I never imagined I’d be saying, what I’m about to say. And now it seems ridiculous that I haven't had an awareness of this all along. I have come to love the colors of Togo! I’ve spent a lot of my time here thinking how awful and dirty and ugly everything is from a purely aesthetic point of view; and more than once wondered what it would be like for people from my village to wander the streets of Paris or Madrid or walk through Loose Park in Kansas City. Everything green and lush and orderly and clean. I showed Leah’s mom photographs of Spain. I could see that she was stunned by the beauty of it. She’s barely ever been out of Tchekpo.

It was a gradual awakening, and yet it wasn’t. t seemed like suddenly I was seeing colors and landscapes that stopped me in my tracks with their unique beauty. I don’t know if it’s because of the time of the year and the colors are more enhancing or if it’s always been there, and I just didn’t see it. Where once everything seemed just grayish red. Everything. Now I see a unique red and different variations of red; a lot of yellow and gold. Colors that glow in the sunlight and at dusk. Most people’s huts are made of clay bricks. I used to find it dismal. Now I walk down the path and think how beautifullyand naturally it fits into the landscape. Every now and then someone has painted their house. There’s a beautiful compound just down the road. I admire the woman and her son who live there. They just painted their house the prettiest blue. It's almost violet and it blends in so beautifully with their clay courtyard and garden. There is trash and waste scattered everywhere along the way. But inside the compounds are clean, comfortable and pleasing to the eye.

I’ve caught glimpses of beauty here, but it isn’t easy to see past the squalor. Ponya has always captured my attention. It’s always been a pleasant diversion for me. I love seeing it every day, and look very forward to seeing everyone; men, women and children on special occasions and at church. If someone hasn’t done a photography book on African ponya, they should. There’s nothing more vibrant or more revealing than the world of ponya. I revel in the variety, the colors, the personality of ponya and those who wear it. There’s no black or beige or taupe here. I spend hours in church when I should be praying, examining everyones ponya. I wonder about the steps each person took to arrive at this creation, this pattern, and design. Each one so uniquely different, and most are beautifully sewn. The designs and colors are such an expression of the person, family and occasion. No one fears going over the top. No one snickers at the woman whose headscarf is defying gravity and sparkling at the same time. Nothing aesthetically defines Africa like ponya. I think most of it is art. An expression of themselves and their world.

Doors have also captured my attention over my time here. I’ve come to realize that doors to compounds are a sort of status symbol. There are reed doors, and wooden doors, and metal doors. The metal doors are handworked and their patina change colors over time. They are made by artisans. A metal door and a cement compound floor is upper class in Tchekpo. Most people have reed or wooden doors and dirt floors. None of the doors could keep even an inexperienced robber out. Doors are for the most part, decorative and they feign an air of privacy. A spry child could be hoisted over almost all the doors and/or compound walls. Their doors are as much of an identity as the ponya they choose or the scarification they have on their body. This is who I am!

Colors. I’m more than a little surprised that my sense of the beauty that is here took so long to appreciate. I do long for green fields of grass, big huge Midwest trees, and all the colors and seasons that come with that. For now I see the beauty of the colors that I’m surrounded by. I often ride in the bush taxi from Tchekpo to Lome seeing the poverty and squalor, the ugliness of it. The chaos of it. The greyness of it. The pollution of it. But that is on the national road. Togo can’t be judged by what you see from the bush taxi on the national road. Beyond that, behind the national road where the small to medium size villages are, and in remote areas the colors and shapes become uniquely African and vibrant in their own way. They become beautiful. I’m so glad I can see it.

I've been processing the event yesterday. It was A Community M.A.P. Event and the topic was Empowering Girls and Why Education is Important. We used literature from Peace Corps Togo M.A.P. Program and from U.S.Aid Program. The Tchekpo M.A.P. Committee did an awesome job. I’m really proud of them. So I guess you could say this is your money at work.

It was little hard to gauge how it was going. Almost all of it was given in Ewe. I had one or two people interpret for me from time to time. It seemed all the points we had wanted to cover were being discussed. Empowering girls, Talking about the importance of education. They were asked to think about other things they can do before they have a family. Talked about condoms, talked about and demonstrated perceived gender roles. The presenters and topic captured the attention of the audience of primarily young women. I saw the principal of the highschool and the teachers learn things too, and they would jump up from time to time to speak their mind or emphasize a point. There was a healthy back and forth participation between the audience and the presenters. Excellent audience participation, the young women fearlessly asking smart questions.

Huge crowd, about six pcv's came, which was really nice. The principal of the high school and most of the teachers came. Lot's and lot's of kids, lots and lots of girls all dressed up in their school uniforms.

There were some glitches, that didn't matter...we should have had a megaphone....

Katanga and Georgette!!The sketches were great...they should be so proud of themselves...they were loud and faced the audience and had props and the sketches were very fitting for the topic. Three women spoke in all....Georgette, one of my community partners and friend. I was really glad to see her speak and she did well....and then a woman with Borne Fonden spoke...she was good too, and then Katanga. Katanga is a Director for an NGO (not-profit) organization here in Togo. I had heard her speak at a regional association conference, and she was dynamic. I tracked her down and asked her if she would be interested in speaking on this topic for our event. She was great and inspired the girls, and I think the teachers as well. (The teachers are all male.)

VivianneThe jeweled crown of the day, was after I came home, I was resting, doors/windows closed, but someone knocked. It was Honou Koffi with a girl about his age. Vivanne. She was a beautiful girl. She wanted to thank me for today and she wanted to talk more about opportunitites for girls. She excels in Physics and math. I know that Katanga asked the girls how many were interested in science. What an awesome question for these young village girls. Peace Corps has an annual science camp that I'll get Vivianne into, and set her up with a mentor. You could see something in her face, I don't know what to call it, but It turns out to be just what I was looking for here...., Some girls were inspired, and some people learned about community organizing, and others about the importance of volunteering.

I'm quite content about it all. I know this Peace Corps Training and event will have a positive, sustainable impact on many people in different ways. The organizers and the participants. This is just what we are supposed to be doing, so,. cool.

Leah

Leah…my thirteen year old neighbor, friend, helper. I’ve only been here for a little over a year, but this year has been one of a giant growth spurt for Leah, both physically and emotionally. I think she’s grown at least 3 or 4 inches. I remember one of the first times she carried water for me. She had the bucket on her head, was walking through the compound door, and I could see that she was starting to wobble. Our eyes met and we both sensed what would happen next, the bucket of water being too heavy for her little self. She fell over from the weight of the bucket, crashed to the ground, spilling the water. Dripping wet, she was so, so embarrassed. I rushed out to her, helped her up, dried off her face. She was not hurt, but her pride took a hit. To get her to laugh, I mimicked her wobbling, and I fell down to the ground. It worked. She laughed. We’ve been best friends ever since. Well except for the many times that she’s mad at me.

She starts school on Monday. It will be her first day at the Lycee (high school.) It is an understatement to say that it is quite an accomplishment to graduate from the primary school to the Lycee, especially for a girl. There are over 500 students attending the Tchekpo Lycee. About 15% of that 500 are girls. Students must study hard in primary school and pass a rigorous three days of tests before they can attend the Lycee. The day Leah got the certificate for passing the tests she came to my house to show it to me. She was so proud of herself, and I’m so proud of her.

Leah is a typical thirteen year old girl in almost every way. She is very moody. One minute she will be smiling and laughing with me and the next minute she is sulking and refuses to speak. Luckily I had experience with my own teenage girls. When she is in one of her “moods” it affects me in the same way it did when my daughters were in one of their moods. Very exasperating. But, it does help to know that these are typical manifestations of teenage moodiness. And just one more proof that we humans have universal emotions.

Yesterday Leah came to my house. She had been in Taglibo with her grandparents for about a week. I had seen her just before she left. She was very excited about going. She was going to see her father who lives there with his new family. Leah’s mother and father are divorced. She told me she was going to see her father and he was going to buy her some school supplies. She makes the trip there occasionally to see him and to see her grandparents. She came over several times before she left to tell me how long she would be gone, and to make sure I had enough water until she returned.

When she showed up at my house upon her return, I could tell something was very wrong. She came in my house, sat on a chair in the corner, and looked very sad. “What’s wrong?” I asked. She didn’t answer, just sat there looking very forlorn. Finally she told me that her father had not shown up, and she was unable to buy her school supplies. Because this was Friday afternoon, it would be impossible for her to get the supplies she needed before school starts on Monday. She was desolate! Just like any teenage girl would be who did not have what they needed before their first day of high school. I felt so sorry for her. I think it was not just the supplies but also the fact that her father had let her down. It was late Friday afternoon, much too late for me to be able to go to Tesvie or Taglibo to get what she needed. As a matter of fact I had just returned from Tesvie, where I bought Mahsoblee supplies for her first day of school. Leah and I just kind of sat and looked at each other. Tears were running down her face. Finally I decided I could give her a few things that I had bought Mahsoblee. This being Mahsoblees first day of school ever, I knew she would not need everything that I bought her. So we went through Mahsoblee’s things. I pulled out a bright pink ruler, a couple of pens, an eraser, a notebook, and also the most coveted Lycee tool….a little case that housed a geometry compass and pencils. I had actually bought the compass as a gift for Moses, because it is his first day at the Lycee also. I decided Moses would have to wait. I hated not to have something for Moses, but he wasn’t expecting anything. I could get him something next week. Then I went in my bedroom and got a light weight book bag that I rarely use. We put everything in the bag. It was all make-shift, but it was enough to get her started. Her mood lightened. She was very grateful in her little teenage way. “Thank you very much.” she said in English and gave me a rare hug.

A little while later she came over and demonstrated her appreciation. She washed and scrubbed my porch and the chairs on my porch and my screen door. I heard her singing and laughing. I told her I was going to take her picture the Monday morning when she goes off to school. She beamed.

Milestone for Mahsoblee

Mahsoblee is six years old, or so her gramma thinks. Most kids in Togo start school at age 4 or 5. Mahsoblee didn’t go to school until now because of her health. She was too sick, too fragile to attend.

If you’ve read some or all of my posts about Mahsoblee’s journey, you will know that it has been quite a challenge. My goal was to get her well, and then help educate her gramma on how to maintain her health. Mahsoblee has sickle cell anemia. It is a lifelong chronic illness, with the age of 30 being the life expectancy here in Togo for those who have sickle cell. Many, many die before they reach five years of age. All suffer with daily pain. Sickle Cell is difficult to maintain in the United States. It is a monumental effort to maintain in Togo. Medicine, nutrition, water, malaria prevention….

Since July she has endured two blood transplants, twenty days in three different hospitals, pin pricks, IV’s, and a myriad of consultations from doctors and surgeons, poking and prodding her tiny body. Until at the end we were armed with information, knowledge and a plan that we could only hope will help maintain her health and keep her disease at bay. She will continue to go to the Kouve Hospital once a month for doctors consultation and for laboratory tests. When I leave in August 2012, I have recruited the nuns from the Kouve Hospital and a person here in Tchekpo to help Mahsoblees gramma maintain Mahsoblees health, education and well being.

The last doctor we saw in Lome was Dr. Wossonou. He is a pediatrician specialist. He explained to us the challenges Mahsoblee has in front of her. He also emphasized the degree of pain that she endures every day. I asked him if she could start school. He said that she could and she should start school, but that Director and her teachers should be aware of her illness. I was excited about this news. All last year I would see Mahsoblee sitting on the stoop in front of my house when the kids were going and coming from school. I wanted her to be able to go. She’s a very, very smart little girl.

Touissaint and MahsobleeWe used some of the donated money to have a school uniform made for her, and to buy her some school supplies and a book bag. Each day for five days before school started I gave her some little thing for school. The day before school I gave her, her uniform and her brand new book bag. She was very happy, very excited, and I think she could not imagine what this new adventure would be like.

The first day of school arrived. She came by my house early in the morning dressed in her uniform with her bright pink book bag. She looked scared, apprehensive and happy. She and Toussaint waited patiently by the water pump for the school bell to ring. I watched as she ran off with all the other children, to her very first day of school. She doesn’t have to sit on the stoop this year and watch everyone else pass her by.

Ohhhh Yo-Vo I love You!

Tchekpo is located smack in the middle of Tesvie to the west and Taglibo to the east. About thirty miles in each direction of the most notoriously bad road in Togo. Full of ruts and holes. Vehicles cross several bridges between Tesvie and Tchekpo. I have seen, on more than several occasions, trucks and bush taxi’s that have gone off the bridge or the road…..mangled messes of twisted iron. One time there was a large semi truck precariously and dangerously hanging half over the bridge guardrail, wheels spinning, engine spewing smoke. That day I had to get out of the bush taxi I was riding in and walk the two miles back to Tchekpo. I walked among hundreds of other people who had also gotten out of their bush taxis because the vehicles they had been riding in were also unable to pass. But the Togolese always seem to make the best of every situation. On the walk people were singing, and laughing and dancing. The road was shut down for several days, with semi’s and work trucks backed up for miles.

Almost every day when you travel this road you see a team of two or three men or young boys, filling the pot holes and ruts with dirt. This temporary fix lasts only a few days, until the dirt is gone and the rutt reappears. These crews of men are sweating, shirtless, shoeless with only their hoes; digging dirt, filling the holes. They stand and bend and kneel in the middle of the road without any shelter from the blazing sun and heat. Their bodies and muscles glistening from the sun and the sweat that is pouring off of them. This is their job from dawn to dusk. These men only hope that the cars and trucks and moto’s will throw some change to the ground as they pass. There are no guarantees, no promises of being paid for their back breaking work.

There are usually four or five men or boys working together at various places along the road. They will make a vine and stretch it across the road. As vehicles approach they raise the vine as if this will block the vehicles from passing. However…always, always they drop the vine the second before the vehicle gets to it. Much more often than not the driver will make a motion with his hand, as if saying…I’ll catch you on the way back. Unfortunately, only very occasionally do I see a driver toss some coins…..I always turn around to catch a glimpse of the workers whether coins have been tossed or not. When they have been tossed I see the boys whooping and hollering, laughing and jumping and waving their hands. When coins have not been tossed I see the same thing. It’s remarkable I think that they seem surprisingly unresentful when no coins are tossed. It’s hard, hard work, and really very helpful to drivers of the road. It’s a job of chance. No one has promised them anything. They don’t expect anything. They only hope their efforts are recognized and rewarded.

I now always try to remember to have a few coins ready to toss. I’ve never seen passengers toss coins, but why not??!!?? My ride is easier because of what they do. I have one less bounce, one less knock in the head from the taxi hitting a rutt. And besides, I absolutely love to see the look of surprise, and then delight on their faces when a yo-vo (white person) has tossed some coins. For a moment we are bonded. They know, and I know that their hard work is appreciated.

One very hot day the taxi I was in approached a road crew. They had their vine stretched across the road. It was a group of teenage boys. It was obvious they had been working very hard. I had seen holes filled for the previous few miles. They held up the vine as the taxi approached. The driver slowed down and then waved to them that he would catch them next time. Aha! I had my coins ready. The driver saw me reaching for them and he slowed down, smiling. I tossed the coins out the window. One of the teenage boys…jumped, and hollered…He came over to my window smiling ear to ear. He said Ohhhhh yo-vo…..I love you (he did! He said that in English!)….then to my surprise he reached his hands inside the window took my face in his hands and playfully gave me a kiss on the cheek.. All of this happened in a micro second, as the taxi slowed down. The taxi driver was laughing too as he picked up speed. I turned around for one last look, and the boy was still jumping up and down, waving his arms. “Bon Travaile,” I shouted, laughing. (Good Work!)

I has wished that I had my camera handy to capture the moment, but the memory is forever etched in my mind.

Sixth Sense

I suppose the weather here is similar to any tropical climate. Storms form and swoop in an instant, with downpours that seen like they will never cease, flooding the roads with rivers of rapidly flowing, muddy water. And then the storm is over as quickly as it began. The rivers of rain dried up within a few hours. More days than not during the rainy season, I ask not one, but two or three neighbors, “Is it going to rain today?” I just like to know before I set out if I should take an umbrella. And I like to ask more than one person because #1, I still never believe them, and #2 I want to see if they ALL have this sixth sense. They ALWAYS know. I’ve never yet, seen them be wrong. It’s an amazing feat, because many times clouds are rolling in, it’s thundering and I would bet my last dollar that it will indeed rain. Most of the time, when I ask, they don’t even look up at the sky, they just say yes or no. Sometimes, though, they do look at the sky, I guess having not thought about it before I asked. One of my favorite neighbors Koku, I think has tired of me asking. He probably wonders how I wouldn’t know this, but he patiently if not condescendingly answers me, none-the-less.

Last week a storm rolled in just before daybreak. I was sitting at my computer drinking my first cup of coffee listening to and enjoying the cool thunderous storm. Suddenly I heard the loudest crash I’ve ever heard here. It startled me, and made me jump. I couldn’t imagine what in the world it was. I ran to my window, and there in front of me was a paillot (overhang) that had crashed to the ground from the weight of the pouring rain.

Yesterday, I was on my way to a Tom-Tom dance. It surely looked like rain. I was quite sure it would rain any minute. I didn’t know whether or not to go because everything is just immediately cancelled when it rains. I asked Koku, “Is it going to rain?” He looked up at the sky, and said, no, no, no rain today. Impossible I thought. This will be the day that their powers are proven fallible. But I went on my way, and by god, it didn’t rain, and I enjoyed the party.

Today, Leah was going to wash my clothes, but it looks like rain. Rain never impedes them from doing their laundry. They could care less if just as they get their clothes hung on the line it rains. But, I’m a bit more prissy, and if it’s going to rain, I’d prefer to wait so that it won’t take days for my clothes to dry. “Leah, is it going to rain today?” I asked before she got started. “No, no,” she said. “No rain today.” She washed my clothes this morning, and so far, she’s right…but it sure looks like it will.

Maybe all or many farmers back home have this instinct, but I don’t think they would be so absolutely positive as the people I ask here. Oh! If the meteorologists in the U.S. had this ability!!

I just returned from a classic Voodoo ceremony. It was a celebration in honor of Monsieur and Madame Touglo’s twin girls. The girls are about six. I would say this voodoo celebration is something like a baptism or Jewish Bat Mitzvah. That being a very loose comparison, meaning it is a celebration of a turning point in a child’s life, and in this case an official voodoo initiation of being twins. And so this day was to recognize and celebrate the gift of the Twins, and to thank the spirits for this blessing.

Monsieur Touglo teaches at L’ecole No. 5, a primary school. Mr. Touglo is one of my favorites. He’s always happy, and polite, and I know he’s very smart. I was pleased that I was invited to this important occasion. Monsieur Dove and Kaizai came by my house earlier in the week with a handwritten invitation to Monsieur Touglo’s Fete’. They told me they would come to my house at 7am on Friday and walk with me to the event….and so they did.

The Ceremony

It was fascinating…..full of rituals, both African and Voodoo. It’s a natural manifestation of the Voodoo philosophy that twins would be considered special. Twins are viewed as two halves of one soul. They are given status and looked on as having special powers. Twins never die in the Voodoo Culture, they live on to be spiritual guides for the generations to come. Mr. Touglo has three daughters. Following folklore the child that comes after the twins is even MORE special because that child will benefit from the personal guidance of the Twins.

There were many people; neighbors, extended family and some dignitaries and while the Chief couldn’t come, there were representatives of the Chief present. The ritual began with the family (mom, dad and the three children) sitting in the middle of a circle of probably over 100 guests. During this time they were presented with many beautiful necklaces and other jewelry, all of which were ceremoniously placed on each of them. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets. Drums beating in the background. Then the girls, all three of them, were taken aside, away from their parents and eye makeup was applied to each one of them by a voodoo priestess. I didn’t understand this part, but later someone told me it is part of the voodoo ceremony. The eye makeup represents keeping bad spirits from entering through their eyes. I’m sure there’s probably a little more to that, but I was kind of glad to hear this interpretation.

The ceremony was very serious during the presentation of the jewelry, but the rest of the time it seemed to be lighthearted, like a party after a First Communion. The guests, mingled, drank and ate, listened to music. All three of the girls seemed to enjoy themselves. They were serious and well behaved when they needed to be and then they were playful when left to their own devices. I could see that the whole family was very proud of this event. I think maybe they were a little nervous also. It was a “big to-do,” for a little village family.

I learn more about voodoo as I go along. There are so many misperceptions. From what I’ve learned thus far, it is really a wonderful, quite beautiful philosophy, though sometimes quite complicated, for this western thinker. It’s difficult to find accurate, indepth information about voodoo, primarily because one of Voodoo’s tenents is that it is an “oral” history. The tenents and traditions of this religion have been passed on orally from generation to the next for over 6000 years. It has also gone through a variety of manifestations as people migrated around the world. The basic tenents of voodoo are the same everywhere, if not all the details.

The Essence of Voodoo

“Within the voodoo society, there are no accidents. Practitioners believe that nothing and no event has a life of its own. That is why "vous deux", you two, you too. The universe is all one. Each thing affects something else. Scientists know that. Nature knows it. Many spiritualists agree that we are not separate, we all serve as parts of One. So, in essence, what you do unto another, you do unto you, because you ARE the other. Voo doo. View you. We are mirrors of each others souls. God is manifest through the spirits of ancestors who can bring good or harm and must be honored in ceremonies. There is a sacred cycle between the living and the dead. Believers ask for their misery to end. Rituals include prayers, drumming, dancing, singing and animal sacrifice.

Some people associate Voodoo with evil, but many of its rituals, even those that include the sacrifice of live animals, focus on respect and peace. Its religious leaders become community leaders, providing guidance and settling disputes. Leaders also frequently provide medical care in the form of folk medicine. Priests, priestesses and other practitioners typically dedicate their work to helping and caring for others “ http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/02/0211_040211_twincult.html

Ablo (A traditional Togo Meal)The “After Party”

I had to leave the ceremony for a meeting after about three hours, but I got to see the ceremony. Dove and Kaizai were demonstratively disappointed that I had to leave so soon. On the way to the event they seemed upset when I told them what time I’d have to leave. When I left I’m sure the festivities were barely started and that this party would go into the night if not the next day.

Kazai and His FatherDove and Kaizai had other plans for me. I almost foiled them. I couldn’t understand what they had in mind as we were walking. I thought I was going home to get ready to go to a meeting in Taglibo…..but I could tell that they had something else in mind. After a short walk we reached Kaizai’s house. I had never been to his home before. His entire family was there…his wife, his father, his brothers, children. I don’t think they were there because of me, though they were really welcoming. I think this whole family shares this compound and the ones next door, and this get together is somewhat of a daily occurrence. They were all busy doing something. Kaizai’s wife was cooking, his mother was holding her grandbaby. Kaizai’s brothers wife was sewing, Kaizai’s father was sitting in a doorway on the stoop, shucking corn. Little kids were running about.

The GirlsThe BoysIt was really nice to meet Kaizai’s family. I loved his family. They asked me to take photo’s. After a short while meeting and greeting everyone Dove and Kaizai led me across the road to his brothers house. His brother and his wife had a meal prepared for me, a very traditional African meal. Ablo. It’s made of cornmeal, and there is a spicy sauce that goes over it, and usually chicken. I really, really like ablo. It’s kinda got the taste, if not the consistency, of cornbread with a spicy sauce. They had a little table set up, just for me and brought me a couple courses of food. I think they were very pleased to have me as a guest in their house, and they were thanking me, and getting to know me. We joked a bit about the fact that I don’t eat meat. That’s a little shocking to them and hard for them to understand. It gets about the same reaction as when you say, “I’m divorced.” They talked to me while I ate, I kept asking them to join me, but that’s not the normal tradition.

They didn’t keep me long. They knew that I was pressed for time. I appreciated that I got to go to Kazai’s. It’s obvious they were planning on having me there for a meal. After I ate I said good bye to everyone, and thanked them.



It was such a nice day.

I had a lot to think about on my walk home.

