Every story has an ending. Some, though, are harder to write than others. How can I sum up my last days, weeks, months in Togo? How can I even sum up the last two plus years? People like one-liners, but one-liners couldn’t do my experience justice…though for that matter neither could anything short of a book. My life was a world of opposites: challenging yet at many times routine, trying but relaxed, crowded though so often lonesome. If pressed, though, I can definitively say this much: If I could go back, I’d do it all over again. I’d take the heat, I’d take the bugs and the bats, and I’d take the bush taxi rides with chickens at my feet, goats in the trunk and people jammed up next to me in every imaginable position. I’d handle the dysentery and the amoebas, the machete mishaps, the unexplainable rashes and the falls off of motorcycles into puddles of deep, dirty water. I could manage the hawkers in the market and the scammers on the street, and all the other hassles that came with my life. All this because now I know what I only suspected three years ago when I went onto the Peace Corps website and hit that button to start my application: today’s pains lead—more often than not—to tomorrow’s pleasures. Uncertainty breeds worry in everyone, this is inevitable; but vindication ultimately arrives if you let it. Two years in an underdeveloped, forgotten, African country was never going to be easy, I knew there would be hard times and hard times there were. Yet, sitting under the shade of the mango tree outside my house on my last day in Sodo, my village, eating corn mush with tilapia from my fish pond, surrounded by villagers who first saw me as a stranger, then a friend, and finally as a local was vindication enough.

On a final, personal note thank you to all of you who didn’t forget about me. Not just those of you who sent packages and letters (though special thanks to all of you are in order), but everyone who ever gave me a passing thought. The feeling that the world has passed you by, and that those closest to you before departure have all pushed you out of their minds can easily creep into your thoughts on dark, quiet nights out there in ‘the bush’. I know that that wasn’t the case with the people in my life…thanks for that. To my friends still in Togo who might opt to use some of their precious internet credit on reading this: keep going! There aren’t many feelings quite like the one when your plane takes off after close of service…(although if your flight is at 4:00 in the morning like mine one of the main feelings may be exhaustion). And finally, if there is someone out there reading this who is thinking of taking the leap my advice is pretty simple: stop thinking about it and do it. A lot of people have passed up a lot of life changing experiences because they thought too much, try and avoid making that mistake!

Thanks to all, J.

p.s.-if you’re wondering what I’m up to now, I’m currently sitting next to a space heater avoiding the somewhat surprising cold of the High Atlas Mountains outside of Marrakesh, Morocco. Tomorrow Meghan and I are hiking around the base of the highest peak in North Africa, attempting to get by with the few long sleeved items we own. Next up is a month harvesting olives in the deep south of Italy in the Salento, or the heel of the boot, followed by a little respite in Paris to polish up our distinctly African French accents and finally to Lithuania to get back in touch with my roots before flying back from Warsaw to Chicago in time for my Mom’s birthday.

It seems that two years abroad hasn’t done much to alleviate my travel bug…

I'm in Lome so that I can buy airline tickets for my quickly approaching close of service. Walking around the market area trying to find ATMs that not only take American cards but also have money in them is a bit of a challenge. The ticket I was eventually able to get will take me from Lome to Casablanca for a week long "lay over" before heading to Milan. I'll fill you all in on the final itinerary when its complete, but for now I just wanted to put up a few pictures to make up for my lack of posts before today.

My pig, Queen Maud, enjoying some arugala I grew.

Maud and I

This is a hanging tomato bag that I made that hangs next to the pig house...

...Which can be watered using the water from the pig's bath tub.

And finally this is a neighbor's pet monkey that lives next to Maud's house (I imagine they're friends)...I'm not really into the underground pet monkey trade in Togo, but c'est la vie, I suppose.

All the best!

J

Lea* was late getting a bush taxi out of Centrale. I usually wouldn’t mind—it was still the morning, either way—but today was my birthday, and a serious lack of funds after a recent trip to Lome had me stuck in Sodo with few people I could kick back with.

I called Lea to check in.

“So there’s been an unforeseen problem”, she said, “The Muslim drivers are having issues bringing the pig.”

I was upset for not having thought of that problem the day before, when Lea told me I’d finally be getting a little piglet to call my own. The Muslim Kotikoli ethnic group has a corner on the taxi brousse business, which is nice most times (travelling Christmas or Easter is just as easy) but not so good when transporting swine.

Eventually she flagged down a mini bus that was fine with loading the pig (secure in a wicker basket cage) atop the mass of luggage, market goods, and animals that hung on awkward. She and the pig were on their way to Atakpame, halfway to my village.

Atakpame proves difficult for travellers in its own ways, though, and that’s speaking nothing of travellers with 30 pound travelling companions who are locked up and looking to break out. A tumultuous intersection is a must stop for cars travelling north and south along the main route nationale, where they meet with throngs of moto taxis and food vendors. The latter mob all the windows and doors of taxis pulling in, pushing bananas, oranges, bread and cold water pouches into your face, while the former abruptly grab the bags of exiting passengers in a hope they’ll get their business.

As the zemi-johns (moto-taxi drivers) swooped in one immediately grabbed the little pig from the driver’s apprentice who unloaded the mess of baggage off the top of the mini bus. On asking how much the trip to the next taxi station would run her the driver abruptly demanded $2 for the 1-2 km trip into the city. To someone stateside $2 is basically nothing, but here that same amount could buy you food on the street for a day or two if you wanted it to. Lea grabbed the pig from the zemi-john and began to walk away in a show of defiance against such unfair price gauging, but the driver was insistent that he earned her business and wouldn’t be told off easily. He slowly drove the motorcycle next to her along the road as she searched for a new zemi-john, proclaiming all the while that she was, in fact, not a nice person.

She found a new driver who offered to take her but insisted that he not have to touch the little pig—it would have to go on her lap. He asked where she was travelling to and she said Sodo, about 50km to the southwest.

“Are you visiting Jonathan”, he asked.

“Yes”, she said, a little taken aback that I’m apparently that well known.

“Jonathan and I are friends”, the man said (we aren’t, as it turns out), “I’ll take you there after you’re done with your shopping.”

****

I was thinking about taking a mid-morning nap when I called Lea to check in. Might as well pamper yourself with a little shameless relaxation on your birthday, I thought.

It had already been a pretty eventful morning at the fish ponds, and I was tuckered out after chasing my birthday feast all around the rice paddies.

I had picked out Marshall for the chopping block some time before, having rationalized that it was his own fault for losing his spot as alpha duck. He was still a sprightly drake, though, and wasn’t too keen on making his exit from this world.

