of text and antiquated video reels displaying short looped clips of myself in unfamiliar settings and circumstances. It’s intriguing and I desperately crave to know what happens next!

I have been on cliffs like these several times before…though never one quite so elevated! Walking delicately out on the summit is evidence that I have arrived at the end of a particular chapter in my life’s biography. I’m sure everyone’s lives are full of peaks and plateaus that they must ascend. When they reach the apex, they have only a moment to reflect at the ledge before they must dive down (hopefully cannon-balling!) back to the bottom, and into their next chapter. Tomorrow I will stand brave over my life’s book and confidently turn the page revealing the script of my newest Chapter Page.

So many times before I have heard the expression about “entering new chapters” in one’s life but, until recently, I never truly reflected on it—and I certainly never visualized it! A few days ago someone casually mentioned how excited I must be to enter a big new “chapter” in my life. I’m still not entirely sure why this particular time struck me so profoundly, but I’ve been unable to erase this image from my brain!

I’ve mentally customized the details of my life’s autobiography! I picture it old fashioned and majestic—a hard-backed, hand-bound tome with intricate and exquisitely woven gold-leafed Chapter Pages that rival the Book of Kells! I imagine my book would be transcribed by hand in superb yet meticulous calligraphy and, of course, heavily illustrated. In dazzling color and artistic genius, my life’s events would be immortalized throughout the pages and boarders. As each page is turned, both script and vignette would materialize with a single brush stroke and then spread osmotically over the surface like a greedy paper towel placed over a spill. What would the pages smell like, I wonder? The deliciously musky smell of old library books—or would each story (as it is read) release the smell that was present at that moment—leaving you fully exposed to the bittersweet pangs of nostalgia? (Things to consider: the fragrance of freshly cut grass dispersed during stories of summer, or the soft and alluring scents of Tresor and Shalimar released as a narrative of my mother holding me gently to her chest and stroking my hair is unraveled…) Yes...I think I like that. My autobiography would drive all five senses to the extreme—the closest one could get next to actually being there. If nothing else, my greatest desire is for every chapter to be filled with adventure, travel, deep love, beauty, mischief, compassion, success, and (of course) laughter…but that part is entirely up to me…

Tomorrow marks the first day of my next big adventure, and I’m taking a running start off my cliff and into my next chapter. I wonder what this new one will be titled. Like a dream where you can see everything buy the face of the person, I can always presume the name, but I can never actually know until the end of each chapter. It could be something generic like “Peace Corps: Togo”…but I’m hoping for something more meaningful like “Lessons in Sustainability,” or “Stephanie Learns the True Meaning of Compassion.”

But for right this second: that’s all folks. The end is nigh…well, for THIS chapter anyways…

My life is my greatest and best adventure and I’m not wasting any time. Tomorrow truly is a promise to no one.

Onward and upward! Togo: here I come!!

“I’m leavin’ on a jet plane…don’t know when I’ll be back again…”



-New Haircut: check.-20 Pounds over the luggage weight limit: check.-Too excited to sleep tonight: CHECK.

Early tomorrow morning, full of excitement and weighed down far past the max, I’ll heavy-heartedly wave goodbye to my family and fly to Philadelphia for “Staging” (a day and a half of intense orientation to the Wonderful World of Peace Corps!). At the end of Staging, (only after being punctured by an excessive amount of needles shooting up the necessary vaccines into our systems) we fly to New York, Paris, and ultimately land in Lomé (Lo-may), the capital city of Togo, West Africa.

For the first three months the 30+ GEE (Girls Education and Empowerment) and NRM (Natural Resource Management) trainees are plunged into PST (Pre-Service Training)–an intensive orientation into our service which includes language training (both French and local languages), health awareness, cultural studies, and technical skills (skills directly related to our service type). In December, if we can prove our competency in French and cultural behaviors, then we will separate from each other and begin our two years of service in our assigned rural villages. As a GEE Volunteer, my primary duties and goals include:

1. Girls (students or apprentices) together with boys (students or apprentices) will increase their knowledge and will develop personal skills that contribute to their successful completion of school or professional training and will be empowered to participate in their communities.

2. Formal and non-formal educators will create positive environments for the promotion of girls' education in collaboration with boys.

3. Organizations will contribute to the development of their communities through the promotion of education and empowerment of girls in collaboration with boys and the development of financial and human resources.

4. The communities and community based organizations will be actively engaged in the campaign to increase the enrollment and retention rates of girls in schools and apprenticeship centers. Communities will use local and external resources to support gender equity in families, community organizations, schools and cooperative groups.

It seems like so much to accomplish…but for now: baby steps.

(Finish packing. Finding a way to lift my backpack up on my shoulders without falling backwards. Getting to the hotel in Philly from the airport with only five dollars in my pocket. Not making an idiot out of myself in front of my peers…and so forth)

.

I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I can............

New Haircut (check)

20 Pounds over the weight limit (check)

It is Ancient Persia on a scorching afternoon. Chickens peck the ground for crumbs, herders lethargically lead their sheep down the dirt streets…and submerged in the depths of the Sultan’s palace, the queen is entangled in a steamy lovers-knot with her lusty paramour.

Enter the Sultan.

He sees his Queen…and the man who has her enveloped in his arms...His breath halts. His heart begins to quicken and then race—and somewhere deep in the fleshy part of his brain, some wire begins to smoke and subsequently explodes. After her swift execution (and the grisly torture and capital punishment of her lover); the Sultan, King Shahriar, wastes no time in marrying a virgin and appointing her as the new Queen. He lies with her that night and in the morning, as a gift to his nubile bride, he has her beheaded before she can betray him like his previous Queen. That afternoon, in high spirits, the king takes another celibate bride, copulates with her, and bestows the same gift to her in the morning. Unsurprisingly, this marks the beginning of a “reign of terror” over all the chaste. This would have undoubtedly caused the extinction of all virgins in the kingdom if the daughter of the Sultan’s vizier, Scheherazade, had not intervened. She steps up and marries the King. That night, instead of sleeping with him, she offers to tell him a captivating story—to which he listlessly agrees. True to her word, Scheherazade rocks the king to his core with her story…but, she does not finish it. She gently tells him that if he would like to hear the ending, he will have to wait until the next night. The following evening, she finishes her tale and quickly begins another—again leaving the ending for the next night. For a thousand and one nights this continues. Scheherazade’s stories are not only enthralling, but each one is also encoded with a subliminal moral that ultimately open the King’s eyes to his cruelty. On the thousand and first night, the King pardons Scheherazade and announces that he will let her live.

Scheherazade reigns as Queen for the rest of her days…

There are few literary characters that I admire more than Scheherazade of the Arabian Nights. Scheherazade is resourceful, courageous, intelligent, witty, and one damn fine storyteller who awakens ones latent imagination! With her enchanting storytelling skills alone she was able to escape sure death, alter the perspective of a scorned king, and (of course) create stories of vast imagination that have inspired and rivaled some of the world’s greatest literary and artistic works! So, on my long journey away from home into the heart of West Africa, I can only aspire to become like the great Scheherazade herself! I have used this story as a disclaimer to explain the high probability that all my posts will be in the form of a story rather than a systematic recount. I find it so difficult to simply document any event methodically and professionally…which is why composing research papers in college was so hard! I am by no means a literary genius—or even necessarily a good storyteller—but I do know that life’s adventures are greater and far more fulfilling when they are shared with those you love…and I believe that prevails over any shortcomings I may have as a "writer" :)

Happy Reading!