There was only one thing missing, and that was my oldest daughter, Andrea. She had decided not to make this journey. She had a list full of valid reasons. Eric, my son, Emily, my daughter and I completely understood and were very accepting of why Andrea didn’t come, but during peaks and valleys of the trip we felt the void none-the-less. The conversation often fell to, what would Andrea have said, what would Andrea have done? And then we laughed…knowing. With the miracle of technology we were able to have her share our trip and keenly felt her presence and sense of humor throughout.

The Airport..They have arrived!Eric and Emily arrived in Togo on August 17th. I had been looking forward to their arrival for at least six months. I worried a little, maybe a lot about them taking their precious time off, and spending their well-earned money to come to Togo. I would bring it up occasionally when speaking to them on the phone. Are you sure? It’s not comfortable, or pretty. It’s hard. Are you sure that you want to spend your time and money coming here? It’s okkkkkk if you don’t. Each time they reassured me, until finally and to their relief I stopped asking. So, the day had come for them to arrive. I was beyond excited. I had seen Eric six months earlier when I went to Spain, where he works and lives. I had not seen Emily for an entire year. We both have remarked this is the longest stretch of time we’ve ever gone without seeing each other.

Eric is a world traveler, but Emily prefers to stay a little closer to home in Overland Park, Kansas. Her interest and determination in coming here surprised me. They were only going to be here six full days, so I had to make it as efficient as possible. It’s not easy to be efficient in Togo. Their flight arrived at 3:05 A.M. With the help of Peter the Peace Corps Security Officer I arranged to have a driver pick me up and take me to the airport at 2:00 A.M.

House in LomeI have become friends with Francoise, a woman who lives and works in Lome. She and I are working on a project together. Francoise has a house located about six blocks from the Peace Corps Headquarters. She has generously invited me to stay at her house anytime I’m in Lome. Staying in hotels in Lome is the one thing that I will never get used to, and the thing I hate to do most during my service here. I hate the thought of it more that bush taxis. Even the best of them are always moldy and mosquito or other rodent ridden. Often dirty. Nothing works; not the shower or the supposed air conditioning, or the advertised wireless capability. I’ve learned always to bring my own sheet with me, for obvious reasons. Francoise was going to be out of the country in August, so I asked her if Emily, Eric and I could stay in her house during the Lome part of their visit. It was a comfortable way to kick-off the trip and to end the trip. The house is quite lovely. She has a patio and pool in her back yard, and a little patch of real grass around the patio and pool. There’s no real grass in Togo, so when I go to Francoise’s I always take my shoes off and walk around in the soft, green grass. It’s the little things.

The pool (obviously)The driver showed up at the house on time….good omen. I got to the airport about an hour before they did. I was so excited. I couldn’t wait to see them, and touch them and put my arms around them. The airport guards kept the few people who were waiting for arrivals outside the arrival door. A guard stopped and talked with me. He asked me who I was, and who I was waiting for. Peace Corps almost always solicits a welcoming, positive response, and it did this time as well. I told him I was waiting for my children to arrive. I could see that my excitement and happiness made him happy as well. When the plane arrived no one was allowed in and you couldn’t even see in the room where they would pass through customs. I stood by the door that would open and shut occasionally hoping to get my first glimpse. There they are!!!! There’s Eric, there’s Emily!!! They hadn’t seen me yet, but my heart soared! The guard saw me and came and got me and escorted me into the room where no one else was allowed. Eric, Emily and I were overjoyed to see one another. The occasion did not disappoint my expectations.

They passed through customs with ease. Eric generously tipped a man who was showing him what to do next. He unknowingly gave the man about a months’ salary. No wonder they like Americans!! Once through customs my driver was waiting for us. It was about 3am. He drove us to Francoise house. We were exhausted. After taking a tour of the house and visiting for a little while we all three fell asleep for about four hours. Emily and I woke up first. We tried to rouse Eric, but he kept saying, just a minute, just a minute (Ha! Some things never change). Emily and I walked down the road to a street vendor where I always go for breakfast when I’m in Lome. It’s also near the Peace Corps Headquarters. There were three other PC Volunteers there eating breakfast at a plastic table, so Emily and I sat with them, ordered, and visited with them. To say Emily is a picky eater is putting it mildly. I know she was worried if she would starve to death in Togo. Well this would be her first cuisine experiment. This little street vendor happens to make the best egg sandwiches ever, and they have a version of café ole’ that is always a treat for me when I come to Lome. So Emily and I had an egg sandwich and each had a café ole’. We ordered an egg sandwich to take back for Eric. She liked the egg sandwich and loved the café’ ole’! It’s brave eating at these little street café’s for the first time. It’s kind of like a concession stand at a ballpark. They have stools, and a canopy that hangs over the seating, so that until you duck under it, all you can see is a row of customers butt’s. There are also lots and lots of flies. They wash their pans/skillets and dishes in a big bucket right in the street. It’s funny how arduously they sit and scrub, and scrub and scrub the pans until they shine using very dirty water. The cook stands at the petroleum powered stove, breaking eggs with a knife with a flick of his wrist. He has a method and a rhythm to his cooking. He uses one knife for everything, and one cutting board which probably gets washed at the end of the day in probably the same dirty water from the morning. The menu is as follows…egg sandwiches with or without mayonnaise and piemont (spicy hot). The egg sandwiches are served on very good French bread. Also on the menu is spaghetti with tomato sauce with the option of cut up Togo hotdogs and and/or an egg on top. Rolls of toilet paper are strategically placed along the counter to be used as napkins. I happen to like everything at this little cafeteria. And apparently they have good word of mouth advertising because the stools and plastic table are almost always full. They were smart enough or lucky enough to locate their restaurant between the Peace Corps and a business school. I went one morning with PCV Solomon. It was his first time there. It was full of people. We had to wait for a seat. Solomon said, “What is this wall street?” because all the patrons were in American clothes, most of them looking like any young businessman/woman you would see in the States, dressed in nice crisp shirts and ties. I never spend more than 400 cent which is about a dollar, no matter what I order. I happen to like their food very much. They’ve done so well that recently they moved from their little stand to an actual indoor building across the road. To my surprise, last week when I went, the stand was gone. Someone directed me to the building across the road. The manager who not only knows me, but all the regulars, looked very proud indeed, with his new establishment.

So Emily was taking it all in…..eyes wide. Her first cuisine in Tchekpo. I think it was a relief and she thought she might not starve in Togo after all.

After breakfast, we walked the few blocks back to the house and found Eric up and eager to get started with the day. He ate the egg sandwich we brought him and we headed out for the Peace Corps Headquarters. There, I introduced them to anyone I could get to stop long enough. We toured the PCV Lounge, met a few more volunteers, and went upstairs to see who was there from Administration. Everyone knew Emily and Eric were coming, and everyone made a big to-do…laughing, taking their hand, sometimes hugging them. I was happy for all of them to be able to meet each other.

The PhoeniciaMe and EricAfter the Peace Corps Headquarters we walked about six blocks down to the beach, the ocean. It’s the same road I take when I stay all night there. I showed them the Phoenecia Hotel, where I usually spend the night. We took a picture and Emily said, “Now I’ll have some idea where you are when you tell me you are at the Phoenecia.” Uh yuh..that's where I usually stay when I'm in Lome, and this is one of the better hotels that I stay in. We reached the ocean front beach. It’s beautiful to look at. I have spent very little time there. Several reasons. PCV’s have been cautioned that it is not very safe. We should never go at night, as robbers roam the beach, preying on foreigners, and for some sad reason, it serves as a latrine for Togolese. They go there to poop. You must keep your eyes open wherever you walk. Emily and Eric could not, would not believe that to be true, but once on the beach they could see it was. However, it is possible to walk the beach and avoid robbers and poop; so we did. It was a beautiful and peaceful as we walked by fishermen readying their nets and boats for a day of fishing. The day was sunny and warm, but not so warm that it was uncomfortable. We stopped and talked with a few fishermen and had our pictures taken in front of one of their boats named ‘Remember’. It was a perfect way to start our adventure. We walked the beach for awhile and then caught a taxi to go to the marche for lunch. All along I wanted to impress Emily and Eric with my French and my negotiating skills with taxi drivers and vendors. All along I saw a bemused if not respectful look on Eric’s face. He like my fellow PCV’s is incredulous that I switch from French to English from one word to the next, mid sentence, without flinching. I don’t really realize that I do it. I simply speak French until I don’t know a word and then I will slip in an American word without skipping a beat, as if this is a perfectly acceptable, hoping that 1) it will go unnoticed and 2) they will somehow understand my English injections. It is noticed more often than not…and I am not understood more often than not. Eric…being quite linguistic capable, was quite confused about my methods. Hey….it works for me.

We caught a cab to the Lome Grand Marche. The marche…..Pure Afrique. We were to meet John my PCV Program Trainer, and Alex my Program Director for lunch. We got there a little early so had time to roam the marche and buy a few items. Now Emily and Eric relied on me to disquiter (negotiate prices). I do think I impressed them. Ha! How would they know? The marche was wildly crowded and bustling with cars and vendors, and people walking shoulder to shoulder, many carrying massive items on their heads. I stole a couple glances at Emily and Eric. Emily was wide-eyed, snapping photos of the chaos that surrounded her. Eric was curious and pensive; studying everything with the eye of the world traveler he is. Neither seemed afraid. Both appeared to know this experience was something quite unique and special. At one point we were looking through the items of a row of vendors. Vendors would try to get our attention to look closer. Eric had found some things that captured his attention and Emily and I roamed a little way around the corner. This is where I almost died, and Emily almost witnessed my death. I was standing very near the street, where cars and moto’s whiz by. I had a light-weight backpack on my back. The backpack had only nylon strings that fastened around my shoulders, under my arms. All of a sudden a moto came by, turned the corner and the moto handlebars hooked under the strings of my backpack, pulling me into the street and knocking me down. I don’t know if the moto driver was aware that he had caught me. I think probably he was, though he didn’t slow down, but luckily his handlebars turned enough that it dislodged from my backpack. By this time I was already on the ground. Everything was kind of a blur. I saw Emily above me, who had a look of horror on her face, and while lying on my back on the ground I could hear her and some of the vendors standing over me asking me if I was ok. I really wasn’t sure if I was. I didn’t see how I could be, but I was…I was ok. Luckily I had not hit my head and, really, by some miraculous feat I hadn’t hurt myself…. There were five or six vendors who were very attentive and concerned and insisted that I sit on a little squat bench for awhile. After a few minutes I felt I was ok. I tried to get up, but they; all of the vendors and Emily made me sit a while longer. Soon Eric moseyed around the corner, completely unaware of the happenings. He saw me on the bench and saw Emily and the vendors hovering over me. He looked so confused. Emily relayed the story to Eric. They finally let me get up. I felt a little spacey. I think Emily and I both knew that it had been a very dangerous situation….welcome to Togo! We just proceeded, as if nothing happened? Yep. We hit a few more vendors then headed to the restaurant.

John, Emily, Eric, AlexThe restaurant…Al Sultans, is one of my two favorites in Lome. It is owned and operated by a Lebanese family, and quite popular with ex-pats, yo-vo’s and PCV’s. There food is excellent. Fresh vegetables, nicely cooked entrees. They also put forth effort and take pride in the presentation of their food. I love their Greek salad, their fatoush salad, humus and my favorite is their crispy chicken, which is basically chicken fingers. It’s all very delicious. Eric, Emily and I arrived about a half hour before Alex and John. We sat at a table outside, enjoyed the breeze and all the activity in the heart of the marche. Right next door about thirty Muslims were gathering for their noon prayer, spreading their matts out on the sidewalk, taking their shoes off, kneeling and bending over touching their heads to the ground; chanting. Ahhh Afrique! Alex and John showed up on time. We had a lovely lunch. John n is a big bear of a man; soft-spoken, kind, sweet, extremely serious about his work. He has two masters with a specialty in renewable energy so I thought that he and Eric would have a lot to talk about. John and Alex are both born and raised in Togo, but both speak fluent English. Alex attended American University in Washington D.C. and lived in Washington D.C. for six years. I love Alex. He can and is serious when he needs to be, but he has a wonderful sense of humor. I go out of my way just to make him laugh, so I can hear it. Eric gave me an awesome safari like hat before I came here. Alex loves it, and always asks me to leave it for him. I plan on giving it to him when I leave. Lunch was pleasant. I was happy that these four people I care about could meet.

After lunch we caught a taxi back to the house, sat by the pool and visited for awhile, and then took a nap (repose.) When we woke up we walked back to PCV headquarter. I introduced Emily and Eric to a few more people, and arranged to meet some of the PCV’s for dinner that night at my other favorite restaurant; Philopat’s We stayed at the Peace Corps office until time for dinner. I double checked with Peter the PC Security Officer that our driver would pick us up the next morning around 8am to go to Kpalime. The restaurant was located right at mid-point between Peace Corps Headquarters and Francoise house. Dinner was lovely. We had salad and pizza and wine, and four Peace Corps Volunteers joined us. After dinner we walked back to the house, sat around the pool for just a little while and then fell into bed exhausted. I fell asleep so happy and content and thinking how smooth everything had gone so far, with the exception of my near-death experience. I really couldn’t believe our good fortune….cause nothing is easy in Togo.

Dinner at my house...They are SO brave!The next morning, again Emily and I went to my favorite little vendor for egg sandwiches, and again Eric wasn’t up so we brought him back a sandwich. Emily and I walked to the PC Hdqrts to meet the driver and Ashley. Ashley is a Peace Corps Volunteer who lives in Kpalime. Ashley was the PC Volunteer I was closest with during training. We spent a lot of time together. I admire her, and have a lot of fun with her. On Halloween last year there was a PCV party. Ashley went as Beyonce and I went as Jay-Z. Ashley was there and ready, the driver came on time. He drove us to the house to pick up Eric and the luggage. The drive to Kpalime was fraught with danger!!! Our driver drove about 100 MPH the entire way. I’m not exaggerating. Emily took a picture of the speedometer to have proof. Ashley was in the front seat. Eric, Emily and I were in the back. I have taken cars like this before. The driver driving so fast that I am in a constant state of anxiety; maneuvering simultaneously with the driver, bobbing my head this way and that as we round curves or pass a car; as if the gravity of my bobbing head will help just enough to ease the car in the direction or angle I think it needs to go to avoid catastrophe. And so it was with this trip, with this driver to Kpalime. I could feel tension in Emily. I could see her big eyes and worry on her face; looking at the driver, the road, the speedometer. Pure fear. In juxtaposition; Ashley sat in the front seat with not a care in the world, reviewing paperwork. Ashley having acclimated to the ways of Togo. Emily kept looking at me, pleading with her eyes to intervene. She said, “Mom, he is falling asleep…I can see him in the rear-view mirror…his eyes keep closing. He’s nodding OFF!” Eric was worried as well. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. I hated seeing them so worried. I told Ashley that the driver seemed to be falling asleep. She non-chalantly looked at him and quietly asked him, “Are you tired? Are you falling asleep?” He replied, “No, no…I’m fine.” He didn’t slow down and he continued to nod his head in drowsiness. Ashley went back to her reading….I prayed we would get to Kpalime without incident. My eyes darting back and forth between the driver and the road…bobbing my head, hoping the force of that would save us from peril. Emily and Eric remained probably as alert as they’ve ever been in their lives. We made it. Three hours; Usually, at least a four hour trip. So…Emily and Eric experienced their first real Togo experience. Danger, at every turn. Not danger from lions, or tigers or natives, but the dangers of the road. Every day, any trip you take; on moto or bush taxi could be your last. Welcome to Togo!

Eric, Chantal, AshleyArriving safely in pretty Kpalime was a welcome respite. Kpalime, where Ashley lives, is a lovely little village at the foot of mountains. It is the artisan center of Togo. Ashley had arranged a wonderful couple of days for us there. We stayed in a delightful hotel with a scenic view of the mountains that was located just outside of town, and only a few short blocks from Ashley’s house. We checked in, were delighted with the accommodations, and then quickly left for our appointment with Chantal. Chantal is an artisan who designs and produces batik fabric. A variety of designs are carved into wooden blocks by her brother. The wooden blocks are dipped into hot wax and placed on the fabric, leaving an imprint. The fabric is then dyed, leaving the imprint of the design. Voila! Batik! Chantal has benefitted greatly from the help and advice of the Peace Corps. She now exports her products, has a website, employees, and she makes a very comfortable living for herself and her children. She is a successful example of entrepreneurism we like to spotlight in Togo Peace Corps. When we arrived at Chantal house, Chantal, a couple of her sisters, and a couple of her children were waiting. Chantal’s children are beautiful, as is she. She has a little baby of nine months. Chantal named the baby Ashley Rose after Ashley the Peace Corps Volunteer. They had two tables set up, the white fabric ready to imprint and blocks of wood for us to choose for our designs. It was SO much fun to do this. Eric, Emily and I thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality and the creative process of designing our own fabric. Eric and Emily went first, as there were just two tables to work on, and then I worked on my fabric. We each had time to look through the rest of Chantal’s beautiful display of products; purses, backpacks, shirts, skirts etc; in addition to her fabrics that had yet to be made into something. We each made several purchases and were each very enthusiastic about the items we purchased to take home to loved ones. While I was finishing my batik and Emily and Eric were perusing Chantal’s products, Chantal made us a delicious little snack of fried yams and a spicy sauce. It was delicious. We got to choose the color of our batik and stayed long enough to observe the process of dying the fabric. We returned the next morning before our journey to Tchekpo to pick up our finished “work of art.”

“No rest for the wicked” Immediately after finishing our batik Ashley had moto’s waiting for each of us at Chantal’s and we were on our way to the mountains to tour a coffee plantation. The coffee plantation is another successful business the Peace Corps helped grow. The moto ride was exhilarating fun and a beautiful scenic ride through the mountains and mountain villages…higher, and higher we climbed until finally after about half hour ride we reached the top. Once there we were greeted with the owner of the plantation. He guided us through a fascinating tour of his coffee plantation, stopping all along the way to explain the process and each step of the process to the grand finale of roasting the beans and packaging them. He also opened a mature Coffee fruit plant, showed us, and had us taste it. Observing the roasting of the beans reminded us how very primitive this business still is. The beans are roasted over a small clay oven in a primitive metal pot outside in a thatched roof paillot, with a woman constantly, manually stirring and taste testing the beans until perfect. The packaging would fool anyone about the primitive process the beans had gone through. The packaging is as bright, and nice as any coffee packaging you would see in the U.S. The packaging technique was just one of many advisory contributions the Peace Corps made so that this man would have a viable product to not only sell locally, but also to export. After the tour we were all tired, but excited to take the final moto ride back down the mountain. Our moto drivers had patiently waited for us to finish our tour, and a couple of them had even joined us. The ride down the mountain was even more fun; faster! The weather was beautiful and the view supreme.

It had been a very full day indeed. From the danger ridden ride from Lome to our very own art project and the coffee tour. We were all famished though so we ended the day at a lovely little restaurant in Kpalime. We were served a delicious meal and ice cold beer. From there we went back to our hotel. Eric immediately hit the sack. Emily and I stayed up and chatted and posted pictures on facebook for awhile. All three of us were sharing a king-size bed. Oy veh! Emily and I could not stop giggling about it, and laughing that Eric’s back was too us as if he refused to acknowledge the fact that he was sharing a bed with his sissie and his mommy. Emily and I snapped a few pics, unbeknown to him, as evidence….giggling uncontrollably the whole time. Then we fell fast asleep, awakening the next morning to the sounds of roosters.

We had a lovely and delicious light breakfast at the hotel. Emily and I walked the few blocks to Ashley’s house and visited with her for a short while. Eric was feeling sick to his stomach….thought it was something he ate…thought he might have a parasite. I was worried, but know that this is a common ailment here in Africa and hoped that it would quickly dissipate. I know he was worried that he might never be well again. Once again Ashley came through for us, and found a driver to take us to Tchekpo. About a four hour drive. When we were saying our goodbyes and piling in the car I heard Ashley instructing him to ‘aller lentement’….go slow! And he did…or a very reasonable pace the entire way. He spoke English, was pleasant and told us a bit about his life. We all relaxed, and had an opportunity to kind of rest for awhile from the busy day before. I was very excited. We were going to Tchekpo for three days. My village. With my kids. I must say I had been so curious about what it would be like for them, how it would go, what they would think. I was quite excited about seeing all this through someone elses eyes. I’ve been here for over a year and am quite acclimated to everything. The climate, the people, the traditions.

We pulled up to the entrance of my house. I could detect that Emily and Eric were a little apprehensive, but at the same time glad to finally be in my village, not to mention out of the car. Before we had all our feet and luggage out the door, Mahsoblee and Regina ran up to us and greeted us. Mahsoblee is the little, six year old girl I’ve been helping and Regina is her BFF. They are a pair! A hilarious, adorable pair of little girls, who, during waking hours are never more than a shout away from each other. They repeat each other, and mimic each other. They are BFF. I thought it was a perfect entre for Eric and Emily, into my world. Mahsoblee and Regina come to my house daily. We sit and laugh and talk, and sometimes blow bubbles or practice English. I teach them basic English words and phrases and they are rewarded with a piece of chewing gum or candy. At some point during their visit they both tilt their head up and say…shoo-ing gummm, shoo-ing gumm; which I give them. It was so fine that Mahsoblee and Regina were there waiting for us. When I introduced them, Mahsoblee and Regina, without a moment’s hesitation and with wide, wide smiles, ran up and hugged Eric and Emily’s knees. Emily and Eric knew all about Mahsoblee, and I know they were delighted to meet her. The driver helped carry our suitcases in. Emily and Eric, now adjusting themselves to their third new environment. First Lome, Second Kpalime and now Tchekpo. Three very different experiences to be sure. It was now Friday. We would stay in Tchekpo until Monday afternoon. I really had nothing planned in concrete for Tchekpo. For one thing…you cannot plan anything in concrete in Tchekpo. I had three things I wanted to be sure and do, but nothing on a schedule. I wanted them to go to a Tom-Tom dance, meet the chief and go to my church on Sunday. School was not in session for the summer. I was disappointed they would not be able to experience the schools, as I know they and the students would have very much enjoyed that. As fate would have it, my church was not having service on this particular Sunday. There was going to be a special service in Ahepe about twenty miles down the road. The bishop was going to be there. I so wanted them to attend my church. It’s such a good representation of things that are good here. I decided we would go to Ahepe on Sunday though….I thought they would enjoy it, and they would have a chance to ride in a bush taxi, which I felt they must experience at least once.

So….we came in the house and got situated. My villagers always give me a chance to settle in when I return from a trip. Over time I’ve noticed that they appear to consciously afford me this courtesy, and I appreciate it. But after an acceptable amount of Togo-time the procession started. One by one and sometimes in threes and fours and fives, adults and children filtered in to meet my kids. They all felt they knew them, not just from me talking about them, but I have a picture collage on my wall of my family. Everyone has gone through the drill of looking at the pictures and identifying who is who.

Emily and Eric had brought a bevy of gifts for children and people they had heard me talk about. Wonderful, fun gifts. They showed me everything, as I oooohed and awed, knowing how these things would delight my peeps. Emily and I organized them all, lining up the cadou’s (gifts) in the hallway out of sight. They had a few very specific gifts for dignitaries (my favorites), such as the Chief, and Mahsoblee, Honu Koffi, David and Moses. The rest we would distribute as we saw fit. There were glow necklaces and bracelets, bubbles, hats, Frisbees, magic markers and coloring books, etc., etc., etc.. Oh boy!!!!