On arrival, it was pretty easy to spot the three drakes rummaging about in the paddies. The bright red skin flaps on their faces provide a striking contrast from the fresh green, earthly brown and soft gold that make up the palette of colors of maturing rice. Marshall was flanked on either side by the two Georges—two males I’ve never been able to tell apart. All three marched in unison down the length of a roadside paddy, filtering through the deep mud for breakfast, until one, and then all, snapped their necks back and stared me down.

Unlike the innocent, little black eyes of a long island duck (the standard, domesticated duck from the Aflac commercials), the type of duck that was brought to Togo possesses eyes that are giant, cat-like and downright sinister. Every time I go to feed them those eyes, filled with resentment, pierce through me silently.

On my birthday, though, I was set to show them just who the real alpha duck is.

The Chase:

The ducks were a deceptive 10 feet away from us feeding in the muck when I decided to make my move. Ahossou, my work counterpart, told me not to go in after them but I did anyway, thinking that my boots would protect me; they did not, and I was soon up to my knees in inescapable mud. Ahossou held out a stick to help me make it back the few feet I had moved.

The ducks waddled away slowly, over a partition and deeper into the rice. On chasing after them they stood out obviously as their plump bodies broke through the bottom of the rice, shaking the golden grains hanging off the top as they passed. Ahossou took off his sandals and pushed them up a small creek that runs down the plateau, and into the thick brush in between the rice and the ponds.

I headed towards the ponds, knowing they would soon seek the shelter of the water. Once there, like a walrus against a polar bear, the ducks have the advantage. Many a time I’ve splashed water futilely from the shore in an effort to get them back into their cages, only succeeding in getting myself wet.

As predicted, one of the George’s made a break for the water, quickly followed by Marshall, who I lunged at in vain. The second George made it passed me as well and soon all three were holed up in the middle of the pond. Ahossou rolled up his pant legs and went in after them, as did I. The ducks waded nervously as we pushed them to the shore.

“Allez!” Ahossou yelled, as I jumped out of the water clumsily and began to run towards the retreating group. Yet it was all for naught, as Marshall soon scampered into the safety of the other pond. I went into the water and made my presence known by splashing at the water with a palm frond. Ahossou copied me and the ducks soon split apart, leaving Marshall out alone. We headed towards him and once again chased him up and out of the water, this time with seemingly nowhere to run. Yet, somehow, he found a way to escape through the tall, jagged grass that separates the pond form the road. I foolishly went after him, and in doing so scraped every uncovered part of my body. I had him within my sights at first, but soon I lost him amongst the fluorescent green grass that rose above my head.

Emerging on the other side I found no sign of Marshall, only more rice. Inspecting the landscape, though, and thinking like a duck on the run, I honed in on his hiding place. Crouching in another creek and looking into the darkness of the large drainage pipe that stretched under the road I spotted the silhouette of Marshall. Ahossou, with a large stick in hand, soon made his way to the opposite end of the pipe, as I climbed out of the creek and onto the road. Ahossou hit the stick against the pipe and scared Marshall enough to push him out of his safety and into the light. As he emerged from the pipe on my side of the road I jumped down into the creek, giving him a shock as I landed right behind him and nearly completing the mission at hand. Yet, again, he evaded capture and found another path into the pond.

Marshall joined one of the Georges in the pond as Ahossou and I ran up to them, upset that this was taking us so long. Ahossou clearly was more upset than I, both at himself and possibly at me for botching that last grab. He silently approached the two ducks from behind, all the while carrying a 15 foot long bamboo pole he had found.

As I slapped at the water in my usual style Ahossou yelled out to me, asking which duck I fancied for the meal. “The white one”, I yelled back, and with one steady motion Ahossou lifted the bamboo far into the air and brought it down upon Marshall’s head. We pulled him out of the water and rested along the edge of the pond.

Ahossou smiled in the bright morning sunlight; “good thing I was on form today”, he quipped.

Behind him the two George’s preened their feathers calmly. They never liked Marshall much anyway.

*Names may have been changed for privacy

After yesterday’s topic-based post, I felt it might be worthwhile to update anyone who still checks my page on the happenings of my day-to-day life. In terms of work projects, I’ve been teaching/leading two middle school clubs—one environmental science club in my village, and another girls gardening club in a nearby village. The environmental science club is much more lecture and excursion based, whereas the garden club mixes little lessons with trips to the garden where I give little pieces of advice. Sometimes I fear the lessons are sort of over the heads of my school kids, but I feel that they really appreciate being taught complex topics that challenge them. I try, for example, to present my environmental science club with graphs and figures every week, telling them that when they study science in college they’ll have a head start. Keep in mind, the idea that a child will go to high school (much less college) is by no means certain; in fact, it’s pretty rare for a child from my town to make the 13 km journey to the local high school. Thus, by me telling them they need these science skills for high school and college, as if it was a certainty that they’ll be attending both, I hope I’m raising their own expectations for themselves. In addition to clubs in my own region, I’ll be helping lead sessions at a summer camp for girls interested in science from across Togo. The general idea is that they will be able to go back to their own villages and help establish their own science clubs, without, necessarily, the help of foreigners. As many of you remember, I’m also active with local fish farmers, both by counseling groups I come across in other communities, as well as with the duck project with my own local fish farming group. We’ve had some sad news with the ducks as of late, with three dying of unexpected reasons. After building a ‘duckling nursery’, with one male and three females someone in my group made the mistake of placing a male who had escaped his own cage in with the females and other male. A showdown then ensued and one of the males killed the other in a dispute over the ladies. Then the next week (just a few days ago) the group member in charge of giving food and water must have forgotten to replace the dirty water with clean water, and the alpha male and smallest female died of—presumably—dehydration (ducks need an incredible amount of water for drinking and bathing.) All three were prepared and eaten, though, so I guess I’ll just postpone my planned Easter feast and call myself lucky that I still have six healthy members of the flock. I have also been making several trips to the small villages in my canton just, frankly, as a sign of respect to those who live there and who invite me to come and eat a meal with them. My work always comes up, though, so I get several opportunities to advise locals on food security, deforestation, and other general development issues. In two weeks or so, I’ve planned a walk to two mountain villages in my canton where a few volunteers and I will be discussing the gender equity program ‘men as partners’, which basically seeks to switch some of the burden of gender development from the women of the community to the men. Healthy relationships, fidelity, men’s health (sexual and otherwise), and sharing of household duties are just some of the topics that will be raised.

As always, I’m conjuring up ideas for new projects: my counterpart and I will soon be starting a model fish and rice farm (another form of integrated agriculture), where a sunken plot of land will feature two rice paddies that will flank a deeper canal where we will be able to raise Tilapia. If one manages the water correctly (i.e.-let the rice mature in only an inch or two of water, then flood it with about a foot of water when mature, then drain it again to harvest, while constantly leaving water in the canal), the fish will be able to both provide fertilizer and control some of the pests. Also, a neighboring volunteer and I have plans to start an environmental advocacy and monitoring program with well-known fetish priests in towns with Peace Corps volunteers across the region. The idea to use local religion as a basis for protecting “sacred” plants and animals came to me while on a casual visit to the fetish priest in my village (Americans know their religion by the name voodoo, and may call the priests themselves witch doctors, though in Togo and especially neighboring Benin it is a serious, and well respected religion, that often merges into Christianity and Islam, and is in no way threatening.) Basically, the way I see it is that when the native, biologically significant resources of a region are all simultaneously on the verge of collapse, any help is good help. If the fetish priest in a village can no longer find rare forest herbs because of deforestation, then him admonishing locals to not clear cut their land (for example) just may be the last, best hope for change. I hope all is well back home! Best wishes to everyone! J

My environmental science club...this picture was taken when I was discussing coffee (both the needs of the coffee tree as well as the actual beverage itself.) I had the kids try coffee from three different regions of the world--one of them being their own home grown Togolese coffee.

The passion that Ahossou shows for his sodabi (the local moonshine) is matched only by the animosity he shows for other—less refined—spirits. On top of telling me to never drink sodabi from anywhere outside the very tight confines of our region (and God forbid I should ever sample that swamp water they sell in Benin), my work partner and close friend always finds time to remind me to never share sodabi with anyone ‘on the street’ in our village. This admittedly sounds a bit less threatening when one realizes that there isn’t really a street in my town so much as a quaint little square with a rather nice church and a rather decrepit palais royale—though the old chief’s house does take a bit of charm from the traditional mud and bamboo construction and the two widowers the size and shape of lawn gnomes (canes and fuzzy bellies to boot) who reside there. They guard over a petite marché with a few ladies selling a few vegetables and three or four boutiques, which keep in mind have maybe ten things behind the counter. One (or usually more) of those ten things, always happens to be a myriad of sodabi bottles—multiple roots, herbs, and chili peppers infused therein as medicament for all your aches and pains. The liquor itself is the distilled product of palm wine, which in itself is the sweet, milky looking liquid that is naturally fermented inside of the palm trees that litter the landscape of these parts. Though it smells like vomit, it is actually rather tasty, and not at all strong tasting. Sodabi, on the other hand, packs a hell of a punch. The appetite for sodabi in southern Togo, like that of tchouk and tchakpa (local, unfiltered millet and sorghum beer) in central and northern Togo is simply insatiable. Sodabi stands can be found in almost every other familial compound in my village, and locals will stop to take it in the morning before work—just as we do with coffeehouses—straight through lunch and into the night. Just the other day I was told by a very respectable man that he only drinks the stuff in the morning before he goes to the farm and before dinner, as if that was downright puritanical. Others have more difficulty abstaining from the beverage: glossy eyed and with debatable motor skills a chunk of the population merely stays drunk. Their often foolish banter—normally somewhat innocent, though at times borderline abusive—seems to only grow louder when I enter the scene. Maybe it’s my friendly disposition, I don’t know, but drunks seem to be drawn into conversation with me every day. I usually don’t mind, so long as they only are looking to say hello or quiz me on my local language skills. Yet at times the knowledge that I’ll be confronted by someone who sees me as the source of their next shot is enough to make me steer clear of their usual haunts—especially at night or after a festival/funeral. The sad truth, that I’ve wanted to say for quite some time, is that alcoholism is secretly stifling the hopes of small communities across this country by stealing money out of men’s pockets: money that could be used on much more productive purchases (food comes to mind.) Don’t get me wrong, the money is at some level fed back into the local economy—people here are staunch supporters of their local stills—but that reasoning only goes so far. These concerns of mine, though, are not easily raised in village. If on one side of the advocacy spectrum (we’ll call it 10) are the ladies of prohibition who took axes to barrels of beer and bottles of whisky, and the other side (we’ll call it 1) is simply saying nothing at all, I’d probably—pitifully—be about a three. I’ll bring up the topic to close work partners and I’ve been a part of discussions on the issue at more formal conferences, but trying to ‘develop’ a ‘developing’ country means picking your battles (lest you lose your mind.) This, unfortunately, is one battle that will need a lot more than a few volunteers to be won.

J

After a wondrous three week vacation back home, and a three day decompression period on the beach in Ghana I found myself surpisingly content as I moseyed back into village. I had tentatively planned on a slow transition back-- a couple days in Lome, a couple days in my regional capital—so as to ease slowly back into small town life. It turns out, though, that the lure of my own bed was too strong for me to resist for long, and I soon squeezed myself into a cramped bush taxi and headed to—what is for now—home.

It should be noted that returning to any volunteer house in Togo after an even brief period away is an interesting event…to put it frankly, you never know what kind of new critters have decided to reside/die in your abode.

When I walked into my place the first thing that caught my eye was the tattered remains of seed packets (radishes, tomatoes, beans, moringa, and more) laying all over my small house. On further inspection I found a very interesting collection of half eaten things all over my house…here are just a few examples:

-tube of hydrocortisone cream

-tube of athlete’s foot cream (its precautionary people…)

-pepto bismol tablets

-half the label off a hot sauce bottle

-the plastic cap of a bottle of body powder

The list goes on, but I’ll leave it at that. I soon found the culprit, lying bloated on the ground, surely dying from the cocktail of ointments and plastic it ingested.

After cleaning the scene up it was time for a shower…where I just knew there was going to be something waiting for me. I slowly entered my bathroom, crossing my fingers hoping that there wouldn’t be a mamba waiting there to pounce. The coast appeared to be clear, and I soon relaxed…that’s when I saw it: a dead bat at the bottom of my shower bucket. At least I thought it was dead—the high pitched (but very much audible) screech that filled my bathroom proved otherwise.

I’m still not quite sure why it was in there, or why it couldn’t fly out, but I didn’t let it hang around long enough to ask…soon it was thrown out along with the mouse, and I eased back into the slow, quiet, and hopefully pest free life that I’ve grown so fond of.

It’s good to be back.