Mahsoblee, Eric, Honou, Komi, EmilyI had two moments that were lovely beyond measure; and many, many moments that just made me so deeply happy and content. Watching Emily give her gifts to Mahsoblee and Regina was one of the special moments. She had bought brightly colored little visor hats. She sat on my front porch and artistically wrote their names on them and drew a little picture as they both stood watching with anticipation. The hats were adorable. Mahsoblee and Regina loved them, and ran giggling out of the compound to show their friends and families. Ohhhh Mahsoblee and Regina came back almost hourly to see what else they could get, and they did get many other little tidbits, but it just made me so happy to see Emily and Eric with them, laughing, talking…..loving them as much as I do. The second moment was when Honou Koffi came over. Honou is definitely one of my very favorite people here. I’ve written about him in my blog a few times. He is handicapped and gets around on crutches. He had just returned that very day from the Peace Corps first annual Camp Joie in Pagala. A camp for handicapped youth in Togo. Two boys from my village went. Honou and Komi. They had been looking forward to going for weeks. I’m beyond impressed with what my fellow Peace Corps volunteers accomplished with this camp. Honou and Komi came back armed with information and tools to start a club for handicapped here in Tchekpo. They also came back with a new and fierce self-confidence that was palpable. Honou knew Emily and Eric would be here when he returned from camp, and he was very much looking forward to meeting them, checking and re-checking with me that he wouldn’t miss them while he was at camp. Honou and Komi showed up the first afternoon Emily and Eric were here. I had asked them to get Honou a really nice French-English Dictionary. He is President of the English Club at the Lycee (highschool). Honou and Komi were both glowing and ebullient, fresh from their week at camp. We visited for awhile on the porch. Then Emily went in the house to get his gift. They had also gotten him a really nice book bag. Thoughtfully they had chosen a bag narrower than most, thinking it would be easier for him to manipulate this bag with his crutches. They were right. Inside the bag was the dictionary, and pens and pencils and a notebook and a calculator, and a few other school supplies. Though we didn’t have anything specific for Komi because he hasn’t been one of the regular people I talk about, we were able to put together a nice little package for him. They gave him a really nice wind breaker and a light weight book bag, with supplies in it. They were both thrilled. But when Honou opened the bag and pulled out the dictionary…well that was the moment I was waiting for, and that was the moment that was beautiful to share with Emily and Eric. He slowly peaked in the bag, and slowly lifted the dictionary out. He was speechless for a few moments, and then he just kept saying wow….wow….wow!!! and he laughed softly and a little nervously. He truly could not believe his good fortune. A few months ago Honou came over to my house; worried and fretting. He told me he thought he was cursed, and maybe his house was cursed. We talked about it. I tried to convince him he was not cursed, but he wasn’t so sure. After his week at camp and his gifts, I asked him if he still thought he was cursed. With a very bright smile, he said, “no, I think I’m blessed.” The other side of this moment was the look on Emily and Eric’s faces when they saw just how much that little book meant to Honou. I’m sure picking that up during their busy days before the trip was a small nuisance, and probably they had no idea of the significance or the joy it would bring. The looks on their faces was first love, I think, and second surprise. Surprise that the gift of this little book brought this seventeen year old boy such joy. It was a beautiful, enriching moment, for all of us. Whenever we are complaining that we don’t have the latest toy, or the newest fashion…it will be difficult not to reflect back on this moment, and try to make sense of the world we live in. They got up to leave, Honou and Komi. Honu on his crutches with his new book bag on his back, the tags still hanging off of it, and Komi limping beside him. We watched in silence and contentment as they maneuvered their broken bodies through the yard and out of the compound door. None of us had words to express our feelings. Nothing really needed to be said.

LeahThe rest of day was filled with visitors. Aloughba, Margarite, David, Rachel…so many people. So welcoming and happy to meet my children. Leah, my thirteen year old girl water girl, friend and most constant companion in Tchekpo stopped by often. We took her into the hall and let her have the pick of the gifts. She chose an adorable purple wig made of shiny streams of paper. One of the many gifts that Emily and Eric brought that I thought was so fun! That night, after dark, we went over to Margarites hut. She has eight children. We took the tube of necklaces that glow in the dark. Their compound was pitch black except for the remnants of coals burning in the nightly fire they use to cook their dinner. Eric and Emily and I were excited to show them the necklaces. Ohhhhh they loved them. The kids were laughing and so excited. As we left their compound we could here laughter and squeals of delight all the way back to my house. We still had a few more visitors. David, my French tutor and community partner, and his fiancée Rachel stopped by. David and Rachel both speak English, so, a little language reprieve for Emily and Eric..(oh ok, me too). As they were getting ready to leave, Fidel, my next door neighbor knocked on the door. I love Fidel. He’s an administrator for the high school, and he also teaches German. He’s a gentle-man. Very sweet and funny. On this

Fidel and his two wives!night he was just giddy with excitement. He had just taken his second wife!!! He brought both of them to introduce them to us. He was giggling and laughing, and probably more than a little drunk. The women looked happy indeed to be his wives. It was a particularly fun visit with a lot of laughs. I think Fidel was one of Eric and Emily’s favorites, I know he is one of mine.

We all slept well that night. The next day was my 61st birthday. Aloughba and David came by to take us to a tom-tom dance. It was actually a celebratory tom-tom dance held for a funeral. The mother of a man who I know quite well. We were welcome guests. He was honored and appreciated that we were there to pay our respects to his mother. After the somber and dignified burial service the dancing and celebration began. Emily and Eric both enjoyed this day. It was a cultural phenomenon, specific to Togo. The children, the dancing, the drums, the drinking. I was coerced to dance. It didn’t take much coercion. I explained to Emily and Eric that this particular dance and dancing is all about being filled with the spirit. People would get up at will, and start to dance. Other people would stand around them fanning them and wiping the perspiration off their face with a cloth. That is part of the ritual. When the spirit moves them they get up and dance. It’s something like talking in tongues, or chanting or meditation. It’s a place one goes to where the material world is blocked out. Only the spirit resides. The spirit moves them. I’ve been to several tom-tom dances, and I’ve danced at each one; much to the delight of my Togolese friends and neighbors. The days following these dances people will pass me in the village and make the motion of dancing. They laugh and smile and congratulate me for having joined them. It was a great way to spend my 61st birthday. I’m not sure I felt the spirit, but I felt something. Maybe just a bond between humans and cultures. Again, I spent a lot of time watching Eric and Emily. They were full of fun and curiosity about everything that was going on. I liked seeing the smiles on their faces as I danced.

Sunday. Ahepe and church. This was the most arduous day. We got up early, dressed up, walked down the road and caught a bush taxi to Ahepe; arriving about a half hour before services started. Komi and Moses accompanied us in the bush taxi from Tchekpo to Ahepe. About a 20 minute ride. Church service In Tchekpo generally lasts about two hours. This however was a big celebration for some new priests, so it was a long, drawn out affair. The bishop of Togo arrived in a big parade. There was a lot of music and singing, and of course beautiful African colors and clothes. To me, the icing on the cake, the reason for going to church at my church in Tchekpo is procession at the very end of the service. Oh, I like it all, but my mind does start to wander about an hour and a half into it, and during the sermon which is given in Ewe, the local language. But I always busy myself with the little kids who clamor to sit by me. I often make them laugh, by making funny faces at them, and more often than not, a strict Togolese catholic woman will turn around and bop them on the head for being too noisy. When she turns back around I grimace at the children….and quietly whisper…”.Je suis desolee (I am sorry)” for getting them in trouble. (Note to Michael John….as you said, some things never change!) All of this makes them laugh even more. But at the end of every church service, the celebration really begins. There are trumpets and drums and almost everyone gets out of their seats and processions around the church holding their arms up to the sky, with joyous looks on their faces, praising their God, and their good fortune. They always sing the same song, which has a hypnotic rhythm and energy. It’s well worth the wait. It never disappoints me. It never fails to give me goose bumps. Each time I am awed by their joy and faithfulness and their particular understanding of God. This is something I wanted Emily and Eric to experience. I knew they would have this same procession at the end of service in Ahepe. They did. However it wasn’t quite the same feeling as in my little church in Tchekpo. But it was uplifting all the same. The four hour service in the very hot church, with nothing but a foreign language being spoken, I think diminished the finale a little bit. After church we went out to the road and tried to catch a bush taxi. For some reason there were none to be found; especially for five people. Emily, Eric, myself, Moses and Komi. The sun was blazing. It was so hot, and we stood on the side of the road with no shelter. When a bush taxi would stop they would either try to charge us twice as much as they should because it was three white people, or there simply wasn’t enough room for all five of us. We were all tired and hot, and the glow of god’s grace was not filtering down to us. After much frustration and a two…yes TWO hour wait, I finally convinced Moses and Komi to go on without us. Emily and Eric and I waited a while longer. Never once did Emily and Eric complain; and on this day there was a LOT to complain about. I on the other hand, had a little mini meltdown (perhaps not so little). Finally we decided to hail three moto’s. They didn’t have helmets, but it was a short ride, so I thought/hoped we’d be ok. Eric didn’t like the idea of riding on a moto, but at this point we’d all do anything to get home. When Eric got on his moto, I put my hands on the drivers’ shoulders, looked him in the eye and said, “aller lentement.” “GO SLOW.” This obviously is an often repeated phrase in Togo. He nodded with assurance….Then proceeded to take off like a bat out of hell! Emily and I just stood there with our mouths open, then nervously laughed as we got on our moto’s. Eric was out of sight. I was furious. Neither Eric’s moto driver, nor Eric had any idea where to go. When we reached Tchekpo, at the entrance of my road I had our moto driver stop and let Emily and I off. I could barely see Eric, wayyyyyyy up the road. By this time I had lost all patience, and started yelling at my moto driver….punching him the arm to go get them. Again…Emily stood there with her mouth open. She was a little surprised to see her sweet mommy beating this poor Togolese Driver up. Oh well. My moto driver managed to catch up with them, and brought Eric back to the road where we were waiting. Eric’s eyes were as big as saucers. His hair was standing on end. Poor guy. We walked home, each of us exhausted, but laughing and lamenting about our near-death experiences. I made a big lunch, and we rested In between visitors, for the remainder of the day.

Monday, Our Last Day…. Monday is marche day in Tchekpo. We had decided to spend the morning in Tchekpo. My friend Raoul had found a driver to come to my house and take us to Lome in the early afternoon. In the morning Emily and Eric packed everything up. We ate a good breakfast of eggs, fried potatoes and toast, and then we headed down to the marche. It’s a small marche compared to Lome or Tesvie, but big and impressive none-the-less, and bustling, noisy, entertaining and interesting. I work with the Women’s Marche Groupement (assoc.) Seventy-five of them. These are the women who sell their goods in the marche. We were quite the center of attention wandering through the marche. Honou, Moses, Raoul and Aloughba accompanied us. Quite an entourage. I stopped many times, to introduce Emily and Eric. They were greeted with smiles and salutations. By this time Emily and Eric had learned the Ewe greeting which delighted my villagers. We circled the entire marche, stopping to look at this and that. After the marche, Aloughba, Emily, Eric and I stopped by the Chiefs Palace (Emily and Eric always laugh when I say palace, but that’s what it is called.) Emily said….”.THAT’S THE PALACE??!!!” The description didn’t really jive with what she was looking at. Eric had brought a bottle of wine for the Chief. He was happy to meet my children, and had wanted us to come to his house for dinner. I was sorry to tell him that we had to leave that afternoon. Of course the Chief being the opportunist that he is didn’t fail to ask Eric to perhaps build a new building for the High School. It was a nice visit. The Chief appreciated the wine and was understanding that we could not make it for dinner, and wished them a Bon Voyage.

It was time to go. Time to leave Tchekpo. The car arrived on time, and we had a relaxing ride back to Francoise house in Lome. We caught a few hours sleep before we had to leave for the airport at 4am. I worried and fretted that the same driver who had taken me to the airport to pick them up would be able to find the house again, and would arrive on time. Emily and Eric were too exhausted to worry about it. The driver came right on time, and we were on our way to the airport. I was feeling just a little desperate, not wanting to say goodbye, but very satisfied that we’d had such a great time, and for Togo, that everything had gone so smoothly. When we arrived at the airport we checked in at the outside counter. I started to go in the building with Emily and Eric and the worker told me I was not allowed. WHAT??? I was not prepared to let them go at that instant. “No,” he said. It seemed final and official. Eric and Emily both hugged me and started through the door. At that point the worker asked Eric, “Is this your mother?” Eric said, “yes.” Well, he let me pass, and go with them. It was such a kind, sentimental gesture for him to break the rules for me, because I was their mother. We sat and waited and visited for about half an hour until they had to go through the gates to board the plane. We took one last snapshot. I think that photo speaks volumes. They went through the doors, turning several times to wave good-bye. And then I was alone. But I was alone with memories that will stay with me forever.

Pooofffff....They are gone! But what a trip!

The Peace Corps' mission has three simple goals:

1. Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

2. Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.

3. Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

I know we definitely accomplished Goals 2 and 3. The people of Tchekpo will never forget you Emily and Eric, and I doubt that you will ever forget them. Thank you.

Toussaint, President of

Tchekpo M.A.P. Committee

M.A.P. is a Peace Corps Program (Men as Partners) Originally M.A.P. was created to facilitate teaching the men and women of Togo how to communicate better with each other, and how to better understand each other’s issues. It has developed and grown to cover other areas as well. For my village the M.A.P. program has become simply about human empowerment. How can we do things to make us feel more empowered? What do we have the power to change to make our lives better?

M.A.P. falls under the umbrella of G.E.E. (Girls Education and Empowerment) There are four programs in Togo Peace Corps. S.E.D. (Small Enterprise Development) which is my program, C.H.A.P. (Health), N.R.M. (Natural Resource Management or agriculture/farming) and G.E.E. As Peace Corps Volunteers we have an intense thirteen weeks of training before we go to our villages. Emphasis is put on our particular program but all along the training encourages us to collaborate with other programs and volunteers from other programs.

Honu Koffi and his Moringa Seeds I have collaborated with volunteers from each of the programs. An example of cross collaboration is; I’m working with a handicapped boy; Honu Koffi to start a moringa farm so that he can support himself. Moringa is an African wonder plant that has recently been discovered. It grows very quickly. Added to food moringa provides tons of nutrients they would not otherwise be getting. Honu Koffi and I collaborated with N.R.M. volunteers on how to start a moringa farm while I work with him on how to make it growing it profitable (S.E.D). I also collaborated with C.H.A.P. volunteers to get Honu Koffi into a weeklong camp for handicapped youth in Togo. All these things will help Honu be able to help himself, and not be dependent on other people for his welfare. I especially enjoy G.E.E. I can see it’s an area where we can have a sustainable impact; empowering young girls. There is a coveted Peace Corps Scholarship program for girls called Pathways. Applying for it is a daunting task. I would compare it to applying for graduate school. This year 250 girls applied. Twenty girls were awarded a scholarship. Two of my girls from the Tchekpo High School are recipients. For this to happen I collaborated with volunteers from the G.E.E. program.

M.A.P. Training in Zafi Last September there was a three day M.A.P. conference in Zafi. A village about thirteen miles from Tchekpo. This conference was to train people, both Togolese and Peace Corps Volunteers about M.A.P. on how they might implement the program in their own village. I blogged about M.A.P when we completed the three day training back in September. I took three people from Tchekpo to the training. It was my first introduction to M.A.P. People from seven different villages attended. The training was excellent. I took three people from my village; Aloughba, Toussaint and Dove. I wondered how they would like it and process it, or if they would fully grasp the concept. They were active participants and very enthusiastic about the training. They voiced a desire to bring what they learned to Tchekpo.

However, it kind of got put on the back burner as other things became a priority. I kept bringing it up every time I saw Aloughba, Toussaint or Dove, but we just couldn’t seem to get things going. In November I asked Joe and Becky; two G.E.E. volunteers to come to my village to meet with some people who I thought would want to be involved. I told them I thought we just needed a kick-start. Joe and Becky came to Tchekpo and gave a great presentation, on why and how they should go about implementing M.A.P. It worked. Two weeks later, I formed an official M.A.P. committee. Toussaint was President, Dove was secretary. We also recruited five or six others to be regular members and participate. I gave each of them a notebook with M.A.P. printed on it and nice pencils to take notes. I gave Toussaint a calendar notebook. This made them feel very official, and it made them feel like a team. They proceeded to set up a six month calendar, planning a M.A.P. event once a month for six months with different topics and for different audiences. To say I was impressed with their organization is putting it mildly. I remember telling them I wouldn’t be able to make one of the early meetings, and they said…”it’s ok, we don’t need you!!!” Music to my ears.

Our First M.A.P. Event We have held three M.A.P. events. All have been very professional, successful and well received. The first events topic was about 'how men and women can understand and respond to each other’s day to day issues better.' We had about 40 participants for the first event. The topic for the second event was, 'how to live a positive life.' We had about 60 participants. The topic for the third event was 'how can men and women and children communicate better with each other.' At the third event we had over 250 people in the audience. We have the same format for each event. First we introduce the topic. Next we have individual presenters speak and cover certain areas of the topic, and then they put on a couple sketches to demonstrate. At the end we have questions and answers and participation from the audience. We have added one more element as we go forward, and that is to have a guest speaker.

Rose Kpomblekou is the Area Director for the G.E.E. Program in Tchekpo. She was a speaker at that first M.A.P. conference in Zafi. When I heard her speak I was impressed with her sincerity. I was blown away by her energy, enthusiasm. I knew then and there that I wanted to work with her in some way. She is a gifted speaker. She fully engages an audience. It’s evident that she loves and believes in what she is doing. Rose is Togolese, originally from around the Tchekpo area which gives her great insight into the habits and needs of the men and women here. I’m so excited when I meet women like Rose here in Togo, and I’ve met a handful. I can only imagine the many obstacles they overcame to get their education and to become confident, powerful, successful women. Can you tell I’m in awe of her??!!?? I am. Rose and Blandine, our Peace Corps Training Supervisor, and Aurelia, the Peace Corps Nurse, and another Togolese woman I met who is a Director of an NGO. They could go toe to toe with any powerful woman or man in the States. I know there’s more out there, but the majority of Togolese women have their lives mapped out for them from the day they were born. That is to have babies, take care of children, breastfeed, cook and clean for their husbands and work on the farm.

Right from the beginning, right after we returned from Zafi, the M.A.P. committee asked me if I could get Rose to come here and speak. The three committee members who went to the M.A.P. conference and got to hear her speak knew it would be motivating to bring her here. Rose is insanely busy. When I asked her to come and speak, I apologized, because I do know how busy she is. She said, "yes, I’m busy….but of course I MUST do this." We coordinated a date and decided on a topic. The Tchekpo M.A.P. committee was thrilled. The committee met four or five times to plan this event. We had to decide who we would invite, how we would get the word around, where we would have it, where to get the chairs, who would do what. They also planned the agenda and wrote and rehearsed their sketches. We went to visit the Chief to tell him about the event and ask him if he could provide us with more chairs. The Chief knows Rose and her family. When he heard she was going to be speaking he invited us to hold this event in his palace compound. How cool is that!! We met one last time the day before the event to go over everything.

One thing that has not been mastered in Togo is being on time. There is a joke even among Togolese about “Togo Time.” They are never on time. Really never. It is my ‘achilles heal’ as they say. One day, early on when we were planning this third event we were all to meet at the Bibilotheque (Library) at a designated time. I was the only one that showed up. Wasn’t the first time, by far. I called two people on the committee whose cell phone number I have. They showed up within about fifteen minutes. I was just in a bad mood that day, and I didn’t feel like letting it pass. The others, and there are about eight all together never showed up after an hour. The two that did show up tried to go ahead with the meeting. I threw my hands up in the air and refused, and left. Wellllll I guess word got around . Another meeting was scheduled, and lo and behold I kind of lost track of time, and was fifteen minutes late. All eight of them were there waiting for me with grins a mile wide. Dam. My bad. So the day before the event with Rose we went through our check list, rehearsed our sketches and felt ready. We all agreed to meet at 8:30 A.M. the next day at the Chiefs Compound. Three times I said, "8:30 right?"

The big day arrived. I never know what to expect. How many people will be there, if it will turn out well. I arrived at 8:30 A.M. No one was there!! I was stressed! Finally, little by little the committee trickled in as if a precise time had never been set. They all appeared calm and collected. I didn’t know how many people to expect. Rose was coming, and I had invited two or three G.E.E. Peace Corps Volunteers. I was just hoping it would somehow all come together. We got the chairs set up and our brown paper board which would serve as a chalk board to write down and spotlight items we were covering for the audience. We had our magic markers.

Full engaged audience People started filtering in around 9am. Dozens of children were milling about. Soon more and more and more people were there. We had to send someone out for more chairs. When Rose and the two volunteers arrived we had a full-house, over 250 people, all dressed in their finest, all looking eager to see what this was all about. Rose the volunteers, the committee…none of us could believe the turn-out. The tom-tom association showed up also (about twenty people)…They were all dressed alike in lovely complaits. I found out later that the Chief had arranged for them to come. The Chief unfortunately could not come. He had been called to Taglibo to meet with the prefecture (The head of the county.) I wish he could have seen it, but I know he heard all about it. I sent him my thanks with a bottle of wine afterwards.

L to R - Touissant, Becky, Rose, Mary, Karzai, Aloughba,

Dove, Me and Komla in back Rose Toussaint kicked the event off by bringing us all up to the front (The committee, Rose, Becky and Mary (the two G.E.E. volunteers) and I. He introduced us to thunderous applause. Toussaint then began the program explaining what M.A.P. is and why we were doing this. Several on the committee gave presentations, with Komla (the librarian and committee member) writing important points on the board as they spoke. Many people in the audience were taking notes. Then they went through several humorous sketches which demonstrated the topics. The sketches were quite creative and fun. They were met with laughter, and more applause. Rose was taking copious notes during the presentations. She was so focused on what was being said. Evidently she could not contain herself any longer because before she was introduced and while Toussaint was talking she jumped up, went to the front of the room and began to talk. WOW, that’s all I have to say. She had everyone engaged. I do not know what pushed her buttons at this particular time because most of it was in Ewe. Becky, Mary and I were chuckling that Rose had taken over. She took several questions from the audience during this time, and then she sat back down to let Toussaint finish and waited for her introduction. When it was her time to speak she didn’t disappoint. Anyone. She spoke for at least an hour. Pacing back and forth, making hand gestures, and asking for audience participation, speaking loudly and clearly and dramaticallyShe's such a dynamic speaker. I looked around the room. The audience was completely captivated. At the end of her presentation we had about a half an hour of questions and comments from the audience. Many of them thanking us for bringing these events to Tchekpo, and that they hoped we would have more.

As a side note I especially appreciated the fact that there were so many children present. Probably thirty or forty filtered in and sat on the floor around the perimeter of the room. These were young children, many of them girls. I couldn’t help but think that they would really never forget this. This woman (Rose) would remain in the recesses of their mind. It would without a doubt broaden their view of women and the world they live in, in a subtle but enduring way. Even if they were too young to understand the content, for them to see and hear this strong and articulate Togolese woman from their part of the country be front and center, commanding the attention of villagers, Americans and Togolese notables alike would have an impact.

When Rose was finished, several people in the audience spoke about how important these events are to Tchekpo and thanked us. Then the party started!!! The tom-tom music began and people danced and celebrated. They insisted that Rose, Becky, Mary and I joined in on the dancing. Oh boy.

It was a great day. It was a great accomplishment by the M.A.P. Committee. I think it was and will remain one of the most memorable days of my time here.

The fourth M.A.P event is in the works. The topic will be specifically 'Girls Empowerment and Education; why it’s important and what we can do to encourage and inspire girls to stay in school.' I found another woman to be guest speaker. She is a director for an NGO in this area. I saw her speak in Deve a while back. She was dynamic like Rose, and held her audience in the palm of her hands. I tracked her down through contacts. She has nothing to do with the Peace Corps or M.A.P. She was a little confused and also reticent about why I wanted her. I explained the program and our mission, and I told her that she is an excellent role model for girls here. Once she understood, she said, “I would like to help young girls in Togo.”

To be continued.

Jen and Jeremiah Everyone in Togo knows who Obama is. They are curious and excited that a black man is President of the United States. They are aware that his father was African. It is a source of pride for them. Almost every teenage girl has a shirt that has ‘Obama’s Girl’ printed on it.

My niece Jennifer lives in Washington D.C. and she sent me hundreds of Obama pins. I dole them out to visitors. Everyone wants one. Even my Togolese Peace Corps Trainers wanted one. Many people, children and adults alike come to my door just to get an Obama Pin. It’s a rare occasion that I walk through the village now and don’t see three or four people wearing one.