J

I had heard that Togo was—reportedly—mécontent du vie (unhappy about life) from other volunteers in the past. Though at that time I didn't know that it was the prime example of a poor, unhappy little country; that is, at least, if I am interpreting this figure from The Economist correctly:

http://www.economist.com/blogs/dailychart/2010/11/daily_chart_1 Here's to celebrating a very happy holiday season at home...

Integrated aquaculture/agriculture is one tool among many to combat the rampant problem of food security in the developing world. The idea is simple: Instead of having one piece of land devoted to one thing (i.e.-a rice paddy, a fish pond, a livestock enclosure), you combine various types of food production in a way that benefits the harvest, while also conserving land.

There are many examples, from the simple to the complex, but they almost always involve the utilization of livestock for manure. In my village—where there was already a stocked fish pond when I arrived­—I have been working with the groupement piscicultutre to try, among other things, to improve the water quality of the pond. One of the best ways to accomplish this is by combining the fish farming with appropriate animal husbandry, usually by creating an enclosure for the animals either in, or directly next to the pond. The idea is that the animals will create both manure as well as lots of food scraps that the fish will then eat, thus creating a much needed nitrogen source that will speed up the rate of growth. This technique is most popular in SE Asia, where often times large fish farming centers feature pig, duck, goose, chicken and other husbandry.

I quickly became a fan of the scheme, not only because of the already mentioned benefits of integrated aquaculture, but also because it was something that is rarely, if ever, tried in Togo. Having worked with farmers here for over a year now I can say that one of the hardest obstacles in the way of food security is the overarching sameness of food production here. The majority of the Togolese population farms or owns livestock or both, and yet there are only a few individuals I know that have actively searched for creative new farming methods to implement. With that in mind, I wanted to introduce a way of creating and harvesting food that was completely unique—not necessarily so that it could be replicated by everyone, but so that locals could see that its always worth trying something new!

After researching I decided that I would introduce ducks into the fish pond, mostly because they aren’t incredibly expensive, and they are quite efficient producers of waste. Yet, there is only a couple feet of flat land next to the pond, so a typical little land structure for them to sleep and nest in wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, I decided I would venture way outside the box and design a covered raft that would be set afloat in the pond. I realize that sounds like a pretty straight forward project, but I really can’t stress enough how new the idea of a raft was for my town. Indeed, until the raft was actually put in, I don’t think anyone actually knew what I was concocting; I told them it was a raft, but apparently the French word for raft isn’t exactly universally understood.

Now, though, since having stocked the raft with ducks a few weeks ago, I’ve been receiving daily visitors curious and usually surprised about the élévage sur l’eau. I’m not done yet, though: next up is a bamboo pier for ducklings (easier access) and I’d like to eventually try my hand at pig rearing.

Anyway, here are a few pictures for you to get an idea, and if you’re more curious about specifics then leave a question and I’ll be sure to get back to you!

Take care,

J

My compound...my house is straight ahead in the corner (as you can see it isn't a mud hut!)

The kitchen/foyer...my drinking water is under my big filter on the left hand side...my stove is at the far right next to the orange gas tank.

I probably should have made my bed for this pic, but oh well...

This is still in the bedroom, don't be deceived, there are only two little rooms.

Et La Jardin...

This was taken after I first cut back all the brush at the garden; since it was dry season the weeds didn't grow back right away...

but as soon as the rains came the weeds shot back up and the winds of the first big storm blew over that tree from the previous picture. In the foreground, by the way, is the first compost pile I made.

This is a part of the actual garden section of my land. Its hard to see but there was a ton of water inbetween the beds...the day before this pic was taken the entire garden was flooded. In Africa, when it comes to waiting for the rains, be careful what you wish for.

Eventually, though, the rains let up enough for me to get a decent sunflower seed harvest!

Just so everyone can see a picture with me in it, here is one of me helping out the rice farmers.

In regards to the international culinary scene, Americans generally keep to a short list of players, with adventurous eating opportunities only presenting themselves so often. Moreover, the standard choices for ‘ethnic’ fare—Italian, Chinese, Mexican, and the like—are generally so dialed down and ‘Americanized’ that finding truly authentic dishes can become a challenge in even the most cosmopolitan of settings.

Yet there are those who avidly search, and quickly discover, the hidden morsels of the gastronomic world—the meals that come only after ordering off of a menu you barely understand from someone who you may understand even less. Fortunately for Americans, though, you don’t have to travel too far to find such experiences. There are eye opening dining options in even the smallest of towns in our country, so long as you’re willing to look.

I realized this some time ago, and had the fortune of being raised outside of a city where eating, and to a lesser extent eating unique fare, is quite encouraged. Still, though, for the many times I went looking for ethnic food, I can honestly say I never so much as came across a West African option. To even the most daring and/or knowledgeable of eaters, the food of this region is very much an unknown.

I suppose it has something to do with marketing. Most in the developed world see Africa as a place of hardship, where even if you’re not starving, you’re certainly not eating that much.

In reality the proper preparation of a good meal is just as important here as in America, and I have honestly found that once you get past an initial awkwardness, you find meals that you absolutely crave.

Of course, I’m not talking about a five course bourgeois feast either. Togolese fare (and by extension the food of this larger area) is quite simple, and largely based on the agricultural calendar.

The vast majority of the time a meal includes a carbohydrate/cereal/grain base with a sauce. I feel like 9 times out of 10 the base is pate, which is a corn meal porridge that is left to solidify; the closest thing to an American would be grits or Italian polenta. It is usually served with a green leaf sauce made with spinach or chard like leaves, red palm oil, and often with okra.

Rice is also common, especially in areas where it is able to be grown, such as where I live. It is often eaten with similar leaf sauces, but is most popular with a spicy tomato or peanut sauce.

Fufu is probably the most popular dish and is most often ate on Sundays or when money is available. It is basically mashed yams, which are pounded with long poles in a deep wooden pestle until it is sort of coagulated. To a newcomer it’s really nothing like mashed potatoes in America but to me it has taken on the same comfort food role, and is thus sorely missed when yams are out of season as they are now. If meat is available locals make a delicious gravy to go along with it that is spiced in my region with fresh peppercorn (not dried). If there is no meat then peanut, tomato, or eggplant sauce is substituted.

These are all typical family meals, but Togo also has a very consistent and somewhat odd availability of Western dishes. In most larger towns there are cafeterias along the roads that you can buy the same few things: spaghetti, couscous, and egg omelet sandwiches. Without fail, there are always egg sandwiches smothered in mayonnaise and fried with more oil than anyone should possibly need to fry a couple eggs. Along the street there is also a consistent supply of beans and rice, grilled corn, peanuts, fried tofu, rice porridge and many types or fruits and veggies.

I could go on more but will leave it there…

À la prochain!

J

ps- those sheep testicles, if you could believe it, were rather delicious…

After having been here for a decent bit of time I’ve sort of become habituated to speaking in a different language, but that isn’t to say that the difference in language is a small matter in my life. Indeed, to live in an African village is to face huge language barriers every day. Sometimes, the hard part isn’t even to know HOW speak the language, it’s know which language to speak in the first place!

Togo may be a typical small West African nation in most ways…and, truthfully, it doesn’t have much to really brag about in the region. Yet, up till this point I’ve yet to hear of many countries that come close in the realm of ethnic diversity.

In a space the size of West Virginia there exist just under 50 unique ethnic groups…every one with their own language. In my village, alone, there are three major ethnic groups: Akposso, Ewe, and Kabiye. Sometimes they know each other’s language, sometime they have to rely on French to communicate.

Village life is one built on the saluer (to greet, in English). In every language in Togo there is, without fail a fairly elaborate way to address/greet/say hi to someone. They usually all depend on the time of day or whether or not you’ve seen that person recently; and they are all generally of a call and response nature.

I’d explain it more but I’ll just dive in with some examples from the language of my neighborhood: Akposso.

The morning saluation, as in if this is your first time seeing each other that day, BUT you saw each other yesterday:

Call---Response

Ivua---Ivua

Adie---Adie

Ara/Arawo---Ara/Arawo

That’s an easy one since its just call and response, to ask how someone is doing, and say that you are doing good is also pretty easy:

Eh-vay---Ey

(Ey, pronounced like the letter A, is yes in many of the southern Togolese languages)

In most local languages there is also an all-important word for Welcome, in Akposso it’s:

A-Knee-Say-Oh

OR

Yabo

To ask someone how their family is you would ask:

Ee-Doo-New-Olay

Which is answered with:

Olay

If you haven’t seen someone in a while it would be customary to say hello first, then say welcome and finally ask them how the family is:

Ivua---Ivua

Ee-Doo-New-Olay---Olay

A-Knee-Say-Oh---Yo!

That last Yo! is the shortened response to just about everything, its basically just to show recognition of the greeting.

That’s all for now, don’t want to confuse everyone too much!

J

Hockey is an awfully difficult sport to explain to an African...I usually am forced to do a little motion with my hands like Im stickhandling, while sweeping the ground with my feet like Im skating.  The result is something a lot like a stage performer dancing with a cane, and nothing at all like the actual thing.  At the root of the problem, I suppose, is that outside of the rare ice cube, there is never any substantial amount of frozen water in Togo...and certainly no one can truly comprehend what it is to be on ice.    

Still, though, my excitement over the last couple weeks has been mounting along with the Blackhawk's slow ascension to the championship, and with it calls from home telling me the news of the latest game (thanks mom).  Being a good Peace Corps volunteer, and wishing to communicate my culture with those around me,  Ive really focused on spreading this good news to my small African community.  Sometimes I get blank stares, most of the time, though, I get remarks about Michael Jordan and the Bulls.  Thats alright, I guess, at least they got the city right!

Now all we need to cap off the week is a US win over England on Saturday (I'm a believer, people)!

I'm in Lome so Ill get another post up tomorrow before I leave, I just wanted to write a little something this evening while I had some time and the Hawks on my mind!

Take care!J

ps-While Im on the sports topic, What is this I hear of Nebraska joining the Big Ten and half of the Big 12 joining the Pac 10?  I leave for 9 months and now were talking about Texas playing conference games in Corvallis?!  Pull it together USA.

pss-The Beavers would beat Texas in that game by the way...just saying.     

Hi all, I don't have much time to actually write much but I wanted to get a few pictures up while Im in Lome doing some work... My birthday was a few days ago and I naturally went out to one of the better restaurants in a large town near me--I was told that the fish was good at this particular French restaurant, and decided to ask the waiter for it. Generally speaking, though, any restaurant in country will allow you to inspect the menu for quite some time before telling you they don't actually have half the things on it. With this in mind I wasnt too disheartened when he said there was no fish, though the waiter did say that there was a special delicacy on the menu tonight: Agouti, or in English: bush rat. Its really dosent look like a rat, for the record, more like a woodchuck or something--and Ive been dying to have it but havent found it in village, so I jumped on the oppurtunity. It was, admitedly, just as delicious as the people in my village said it was. The texture of tender beef but taste sort of like pork, with none of the iron like taste of game meat back home. All in all, one of the best birthday meals Ive ever had...

The main course

Before the feastAnd just so everyone can get a better idea of what I'm talking about, here is a link to a national geographic video about Togolese bush rat hunters: enjoy!http://video.nationalgeographic.com/video/player/places/countries-places/togo/togo_eatingrat.htmlhttp://video.nationalgeographic.com/video/player/places/countries-places/togo/togo_eatingrat.html

Just a picture from the beach in Ghana during my vacation

A random shot that I like... Take care!J

When I arrived in Togo 7 months ago I had not seen another African nation before. Since then I have seen many scenes across this small strip of a country, and I suppose part of me began to think that the rest of Africa--or at least West Africa-- was pretty similar to at least some part of Togo. The place was touted as "L'Afrique en Miniature" by the government to drag in tourists who wanted to see a nice microcosm of the continent. We have a somewhat large capital city with western amenities, 50k+ of beaches, tropical forests (kind of), grasslands, and once upon a time you could actually find interesting wildlife.

Now, though, my perspective on this place has changed around completely after only three short nights in the glorious wonderland that is Ghana.

I remember soon after I got to post I began asking some older volunteers about recent trips they had taken to get an idea of where I would visit first. The obvious front-runner was Accra and surrounding beaches in Ghana, but the reason why may be different than what you are used to.

"Listen" my friend told me, wide eyed as he described Accra, "they have overpasses"

"Really?!", I said, contemplating the now incredibly complex phenomenon of one road going OVER another road.

"Yeah, like with on-ramps...you gotta see it", he said

To a Peace Corps Volunteer I feel like finding places that are like home, even in just minor aspects is essential. When I drive through the centrale region of Togo and look out the window into flat fields of corn I try and imagine I'm back in the Midwest, driving 80 or 90 back home from school. When I look to the bluffs rising above my village I try and think of the cliffs rising above Clearwater or Watap. If I can trick myself into imagining I'm home, even for the shortest of moments I regain my sense of peace.