Many times, groups of children have come to my door asking for the pins. They have begun to bring me bouquets of flowers so they can get one. There must be some sort of gathering of children nearby today because I swear I had at least thirty kids show up this morning, in groups of five or six. They knock on my door, hand me my flowers, and say…O-bama, O-bama.

Ha! Obama should be so lucky to be this popular in America!

I think I just heard my brother groan and roll his eyes (smile)

Thanks Jen!

A short update on Mahsoblee…..She developed a nasty rash all over her body. We took her to the clinic here in Tchekpo and they prescribed some medicine. I also called Aurelia the Peace Corps Nurse Practioner for advice. We discontinued two medicines temporarily. The medicine worked! However it seems that Mahsoblee is experience abdominal pain. The doctors in Afangnan told us that we should return right away if she started to have abdominal pain. Tomorrow morning we will return to the hospital. The doctors were hoping that medication would solve the problems, and said that surgery would be a last resort, but it looks like we might have to go that route.

http://terrynichols.blogspot.com/2011/07/mahsoblee.html

I put all updates about Mahsoblee on the link above . The most recent post is always first one you see. If you want to read the entire story read from the bottom up.

David, Me and Mr. Hognon

My sister Jody, Mr. Hognon and the teachers of L'ecole No 5 are the heroes in this story.

Jody and her grand-daughter HannahI knew in the corner of my mind that my sister Jody would sponsor a project in Tchekpo even though we had never discussed that fact. I started talking to her about L’ecole No. 5 soon after I arrived here. She intently listened, asked many questions, and I think immediately understood that she could do something significant here. It took us many months, but her heart and her mind were so open to this, that while it seemed to take a long time the project flowed rather effortlessly. Working with Jody on this project will be one of the most joyous memories and endeavors of my service here. I’m very, very proud of her, her generosity, and her loving heart.

Contributing generously to worthy causes is nothing new for Jody and her husband Mike. Volunteering her time and energy and being a community activist is just part of her DNA. Their children and their grandchildren continue the legacy. Volunteerism is a daily part of their lives.

I think Jody said “yes, I want to help” before I even knew what we should do. She certainly said yes before I knew HOW we were going to do it. Her faith in me and this project was so motivating. She knew contributing to this project would have a huge impact on these children’s lives. Jody gave few directives, but they were wise ones. The rest she left to our Tchekpo L’ecole No. 5 Committee.

“Adojowa….You and your sister have made the children very happy. I don’t know how to thank you and your sister.”

Mr. HognonThat’s what Mr. Hognon says to me every time he sees me now. He takes my hand, smiles at me very sincerely and says. “Thank you, thank you so much. Thank your sister. Tell her how happy she has made the children. The teachers are happy. I’m happy.” There are several remarkable things about this. The first being, when I met Mr. Hognon and started to visit his school on a weekly basis, he never smiled. He was stern and really almost rude. Not almost rude…he was rude. He is a very big man, by African standards, well over 6ft tall. He’s a big, proud, African man. There are many paradoxes to Mr. Hognon. The first paradox is that he looks very out of place as the principal of this little African rural primary school. He just doesn’t look like a principal of a grade school. He looks more like a linebacker for a professional football team. When you see the little children hanging on every word he says, or trailing behind him in hopes that he will say something to them or give them a task, Pied Piper comes to mind. A very big, gruff Pied Piper. He towers over all the children, not to mention their parents. He literally has to bend over when he walks into the thatched roof classroom so he doesn’t hit his head. Seems like the kids would be intimidated by his voice, demeanor and his size, but they are not intimidated. They are not afraid of Mr. Hognon. Oh they jump when he says jump, but not because they are afraid. They jump because they want to please him. They respect him. It’s very obvious. Another paradox is how he plays and communicates with the children. He always has the sound of strictness in his voice, but his actions are playful. He teases them, and jokes with them. When he leads them in a song he gets right down on their level….singing and clapping his hands, walking up and down the aisle getting everyone involved. I think each child that comes in contact with Mr. Hognon feels like they have his undivided attention. They would do almost anything without complaining to have their moments with him. It’s abundantly clear that the children sense his commitment to them.

Mr. Hognon and the children of L’ecole No. 5 for certain captured my attention and stole my heart. How could we help them? How could we not?

Mr. Hognon is the primary reason I made L’ecole No. 5 my pet project for the year. The education of the children of L'ecole No. 5 was the motivation. There are so many needs here, and so many people ask for help. They are all legitimate requests. Unfortunately I have to pick and choose where to put efforts and resources. What will have the most impact and what is sustainable after my two years are up? If you’ve been reading my blog you will have seen a few stories about L’ecole No. 5 and also about Mr. Hognon. The children and teachers of L’ecole No. 5 have touched me deeply.

Mr. Hognon has been principal of this school for five years. For five years his mission has been to motivate teachers to teach without being paid and to teach over 200 children without any books or tools. Mr. Hognon begged me on a number of occasions to help him. He said many times, “We are suffering. The children are suffering. Look around….They have nothing. The teachers don’t get paid, the children have no books. They sit on logs. Please, please help us” Mr. Hognon never once asked for one thing for himself.

There are five primary schools in Tchekpo and one high school. The other four primary schools and the Tchekpo Lycee (high school) receive some support from the Togo government. Some support…not very much, but some. Schools that are recognized and supported by the Togo government receive books for the kids to use. Not books the kids can take home, but books that can be used in the classroom. The teachers at the government supported schools are paid a salary, albeit a very meager salary. L’ecole No. 5 was not supported by the government until this year. L'ecole No. 5 was started by parents in that particular area of Tchekpo; because they needed another school….the other schools were bursting at the seams and too far for many children to travel to. This year L’ecole No. 5 was finally recognized as a public school, but the only funds it gets, is that it pays Mr. Hognon (the Director’s) salary. There are four other full time teachers who do not receive any salary. L’ecole No. 5 has one stucco building and four paillots (open structures with thatched roofs.)There are no books, not one; and very few desks. Most of the children sit on logs at long tables. Each child has a little slate and a piece of chalk and that is their primary learning tool. No rulers, no books, no pencils or pens or notebooks or crayolas or paper to draw and write on. Just their slate. They all wear khaki colored uniforms, usually very dirty, often just hanging half on them. Most of them don’t wear shoes. Research shows that uniforms are ranked very high as a reason for kids staying in school in Africa. Uniforms give them a sense of belonging.

The teachers have only their chalkboard as their teaching tool. In spite of this the children learn so much and seem so bright and extraordinarily happy. They are eager to learn. The classes are very organized and orderly. They are taught Science, Math, French, Social Studies (Geography) and Togo History. The teachers spend many hours before and after class drawing elaborate illustrations of the topic of the day on their chalkboard. Perhaps it’s a picture of the human heart and how it pumps or maybe a diagram of a sentence in French, or a map of Togo. I’ve seen all of these things beautifully illustrated on the chalkboard. So beautiful and intricate that I wonder how they can bare to erase them for the next day’s lesson.

It’s amazing what the teachers are able to accomplish with nothing. We can only begin to imagine what they might be able to accomplish with books and dictionairies and tools to teach. This would be our task. What should we do? How will we do this?

DavidFirst, we needed to find an NGO (Non Governmental Organization or a non-profit organization) who would manage and administrate any funds, and oversee the Committee to help L’ecole No.5. David my French tutor and my community partner and friend helped with the organization of this effort. We chose BorneFonden and BorneFonden agreed to assist us, pretty much pro bono. Mister Douthe (our BorneFonden representative,) calls David my lawyer, in jest. “Where is your lawyer?” he always asks. “He’s coming,” I would reply. David is really not on the committee, but he goes with me to every meeting and assures that I understand them and that they understand me, and that we all understand Jody’s wishes.

BorneFonden is a Swedish NGO that does a wide variety of work to help children and schools throughout West Africa. BorneFonden has a regional office in Deve which is what you would call a ‘suburb’ of Tchekpo. It’s about ½ hour moto ride from Tchekpo. Mr. Douthe is the Regional Director of BorneFonden. He is Togolese, born and raised here in Tchekpo. He was quickly on board to do whatever necessary to help L’ecole No, 5. He has done an outstanding, professional job in his role as administrator of this project.

Mr. DoutheOnce BorneFonden agreed to administrate our project, a committee was formed. We formed a committee with Mr. Hognon as President, Mr. Douthe (BorneFonden), Mr. Amouza (The President of the Parent/Teacher Association) for L’ecole No. 5, and me. We opened a bank account, created guidelines for the committee, a wish list for the school and a budget. All of this information was sent to Jody. We wanted her to be an integral part of this process. Jody put her stamp of approval on the plan, and we were off to the races.

The first thing we did was agree that each of the four teachers be paid a year’s salary. We paid them 45mil (about $100) a month for nine months. This is a pittance. As a volunteer I receive 150mil a month, which is about $300. I often find it difficult for me (one person) to live on that amount. These four teachers are married and have children. They were thrilled and in disbelief that they would receive 45mil a month. Mr. Hognon received nothing. Not one cent.



The second thing the committee did was decide how we would go about choosing and purchasing the books and supplies. Mr. Douthe(BorneFonden) wanted to oversee this, but I persuaded the committee to give Mr. Hognon that honor. Who would know better what books and supplies to buy for these children? Mr. Hognon traveled to Lome and got bids from two different bookstores. He brought the proposals to the committee and we approved the best one. Two weeks later the books were delivered to my house by the seller. Mr. Hognon was at my house the moment the books arrived. Boxes and boxes of books. Rulers, a globe, two beautiful, huge dictionaries. The entire committee stopped by that day at one time or another. Such joy, such excitement, such happiness. Mr. Hognon told me he was so excited about the delivery of the books that he could not sleep the night before. He could not stop laughing, and smiling the day the books were delivered. Big, gruff Mr. Hognon…giggling like a schoolboy. Mr. Hognon, David, me and the seller unpacked all of the boxes of books and checked them against the purchase order. I cannot adequately describe the joy we all felt. It welled up in us. It was a wonderful, wonderful day. I couldn’t wait to tell Jody all about it. And I did. I could also hear her joy. She understood.

The day the books arrived they were brought to my house to process. The next morning 10 or 15 children started showing up in my yard and on my porch. I didn’t know why. They all had this look of excitement on their face. I greeted them and smiled and waited for some sort of explanation as to why they were there. Then Mr. Hognon showed up. He had sent the children to pick up all the books and tote them to the school. The kids all came in the house and they could not believe their eyes. It was so much fun seeing them looking through the books, examining the globe. Showing each other the treasures they had just been given. Mr. Hognon supervised the repacking of the books and the children placed the heavy boxes on their heads, and proceeded to walk the mile or so to the school.

I can’t wait for school to start next year. I can’t imagine what it will be like for Mr. Hognon, the teachers, the students.

This is just the beginning…the tip of the proverbial iceberg as they say. Next on the wish list are desks for the children. We are getting bids on desks right now. The committee without provocation told me that they want to have the name Jody DeBacker stamped on the front of each newly built desk. Right now most desks are donated in some fashion by BorneFonden, and BorneFonden is stamped on the desks. Most desks for schools are built/made in the regional capitals like Lome. We decided to get bids from carpenters right here in Tchekpo so that we could keep the money in this community and provide jobs for people here. We are hopeful that Tchekpo might establish itself as a builder of school desks for all of Togo, and actually create a business.

There will be some money left over after the desks. The committee will decide how best to spend it. We’ve talked about different things. There will once again be no salaries for teachers next year when school starts again. They want and need a building, sports equipment, more supplies.

Hannah

We are in the process of establishing a relationship between L’ecole No. 5 and a primary school in Ann Arbor Michigan. We are hopeful that this school will, in a sense adopt L’ecole No. 5, communicate with them, send them supplies and become a sister-school. This idea was the brainchild of Hannah DeBacker…none other than Jody’s granddaughter. The apple indeed does not fall far from the tree. We hope this will become a sustainable venture and relationship.

My sister’s generosity will have an enormous impact on all of these people. They will never forget her. They will never forget the day the books arrived. They will also never forget the kindness and thoughtfulness shown by Americans. That’s what the Peace Corps is all about. Teaching people to help themselves. Spreading peace around the world through acts of kindness.

IMAGINE!Thank you Jody.

Please help me save Mahsoblee's life.Mahsoblee (Maw-so-blee) is a little girl who lives right around the corner from me. She lives with her grandmother. Her grandmother thinks she is six years old. Her mother lives in a remote village about forty miles away and has two other children. Mahsoblee needed extra care so she came to live with her gramma. Most six year olds attend school. Mahsoblee has not been able to because of her health.I noticed about a month ago that Mahsoblee probably had severe malnutrition. You see a lot of malnutrition here, but this was severe. I talked to neighbors and Peace Corps Health Volunteers and we tried to come up with a plan for Mahsoblee. We got her a supply of Moringa powder, which is kind of a wonder plant here in Africa. It grows very, very fast and has loads of nutrition. Jeremy (a health PCV) came and talked to the gramma and brought a chart with pictures that illustrated what Mahsolbee should be eating. I would take something nutritional to her house every day. Carrots, green beans, an egg, some fruit.Nothing seemed to be working. Mahsoblee was not getting better. We took Mahsoblee to the clinic today to see the Tchekpo Clinic Director, Mathew. Mathew examined her and said that Mahsoblee has serious problems and that they are all intertwined. He said that she needs to be examined at the hospital in Lome and get a full assessment. He said that she has complete internal blockage, she is running a fever and that her liver is involved.We are taking Mahsoblee to Lome on Tuesday. That is the soonest we can get there. We will get a complete assessment at that time, and I would imagine she will have to stay in the hospital, possibly even have surgery. Mathew said there was hope. He thought they might be able to help her.I have been drawn to Mahsoblee since the first day I saw her. There are many children who are not well, but they just seem to make it. I have known and been worried that Mahsoblee's problems were worse. We will need money for Lome, for the exam and possibly for her stay in the hospital. I will be opening a checking account for Mahsoblee for anyone who might want to contribute. I will have BorneFonden, an NGO (Non-governmental Organization – not-for profit) administrate and oversee the account.I will post again on Tuesday or Wednesday and report on the assessment, and perhaps at that time you might consider contributing? I will post the account information and you can contribute anonymously if you would like. But I would like to thank anyone who helps with this cause. Money received that is not used for her medical care will be used for her education and well being when she is well.Mahsoblee is very, very smart. You would fall in love with her if you met her. Please help me save her life.

Bonjour mes amies!

I have been absent from blogosphere for awhile. There were a sequence of events which prohibited me from blogging.

Sequence of Events (also known as excuses)

Bought an Internet key in Lome for 30mil (which is about $60 U.S. dollars) which allows me to get online from almost anywhere in Togo (when it works)

Internet key was stolen from me at the Peace Corps Headquarter one week later. Such a disappointment on so many levels.

Bought another internet key for another 30mill (another $60 U.S. dollars) Sidebar: None of this as easy as it sounds. It's not like a just jump into the car and go buy another one, I have to walk about six blocks in the blazing, hot sun to the main road to catch a Taxi to go Togocel headquarters. I have to negotiate with at least one and sometimes 3 or 4 taxi drivers until I get a decent price for the taxi. When he drops me off at Togocel I am accosted by at least 5 men all trying to sell me a knock-off internet key. I don't even have one foot out the taxi door and they surround me and are yelling at me and waving literature in my face. I get inside Togocel wait and wait and wait in a long line. I get my key and I do all of this in reverse. I did all of this twice now!

Couldn't get the second inteternet key to work....and was on my way to Atapkeme for a conference. Took the internet key to the AtapkameTogocel office. Arrived at 2. Sidebar:Unbeknown to me the office is closed until 3 for (repose) afternoon rest. I peered in the glass door and saw a woman employee napping on the floor. No luck. I sat on a rock for an hour in the blazing sun for them to open the office. They were able to install it and it appeared to be working

My computer crashed the same day (there was no bridge to throw myself off of)

Ordered a computer online with the help of Eric (my son) and Emily (my daughter) and Ryan a Peace Corps Volunteer, The computer was shipped to my friend Kittie and she brought it to Paris where I was to meet her and Pat for a seven day vacation. (I'll blog about Paris later) Ok, ok, ok...you wonder now why I'm complaining.

Enjoyed seven blissful days in Paris with friends

Upon return to Lome, PCV Lyle installed windows office on my computer. Works like a charm!

Still needed to install the internet key, so a couple days after I returned from Paris I went to Taglibo to get internet key installed. Sidebar:The man who worked in the Togocel office #1 did not have electricity, and #2 could not get an internet connection, He was a very friendly chap though. Told me all about his family, and how he'd like to learn english. When I asked him what I was supposed to do, he suggested I visit my fellow Peace Corps Volunteer, Solomon who lives in Taglibo. "Maybe he can help you," the Togocel employee said.

I walked six blocks in the blazin hot sun and sand (this is beginning to sound like a pattern) to Solomons house. He was home, and he graciously installed my internet key.

The computer and the internet key is working great now, but I still have not been able to get caught up because the computer only stays charged for about two hours.Sidebar I'm happy, I'm happy....but still not quite there yet. Daily I am buying minutes for the Internet Key and daily I am bikeriding down to the main road to charge my computer battery....And daily, hourly I am watching the clock...tick tock, tick tock the time away.

Have been working with several people in Tchekpo to get electricity installed at my house (CTGTE) or Committee to Get Terry Electricity (and shut her up!) Sidebar: Aha!!! my dad was right!!! The squeaky wheel does get the oil!!

The wiring went up yesterday, should have electricity by next week.Sidebar: One full day of three Togolese men in my house (and a few of their children) wiring it. They appeared to know what they were doing??? However aesthetics was not on their agenda.

At that time I will have the ability to charge my computer, to get online and to have ligh

No more excuses!

Progress! It's exciting!

On Saturday, March 19th we had an Eye Clinic Day in Tchekpo, Togo. Our little staff of five volunteers saw over 200 people. We fitted over 130 men, women and children with eyeglasses. We identified over twenty cases of glaucoma. People; young and old, lined the halls from 7:30 in the morning until 5:30 that afternoon. We examined every single person who came that day.

Pies for Eyes…This project was so named because the kids at Shawnee Mission High school in Prairie Village Kansas, under the direction of SHARE Director (and my good friend) Pat Kaufman sold pies to pay for the shipment of the over 200 pairs of eyeglasses the high school collected for the people of Tchekpo. SHARE is a program that teaches High school kids the importance of volunteering, and matches projects to kids who are interested in volunteering. The Peace Corps being the ultimate example of volunteerism, Pat thought this would be a good project for her group.

We began the Pies for Eyes project in October. Over six months ago the wheels were set in motion. It began with me letting Aloughba (my Tchekpo community partner) use my reading glasses to look up a translation in the dictionary. She had been frustrated that she couldn’t read the words and then astonished that she could see them so well when she put my glasses on. I relayed this story to Pat Kaufman and told her that I thought there was a great need for eyeglasses here in Tchekpo. One sentence, that’s really all it took…..pat wrote back with a plan to collect and ship glasses to us.

Lt to rt - Rachel, Jon, Mathew, DavidAll through this project I have encountered people who wanted to help. I would receive emails from people I didn’t even know who strongly identified with the project because they had dramatically experienced the difference glasses had made in their lives. There was absolutely no effort on my part to keep this project in motion. No begging people to help, no recruiting reluctant people. The project flowed effortlessly. I myself had many doubts that this could really even work. There were too many unanswered questions, too many obstacles. Whenever I would have doubts there would be someone at my side who had no doubts…..so we would proceed. Slowly, until eventually all the i’s were dotted and all the t’s were crossed. Over 200 pairs of glasses had been collected, shipped and had arrived in Tchekpo. We found a doctor and nurse who would donate their time to measuring and labeling all the glasses. They also agreed to work and administer the eye clinic day. We had people collecting lists at churches and schools identifying people who needed glasses. Auralia, the Peace Corps Nurse Practitioner in Lome was a big supporter of the project and as busy as her life is, she volunteered her time and energy in working to find technicians to help. It was the most organized effort I had experienced in Togo, much less Tchekpo.  Claude - Our Doctor from the Tesvie Hospital

I didn’t anticipate that the Pies for Eyes project would be a huge deal. I thought maybe if we could help a few people see a little better it would be a good thing. When Aloughba tried my glasses on that day, I immediately identified. I know how painful it is for me to try to read without my glasses, and quickly jumped from there to an awareness that there must be so many people here whose life would be a little easier if they could see better. Pies for Eyes was a little side project that just had an energy of it’s own. It took me along, instead of me taking it along. This project didn’t save lives, or eliminate poverty, and suffering. It was just a little tiny gift that would make peoples lives easier, happier. You can almost follow the trajectory path. Imagine a feather hovering over Aloughbas’s head when she tried on my glasses and could see…..then an idea fluttered to me, and then Pat Kaufman, and then the kids at Shawnee Mission and all the other people who helped collect glasses. The feather starts to rotate and the energy around it becomes stronger and faster, then back to Tchekpo to the nurse and doctor who immediately said yes they would help. Back and forth from David who helped organize the day with Mathew the Tchekpo clinic director. For where two or three are gathered together in my name…….

I am not a student of the bible. I hold onto a very few passages that strike me as being key to a universal truth. One such passage is: Mathew 18:20 For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them" (King James version) I will occasionally ponder this passage. I innately believe this philosophy as being true and logical, interpreting it as meaning there is a force of energy that can manifest and allow anything to happen when people come together to do something good just for the sake of goodness. Anything is possible at these times. Miracles. But more importantly it is possible to feel the spirit of God at these moments. To understand the meaning of life, to experience the aha moment, at a level without thoughts. Just feelings.Claude, David, Rachel, Dove - The staff

And so it was in Tchekpo, Togo on the day we had our Eye Clinic. This was a day that I felt an energy swell up in myself and my colleagues through a collective and pure force of goodwill. It was more satisfying than any drug, or any amount of money. It was addictive. I would want to duplicate the feeling. My collegues, I know felt the same way. They each texted or called me, several times after our day had ended, just to tell me how happy they were, and that they wanted to do this again. No other explanation was given. I could feel their joy.

We were ready for our eye clinic day. Well…Tchekpo was ready. I wasn’t ready. The night before, I felt disaster looming. I wondered if anyone would show up. I wondered how we would really be able to determine who needed which glasses. I wondered if and how the doctor had gone through over 200 glasses…measured them and labeled them. I wondered if he would show up. I wondered and worried, and worried and wondered. I just had this feeling that fitting eyeglasses was too much of a science for us to be able to really do this effectively, and I knew by now that both the workers and the potential recipients expectations were very high. I didn’t sleep very well the night before, and when I woke up I felt a kind of foreboding. That feeling completely went away when I entered the Tchekpo clinic.

Even the Chief and his Wife got new glasses!The Doctor was scheduled to arrive at 9:00am. We had told people who wanted glasses to start coming at 8:00am. When I arrived at 7:30am there were over a hundred people waiting, quietly, patiently, expectantly. Adowaj, they said to me…Adooooooowahhhh is how they say it. They always say my name with a little sense of humor to it. Kids and adults alike. Adoooooowahhhhhh. Their eyes met my eyes as I walked down the hall. I stopped occasionally to shake the hand of someone I knew. I went into the examination room and greeted Mathew, the Clinic director. Mathew is a very serious young man who cares deeply about his clinic and about the health and welfare of the people of Tchekpo. Adoooooowahhhhh he said shaking my hand and smiling. Adowaj, this is a great day.

All day long..person after person would come into the room where we gave the eye exams. Dove wrote down the name of each person we examined. Rachel, the nurse would ask a series of questions to determine which eye exam to give them…and Claude the Doctor would proceed to give an eye exam. After the best match of glasses we could find were given to the person, Dove would then record the strength of the glasses we had given out, next to their name. We started the day with a little twelve year old girl who lives around the corner from me. She is the daughter of a Gendarme (policeman). He and his wife have three children and they are all such a sweet family. He had told me on numerous occasions that his daughter was having a lot of trouble with her eyes, and that she couldn’t study. They had taken her to a doctor in Lome, had a prescription for some glasses, but could not afford to buy them. We gave our own eye exam to her, and we were able to match her prescription with some glasses we had collected. She was our first patient. She could see. Her parents were so happy. Then one by one people filed in. It was so fun to see the look on their faces as they tried on glasses and could see better. I had thought that the reader glasses would be the easiest to fit and that they would just end up being the most beneficial, but we found that the really thick, coke bottle-like glasses were often extremely helpful to really old people who hadn’t been able to see much of anything for maybe decades. They were the most fun to watch. We’d do the eye exam and try on a couple really thick glasses and you could just see them being able to see things they hadn’t seen in a very long time. People left very happy, very excited.