Yet, there is no city in Togo that can come close to resembling any true city in America. Lome is nice, don't get me wrong, but the streets are made of sand and the beach is a sewer, were not exactly talking the most posh of destinations. Accra, on the other hand, is a different story entirely. On top of overpasses, the entire road infrastructure is like nothing in Togo. There are artsy iron dividers between street lanes with flower baskets attached, street lamps and traffic signals that actually work, and traffic laws that are--get this-- both enforced and observed. You can get taxis with air conditioning and drivers actually follow regulations on how many people they can put in their cars. Keep in mind Togo taxis are stuffed with 4 in the back and 4 in the front, usually with a side of goats, babies or chickens.

For one night we were sure to stay at the only hotel I know of in the region with an American themed sports bar and TexMex cooking. Our agenda also featured a trip to the local mall--which along with every other mind-blowing reminder of home had a movie theatre, mac store, food court and full supermarket. After that one night in Accra we went to a nearby beach for two nights and stayed at a backpacker-frequented resort that showcased local rasta artisans and traditional drumming and dancing and the like.

All in all it was a perfect little vacation, and luckily I bought the multi-entry visa so I'm most certainly heading back soon! All apologies, though, my computer is acting a little crazy so I was unable to get any pictures onto a flash drive for this update...I wish I could have! Other than that everything is great...I'm off to a conference tomorrow talking about using men across Togo as partners in empowering women, then back to post to move into my new house!

Take care all!

J

If you search the latest news coming out of Togo on any given day (which I assume all of you do on a regular basis) the headlines usually have little to do with the actual country. For a while the world turned its attention to the tragic attack on Togo’s beloved national soccer team, Les Eperviers (the Sparrow hawks) in Angola. Usually, though, the results on Google are much more soccer, and much less…well, Togo. Typically, stories are just about one player, Emanuel Adebayor: if not the most famous Togolese person in the history of Togo then a close second…and he plays in rainy Manchester, nowhere close to West Africa.

Yet, every few years or so that changes with the arrival of a presidential election and/or protesting of the election—for a brief period the world’s 24/7 news coverage actually touches upon actual happenings inside of Togo. This period came and went about a month ago, with the presidential election being scheduled for February 28th and eventually held after a delay on March 4th. I would highly suggest that you do a quick search online to learn a bit more about the outcome of the election and more importantly the state of Togolese politics, as I really don’t want to get into it much myself.

I’d be remised, though, if I didn’t mention that for a couple weeks I stayed with a friend in my nearby prefecture to avoid any possible disturbances in my village. This was solely a precautionary move and, luckily, nothing happened in my village and outside of some demonstrations in Lomé nothing of significance happened in Togo in general. Again, check out the reports online for more info if you’re interested, or email me for more in-depth observations.

In other news, I found out last week that I have to change houses in my village, and though I know it has something to do with the owner and nothing to do with me, I don’t know much more. For the time being I’m waiting for another house, and though I believe there is one available across the street from my current house I need to wait for the proper maintenance and such. I learned about this at my in-service training actually, a week long conference with the other members of my training group three months after the end of stage. It was sort of an awkward timing to hear about it, really, as I now have all these new ideas from training I want to bring back to village but am sort of pre-occupied with housing issues reminiscent of those from when I first arrived at post.

Speaking of in-service-training I thought all of you might like a better idea of what sort of things we are trained in here; here are a few of the sessions we had:

-How to mix charcoal waste (the powder that falls to the bottom of the bags, which in turn is left all over the road) with something like tapioca, derived from manioc or cassava root, and sawdust to produce a more heat efficient briquette.

-Domestic animal vaccination, which included live chicken demonstrations.

-Permagardening: a rainy season, biointensive take on a standard vegetable garden. Instead of just making separate garden beds or putting plants directly into the earth you make a system of beds around a border bed that works to divert water to holes in the ground next to a thirsty papaya or banana tree. All the beds are given a mixture of compost, ash, and manure and the seeds are sowed especially close, so that you grow more food in a closer space. It’s a good gardening technique for a HIV/AIDS affected families, as it requires less time to tend to.

There was much more, those were just some of the more interesting to me.

The next time I’ll be online will probably be in a couple weeks before I head to Ghana for a small vacation.

I’ll be in Lomé, so hopefully I’ll get a couple pictures up. Until then!

Namely hot showers, baths and air conditioning in the Peace Corps infirmary in Lome--which also means an internet connection fast enough to post pictures! Before I post a few, though, I'll briefly touch on my sickness a bit.

Three days ago I was working in the garden clearing some bamboo and trying to avoid a gnarly colony of ants and decided to take a break before lunch and head to the weekly market in a neighboring town for some cabbage and tofu (luxury ingredients for my village). I stopped back at my house to get my moto helmet and when I did I was stricken with horrible indigestion and decided to rest for a while. Within an hour I was incapacitated and vomiting into plastic bags in my bed. After consulting my health literature (see last entry) to see if this qualified as an emergency I called the after-hours health line of the Peace Corps and was told to rest, take some over the counter medicine that I already had and drink water with rehydration salts. By 11 at night I was in no way better and was told by my medical officer to wake up my homologue who lives next to me and have him run out and buy some antibiotics. It should be noted that in Togolese culture this is perfectly appropriate as sick people (especially guests) are looked after quite well, but this also meant that within 20 minutes the entire village would know I was sick and would want to send me well wishes. Luckily it was late enough that I didn't have any visitors coming to check on my health until the next morning...when I was already on my way to finding a car to Lome. After a horrendous taxi trip (worst than the typically horrid taxi trips that I've grown accustomed to), I stumbled into the med unit severely dehydrated, and looking admittedly pretty rough. Yet, it is amazing how your spirits are lifted once you step into air conditioning and taste cold water for the first time in months and I soon perked up. Now I'm just taking some extra tests to make sure that all I have is bacterial dysentery and not parasites or amoebas. All in all, nothing to out of the ordinary here, I should be back at post real soon!

Anyway, here are a few pics from the last couple months:

Me during training teaching junior high aged kids about reforestation

My host mom and I cooking on my last night of training

My village from above the Teak plantation, on the way to the top of the plateau

I took this at a fete that took place in my village at 8:00 in the morning after the government named the town as a new "canton": something like a township in the States. Basically my village will be the government seat or center for the surrounding area: which means more prestige and federal money coming in. The white powder on the lady is baby powder, which is thrown on you by party-goers (myself included). I was awaken by fireworks at sunrise on the day of the fete and when I made my way to where everyone was gathered there was already loads of Palm wine being ceremoniously spilled (and later drank) for the ancestors by one of the local fetish priests (we would call him a witch doctor).