A good days work - the entire staffI went home near the end of the day and prepared some food for the workers, and brought it back to the clinic. I sliced bread with peanut butter and honey. In addition someone had sent me tortilla chips and salsa in a care package and I had been waiting for the perfect occasion. This seemed to fit the bill. We were all ravenously hungry, and ate everything in a few minutes. They loved the tortilla chips and salsa. It was quite a treat for them. We were all in a very good, festive mood. Exhausted but exhilarated. We gathered out in front of the clinic for one last picture…..and then to our respective homes to contemplate the days events.

 David and Rachel - They worked SO hard

Some moments in life are so beautiful and so pure that the presence of God or the presence of a power greater than ourselves becomes indisputable. Most, if not all of us have been lucky enough to experience moments like this. These moments of revelation cannot be planned and seldom do words do them justice. Rather than a destructive force of a tornado or hurricane this energy comes from collective action and thoughts of good will. This day helped us and the people of Tchekpo to see and experience the world a little more clearly. A collision of unselfish and loving actions that gathers momentum. It is powerful. A truly perfect storm, one might say.

My thanks to all the people who helped who were part of this energy. Especially to Liz DeBacker, Pat Kaufman and the students of Shawnee Mission High School in Prairie Village.



Tesvie MarketThis and That About Village Markets

Every Monday (chaque lundi) is market day in Tchekpo. Each village has a specific market day and each market sells a little bit of everything, but each village has a specialty. Tesvie’s market is on Friday’s. It’s one of the biggest in the prefecture (county.) Tesvie has everything. The market is huge, and people come from far away to buy and to sell. Tesvie’s specialty is it’s bread. They have sucra (sweet) bread and salle (salt) bread. I love their bread. My preference is Salle bread. I buy at least two loaves a week. I usually don’t buy my bread at the market. I almost always buy it from a vendor on the main road as I’m leaving Tesvie. The woman I buy my bread from is a big, robust, friendly woman. She knows me now. It’s a pleasureable moment when I see her smile and her eyes light up when she sees me coming. Just for me, she pulls the loaves from under the table….under the table is where the freshest bread is. Occasionally she will give me a cadou (a gift) of a free loaf of bread. She’ll throw an extra loaf in the sack, lookat me and smile, and say…”a cadou…for you, mama.” There are at least twenty or thirty bread sellers along the main road. They sell to people going to and from Lome. Practically everyone who travels anywhere in Togo drives on this road. Probably a hundred bush taxis a day drive by. The bush taxis are conditioned to slow down at this fork in the road, and five to ten bread vendors charge the taxis….pushing their loaves of bread in every open window. Most passengers have their money ready to buy. Friday is the biggest day for the Tesvie bread vendors, because of all the people who travel into town to go to the market.

Ahepe is twenty minutes east of Tchekpo. Ahepe’s market is on Tuesday. It’s a smaller village and it’s market specialty is fruit and vegetables. Taglibow, another thirty minutes to the east is a large village, and has a large market. It has the best Salle bread. It tastes like sour dough bread from San Francisco. Taglibow also specializes in batik fabric. Handmade, tye-dyed. Beautiful. Another thing I like to buy in Taglibow is their avocado sandwiches. It’s street food, but it’s so good. Basically it’s guacomale on their Salle bread. There are a half dozen other villages within an hour of Tchekpo…all with different market days and times. There’s one village (Zafi) that has only a night market on Thursdays.

Tchekpo Market (selling Piemont)Tchekpo is best known for it’s palm oil. It’s made from the cassava plant. Farmers in Tchekpo grow a lot of cassava. Every morsel of it is used for something. It’s a huge potato looking vegetable, about five times bigger than a potato. Primarily it is used in the making of Sodebe. The local liquor. I was told that the Sodebe sold in Tchekpo is the finest liquor in all of Togo, Benin and Ghana. Well that’s what the people in Tchekpo say. They export their Sodebe all over Western Africa. The making of palm oil is a time intensive, completely non-automated, very messy process. It’s also a bit dangerous when they cook it. Combustible. The family compound down the road from me had an explosion since I’ve been here. The compound exploded while they were processing the Sodebe. It flattened the entire compound, leaving the family homeless. Luckily and miraculously no one was hurt. Tchekpo also specializes in 045-09-17growing and selling piemont….a very hot and spicy pepper. You can’t find potatoes or vegetables in Tchekpo though. I have to go to either Tesvie or Taglibow for those.

The Weekly GatheringLa Femme Marche Groupement Association

There are over seventy-five women in the Womens Group Market Association. They all sell their products every Monday at the weekly market. They all have their own little patch of land where they grow their products. They walk the however many miles to the farm every day and tend to it, then on Mondays they load everything up, bring it to the market, and set up their booths. Monday’s you see streams of women and children walking to the market carrying a variety of huge items on their heads. I love market day. It has the feel of a county fair. The vendors set up early and many sell late into the night by candle light. It’s especially interesting to walk through at night by the candle light. People are happy, and busy. When I go to the market everyone greets me and asks me to buy something from them.

Every Tuesday morning the women from the women’s market association meet to clean and sweep the market, using palm branches. Much to their delight, I join them every Tuesday morning at 6:30 A.M. I sweep the market with them. When we get there it’s a mess. Trash and food and garbage everywhere. The market is located just off the main road, and the ground is dirt and sand. It’s bumpy and rocky and rutted. There are numerous thatched roofs (paillots) that give the vendors some protection from the sun and the heat on market day. For the Monday morning sweep, no one is telling anyone what to do. No one is complaining about anyone not carrying their load. Everyone just works. I sweep the market every week so that the women could get to know me and trust me. They’re not quite sure why I’m there, but they very much like it that I participate. The first few times I went to sweep the market they refused to give me a palm branch broom. Now I have my very own broom. There is a technique…an art to sweeping dirt and sand with a palm branch. I still don’t have it down. It has not escaped my notice that someone always follows me and sweeps where I have swept. They work in unison until the job is done. I have to say that Tchekpo has the cleanest market of any I’ve been to. After sweeping the market they gather around the table where the President of the Women’s Association is sitting. They hand her their little accounting books, and she records how much everyone has sold, and how much money they have made. Then they have a short meeting, discuss any issues. They are on there way home or to their farms by 8 A.M.



Tontines

In Togo there are local savings and loan associations called Tontines. They are banks set up for associations to save money collectively, and to loan money to it’s members when needed. This Women’s Group Market Association belongs to a tontine. I go to the tontine meeting every Thursday at 8:30 A.M. The group is 99% Voodooese, so there are voodoo rituals mixed in with everything they do. The meeting is held at one of the primary Voodoo Sanctuaries in Tchekpo. This particular sanctuary is also where people go when they are sick or they go here to perform any rituals or offerings to the gods. This weekly Tontine meeting is a smorgasboard of activities. Many women go through a healing ritual before and during the weekly tontine meeting. There is a semblance of an altar inside the sanctuary structure. There is a fountain and plants. The women who are receiving a healing or a blessing stop in front of the door to the sanctuary, bow for more than a few seconds, and cross themselves. A greeting to the gods. They sit on a stone bench just outside of the sanctuary. No one from the meeting is paying any attention to the women who file by one by one for their blessing. They disrobe from the waist up. The voodoo priest talks to the woman for a few minutes. I think to find out why she is here. What does she need? After he’s talked to her for a few minutes he goes in the sanctuary and quietly says a few prayers. He comes back out holding a primitive small bowl, stands over the woman, chants a few prayers and dabs her with white dots and white squiggly lines on her shoulders and back and neck. They must have this ritual fairly often because I see men, women and children walking around the village all the time with these white dots and squiggly lines. I find it very fascinating that voodoo rituals are performed simultaneously during their business meeting.12 Voodoo is intertwined with everything they do.



The President of the TontineThe meeting always begins the same way. The President of the tontine (not the same woman who is president of the association) stands up and chants a prayer. Half singing, half talking. I like the sound of voodoo chanting. She’s very dignified. People come over to her throughout the meeting. They bow to greet her and say a few words. She emminates intelligence, dignity and respectability. She has a very quiet and noble demeanor. Everyone sits on benches, or little stools they have brought with them. In the middle of the meeting area there is a table which six people sit around. Two men and the rest women. This is where the money is collected and officially recorded, and where dues are paid. It’s all done in Ewe (the local language.) Every bit of it, so there’s still a lot I don’t understand at depth. It appears to be extremely well organized, and the money very well accounted for. One by one, each woman is called to the table. She hands her book and her money to the money counter. Two women count the money, and the counters hand some money back to the woman. The two men, then stamp her book and record the findings in their big accounting book. Everything is double done. Double entry accounting, I guess one could say. The money is counted twice, by two different people, both when it is received and when it is given back. The amount is entered by one man and double checked by the other man. The women who count the money have several different small clear plastic bags of money they are working with. They also have a bucket of money under the table. Part of what I can’t figure out is that I don’t know how they determine how much the woman gives to the association, and how much she keeps, and I’m still not sure how they decide what to do with the money that goes into the association, but they all seem quite satisfied with the way it works. Eventually I will learn the entire process. 



The Beauty Shop

Selling Cocoa NutsTontine Social Hours

The meeting is every bit a social couple hours as it is a business meeting. There is a bucket of water in the middle for anyone who is thirsty. There is always a woman selling cocoa nuts, and almost everyone has one or two. The cocoa nuts appear to be part of the ritual. Most but not all participate. I think possibly the cocoa nuts have the capability of putting everyone in a festive mood…..a burst of energy. There is a woman just outside the perimeter of the meeting, and she works on half a dozen womens hair during the meeting. Braiding, coloring. Their hair-do’s are an art in itself. I find myself not only looking at their intricate hair styles, but being in awe of how they so quickly and artistically do it. A few women bring snacks to sell. Clacko is my favorite. It tastes like hush puppies and is served with spicy hot sauce. And then there is a woman who gives pedicures. I kid you not. She sits on a tiny little stool at the women’s feet, moving the stool from person to person as she completes each one. She has a very professional, mobile nail polish rack. The rack works very efficiently for the woman. It’s kind of like a stacked/layered lazy susan. She has at least a hundred different colors. On the top layer there is a bowl with cotton and something like nail polish remover. She’s very quick, and can easily do a dozen womens toes in an hour. It costs one cent to have your nails done, which is less than an American dollar. I have mine done. She doesn’t just do one color, she usually adds a couple colors and a little design. It’s really quite artistic, and quite innovative. The women love it. She also cleans the toenails well, and cuts the cuticles. Isn’t that something?? All of this variety and activity at their business meeting. Talk about multi-tasking! I think this business model has merit!Pedicures Of Course

There is one woman who comes to every meeting. I’ve never seen her at the market. I think she must be a voodoo priestess. She dresses in a deep raspberry colored cotton dress that is wrapped around, shoulders bare. On each arm she has the same color twine bracelets around her upper arms. She has closely cropped hair. She’s very beautiful, and this dress and her arm bracelets would be a hit on any chic Hollywood starlet. She seems much more serious than the rest of the women. At one meeting I was taking notes, and she sent someone over to tell me that I could not. After weeks of gaining their trust, I was allowed to take photos of the meeting. She again sent someone over and I was told that she was not to be photographed. Aloughba told me it had something to do with a voodoo superstition that photographs violate the soul. I’d like to learn more about this woman.



I’ve had some poignant moments sweeping the market and attending the tontine meetings. For lack of a better word, it feels like a spiritual moment sometimes, or raw truth. There is a collective contentment that can’t be suppressed, and possibly may even be enhanced by the poverty and hunger they experience. It impacts and impresses me the way they work and play together. I sit and I watch, and participate when I can. There is a rhythm and beauty in how they work together towards one goal. It’s very Walden-ish….their world.

I went to my first African soccer match last week. Well, actually it was my first soccer match ever. Except for the notoriety of David and Victoria Beckham….I don’t have a clue about soccer.

The Tchekpo Lycee (high school) was playing Taglibo Lycee. I’d been hearing teachers and students talking about this match for weeks. I’d been wanting to see a game. Tchekpo and Taglibo are about thirty miles apart, and they appear to have a friendly yet fierce competition with each other both scholastically and in sports. I likened it to a game between K.U. and Kansas State. This game was the championship for the entire Yoto prefecture (county.)

I arrived at the school about 1pm on Friday. When I showed interest in going to the game, I was invited to go and invited to ride down on the student buses. The student buses being a caravan of bush taxis, bursting to the seams with hyper, sweating, excited teenagers. When I arrived at the school kids were gathered around in various groups, waiting for the taxis to arrive. The team was sitting in a circle under some trees, seemingly having some sort of team meeting. I’m used to seeing the kids in their uniforms, which is khaki colored skirts and trousers and white shirts. I see them around the village, but they don’t dress up, and kind of blend in with everyone else. For this game though, they dressed to the nines! The girls and the boys showed their teenage individuality, and there was definitely a good attempt at western hip-hop influence with low riding jeans and big shirts, hats sunglasses. The kids were playful, excited and enthusiastic.

It became known in Tchekpo a few weeks ago that I could “wolf” whistle. This whistle is non-existent in Togo, so the first time I did it in my English class, they were amazed at my talent. They wooped and hollered, and many have come up to me and ask me to teach them how to do it. They really had never heard anyone whistle this way. My sister Jody taught me to wolf whistle. I remember it well. For weeks, one summer when we were teenagers, we would sit on the porch steps, and she worked, and worked and worked with me. She had infinite patience with me (one of the only times.) I remember the first time it worked. The first time I whistled. It was a real accomplishment. I think I went around the rest of the summer whistling at everything that was whistle appropriate, and I’m sure many things that were whistle inappropriate. I was often a valued member of the audience for my kids, and nieces and nephews, plays and sport activities because of my whistle, and while my kids sometimes begged me beforehand not to, I did it anyway. I couldn’t help myself. It was my way of letting them know I was there, and I was proud….but I digress. After a performance or an event, I would go up to them and ask them if they heard me whistle. They would roll their eyes and say godddddd yes! So now the Tchekpo highschool kids want me to whistle all the time. A little bit of Americana hoopla! When I arrived at the school Mr. Tomekin one of the teachers took me over to where the team was meeting. He told me on the way over that he was going to give a little pep talk, and then he wanted me to whistle. He did, and I did! God, it’s so easy to impress people here. They yelled and hollered and loved it. At the game I commissioned to stand with the little unofficial pep club and to whistle on cue whenever Tchekpo made a good play.

It was just plain fun to ride with the kids to Taglibow. It would be difficult to distinguish any differences between them and American teenagers getting ready for “the big game” with their biggest competition. There were fight songs, and laughter, and joking around, and flirting between the boys and the girls.

We arrived at the soccer field in Taglibow. They have a little grandstand, that looks like it was built a 045 hundred years ago. The field has ‘some’ grass. It’s hard to find any grass in Togo. Tchekpo doesn’t have a soccer field, so they have to play all their games away. Last night I dreamt that Yoko Ono read my blog and donated a soccer field to the Tchekpo Lycee. Where did that come from??? So Yoko…if you are listening, Johns song, Imagine, is a constant inspiration to me. Picture this…the John Lennon Soccer Field in Tchekpo Africa, dedicated to all the “dreamers” out there! Yoko? Yoko?

The Tchekpo Team and PrincipalBack to the game….The game was great, and very professional. There must have been at least 1000 very enthusiastic spectators. After the stands were filled, people stood shoulder to shoulder around the entire filed. Tchekpo held it’s own up to half time. That’s really good considering Tchekpo is half the size of Taglibow. Taglibow players looked a little more polished, a little more sophisticated in their green uniforms, and they ALL had matching socks. Tchekpo had nice uniforms, but the team didn’t have matching socks.

This guy was part of the halftime entertainmentThere were vendors set up selling food and drink, and everyone was in a very festive, happy mood. There was very friendly rivalry between the teachers for Taglibow and the teachers for Tchekpo. They sat next to each other in the stands, and joked and elbowed each other. There was even halftime entertainment, and entertainment everytime a good play was made by either team. There were several kids dressed up in crazy outfits, which I’m sure signified something, but I didn’t know what. Everytime there was a break in the game, these kids would parade in front of the stands, and around the perimeter of the field, and they would incite the crowd to laughter and frenzy. There were also the horns. The horns that you hear during the World Cup. Both schools had them, and they would blow them long and loud after a good play.

The Pep Club after a great play by Tchekpo!There were several injuries during the game, at which time medics would run onto the field with a makeshift gurney, and carry the player off to resounding applause. During halftime the teams went to their designated corners. Taglibow was ahead, but not by much. The Tchekpo team was sitting in a circle on the ground looking tired and dejected, most with their heads hung low, and arms curled around their knees. Two coaches were yelling at them simultaneously, supposedly trying to inspire them, to give them hope that they could rally, that they could DO THIS. “DU COURAGE!!!” (YOU CAN DO THIS!)

042In the end, Taglibow won. Dammmmm I wanted Tchekpo to win. Immediately after the game the two teams lined up and shook each others hands with the Togolese handshake…which entails a snap of the pointer finger after the handshake. They then had an award ceremony, at which time Taglibow was presented with a nice trophy. Tchekpo spectators and team were very good sports. They applauded a game well played.

After the game we all walked up to the main road and waited for our bush taxis. And waited, and waited and waited. An hour and half after the game our bush taxis finally rolled up to get us. By this time there were a few men who had a little bit too much to drink. They climbed on top of one of the bush taxis and proceeded to ride home in the open air. I wondered if they would make it. We filed into the bush taxis and rode home. The taxi was much more quiet than the trip down. The driver had the local Taglibow radio station on (there’s no radio station in Tchekpo.) The announcer talked about the game, and the kids were excited about that, and became energetic again. We left for the game at 1pm and we got back to Tchekpo around 9pm. A long day for everyone.

It was a fun day. I couldn’t really detect any differences between this game and a championship game for any sport in America. It made me think of Nelson Mandela and how he knew that South Africa winning the World Cup could inspire the nation and the world. And it did. And this game…though Tchekpo lost, brought the kids and adults of Taglibow and Tchekppo together. It inspired the kids, It inspired the two villages, and it inspired me. Rock Chock Tchekpo!

Thursday February 3, 2011 was a night that will be remembered by all the residents of Tchekpo. It was the night the lights went on in Tchekpo. It was the night they got “electric current.” That’s what they call electricity. Electric current. The first time I met the Chief, last July, he told me that Tchekpo would be getting electric current in December. We’re only two months past schedule. That in itself is pretty impressive for Togo.

For the past six months I’ve watched progress slowly and steadily invade my little village of Tchekpo. I saw the huge trucks roll into town. I watched the workers slowly and systematically chop down ancient trees and clear brush from the each side of the main road. I watched the poles go up, one by one. I watched them string the wire from pole to pole, rolling the wire off their giant spools. The workers never looked like they were in much of a hurry. Little by little they got the job done. I never heard anyone in Tchekpo talking about the coming of electric current in Tchekpo. I was the only one that talked about it, and I brought it up often. “When do you think we’ll get it?” Are you excited about Tchekpo getting electricity?” Everyone I asked appeared to be pretty unimpressed about the prospect. I decided their reaction, or non-reaction to this phenomena was because they just had no idea how it would impact or change their lives. For me…..All I wanted was two things. A fan, and an easy way to charge my electronics. I don’t even care about light. I’ve gotten used to living without light after 6pm….but a fan….oh a fan, would definitely change and enhance my life for my remaining months in Tchekpo.

It’s the hot season in Togo right now. From January through May. I had always heard that the hot season went through March, so I’ve looked forward to the end of March. I’ve had a big smiley face on my calendar on the last day of March to mark the occasion. I’ve thought…HA…if I make it through to the end of March, I can go the distance for sure. The other day I was talking to a Togolese about making it through March. She laughed, and said “the hot season lasts through May!!” That little bit of information stopped me dead in my tracks.…I fell to my knees and screamed in a voice that sounded more demonic than like my own voice…NO! NO! NO!…tell me it isn’t true! It can’t be true…..and then I wept uncontrollably. Ok..well not really, but that’s what was going through my mind. I instead slapped the person that told me. Ok…not really, but I wanted to. Now my only hope for survival was the coming of electric current….and a fan.

How do I cope with the heat? I take at least four bucket showers a day, and at night when I go to bed, I lay a big thick towel on my bed, and a little towel over my pillow then I just step outside my back door and poor a bucket of water over myself…over my nightgown and all. Then I crawl into bed soaking wet. It works! However half way through the night I wake up, completely dry. I get up, out of bed, half asleep, fumble around for my flashlight, walk down the hall, knocking into the walls, step outside my back door, and once again poor a bucket of nice cool water over myself. This is an every day/every night occurance. Approximately four bucket showers a day, and two at night. Electricity and a fan, would be a really nice addition, don’t you think? As stifling as the heat and humidity is….It is surprisingly bearable once you come to terms with it. Once you develop your coping mechanisms. Nothing…and I mean nothing feels better than those bucket showers, and then I’m good to go for at least a couple more hours. My friends in Tchekpo are used to the heat, in fact when there is a rare cool day….let’s say the temperature is 95 instead of 105, they pull out their jackets and long sleeved shirts, and tell me they are cold. Yeah…it is beyond my comprehension that when I am finally a little bit comfortable, they are uncomfortably cold.

David's Birthday PartyThe night the lights went on…I had a birthday party for David, my French teacher the night the lights went on. David also helps me teach my English class to adults, and I help him teach English at the high school. He has become a very valuable partner. He helps me with all my projects. I told him the other day, to his delight, that he was a Mover and a Shaker. He asked me to repeat, and then he wrote it down, and laughed. Now every time I see him, he laughs and says, “I am a Mover and a Shaker.” No one can say Mover and Shaker like David says it. He sounds like an evangelical preacher when he says it. He roars it….”I am a Mover and a Shaker.”

David turned 35. The birthday party was fun. I had invited about ten people to my house, most from our English class. I served my version of Togolese h’ors douvres. Popocorn and bread with peanut butter and honey. I also made a pitcher of lemon aid. David and Mr. Hugnon were the last to arrive and the last to leave. Mr. Hugnon is the prinicipal of the grade school I am helping. When David came in the door, we all sang Happy Birthday to him. We sang in English, French and Ewe, just like we had done for my son Eric on his birthday. Only we sang to Eric over the phone. David was so obviously enjoying the attention and festivities. The party was fun, and after we ate and drank, we sat around in circle and talked. At the end of the party, upon request from the guests, we sang songs, including the hokey pokey, which I taught them in our Adult English Class. I taught them the hokey pokey as a fun way for them to learn the English translation of the human body parts. They LOVE the hokey pokey, and it has now become a ritual at the end of every class. When the party was over, it was dark. David and Mr. Hugnon were the last to leave. They returned to my house just a few minutes after they had left. I heard them shouting outside my door…”Adoowah, Adoowhat, the lights are on, we can see them!” They asked me if I wanted to walk down to the rue (main street) with them to join in the celebration. It was so fun. I was glad they came back to get me. It was sweet sharing the experience with David and Mr. Hugnon. People were laughing and skipping and very excited about the lights. Music was blaring from the local bar. I could tell Mr. Hugnon and David were excited as well. It was impossible not to get caught up in the celebration. At one point we stopped by the side of the road. Mr. Hugnon dusted off a large fallen tree trunk. It was a magical moment, as the three of us sat on the tree stump and watched people dance in the streets. We could see the look of wonderment and joy on their faces.