So that is all I can put up for right now, but I'll be back in Lome (healthy hopefully) in a month or two and will post more then! Hope all is well with everyone back home! J

As I lay down to write this entry (from my bed—not yet the café), I can’t seem to focus on my task of detailing all that is Togo to you. I’m rather convinced I’ve chipped the enamel of one of my molars and I just can’t stop inspecting it with my cell phone flashlight and mirror.

This time it was the salt…probably pulled straight from the sea, for all I know, it was only 100 franc (a quarter) for a big bag resembling what one sprinkles on their driveway in winter. Usually the culprit is a stray rock in the local rice, or a dried bean in whatever (today there was one in my crushed red pepper).

I’m not too worried about it, though; you can go crazy overanalyzing your health here, flipping through the pages of your peace corps issued health literature every night. I’m making a concerted effort to avoid that…besides, I think dental work beyond cleanings gets you a trip to Senegal, and I’ve heard Dakar is lovely this time of year.

****

At present, my first few months at post are moving along quite leisurely. Eventually I’ll start reporting back news of how I’m saving the environment of Togo and so forth, but for now I’m more occupied with seemingly small projects. I’ve been working a lot on my garden: hiring some kids to clear the dead brush and buying my own coupe-coupe (West African French for machete) and a big hoe, which works as a shovel, rake and incidentally a hammer. In fact, it is apparently quite out of the ordinary to see a white man weaving through the crowd at the big weekly market with such hardware. I don’t know why no one believed me when I told them that I was a farmer.

The garden itself is coming along quite nicely, though I’ve been diligently trying to select which trees and plants I want cut and which I want left for nitrogen-fixing, live fencing and so on and that has been taking up quite a bit of time. I’m also trying to avoid burning the dead brush covering the land (for the betterment of the soil)which is a revolutionary concept for my neighbors who burn the bush quite regularly in order to clear land but also prevent larger fires (which doesn’t work but I’ll save that for now). My land has a nice stand of banana trees which I’ll be able to harvest and an area with some sugar cane that I’ll cut back a bit to build a sort of thatch roofed, pup-tent shaped gazebo where I can set up my hammock. All in all, the privacy and natural setting of my garden is a wonderful change from my rather bustling compound.

****

Two quick updates as I post this from the internet café:

-First, I did partially nick my tooth on that salt, but I wouldn’t call it a chip. Regardless, my next purchase at the marché will be a good sifter!

-Second, I just was able to pick up some big packages here in my regional capital and want to thank those who sent items! A special thank you to my mother for sending meat from home, summer sausage, jerky and any other pork/beef/expensive meat that I can have sent from home blows people’s minds here. I try and tell them about the preservatives that we have in our food that make month long voyages possible, but I soon found out that preservatif apparently means condom in French. People, needles to say, were rather curious about Americans putting condoms in food…

J

Happy Holidays Everyone! I know this a little late for Christmas but I wanted to both thank everyone for the wonderful messages and gifts (!) and let everyone know that I’m doing well and have been having a delightful Togolese holiday season so far.

I spent Christmas with American friends, and after I leave the internet café I’m heading back to village where I am hopefully going to partake in a pig slaughter and feast (hopefully more feast than slaughter for me) if my quartier can find one for sale.

I have missed you all over the last week or so (and always do, of course), but I have great people around me that help to keep me company—and again, the mail I’ve been getting has been incredible.

Now, a few brief notes on my first few weeks at post:

-The first few days of life on my new village were basically occupied by trying to find the basic things for furnishing my small, yet near empty (I’m borrowing a table and two chairs) space. I have a carpenter up in a town that is about 15 minutes away by car/moto that I’ve ordered a bed and bookshelf from. Now, I should have probably gotten both by now, but of course that hasn’t really panned out…my carpenter did buy me some grilled pig back fat on market day, though, which smothered in hot piment and onions is delicious.

-Speaking of cooking, the transition to living by myself has meant that I have been able to start cooking for myself once again. I have been meaning to write something long on the food here in Togo, but to give you just a taste, everything usually revolves around yams, manioc, corn, rice and beans. That means that during my training I ate either some combination of that or something like pasta that your host family thinks you like but that tastes nothing like pasta you grew up with. Also, things like potatoes and other tubers (which there are a lot of) aren’t prepared like we might be accustomed to. Yet now that I am on my own with my own cooking setup and ingredients I can basically recreate most things I want. Cheese, though, is sorely missed by everyone here…there is laughing cow processed cheese but I miss the real thing more than any other food from home.

-As far as work is concerned we are generally discouraged from starting any serious projects the first three months, and rather focus on finding out what major issues there are affecting the community. I have been able to help out some around the garden (not mine yet, but that will be cleared soon), showing a man I know how to terrace garden beds in relation to a slope to help conserve top soil/slow erosion. Also I attended a groupement meeting, toured some more fish ponds I’ll be working with and went to an HIV/AIDS sensibilisation. Soon enough Id like to start on some soy milk demonstrations and other smaller jobs—yet for now, I’m just focusing on settling in…

Happy Holidays again!!!

J

Ok that is a boldface lie...I'm sitting here in the volunteer lounge using internet that actually works and I'm in awe that I once had access to this splendid creation anytime I wanted.

Sorry I havent been on for a while (you're going to hear that a lot by the way). A mixture of blackouts, broken connections and a busy training schedule have made it near imposible.

Im here in Lome, after having officially sworn in as a volunteer last night, running around the town buying things at the market for the new house that I'll be permanently moving into tomorrow. What a change a few months have brought in my perspective on Togo...When I first arrived here Lome felt foreboding and dark, the nighttime drive across town from the airport was a culture shock in and of itself. I was thrown, it felt, into a crumbling city in an underdeveloped country in a region that we as westerners perceive to be at the heart of the third world.

Now, though, Lome seems downright cosmopolitan. The sandy streets of the kodjoviakope district, where the Peace Corps bureau is, seems as sophisticated as Lincoln Park, The Pearl or Dupont Circle. I can buy (and did just yesterday) heinz ketchup, kikoman(sp?) soy sauce, Aunt Jemima syrup, Bush's baked beans and Belgian beer.

It feels much more like home than what I could have imagined 11 weeks ago.

At 7:00 tomorrow morning I head off to post for good, and I'm thrilled after what I discovered during my weeklong visit some weeks back. On top of the great work oppurtunities with groupements for fishfarming, coffee and cacao, rice and reforestation my village is lovely and everyone is incredibly nice.