The night sky, from my porchAhhhh progress!! As often happens with progress you gain something, and you lose something. The lives of my friends in Tchekpo will be forever changed. The first thing I noticed on my way home that night was that the glow of the electric lights from the main road had already dimmed the beautiful night sky that I’ve come to enjoy so much. Every night before I go to bed I sit on my porch at dusk, and watch darkness descend on my little village. The stars, and the streaks of color; purple, yellow, orange are like no other sky I’ve seen, anywhere. I sometimes think the night sky is the only “pretty” thing about Togo. Often the sky is so clear, and the stars and the moon are so bright that you don’t need a flashlight to see. Now we have progress, we have electricity, and the sky has dimmed….quite a bit. Now there is a haze, a glow from town. The stars are very noticeably not as bright. Soon the houses will have electric current, and instead of sitting around the fires in their courtyards discussing their day, they will find new things to do. Before electric current children and teenagers studied before dark, or by flashlight or lantern after dark. In Tchekpo, the day for all intensive purposes ends at dusk. At dusk the family gathers around the fire, where they cook and eat dinner and talk about the days activities. Except for the voodoo drums, all is quiet in Tchekpo after 7pm. What will it be like now? What wonders and opportunities, and benefits will electricity bring to Tchekpo. What will end?

The night the lights went on in Tchekpo is the night my friends lives will be forever altered...and i get a few days closer to getting a fan.

I attended The Chiefs Annual Togolese/Voodoo Christmas Celebration at the Chiefs Compound. I didn’t know I was going to a party that day. Upon arrival I could see that I was in for a new experience. A Voodoo experience. By the time the day and the celebration was over, I was confused and I think a little disturbed. I felt a need to understand, rationalize and/or defend their holiday ritual (s).

During the holidays the Togolese and Tchekpo community do a lot of the same things we do at home. People who passed me on the roads and dropped by my house every day wished me a Bonne fette de Noel (Merry Christmas) and Nouveau Annee (Happy New Year.) I received gifts of pineapples, papaya’s, and bundles of plantains. Neighbors, new friends and people I’ve been working with here in Tchekpo sincerely thanked me for being here. They smiled, took my hand and blessed me. I felt their warmth and sincerity. I also felt their merriment of the season.

The desire to express good will during the holidays is something I happily shared with my Togolese friends. One of the things I wanted to discover for myself on this journey is, what basic traits do all humans share? Whether they live in the suburbs of mid-america, or a small village in Africa, what do we have in common? What is innate? What are we born with, and what is learned? The answer to these questions are deep, layered and multi-faceted, and would be better answered by Margaret Meade, but I try….just the same.

The Fette

The Chief had his annual holiday celebration (fette) the Saturday before Christmas. Aloughba and I walked together to the Chiefs compound. I had recently returned from Spain, so I thought we were just going to visit….to greet the Chief. I’ve learned to enjoy the surprises Aloughba gives me. I never, ever know what is in store when she takes me someplace. On this day, as we approached the Chiefs Compound I could hear music (drums) and laughter, and I could hear roosters crowing and lambs screaming. When we entered I was completely taken by surprise that I had arrived at the Chiefs annual holiday celebration. I had to laugh to myself, that here I was at the Chiefs biggest celebration of the year, and I had had no idea that’s where we were going. At least a hundred people were milling about. The atmosphere was festive. The Togolese dress up for these occasions, in their best complaits and head gear. I was in my khakis and t-shirt, but no one seemed to mind. Men and women were laughing and talking. Children were running around chasing each other. At first glance it seemed very similar to an American Party. While I was sitting watching everyone....I identified couples, families, groups and compared them to my American family and friends. For example there was a husband and wife laughing and talking to their two little children. I thought....that could be Andrea and Mirinda and their kids. There were two married couples sitting talking with each other...that could be Kittie and Jody talking to Pam and Richard??? I'm not sure why I play this game. I think because their language and dress is so different, the traditions are definitely different. Everything is different....but what about us is alike?

I made the rounds to the elders, bowed, held my elbow and shook their hands. There is always a snap of each others pointer finger at the end of the hand shake. It took me a while to master, but now I have the Togolese handshake down. I greeted most of them in their local language, Ewe (e-vah). The sodebe (local liquor) was flowing, "making spirits high." Soon after we arrived the Chief greeted me. I do like the Chief for many reasons. I think he’s intelligent, and he has a very good sense of humor. He wanted to know where my camera was. I told him I didn't bring it. He asked why. I told him I didn’t know I was coming to a party, and I offered to walk home to get it. He wanted me to, so I did. Round trip walk about 45 minutes. But I was glad to have the diversion of this task. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable with the crowd or the celebration. I returned to the festivities with my camera. Without any preconceived notions of what might occur.



Not like our celebrations at home, I can tell you that. Well actually parts of it were similar. It was family and friends and their children having a party, being happy to see and visit with each other, but that may be the only similarity. This was an authentic Voodooese Fette, with all their trimmings…..they were ready to celebrate and at the same time, pay homage to their god(s)!

First up…..the slaughtering and sacrifice of two lambs. I was shocked when I saw them hang the two lambs by their feet and then slit their necks. I tried hard not to look as the blood spilled out on the floor. It all felt very surreal. The whole day felt like an assault on my senses. It was a festival of animal sacrifice and slaughter. The rituals certainly better defined my Voodooese friends to me. First the lambs, then…ohhhhh…..at least one hundred chickens. Apparently almost everyone had brought their own chicken(s) to sacrifice. Before they began the chicken slaughter, they ceremoniously all knelt and bowed down with their families and with their chickens and said a prayer....I think partly asking the gods to choose their chickens. Then the chicken slaughter began. Everything that was done was a symbol for something….how the blood spattered on the floor, how much the chickens bounced around, which direction they bounced after their throats were slit. Apparently which way the chicken bounced and how much it bounced determined which ones were acceptable to the Gods. One by one their necks were slit. One by one they bounced around and fluttered. One by one they were thrown into one of three piles. Each pile having a significance and delivering a message from the gods. The people and the children watched and cheered. The Chief had the task of deciphering which chickens the gods had sanctioned to be eaten on that day. The two lambs and the chosen chickens were skinned, de-feathered, cut up, cooked and eaten. I wanted to understand everything. I thought it might help me tolerate it all better, if I understood the religious or voodoo significance of it all. It seemed to me that "tolerance" was going to be something I needed to cultivate. Because I did not understand everything that was going on, it just seemed very primal, and cruel. The rituals I witnessed made me feel differently about these people I have grown to respect and love. All of a sudden I saw them as not as evolved as myself, and all of a sudden I was a little afraid of them. It disturbed me. I realized that I would need to process all of this. Try to understand this part of their human nature.

A little history lesson on Voodoo:

In Tchekpo, in America and all over the world, there are many “Christians” and many various religious denominations of “Christians.” As Christians, Africans celebrate the birth of Christ (Bonne fette de Noel). They have accepted Christ as their Savior and as their one true, and only God. The missionairies did a good job converting the “natives” of Africa. Christianity gave the people of Africa good news and hope in a world that was otherwise extremely harsh to them in all ways…weather, hunger, poverty, war. The good news was that as harsh as this life on earth is, if they are good “Christians” if they follow the teachings of Jesus Christ they will enjoy eternal happiness. Hope of the heaven that was described to them, was more than enough to convince them to denounce their voodoo ways. On the surface anyway. It is a conflict of belief systems. Believing that Jesus is the one true God, and yet as Animists (Voodooese) they believe in many Gods. They cannot dismiss the lore that has been handed down for the past 6,000 years. The word "voodoo" comes from the Fon language. It means "sacred," "spirit" or "deity." [source: National Public Radio: Radio Expeditions]. .

Animism or voodoo is by definition a cult; a cult that constitutes a system of religious beliefs and rites which are used principally to reinforce the social system as well as the dependence of the family (isn’t this what all religion does?)—and at the same time, voodoo recognizes spirits, guardians, deities, or forces of nature. Voodoo originated in Africa. Voodoo is ubiquitous in Tchekpo, with approximately 95% of It’s people actively practicing voodoo. It is a way of life. It filters into their lives at every juncture. Voodoo beliefs and rituals are intertwined in their work, with their families and their justice system, their health, and their deaths. Voodoo is a HUGE subject that influences everything the people in my village do, in spite of the fact that so many of them are also converted Christians. They practice both Christianity and Voodoo, even though they are very conflicting beliefs. I do not know how they reconcile the conflict. Sometimes I think they've just decided to hedge their bets, and commit to both. Living a good and decent life is a part of both religions.

Voodoo, In religious theory, is the conception of a spiritual reality behind the material one: for example, they believe the soul is a shadowy duplicate of the body capable of independent activity, both in life and death. Since Voodoo is primarily an oral tradition, the names of gods, as well as the specifics of different rituals, can change in different regions or from generation to generation. However, African Voodoo has several consistent qualities no matter where people practice it. Along with the belief in multiple gods and spiritual possession, these beliefs include:

•Veneration of ancestors

•Rituals or objects used to convey magical protection

•Animal sacrifices used to show respect for a god, to gain its favor or to give thanks

•The use of fetishes, or objects meant to contain the essence or power of particular spirits

•Ceremonial dances, which often involve elaborate costumes and masks

•Ceremonial music and instruments, especially including drums

•Divination using the interpretation of physical activities, like tossing seed hulls or pulling a stone of a certain color from a tree

•The association of colors, foods, plants and other items with specific loa(God) and the use of these items to pay tribute to the loa (God).

Many of these traits, particularly ancestor worship, polytheism, and the importance of music and dance, are important elements of Voodoo. Many observances appear to be part celebration, part religious service incorporating rhythmic music, dancing and songs. Many rituals take advantage of the natural landscape, such as rivers, mountains or trees. Through decoration and consecration, ordinary objects, like pots, bottles or parts of slaughtered animals, become sacred objects for use in rituals. I've come to recognize all of these things, as I walk through the village. Sometimes I'll be walking with Aloughba and point to something I think is an artful arrangement of plants and/or pottery, and she tells me that it is voodoo. A sacred prayer created for the gods, maybe to stop children from dying, or to bring rains for the crops.

I’m sure I’m just understanding the tip of the ice berg as far as voodoo is concerned. I didn’t want to delve into it for a long time. Didn’t think I really needed to. Thought I could just experience it on the surface, an arms length away. But really if I’m to understand the people of Tchekpo I must understand their roots, and their religion and their beliefs.

At the Chiefs Annual Christmas Celebration I saw the ritual of lambs and hundreds of chickens slaughtered and offered to the Gods. It is tempting to dismiss these rituals as hocus pocus, or the people who perform them as not as evolved as you and I. Then I think…what if we were dropped into the U.S. for the very first time and went to a Catholic Church for the very first time and we saw this man all dressed up in colorful, flowing robes, with young men assisting him in his rituals. We see people with beads in their hands...chanting together, and bowing and kneeling in front of statues?? And then we are told that this man (high priest) can change wine into blood and bread into the body of Christ??? How odd would it be to hear something like that for the very first time? Voodoo rituals are beyond my understanding, my comprehension, but maybe they aren’t as different than our rituals as they first appear.

I had been preparing myself for the holidays in Togo, or I might say bracing myself. I wasn’t sure how hard it would be, and couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be away from my friends and kids and grandkids. I knew one thing for sure. My trip to Spain helped ease the blow. I know I would have had a much harder time if I hadn’t had that wonderful trip and been with family just before Christmas.

Many people from back home brought Christmas to me. Tom made it easier for me. The weeks leading up to Christmas he texted me several times a day, every day, and called often. Tom has this sixth sense when it comes to me. His timing is awfully good at guessing when I might need extra moral support, and a laugh or two. I am often pleasantly surprised when he calls or texts at just the right moment. The right moment usually being when I’m sitting by myself, hot, and sweaty and dirty, and wondering…uhhhhh….now why am I here? Tom reminds me. Sometimes I think he knows better than I know…why I’m here. He helps me cope with the heat and the inconveniences, just by listening. Without sounding critical he gently reminds me what an extraordinary experience I have in front of me.

Many other people made the holidays here easier for me. Kittie and Pam both sent Christmas packages full of extra special things, including Christmas treats, a little Christmas tree, a Christmas stocking, and even wrapped Christmas gifts. Pam and Richard sent me the old version of the movie…The Bishops Wife, a sweet Christmas story with Loretta Young, David Niven and Cary Grant. I watched it on Christmas Day after church. It was fun to watch and brought back sweet memories of watching it with my mom and gramma. I got great packages from my friend Dixie, and my brother and his wife Joanne. Both had really fun, interesting and nutritious treats. Dixie’s package was of course fun and creative..just like her (I know she would want me to also give credit and thanks to her husband Joe, and son Jesse). Her package was full of fun things, and delicious things. She included little individual containers of dill pickles. Who knew dill pickles could taste SO good. My sister Nancy’s package included a book and a book light. The book light was a great idea. I’ve been able to read every night after dark. Karen; E.J.’s mom sent a package full of candy canes. She thought it would be fun to show the kids in Tchekpo our tradition of candy canes. She was right. Word spread fast about the candy canes. The kids loved them, and it was fun to see them understanding what I meant when I explained that we hang them on the tree.





l'ecole No. 5 Bonne Fette de Noel I got a lot of other things, all appreciated. I was especially glad to get more candy. I had taken back tons of candy from Spain, but had given every single piece of it away. I thought that stash of candy would last a long time, but I went through it in days. I’m so glad I had it, because my Togolese friends expected a little cadeu(gift) from me for Noel. School adjourns over the holidays, just like in the U.S. I went to my project primary school on the last day before the holiday…toting my sack of candy. It was a fun day. The kids were all lined up by class, and several kids in each class got awards for good work. It was quite ceremonious. After the award ceremony they sang We Wish You a Merry Christmas to moi. I then proceeded to dole out a few pieces of candy to each and every 225 of them. I felt like Santa Claus, however they have no concept of Santa Claus, and as hard as I tried to explain the phenomena of Santa Claus, I could see they really couldn’t comprehend it.

TamaraChristmas Eve, Tamara, the PCV in Tesvie had a dinner party for the PCV’s who live in our Maritime Region. There were similar PCV parties throughout Togo. There were about eight PCV’s going to Tamara’s and we all arrived in Tesvie around 4pm on Christmas Eve. Tamara likes to have parties, and she loves to cook. She outdid herself. She had h’ors douvres, and drinks, and even ice. She amazes me….no one can get ice in Togo, but there it was. I even had a couple, gin and tonics on ice with lime. Mmmmmmm. Dinner was delicious, and she had baked two delectible cakes for desert. Everyone sat around visiting, listening to music, and all stayed the night. Tamara has access to internet, so I spent a lot of that evening on-line, sending emails and reading facebook. I had my computer set up just behind where the rest of the PCV’s were sitting in a circle so I could join in the conversation while being online at the same time. No one minded that I was only half there. PCV’s are very non-judgmental here. You do what you gotta do to survive the best way you can. For me….it was important to have the internet connection.

I also received a Christmas phone call from each of my daughters; Andrea and Emily. Of course we missed each other, but I could tell they were having a very nice, warm Christmas Eve with their families. They were happy, and it made me happy. After I exhausted my internet connection I fell asleep on a matt on the ground in Tamara’s courtyard around midnight. I woke up about 5:30am. I had planned on leaving early Christmas morning so I could catch church services in Tchekpo. Everyone was still sleeping soundly when I left at 6am. I caught a moto and arrived home about 7am. Church started at 8. The strangeness of catching a moto at 6am on Christmas morning in Africa did not escape me. I wasn’t unhappy, but I did feel a bit disconnected. The church service was very nice and festive. Beautiful music. The kids put on a play about the three wise men and the night Jesus was born. It was cute and touching. After church, I wanted to be alone. I wasn’t sad. I just wanted to be alone. I closed my front door and window shutters, went into my bedroom, laid down on my bed and watched the Bishops Wife. After the movie I fell asleep for a few hours. When I woke up, I took my hand-made Christmas Cards around to a few friends. It was fun to make and give my cards to my Togolese friends. I gave Aloughba one of my cards and I put dix mil inside of it. That’s about twenty American dollars, and like a thousand dollars to a person in Tchekpo. I thought that she probably very rarely had ever had that much money at one time. Aloughba has never asked me for one thing, and she has been such a good community partner and friend. She has helped me so much. I was looking forward to her opening the card. Well…it nearly killed her. Really, I thought she was going to faint. She screamed and practically dropped to her knees. I knew she’d be happy and excited, but wow….her reaction exceeded all expectations. It was a delightful moment.

I had many lovely, touching American and Togolese moments through the holidays. Including when my three kids called me at midnight my time on New Years Eve. They were all together. They were laughing and having fun. They told me everything they were eating, and what everyone was doing. My four year old grandson Cooper wished me the most sincere, and sweet wish for the new year. Tom called me several times on New Years Eve and New Years Day. He called me while he was preparing his traditional New Years Day meal of black eyed peas for his family, and he called me at midnight Togo time, and he called me again at midnight his time. Tres gentile. (Very nice). 2011 off to a good start!

 

I returned from Madrid on Friday, December 17th. It was a whirlwind trip, and I’d have to say it was ten days of bliss. Eric, my son, had planned on visiting me here in Tchekpo. We both were looking forward to the visit, and the entire village of Tchekpo was very excited that he was coming. They had planned dinners and Tom-tom dances, and a myriad of activities. He was supposed to fly in on Saturday December 5th. I had been in Pagala, Togo the week prior for a Peace Corps week-long conference for my particular Peace Corps program…Small Enterprize Development. On Saturday when the conference ended, I went directly from Pagala to Lome. About a four hour drive. I had planned on picking Eric up at the airport that evening. Just after I arrived in Lome Eric called and told me that there was an air-traffic controller strike in Spain. No flights were coming or going. He didn’t know how long it would last, and didn’t know if he’d be able to come. He sounded tired and discouraged. Eric had only that week to visit. I was desolate. Apparently Eric spent all day at the airport in Madrid trying to catch a flight, but everything had been cancelled. Finally after waiting for ten hours, he headed home. He kept in contact with me via the telephone, and gave me updates. I spent the night at a hotel in Lome, and waited for news. Sunday morning Eric called and said, there was no way he could get here. They were resuming flights, but his had been cancelled and there are only two flights a week to Lome, so he wouldn’t be able to get out until Thursday, which would give him only three days here. UGH! I knew that he was as disappointed as I was. I decided to stay one more night in Lome……for the most part to just process the turn of events, and secondly, to stay in an air-conditioned room for another night. Eric sent an email that night saying he and E.J. had found a flight FOR ME to Madrid the very next day and they wanted me to consider coming there. At first, I didn’t even consider it. I just didn’t see how it could be done. My director needed to be notified, the people in my village needed to know, and I didn’t have my passport in Lome. He and E.J. called me that night, and convinced me it could be done. It seemed like an impossible feat, but I had talked with a couple other Peace Corps volunteers and they thought I was nuts not to do it. There was also the guilt of me spending their money on an airline ticket, but Eric argued that his ticket was refunded, so he considered it a net, net. I told him that was a “Nichols net, net.” We both laughed; innately understanding our inherited system of Nichols accounting priniciples. I said ok…I’m comin to Spain!! I think he was so genuinely happy that I was coming, that any difficulties I thought I might encounter seemed all of a sudden do-able. Oh yeah, it was a little complicated and exhausting getting everything done in one day to fly to Spain for ten days. I had to take a bush taxi to Tchekpo (2 hours each way) to pick up my passport and to tell some of the key people there, that not only was Eric not coming, but that I was going to be gone for ten days. I could see the very real disappointment in their eyes, but they were also happy for me. Then back to Lome to meet with my Director Alex. Alex threw all bureaucracy out the window, stamped my form for approval, and said bon voyage!! I got everything done and arrived at the airport at 8pm. The flight left at 11pm. “Nothing is easy in Togo,” even leaving Togo. Of course there were problems checking in. Eric had put the airline ticket on his credit card. This was not a normal transaction for the Lome airport, and they did not trust that I was who I said I was and suggested I might be illegally using someone elses credit card. It didn’t matter to them that I had two passports with pictures saying who I was, In addition I had a Peace Corps Identification card with my picture on it. They still did not trust me. After a dozen phone calls to/from Eric talking to me, and then talking to the airline employee they still were balking. I think, possibly sometime after an hour of arguing I might have “copped” an attitude, because they only got more reluctant. Finally they made me call the Country Director of the Peace Corps in Togo, so that she could verify who I was, and so that she could guarantee payment if the credit card turned out to be stolen. Oy veh!!! How I happened to have the Country Directors phone number and that she happened to answer, I’ll never know, but I guess God was on my side. She verified who I was, and said that they would pay if I indeed turned out to be a fraud. A lot to ask of the Country Director.

So, at 10:45 I was allowed to board the 11pm flight to Madrid. Pretty sure with one more blocked blood vessel. There was to be one transfer of planes in Brussels. The plane to Brussells (about a six hour flight) was only half full, so I was able to stretch out in the middle seats and slept the entire way. Then I passed through all the Brussels customs without a hitch, and a few hours later found my well rested self in the beautiful, bustling city of Madrid! I’d never given much thought to Spain or Madrid. Now I think it should be on every travelers list as a “must see.” Madrid is fabulous!

I think the entire time I was there, I was kind of in culture shock, though I didn’t realize it at the time. In fact I kept thinking how easily I was adjusting to being back in civilization. But I’m sure I experienced “culture shock” times two…..both in Madrid and upon my return to Tchekpo. Now that I’m settled back in Tchekpo, I can see that I was in a kind of very fuzzy state of mind. Fuzzy or not, I had the most wonderful time! Everything about it was wonderful. First and most importantly I got to spend time with my one year old grand-daughter Dorothy. She had only a few minutes of reservation about me being a stranger. I was very determined to bond with her before I left for Togo, and I think E.J.(my son’s partner) instinctively wanted to make sure that happened also. He brought Dorothy to Kansas City a number of times, so that I could spend quality time with her. She and I did bond during those trips. I also have been able to video-skype with them a few times since I’ve been in Togo. How the world has changed! Little Dorothy trying to touch the computer screen and looking at me via video. So Dorothy’s few minutes of reservation was about processing the real me with the person who had previously been cooing and awing and throwing her kisses via video. I think it all came together for her though, because she hugged me, and played with me, and laughed with me, as if I truly was someone she knew and recognized and trusted. I was greeted with her big smile, and a curious look on her face each morning. I imagined that she was thinking…oh yeah…she’s still here! Ok, ok…that just might have been my imagination.

While in Madrid I enjoyed some of the following benefits of civilization……every morning, I walked a couple blocks to Starbucks, and there I met my old friend, the white chocolate mocha. Every morning!! Some days E.J.and Dorothy walked with me, and some days I just went by myself. The white chocolate mocha was just as good as I remembered. I savored the chilly walk as well as the hot drink. Eric and E.J. took me to a half dozen wonderful restaurants. I put back on, seven of the twenty pounds I’ve lost. Nothing better than Spanish tapas, especially in Spain. Diet coke on ice. And just ICE!!! Candy and cookies, and delicious pastries. One night, upon request, I made one of Eric and E.J.’s favorite dinners. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy. It tasted wonderful to all of us. A little piece of Americana…home. I told Eric not to dare tell Emily. It might just be too much for her. Missing me is one thing, but I know she longs for my meat loaf. I enjoyed the cool air, and sleeping in a soft bed. It was a pleasure needing to sleep under a blanket and having a warm comforter to snuggle under. The hot shower and flush toilet and electricity were a bonus. I got used to it all the amenities in about two days. Funny how quickly we can adapt.

One night we bundled Dorothy up and walked a few blocks to a double decker bus that was touring the city’s Christmas lights. We sat on the top level. It was cold, but a good cold. Madrids Christmas lights are second to none. We all enjoyed the excursion immensely, and finally, it felt like Christmas. They also took me to IKEA. Haven’t been in a mall or a department store, or really even a store (with the exception of the yo-vo stores in Lome) in over six months. IKEA challenged me. All the cars, and people, and all the things! I enjoyed riding in Eric’s Audi….so different from my moto’s and bush taxi’s. I didn’t detect one rut or bump in the road. Eric and E.J. treated me to an overnight trip to Alhambra. Alhambra

is an ancient, historic Spanish town with beautiful castles and palaces built during the time of Christ. I’m sorry to say I knew next to nothing about the history of Alhambra, but it has peaked my curiosity. One day I intend to read and learn more about it. It was breathtakingly beautiful. On the way to Alhambra we stopped in the quaint little Spanish town of

Toledo (sister city of Toledo, Ohio), and driving through the country from Toledo to Alhambra we saw some of Eric’s work. Rolling fields of beautifu, graceful windmills that looked as if they grew there instead of having been built there. He seems to love his work, and I can understand why. Being a leader in a company that produces natural energy worldwide.

Since Eric had been planning on coming to Tchekpo, he and E.J. had asked me to put together a list of things for him to bring. Things that I had been needing, or things that would make my life a little more comfortable. I sent them a series of emails as I thought of items they might bring. Eric and E.J. had an entire suitcase of stuff packed for me to take back. It was a treasure trove!!! Candles (I know have light after 6pm), and candy and batteries, and sheets and pillow cases, and nice smelling soap and shampoo to name a few. E.J. and I spent the entire day before I left packing and repacking the suitcases until all the weight was an acceptable limit. E.J. also got me a new solar charger, and he labeled every piece of equipment I have with my name and contact information and what it was for. I enjoyed spending time with E.J. as I always have. He’s so nice and generous, and thoughtful with his time.

The trip home didn’t have one hiccup, though it could have been mind boggling disasterous in about four different places. Madrid to Brussels, Brussels to Lome, and then a taxi from Lome to Tchekpo. Three times through customs….very short layover in Brussels, and finding a cab and dependable driver to take me all the way back to Tchekpo. It was smooth sailing I arrived home after dark. It was so quiet. Not a rooster crowing, a goat bahhing, a bat chirping or a drum beating. It was just quiet, and very, very dark. I had left the house clean and tidy, as I had readied it for Eric’s arrival before I left for Pagala. I had been away from Tchekpo for three weeks now. I wondered how it would be re-adjusting. I sat on my porch for a while and just looked at the stars and listened to the quiet, then went to bed. The next day was strangely quiet as well. I began to worry if the villagers were mad at me. No one stopped by the entire day. Not one person. While this surprised me, at the same time I welcomed the time to unpack and settle in all by myself. My worries were put to rest the following day, as many neighbors and friends started to stop by, all so happy to see me. I’ve noticed that my friends in Tchekpo seem to give me space at needed times. I don’t know if it’s planned or purposeful, but they do allow me a certain amount of time to adjust when I return from a trip. I think it’s purposeful….a gift of thoughtfulness. It took the whole following week to settle in, get my water and my water filter going. Buy groceries, sweep the house, wash my clothes, get used to the heat and bucket showers. Settle in, I did, and I’m happy to be back.

To Eric, E.J. and Dorothy. I could not have had a more wonderful time, or better timing to help me get through the holidays. Your thoughtfulness and generosity is much more than I deserve. I carry the image of Dorothy’s laugh and happy face with me wherever I go. When I see children her age here in Tchekpo, I think of how lucky she is to have you both, and about what a wonderful life she’s going to have.

From the bottom of my heart….thank you…..I love you.

Mom

p.s. A special thank you to Ruth (Dorothy’s nanny). She is a delightfully, funny, sweet, pretty young woman. I rode the bus one day with her and Dorothy to Jamboree (playtime for toddlers). Again, I’m thrown into trying to communicate through the language barrier. This time Spanish, but Ruth was fun, and I’m so glad that Eric and E.J. found her, and that Dorothy has her. And last but not at all least, her Spanish tortilla….might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my LIFE!!! I have the recipe and will be making it for the chief.

I’ve been working with L’ecole No. 5 in Tchekpo. It’s a poor primary school on the outskirts of the village. The first week I was in Tcheckpo. Dovai and Kaisai came to me in the market and asked me to go for a walk with them to see their school. They are both teachers at the school. I had met Dovai before. He is very involved in the community of Tchekpo, and I might say a very shrewd man. By shrewd I mean that he not only knows that I might be able to help this school, but he also slowly and systematically gets me involved. He went to the Men as Partners Conference with me, and he is also helping me with the Womens’ Marche Groupement. Dovai is a good man, whose only ulterior motive is to help his community. He’s thin, a small framed man with delicate features. He used to be a Muslim. I don’t know why he is no longer Muslim. He looks a little bit like E.T. He has two wives. One wife works in the marche, one works at home. I hadn’t met Kaisai until that first day we walked to the school. I have met with him many times since. Kaisai seems very sweet, and shy. He never looks me in the eye. He is always looking down at the ground. Sometimes I bend over and look up, so that he has to look at me, and he does, but it’s very fleeting. What’s interesting about Kaisai is that I saw him in his classroom teaching. In the classroom Kaisai is a different person. He is strong and commanding and animated with his students. In our meetings however, he always lets Dovai do the talking. They seem inseparable; Dovai and Kaisai. I always see them together. Brothers, for sure. They are very connected. Sunday they brought photos to show me, and they left a photo of themselves with me. “A cadeu (a gift),” they said.

Dovai and Kaisai took me to their school. There is one building, and three paillots (huts with thatched roofs). The school holds over 200 children, has four teachers and the principal, Mr. Hunon. I didn’t meet Mr. Hunon until later. Dovai proceeded to explain to me, as Kaisai looked at the ground, that they need a new school building. That was at the top of the list of a long list of needs/wants. They need help. The teachers all volunteer their services. None of them are paid. He showed me the logs the children sit on for benches, and told me they have no books for the teachers or the students. Could I help them? I told Dovai and Kaisai the Chief had asked me to help with the Lycee (high school.) They scoffed. “ It starts here,” they said. “This is where the greatest impact can be made.” I agree. This first meeting was a short meeting. A rather strategic meeting on their part (or on Dovai’s part, and one of many to come that would compel me to do whatever I can to help.)

 The kids watching a video of themselves a path on the way to L'ecole No. 5Dovai had asked me to come during the school day the next time, so I could see the children, and meet the principal Mr. Hunon. I went on a Wednesday morning, and walked the three miles, proud of myself that I made it there on back winding roads, through unstructured neighborhoods, without getting lost. As I approached the school, throngs of children in khaki colored uniforms were running, playing and laughing. It was their mid-morning break. Mr. Hunon, the principal was sitting on a small wooden chair, at an even smaller wooden desk, under a tree that offered shade in the middle of the school yard. There were two wooden benches to the side of him. He had some paperwork on his desk and was talking with one of the parents. He acknowledged me and without smiling he motioned for me to sit down on one of the benches. Then he went back to speaking to the parent who was sitting next to his son . The son had a, I don’t know maybe guilty look on his face, as Mr. Hunon and his father talked…undoubtedly they were having a serious conversation about the son. When the discussion was over, Mr. Hunon stood up, and without smiling, shook the hand of the father, and the son, and sent them on their way. After Mr. Hunon finished his conversation with the parent, he spoke to a couple children, and then, finally turned to me. Dovai introduced me to him. The first thing out of Mr. Hunon's mouth was, “how can you help us? What can you do for us? People are suffering badly. The teachers are suffering, the children are suffering.” I was a little taken aback that he asked me these things so brusquely, and so quickly. Mr. Hunon is a tall, handsome man. He looks like he always has something on his mind, and even though he is stern with the children, you can see how much he cares, how he wants things to be different. He doesn’t smile a lot, and he doesn’t laugh much. I would guess it’s because of the harsh reality that surrounds him. He ends every meeting with, “Please help us, I beg you, I BEG YOU, please. The children are suffering. The teachers don’t get paid. I’m the only person who gets paid. There are no books. Look at this! He makes a wide circular sweep of his arm towards the school and the children. “I beg you, I beg you,” he says. The thing that strikes me, is that he’s not at all the type of man who would easily choose those words.

I told him that this is not what I’m in Tchekpo for. I went on to say, “the primary reason I’m here is to help small businesses, but that I would think very hard about their problems, and see if there is anything I can do.” I asked him to put together a list of things that he needs and wants with costs. David my tutor, and a teacher at the high school wanted to help and get involved when I spoke to him about it. He suggested we form a committee to make our mission official, so we did. David, myself, the four teachers, Mr. Hunon and a parent are the officers on the committee to help L’ecole No. 5. I’m hoping to find a group or association or church to help us raise funds. They need close to $10,000 to buy all the books they need for the children and teachers, and to pay the four teachers salaries for one year. This would also pay for the wood to build more desks and benches. They dream of building an additional school room.

The week I met with Mr. Hunon, I happened to receive an email from my thirteen year old niece, Hannah in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She said that she and her class would like to do a service project with one of the schools…did I think that was possible? Hannah also suggested that it would be fun if we could possibly do a video skype later in the year, so that the kids in each school could see and ask questions of each other. I thought it was a great idea, but didn’t see how it would be possible since Tchekpo doesn’t have electricity or internet, but Solomon lives right down the road in Taglibow, and he is an I.T. specialist for the Peace Corps. He thinks we can do it with his internet phone. We’re checking it out. It would be a great cultural exchange, a wonderful learning experience for the kids here in Africa and in Ann Arbor Michigan. We have this tentatively planned for February. I applaud Hannah for her initiative, and her good humanitarian ideas.

I go to visit the kids classrooms at Lecole No. 5, a couple times a week, and will continue to do so. It’s a delight every time. The children love it when I visit. I video-taped each class, and the following week I returned and showed them the video’s on my big screen computer. They were just awed with seeing themselves on video. Now, when they see me coming down the road, they run to the openings of their classrooms and start chanting my name. How fun is that!

Karen, the mother of my sons partner, has been sending me packages with unique and interesting things for kids. Karen has a huge heart and is a former teacher. The things she chooses to send are always create the most interest in the kids. Little stuffed animals, puzzles, inflatable globes. She seems to be enjoying it. I try to dole it out to just the right school or child. It’s amazing…..amazing, how excited they get over these things. Adults and children alike. I gave the inflatable globes to three different primary schools, and I gave one to David for the high school, David keeps the globe at his home and takes it with him to school every day. Karen also sent a life-size puzzle of the human body. I’m giving it to the Biology Department at the high school, after I use it for my Adult English Class, and after David uses it in his high school English Class. It’s a fun way to learn the words for different parts of the body in English. When I showed the Biology Teacher, he couldn’t believe it. He’s so excited.

These schools only have blackboards and a few books, but the teachers are first rate and prepared. The class structure is quite organized and advanced. The kids in the high school do have paper and pens, but the kids in L’ecole #5 each have a little slate and chalk. These kids are smart, they love school, they love learning. In spite of the limited resources in these schools, I believe, from what I’ve seen that they could compete on the same level maybe higher, with kids of the same age in schools in America, in math, science, history; certainly languages. The high school teaches German and English. David, a Togolese, and my tutor has a Masters in English. The kids speak and understand English very well. He is a gifted teacher, and in the classes I monitored, they did not want the class to end when it was time, and kept asking questions, or asked to sing a couple songs to prolong the class. They kept asking for more. When I told David I thought he was a gifted teacher, he beamed. It made him happy. He loves teaching.

I am looking for ideas to help raise funds for L’ecole #5. If you have any ideas, please let me know. Don’t send any money, maybe we can somehow form a group in the U.S. to help. I don’t know. I have several projects like this that I’ll be blogging about. $10,000 is a LOT of money. It’s mind boggling what that money will buy. Help educate over 200 kids for one thing, and pay the teachers who are now working for nothing. If you met Mr. Hunon and these teachers and these kids……you would want to help with the little they are asking for, knowing what a difference it will make in their lives. I just keep thinking of Mr. Hunons words. I’m begging you. I beg you. People are suffering. Look how crowded our classrooms are, look what the children have to sit on. We need help.

The most recent gifts Karen sent were two fabulous soccer balls and an air pump. One is bright red, and the other is bright blue. Last week when I went to Lecole No. 5, I put the red soccer ball in a sack and took it with me. Mr. Hunon saw me coming and walked out into the school yard to greet me. I could see the kids watching us through the openings. I handed the sack to Mr. Hunon, and he pulled the red ball out. His eyes lit up, and he had a big, genuine smile. All of a sudden you could hear the kids clapping and chanting and roaring, and I mean roaring…. with laughter and happiness….. They could see the soccer ball. Mr. Hunon, said, “you’ve made the children very happy.” He said, “is this really ours…….forever?” He meant it. I shook my head yes, it’s your schools…forever. I told him that the gift was from a woman named Karen who lived in Kansas, and that she had been a teacher in the United States. He asked me to please thank her. I have these moments here. The gift of the red soccer ball was one of them. Just a moment of delightful surprise, happiness and contentment.

I wish Karen and Hannah could have been there that day. More to come on Lecole No. 5………

Probably an average of three village people drop by my house every day. Some are friends, and some are new people just wanting to introduce themselves. They often have a look of hopeful expectation, I think just hoping that I’ll give them a little gift or a bite of American food. Some come for help and advice. Hunon-Koffi was the latter.

Hunon-Koffi is about seventeen. He attends the highschool. He has come over to my house a couple times just briefly to introduce himself, and I saw him at the market and then again at the high school. Honestly, he has the face of an angel. He has been telling me, preparing me that he wanted to talk to me about some “things,.” He asked me a couple times when it might be convenient for him to come to my house. H.K. (as he will be known going forward) speaks fairly good English, and is President of the English club at the high school. H.K.’s legs are crippled. He gets around on rusty old crutches. Never saw anyone look so dignified.

I don’t know what caused his legs to stop working. I don't know if he had polio, or what exactly is wrong. He pretty much drags his legs behind him. His legs and feet are small, just from lack of use I think. The last time he came over (walked, drug himself...probably 2 miles) it was mid day, the hottest part of the day. He was soaked with sweat. I got him a drink of water, and he downed it in 10 seconds. But he's always smiling, the sweetest smile, and I've not heard him complain once. He just tells me what his life is like in a very matter of fact voice, as if he is talking about someone else. He stays very technical about it. I think he does not want pity or to be felt sorry for. Recently he once again drug himself to my house, which I'm sure is just par for his day, but to me, his ability to get from one place to another looks dauntingly difficult.

Honu-Koffi's crutchesHe told me he'd like help with three things. First, his school fees were due the next day and the school administrators told students who didn't bring their money, not to come. H.K.’s family is poor. His father is a farmer. H.K. is the oldest of seven children. Second he showed me his crutches, and how rusty they were. He said he didn't want a three wheeled bike. It’s like a big tricycle. (I see several of those in almost all villages for crippled people.) They pedal them with their hands. He doesn't want a bike, because he wants to keep as many muscles as he can. He just wants better crutches. There's a lot more to all of this...I asked a lot of questions about his diagnosis, family etc. Believe it or not this is the short version. His third request was, he just wants so badly to continue his education, and of course come to America. If there was anyone in this whole wide world who deserved and needed help, it's this boy. Never once is there any tone of pity in his voice, not even slightly, even as he showed me his legs and how they work. But there is a desperation. I see how he looks deep into my eyes, wondering if I will be able to help him. I think he’s wondering if he should have a glimmer of hope, and what that must feel like to him.

I explained to H.K. we'd take one thing at a time. First his school fees. I told him I would talk to the school. He should go to school, but not stand up when the other kids who haven’t paid leave. He seemed relieved. I did talk to David, my tutor. I called him after H.K. left. It was a 30 second conversation. I said “David, Hunon Koffi came by, and he doesn't have the money to bring tomorrow, is there anything we can do about this.” David said “yes.” I told David H.K. would go to school tomorrow, and David said, “yes, good. We'll figure something out.” So....yayyyyyyyyyyyy #1 - done. The high school wants me to teach several hours a day, three days a week. I won't do it, unless they let this boy finish without any more fees. I don't know how to help him with the rest of it, though I've started investigating. I think there are some NGO's in Tesvie that could help with the crutches, and as a matter of fact, I just got an email from a friend whose daughter works for a Medical Supply company. She told me they would donate some crutches #2 - done.....but I wonder if he could be helped so much more. I feel compelled to find a group that will sponsor this remarkable boy.

H.K. stopped by the morning I left for a week long Peace Corps Conference in Pagala. It was about eight in the morning. He wanted to show me that one of his rusty crutches had indeed broken, and he needed to get it soddered. He has found a man in the village who will sodder it for him, but he didn’t have any money. I didn’t have any money either…just enough to get to my conference in Pagala. I told H.K. to take the crutch to the man and to tell him I would pay for it when I returned in a week. It’s only a matter of time though, before the other one breaks from the rust, and then the one we just fixed. I think H.K. has been soddering the ends back on for quite a while, and I think the crutches become a bit shorter each time.

So...I couldn't stop thinking about him, and how someone smiles through all this, and what his life must be like, and how stupid Lindsay Lohan is. haha. I don't know. Anyway, on my way to Tesvie the day after I met with H.K. I couldn’t stop my tears. I can’t decipher my emotions. I think mostly just awe that every time he takes a painful step he smiles, real smiles and doesn’t complain. How does that work?

I think Hunon-Koffi will help me understand the wonderment of the human spirit.

I said before that there is always a story, every time you ride in a bush taxi, and there is…always. I could write a story for almost every time I’ve been in one. Like the time I was leaving Tesvie to come home to Tchekpo. I’d been at the Bush Taxi station waiting for quite a while. There’s always a man there ready to hail one down for me. Most of them know me by now. They call me Tchekpo, because they know by now that’s where I’m heading. On this day, I saw a bush taxi a few yards away, and the man called me over, excited that he had found one so fast. I was happy too. He opened the sliding side door, and to my surprise, two goats were standing there, staring me in the eye. There was a Togolese woman sitting in the front seat, and she said…”oh no yovo(white person”)….no, no, no….you can’t ride with the goats, and she cackled. First, I looked at him incredulously, and then I said, “no…I’m not gonna ride with the goats, I will wait for the next bush taxi.” I was even a little insulted that this man thought that I would ride with goats. I thought, do I look like someone who would be ok with riding In the same compartment as the goats? (It had been a very long, very hot day, so I let that thought pass.) I’m sure he would have received a nice little commission from the bush taxi driver for getting a passenger to ride with the goats. But it would have to be the next sucker.

Or there was the time, the bush taxi runner was entertaining the rest of the passengers with his banter. He was facing them. The taxi was full. I was riding in the front seat…in the middle with my legs straddling the gear shift. He was speaking in broken French. I knew he was talking about me, because I picked up a word here and there, and I heard the word American several times. I turned around and looked at him. He looked at me, and said, “Est-ce-que vous comprendre moi,” (Do you understand me?) I said,”yes I do”…though I didn’t. He said, “you do?, you understand what I’m saying”? I said, “yes,” and laughed. He laughed too but looked a little embarrassed, and then he said “I was just telling them that you aren’t fussy. I see you riding in the bush taxis many times, and most Americans are fussy, but you aren’t. You are ok.” Ha…… I’m not at all sure that’s what he was saying, otherwise why would he have been embarrassed that I understood him, but I decided to take him at his word, and was pleased that #1 they were getting to know me, and that #2 that I had earned a reputation for not being a fussy American. It pleased me. I agree, I’m not fussy. It doesn’t do any good to be fussy or to complain, and the people riding with you do seem to acknowledge and appreciate the fact that you don’t expect any extra considerations just because you are white. I do pull the white card out occasionally when a bush taxi stops and I see that there is a place in the front seat. There might also be plenty of room in the back seats, but I will motion to the front seat with a pleading look. The front seat is a coveted position. You only have to share it with two other people (though I have seen them pack four in the front seat on rare occasions.) The front seat can kind of be a double-edged sword though……It guarantees a ride with more comfort, but you know in the back of your mind you will be the first to die if there if the taxi crashes. To me….it’s worth the risk.

Just recently I rode from Tesvie to Tchekpo in a taxi full of people, about fifteen. The back was stuffed full of big bags of fertilizer. I smelled it as soon as they opened the door, and thought about waiting for the next one….but not wanting to be “fussy,” I crawled in. I was in the back seat. The fertilizer was right behind me. The bags poking me in the head. The smell was SO bad. Never smelled anything like it, really. I had purchased two loaves of bread before I left Tesvie, and I kept putting my nose in the bag with the bread to survive. Some of the other passengers laughed when they saw my method of coping. There were flies (big ones) flying around all of us, all the way home. When I got home the smell had permeated my clothing, and even my bra and hat. I immediately took my clothes off and bathed, but I could not put the same bra back on. I threw my clothes in a pile in my bedroom to be washed, and that night while laying in bed, I could smell it, as if I were still in the van. Gawd!

So….keep in mind, I go to great lengths to not be “fussy” in the bush taxis. Usually I greet the other passengers when I enter. Occasionally I’ll strike up a conversation with someone, but on most days I put my earphones in my ears, and listen to music on my ipod until I reach my destination. I simply go into a kind of comatose state of mind, try not to think of my cramped surroundings, the bumpy road, or the smell of the bush taxi. I think everyone has their limits though, and I reached mine the last time I left Lome.

There were four of us leaving the Peace Corps Headquarters on this particular Sunday. It was 2pm. We were all going to Tesvie, though that was not our final destination. In Tesvie we would get out of the bush taxi from Lome, and maybe wait a while for another one, or if we lucked out, there would be one just ready to depart that would take us to our individual villages. When you leave Lome, you have to take a regular taxi to the bush taxi stand. Because it’s cheaper when several people ride in the taxi, we had all decided to depart at the same time, and share the cost of the taxi. We had been in Lome for the swearing in of a new group of volunteers. Having partied the night before we were all tired and cranky. It was an especially hot and humid day. So hot, you could see the vapors and the steam rising from the sandy roads we walked on. You could feel the heat of the sun burning the flesh on the back of your neck. Hot. We were all carrying our backpacks and heavy gear. We hailed three different taxis before we got the price we knew we should get. There is always, always a lot of disquitering (bartering) when you ride in the small taxis in town. I personally don’t like to disquiter, so when I’m by myself I usually take at least the second counter offer, but these taxi drivers saw three tired young women and one tired old woman (that would be me) carrying a lot of baggage. They thought we were probably desperate enough that they could persuade us to pay twice as much as we should. The young women didn’t give an inch. I was saving my energy, and let them do the work. Finally on the fourth taxi we agreed on a price. We got in the taxi, and were on our way to the bush taxi stand, and then to Tesvie. Or so we thought. I remember texting my friend from the taxi, telling him we had just taken off, and that I was hot and tired, and hoped for the front seat. Well you get what you pay for…right? So yes we got a good price for the taxi, but he didn’t take us to the bush taxi stand. Instead he drove down some back alleys, and stopped in one of them where there were three men standing outside of a bush taxi, putting a various items (cargo) in the van. Various items being a car engine and large sacks of something. Obviously the taxi driver was going to get a monetary kick-back for bringing customers to this bush taxi. The men looked and acted nice enough. They were smiling, and appeared very happy at their good fortune to have their bush taxi already partly filled before they even departed. All the bush taxi’s are pretty horrible inside. Hard seats, dirty, windows that don’t open. This one was worse than most. You just take what you get here, so we piled into the bush taxi, and I wondered what adventure awaited us. I didn’t get the front seat. I was in the back seat, in the back corner, and the window by me didn’t open. Once we started I immediately noticed that the lack of shock absorbers. I just prayed for a quick trip. My computer was in my backpack. I held my heavy backpack on my hot lap, so that the computer would not be subjected to the bumpy ride. There’s always a bright side. Ok, so I’m in the back seat. The advantage of the back seat is, it gets filled up first. At least you don’t have to get in and out of the taxi while they readjust who is riding where every time they stop. Getting in and out of the bush taxi with your backpack, and usually a bevy of other items, crouched down, and crawling over people is not easy. I know within the first fifteen minutes what my ride is going to be like. I know if I’m going to be sitting with chickens, or drunks, or preachers, some nice Togolese woman who offers me a bite of her bread, or a sick child. I know, and I can prepare myself. On this day, my consolation, even though I was in the back seat. was that I knew at least I would be riding in the same seat as three of the four women I had left with. There would be no chickens, or drunks or in and out of the taxi to deal with. I also had the added comfort of knowing I probably wouldn’t be the first to die, and might even survive a crash. Who needs the front seat with those benefits! Off we went.