My house is small but has electricity, a water tap outside and a running toilet in my bathroom (which isnt connected to my house, but still great). As soon as I hire a carpenter for some furniture and settle in properly I'm sure the place will rival any studio apt I could have imagined back home!

Take care, I'll do my best to write again soon(ish)!

J

15 minutes at the (new and if anything worse) internet cafe and i thought idpump outr a quick post before going to my post tomorrow morning at 5:30.

First off a quick story... yesterday i caught word on the street that there was going to be a jazz concert in my little african village at one of the two bars in town. Something about italians building a road through town for a nonprofit and playing jazz on the side. I didnt believe it at first but decided i needed to investigate.

So i told my Togolese mama that i was off to listen to music (which involved me dancing and whistling as she does not actually speak french above salutations and basic instructions) and asked where my host brother was to see if he was going. She said she didnt know which was quite odd as everyone knows where everyone is at all times.

So i left and when i arrived at the bar i saw the generator driven lights flickering and a group of at least 300 people (including my brother missing brother) listening to an actual full piece jazz band.

I found my compatriots in the crowd and leaned over to one to ask for reassurance that this was in fact bizzare.

"dude, you missed the bagpipes at the begining of the show"

I turns out that the Frenchmen (not italians as i akwardly figured out while trying to speak in italian) do work solely in my training village and brought along a band a couple Brits with bagpipes.

The night capped off with me dancing to the drumming and singing which followed the group and finally returning home with my brother only to find my mother waiting outside my house on the road for us. And lest there be any doubt, the look of an angry mother whose son(s) come home too late is universal...

First off, apologies for the delay in getting this post out to the masses. When I commented lasrt time that I found a functioning internet cafe that was a little misleading...really I found a cafe which has intenet half of the time they're open.

Really, I'm just trying to give everyone a taste of what is to come when I' actually in the bush, at post.

On that note, I'll start by saying that I received my much anticipated post assignment last week. During our training we're given a list of the available villages in which we can spend our two years here, along with descriptions of the availalable work at the site. The descriptions aren't very long at all--basically just the bare bones about the site and possible work options. We're then given a questionaire and told to list basic preferences in regards to the size of the town, distance from the city and so on. To be honest, I didn't have any burning preferences--only suggestions for what type of work I thought I'd be good. Though, I did say I wanted a new post rather then a replacement post (being the first westerner in a village has its charm, plus I really dont want to be compared to anyone who came before me).

Luckily, I got both a new post and a village which seems to be receptive to work areas like reforestation, fish farming and general conservation. All of which I understand and am enthusiastic about. Though I admit that with a degree like fisheries and wildlife science I should know much more about fish farming than I actually do.

I'm fairly certain I can't actually write the name of the village for security reasons, but I'm in the plateau region in the SW of the country. The area is hilly and receives the most rainfall in Togo with some of the coolest temperetaures. Which, as you might expect, I'm thrilled about.

Next Saturday we leave to go and visit the sites for a week. Which should be exciting, terrifiying and completely different then training with a bunch of Americans...

More to come soon (hopefully), take care tout le monde!

Touching down on the tarmac, the reality of the situation hit home...orientation in Philly hadn't done it, nor the layover in Paris (including trying to figrue out how to describe a solar charger in French to curious security guards). For the first time really, I came to see what I had gotten myself into--and I froze. Sitting in the middle seat of a giant Airbus, trying to make out what lie outside, I couldn't move...

When I finally got my wits about me and exited the plane down a creeky staircase I emerged at an aiport with just one plane--ours--and proceeded into a shuttle with a Togolese driver sporting a suregeons mask. At that time, the itch in my throat I had picked up at home seemed certain to be swine flu. I was a goner, I knew it.

The shuttle roared to life and drove us approximately 50 yards to the terninal...the absurdity of the 5 second ride calmed my nerves. The rest of my unease soon came to be put to rest as well when I was shuffled into a room inside the terminal by an unknown American. In the sanctuary of that cranped roon, with the 30 or so other trainees I collected myself and prepared for the rest of my long journey.

Two weeks in I can't say that I've been cool and collected the entire time (damn you malaria pill-induced dreams), but I can say that I have not come to regret my decision to come here. Togo is a delightful place, though not one that I feel I can describe readily quite yet.

I live in a small town called Gbatopé, outside of Tsevié where other trainees in Girls empowerment live and where I currently am writing this). Gbatopé is an agricultural based town of about 5,000, with no electricity besides for the generators at two bars that power cold beers and LOUD reggae and American hip-hop (prorities, priorities). My days here commence with the rooster calls outside my window, followed by a full day of French lessons and agroforestry/natural resources classes. We have and experimental garden where we work everyday and look over our own personal beds of vegetables.

My trainers are great, and incredibly intelligent at what they do. The family that I stay with is also wonderful. I have a host brother of 14 and a slew of cousins who live near me. My host father is a farmer and the chief's brother--which is sort of a bid deal. My host mother is delightful and force feeds me three times a day and gives me a 'snack' of three oranges or a bushel of bananas every day.

Those of you who thought I'd be starving here will have to wait until I get to post for that premonition to come true, I'm afraid.

Unfortunately I'm out of time, but now that I know of a internet cafe with actual internet I'll be sure to update sometime soon!

Love you all, Jonathan...

My preparation is nearly complete:

For the elements:

-SPF 80 sun block: a

-100% Deet Insect Repellent: a

For general defense against unwanted creatures of the night:

-Leatherman Multi-Tool with 4 knives: a

-Double blade pocket knife: a

-$$$ for Machete upon arrival in Togo: a

For communication with the outside world:

-Shortwave radio: a

-Finding out what a shortwave radio even is: a

-Solar charger ready to soak up some equatorial rays in lieu of electricity: a

-Old Dell laptop that shall be sacrificed to the hands of African sand and dust:a

For sustenance:

-Vegetable seeds to go along with the agricultural/cropping skills I apparently have: a

-An appetite for various organs, domestic animals, pets, rats, snakes and other mystery sources of protein: a

-A stomach made strong from years of the indiscriminate eating of highly perishable items in a perish-prone fraternity setting: a

For my sanity/entertainment:

-Blues Harp harmonica to fit into my stereotypical idea of what one does while in a rural area without modern amenities. Think Les Stroud from Survivorman, or ranchers on the range (sans the campfires…and replace the chuck wagon and dutch oven cobbler with a propane stove and fufu): a

-And, of course, hacky sacks, a soccer ball, and a misplaced trust in my ball handling skills that will soon be put to the test against light-footed (and possibly barefooted, for that matter) Togolese youth: a

Feet don’t fail me now…