We had all taken this same trip often enough to be able to discern if we are at the very least, headed in the right direction….and we were not. We talked and complained amongst ourselves, wondering where we were going, and how long the detour would take. The Togolese men were chattering, and pleasantly laughing with each other, probably discussing the errands and the trip they were about to embark on. We did ask them right away, where they were going. “This isn’t the road to Tesvie,” we said. They told us they needed to drop off the engine that was in the back of the van. Well first they tried to tell us that the other roads were bad and they were taking a shortcut, but that didn’t fly, because this road was worse than any other we might have been on, so they fessed up and said they had a few errands to do. First stop was the Togolese version of a machine shop. The men got out of the van, then pulled the heavy engine out of the back. They then acted like they were going to wait for it to be repaired. We were there at least fifteen minutes, sweltering until the four of us started complaining rather loudly. The men begrudgingly got back into the van and left the engine behind. I think at this point they determined, we were going to be a handful. We thought we were finally on our way. Soon, we realized they were still going in the wrong direction. They were headed towards the marche(city market) One big, chaotic mess, that I only go to if I have to. The four of us again started complaining loudly. “Where are you going? This is not the way to Tesvie.” They said they had to pick something up in the market, which was pretty much where we initially started the trip in the little taxi. We were all complaining, and the men good-naturedly tried to ignore us, which wasn’t easy. We were now in a very, very congested part of the marche. Honking horns, people dodging cars, motos and bicycles, Street vendors selling their wares. Women carrying things on their heads, people everywhere. There is really no delineating line between the space for pedestrians to walk and cars to drive in the Marche. They all meld together. Total chaos. It was an area of the marche I didn’t recognize. The car traffic was going at a snails pace, if it was even going at all. I reached my limit. I snapped. I broke. You might say I got fussy. I said, “Let me out of this van!” I obviously was not thinking rationally. All I knew is that I had to get out of that van. The men tried to talk me out of it, but the women I was with instinctively knew that I would not be dissuaded. They probably had each hit this wall themselves at one time or another in Togo. Tamara, one of the women, told the drivers to stop, and let me out. They did, but very reluctantly. I heard later that the after I got out, the PCV’s I was with wondered if they’d ever see me again, and talked about how really nice it was knowing me. You might think they should have tried harder to stop me, but really everyone is on their own in Togo. They knew I had to do, what I had to do.

So….I’m out of the van, but I feel no relief. I’m still very angry, and very hot, and thirsty, and when the van pulled away, I realized I had very little money. I had no idea where I was. Stupid, I know, but as I said I was not thinking rationally. At that point, I couldn’t even find my phone, and thought for sure I had lost it, when I was getting out of the van. I started walking, or I should say maneuvering through the throngs of people, cars and bicycles, and watched the van slowly drive off. The women also told me that a few minutes after I got out, the men were talking to each other in a very animated way, and stopped the van. They were very worried about me getting out, and didn’t know what to do, but they could really only go in one direction at that point. There was no turning back, for me or for them. I somewhat composed myself, (kind of throwing things around, left and right, mumbling under my breath, ignoring any onlookers, as you who know me might be able to picture) I decided to find another small taxi to take me to where I was supposed to be the first time. I only had so much money, so I knew I would have to disquiter, which as I said I’m not good at. I talked to three taxi drivers (best I could, with my French) and tried to get them to take me to the taxi stand. After bartering for several minutes with each of them, they pretty much said…”no way….I’m not taking you” and turned the back on me…just went back to what they were doing. I do believe that I might have had the attitude (or one might say fussiness) I described above, and my “attitude” did not really inspire good will. I determined if I was going to get help, I was going to have change my attitude. I did, and I finally found a taxi driver who took pity on me. He wasn’t going to drive me anywhere, but he listened to my sad story, and said I could just walk a few more blocks and catch a bush taxi. He even got out of his taxi, and started to lead the way. We walked a few blocks, and turned the corner. He said, “See that white bush taxi way up there stuck in traffic?” That taxi is going to Tesvie. He walked with me all the way to the white bush taxi he was referencing. By now, it had been an hour since I exited the first bush taxi. As we approached the white bush taxi I noticed something curious. I noticed the back of the head of a white woman. I squinted. I thought to myself, NO, IT COUDN’T BE! But it was. It was the exact same bush taxi I had gotten out of an hour earlier. Still stuck in traffic, still carrying my friends. I went to the front door of the taxi, and because life in Togo is so insane everyone including me, and including the Togolese men just started laughing hysterically. Everyone in an instant could comprehend the insanity of the situation. Tamara, one of the PCV’s….I think she laughed all the way home. They did let me sit in the front seat this time. After sitting in stalled traffic for about another half hour, we were finally on our way to Tesvie. The bush taxi driver kept looking over at me and smiling and shaking his head. The man in the middle said, “Togo is bad.” I said, “No, no, Togo isn’t bad…today was bad, but Togo’s not bad.” He seemed surprised, and smiled.

 BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF INSIDE A BUSH TAXI 1/2 full (I showed this picture to the woman in the middle,

She smiled and said...Tres Jolie...Very Pretty To all of you, who after reading this, might be worried about my welfare, or my sanity. I just want you to know that I will never, ever demand to get out of a bush taxi again, by myself, in some unknown swarming city or even on a country road. In fact, wherever I am, and I start to reach my limit, or feel “fussy.” I will remember this day, and I will go through my meditations, of praying to God, Allah, Buddha, Ron R. Hubbard, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and all my dead relatives, and ask them for patience. Then I’ll make the sign of the cross. Then I’ll put my earphones in and I’ll just stay put.

Pat Kaufman, Shawnee Mission East High School in Prairie Village, Kansas, and friends have collected over 300 pairs of eye-glasses to be sent to Tchekpo in a few weeks. Shawnee Mission East baked pies and sold them to pay for the shipping. Thus...Pies For Eyes!

While we are waiting for the glasses to arrive, we have teachers in the primary schools, and high school identifying kids who need glasses. We are also going to the library and churches to identify adults. In addition we are going to have an optomotrist travel to Tchekpo from Lome, to help us determine a way to most accurately fit the right glasses to the right person.



I will be posting pictures and information about how this gift will help the people of Tchekpo when we start distributing the glasses.

This is an amazing response! Many people in Tchekpo know that we are doing this, and they frequently ask me about it.

My sincere thanks to Pat Kaufman, Shawnee Mission East High School and to the many friends and acquaintances who took the time and trouble from their busy schedules to respond to this need.

And...thanks again for helping the People of Tchekpo see the world and Americans more clearly.

It’s funny how things work out, how things seem to fall in place, how solutions to difficult questions and issues often present themselves almost effortlessly if you don’t panic or stress or perhaps you just know(because you’ve lived longer than anyone who surrounds you) from experience the solution will eventually be evident.

At any rate..there’s not much I sweat about. I know if I keep working towards a goal, all the barriers will eventually be busted through in one way or another. Things will work out.

And so it has with my biggest challenge…..speaking French.

Language has been my biggest challenge in the Peace Corps. It’s possible learning French has been my biggest challenge, ever. Well certainly it has been the biggest challenge for my brain since long division and percentages. Not just French, but the local language, Ewe, as well.

There were times during my nine weeks of training that I firmly believed my French was better before training than after training. This is not a slight to the excellent formitures (teachers) we had, because they were excellent in every way…knowledge, teaching skills, patience, assessing a persons needs. And, as tit for tat would have it, I believe that I might have been one of their biggest challenges ever. Near the end I think that I was the subject of many discussions.... “what do we do with her?”

PCV’s from my group of 29 came to Togo with a wide variety of language proficiency. Some came having grown up in a bi-lingual family and could go toe to toe with President Sarkozy if necessary. Some came with 4 years of College French, a few had Spanish and no French (they say knowing Spanish makes learning French much easier). I came to Togo with one 5 hour semester of French that I took at the local community college. I finished the class two weeks before I came to Togo, and to my surprise I got a B for the class, which I repeatedly told my dis-believing teachers in Togo. Oh, I deserved the B, for effort alone, but I don’t think I could speak a B’s worth of French. God how I struggled with that class. My version of index cards were large poster boards set all over my house with conjugated verbs, articles, and etra written all over them. My son, Eric, who is a whiz with languages counseled me often. First, bless his heart, he kept saying…you can do it mom. You can do this! He kept telling me to put everything I know about language out of my mind, and just pretend I was learning a language for the first time…like a baby. Uhhhhh. Who can do that? A baby, maybe. I understood the concept he was trying to get across, and some people may have thought emptying my particular mind might not have been that much of a struggle, but I could not empty it, not in that way.

As it turned out the French Class was a great foundation for me to learn the language. At least I had a fairly, fairly good vocabulary. I understood the theory of etra and avoir and the articles, and how they all worked, but I still have a lot of problems with structuring my sentences, conjugating verbs, and pronouncing lias

Da-veed and his future wife, Emily

ons in a way that would be understandable to a French speaking person. I’ve gotten quite used to people laughing (with) me at my attempts, and also in seeing very confused looks on their faces when I say something; which brings me to the subject of Da-veed.

The Peace Corps pays for ongoing language tutoring for PCV’s once they get to village. I have heard that even the best French speakers have a lot of trouble when they get to village, because the French is so different. That gave me a little consolation. It took me six weeks to find just the right tutor in Tchekpo. My next door neighbor, Fidel, is a German teacher at the highschool. He introduced me to Da-veed. I knew as soon as I talked with him that he would be an excellent teacher. I told him I wasn’t a very good student, and he said, “then I will ask God for patience.” Ha!

Da-veed is not only a great tutor for me, he’s a fine young man, and he has become a good friend. He now partners with me on several projects. He is a gifted teacher. He is helping me teach my English Class for adults, and brings a lot of fun, and good teaching techniques into the class. He is having me help teach English to his highschool students, and he’s going to help me form a committee to get aid for one of the primary schools that is badly in need of a building, books and supplies. He tutors me for an hour, twice a week, but he always mixes it with other things, so I don’t feel like I’m in school, and yet, he gives me homework, grades it, and even writes very good (in red) on my papers, only when they are very good. He’s very religious, but not obtrusively so. He says God bless you when he arrives, and when he leaves, and when he says it, I feel like I’ve been blessed. One Sunday he dropped by with his French Bible, and he had me read a parable, Then we discussed it in French. Somehow, he doesn’t make it seem like such a struggle. It just finally clicked!

Several people have said that my French is improving, and I feel that it is. It’s workin out!

By George…..I think she’s GOT IT!!! (My Fair Lady). Almost.

Sunday morning has become my favorite part of the week in Tchekpo. Sunday has always been my favorite day. Back home I had a routine of waking early, Starbucks for a white chocolate mocha, read the newspaper, watch Meet the Press, and I usually had a weekly telephone chat with Pat and Leanne. It was my Sunday ritual.

Children I pass on my way to church Not my church, but a church along the way There is a ritual evolving in Tchekpo. I still wake early, but now I have a cup of instant coffee with powdered milk, eat oatmeal, get dressed up in my very best African Complait and set out for the mile walk to the St. Stephens Catholic Church. The walk is beautiful and serene, through narrow winding dirt roads lined with African flowers and foliage. I pass huts with thatched roofs, children playing and neighbors visiting with each other. I also pass a couple other churches along my way, some with services already in progress. I hear singing and occasionally what sounds like an evangelical preacher warning his tiny flock of the perils of sin. The churches I pass are small one room buildings with only wooden benches, but they are so picturesque, in their secluded African setting. Before I get to the Catholic Church I veer off of the path and walk through a wide open field. The field is bright green. Wildflowers and butterflies are sprinkled all about.

Finally I reach the open doors of what I now call my church in Tchekpo. The church sits down in a valley, with many huge trees. I’m never quite sure when church will start. It’s different every Sunday. The priest from the neighboring village of Ahepe, comes to Tchekpo to say mass. He then returns to Ahepe to say Mass. My neighbor or Moses, or both stop by my house on Saturday night and tell me what time church will be on Sunday. By the time I arrive, there are already people gathered in a myriad of clusters outside of the church. Some clusters are praying, some are obviously in a meeting of sorts. Many are just little groups of villagers visiting with each other. At the entrance of the valley that leads to the church there is always food being prepared by a group of women. The women are cooking rice or porridge over a wood fire in big caldrons, and there is fresh fruit; bananas, pineapple, oranges, mangoes. In another area, to the side of the church, the choir is practicing their songs for the days service. The most beautiful music I’ve ever heard sets the mood to celebrate. Just for a few hours this African village experiences hope and sense of community. They are so poor in all material ways, but their Sunday Church is rich with color and music and laughter and faith in God. Everyone is happy on this day. The sun is shining, kids are laughing and playing, mothers are carrying their sleeping babies in papooses on their backs and there is a large circle of teenagers dancing and singing. As poor as they are, they are all dressed in stunning, crisp, clean, colorful African complaits, the women wearing coordinating head dresses. I’m filled with happiness and contentment when I experience this scene. I savor it. It’s also the time that I contemplate the fact that often….people seem more joyous here than at home, and then for a fleeting moment (because that’s all I make time for) I question the meaning of life, and I think the world is topsy-turvy, and I think about them all yearning to come to the United States. I wish that they knew that they are as happy, maybe happier than the people I see in the States. They are not content though. There are too many of them who are hungry, and sick and dying.

St. Stephens Catholic Church The church is modest, the roof peaks out in the front. Inside the church is filled with wooden benches, and has a concrete floor. There are no windows per se. In place of windows there is a graphically pleasing pattern of openings along the walls in the shape of crosses that let the breeze flow in. Africans must have discovered a form of airflow dynamics out of necessity. In the few buildings they have, instead of large windows, they are built with small openings, strategically positioned. It’s as if the breeze pushes its way through these openings and creates a natural wind path. It’s an unexpected reprise from the African heat. A cool breeze inside, when there seems to be no air moving outside. The openings also allow for natural light to filter in. Rays of lights going this way and that way. Upon entering the church you see the altar at the front. There is a stature of Mary on the right side of the altar, and a rough lecturn on the left. The room is painted in pretty, bright colors. The colors of the church and rays of light mixed with the colors of all the African fabric people are wearing is a sensory delight.

On this Sunday, when I entered the church I saw a group of ten to twelve women. They had moved the benches to form a circle. It was early; about an hour before mass was to begin. There were a few people sprinkled about sitting on benches in quiet contemplation or prayer. The women who had formed the circle had a table in the center with a white cloth over it. A Statue of Mary, flowers and two candles were on the table. One woman would speak in a rhythmic cadence and the other women responded in unison as if it were a response to a prayer, and then there was silence. Their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed. Outside the choir was still practicing in melodic African harmony. Their singing needed no instruments. It is that beautiful. Suddenly there was a loud bell. I caught a glimpse through the window openings of a women walking through the church yard with a cymbal and a metal stick. A loud, echoing, clanging of the cymbal signaling to the whole village that it was time for church. All the people who had been lingering outside now began to spill into the church. The women in the circle ended their prayer group, dismantled the altar, and moved the benches back to their original positions.

At 8:15 I could see a procession of people lining up outside of the church. There were three tom-tom drums and drummers. Moses is one of the drummers. There is also a small, tinney sounding, silver instrument about the size of the palm of your hand, shaped like a canoe. It’s like a tiny cymbal, but is hollow. It has a very African sound that compliments the drums. The choir outside began singing, and moving into the church. Llittle by little everyone inside was singing the same song. African voices and musical instruments filled the church in harmony. As the choir processions in, they are swaying and moving to the music, and so is the rest of the congregation. Swaying, and kind of dancing, and clapping their hands to the beat. First the altar boys enter, carrying a cross, then the choir; next, a teenage girl balancing a bowl of smoking incense on her head, and finally the priest.

I am intrigued with and enjoy watching the children who are in this church. The small, under seven years of age children. They are always so well behaved, not squirming around. They appear confident, and secure. I’m not sure why that is my impression. What makes them seem different than children I see in American churches. I guess it’s the way they carry themselves. They are not shy, they stand up very straight, they sway with the music, and they look me right in the eye. They don’t appear to be confined to a pew. Sometimes they just get up and walk around, and look at everyone and everything. They are as cute as they can be, all dressed up. Very, very rarely do you hear a baby cry…anywhere, not just in church. The phenomena of the quiet, sleeping babies will be explored in another blog.

After the choir has taken the front row seats, and the music stops, mass begins. The mass has the same structure and formalities as a catholic mass in the States. The music is different, and the Offertory and Offering of Peace are different. During the Offertory there is yet another procession, people walk, dance and sing up the aisle with large bowls of a variety of food on their heads. Kassaba’s, fruit, rice. After church this food is distributed to people who don’t have enough food. The offering of Peace is lovely, and lengthy. While the choir is singing; men, women and children get out of their pews, and make their way around the church, bowing to each other and warmly taking each others hand, wishing them well.

The priest is lovely. He gives the sermon in Ewe, so I unfortunately can’t understand what he’s saying, but he comes down from the altar and walks the aisles while he is preaching. He interacts with the congregation, asking them questions. They often laugh at something he’s said. I’ve been impressed that he seems to wear a perpetual smile. He looks happy to be doing what he’s doing. He radiates.

On my second visit to the church I was introduced to the congregation by the priest and asked to say a few words. I gave an Ewe (local language) greeting, which they all appreciated, and said 'unconn-nya Adoowah'…which means my name is Adoowah in Ewe. That name was given to me by the people in Tchekpo because I was born on a Monday. I was not prepared to speak to the congregation, and didn’t really know what to say. Moses was by my side and translated. I told them that I was raised a Catholic, and that my uncle was a priest. I told them I was very happy to be here, and that they have a lovely church. Moses whispered in my ear that I needed to give them some advice. I looked at him astonished. Advice??!!?? He said yes, “they want advice.” I was speechless for what seemed like a long time, and then I said, “I don’t really have any advice for you right now. I think I will learn more from you, than you will learn from me, but maybe with the help of God we can do things together to help the community.” They seemed happy and surprised that I could learn more from them, than they could learn from me. I believe this to be true.

I have felt welcomed in such a warm, genuine way throughout Tchekpo, but never so much as I do on Sundays, when I go to St. Stephens Catholic Church. My faith is renewed. Father Dougherty would be pleased.

As I was walking home one day last week, I came to the fork in my road about a blocks distance from my house. There in the center, where the road splits, was a stake in the ground. The stake was bent from the weight of whatever was hanging from the stake. As I got closer, I noticed a foul odor and then I could see that there was a large dead crow hanging from the stake. My first thought, was that this had some Voodoo significance, and my second thought was….hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me!

I asked Alougba about it later in the day. She told me in a very matter of fact way that the crow had been a “fetish” sacrifice. With a worried look she said a lot of babies had been dying. She said there had been a Voodoo ceremony. They sacrificed the crow to stop the babies from dying. I asked her if it worked, and she said, “oh yes!” I think there was much more to the ceremony, because the night before I had heard Voodoo drums and chanting all night long.

The stake and the crow are still there…

three days later.

There will be much more about the Marche through the upcoming months. One of my primary projects will be to help these women and their businesses become more profitable. During training we learned how to do a needs assessment with village businesses.

BookeepingWe also learned how to teach them how to budget. Not just how to budget, but what a budget is. One facet of our work is to show them the value of keeping records and bookkeeping. In training we learned how to demonstrate these things to them visually. For example if I am teaching them what a budget is, I will make a chart, and on one side, have a list of all possible expenses for one week. I will begin to ask them what they need to sell their product. I'll have cutout pictures of those things, and begin to place them on the expense side of the chart. How much time does it take?...and how much money do they have to spend?...using pictures. On the other side of the chart, I will ask them how much they sell in one week and what they sell it for. By the time we’ve finished the chart, hopefully the value of tracking this information will be obvious, the light will dawn and they will begin to make some changes, and make more of a profit….awwww capitalism. There is a not so small part of me, that enjoys the way they do it now, but in the end, I know that it will be helpful for them to understand these concepts. It will enable them to better provide for their families. It will help put food in their Cauldrons, so to speak. At this point in time, they have no concept of expenses vs. sales, and very, very often are making less money than they are spending. They just make or grow the product, and receive money. They are just happy to go home with money in their pockets.

Groupement Head Honchos

Tough CookiesThere are over seventy-five women who belong to the ‘Femme Groupement Association.' None of them speak French, only a few words of greeting. All speak Ewe. I have work to do to earn their trust and respect. Right now, I'm just a novelty. They really don’t have much use for me since I don’t speak their language, so little by little I’m getting to know them and getting to know about their businesses. This is going to take time and patience.

Preparing a meal

On one of our “promenades” through the village, Alougba and I stopped at this family's compound. The woman was, as is the norm, busy preparing a meal. When I entered their compound I said my Ewe greeting, "Jo-bee-doe," and then as they often do, they started talking full-out Ewe. I've been told that when I don't understand what they are saying, just say, "annnnnhhhhh," which I do, a lot. The woman called her husband out from behind a walled off portion of the compound. He was so welcoming and happy to see us. “Whiz-unnnn-lowwwwwww,” he said, which is welcome to my home in Ewe, to which I replied, “yo-o-o-o-o-o.” The appropriate reply, which translates to, “thank you very much for welcoming me.”

An artist posesHe had seen my camera, and that I was taking photos. He immediately motioned me back to his workshop. His wife and a few other people who were there followed us. They were eager to see what would happen next. He was very proud to show me that he was the maker of the Chief’s many crowns. He showed them to me, and laughed, and he made it clear that he wanted me to take his picture, but first he wanted to set the scene. He first went over to his workbench and pretended to be working; he was posing, and waited for me to snap his picture. Then he laid several of his works of art (crowns) out on a bench, and asked me to take a photo of them. Finally, without prompting he put one of the crowns on and wanted one last picture. Each time I took a picture, I would show him the results on the little screen of my camera. Oh…. how delighted he was!

A group admires a crownA They were such a fun couple. The thought occurred to me while I was watching this man and his wife, how loving, sweet, and playful they were with each other. The wife obviously was proud of her husband and of his work, and she took joy in watching him show me his works of art.

I liked them a lot, and will return. I loved his face…don’t you?

The King Maker

The Maker of KingsKing MakerOn one of our “promenades” through the village, Alougba and I stopped at this families compound. The woman was, as is the norm, busy preparing a meal. When I entered their compound I said my Ewe greeting, "Jo-bee-doe," and then as they often do, they started talking full-out Ewe. I've been told that when I don't understand what they are saying, just say, "annnnnhhhhh," which I do, a lot. The woman called her husband out from behind a walled off portion of the compound. He was so welcoming and happy to see us. “Whiz-unnnn-lowwwwwww” He said, which is welcome to my home in Ewe, to which I replied, “yo-o-o-o-o-o.” The appropriate reply, which translates to, Thank you very much for welcoming me.

He had seen my camera, and that I was taking photos. He immediately motioned me back to his workshop. His wife and a few other people who were there followed us. They were eager to see what would happen next. He was very proud to show me that he was the maker of the Chiefs many crowns. He showed them to me, and laughed, and he made it clear that he wanted me to take his picture, but first he wanted to set the scene. He first went over to his workbench and pretended to be working, he was posing, and waited for me to snap his picture. Then he laid several of his works of art (crowns) out on a bench, and asked me to take a photo of them. Finally, without prompting he put one of the crowns on and wanted one last picture. Each time I took a picture, I would show him the results on the little screen of my camera. Oh….how delighted he was! They were such a fun couple. The thought occurred to me while I was watching this man and his wife, how loving, sweet, and playful they were with each other. The wife obviously was proud of her husband and of his work, and she took joy in watching him show me his works of art.

I liked them a lot, and will return, and I loved his face….don’t you?

The MarcheThere will be much more about the Marche through the upcoming months. One of my primary projects will be to help these women and their businesses become more profitable. During training we learned how to do a needs assessment with village businesses, 

 



Their bookkeeping records We also learned how to teach them how to budget. Not just how to budget, but what a budget is. One facet of our work is to show them the value of keeping records and bookkeeping. In training we learned how to demonstrate these things to them visually. For example if I am teaching them what a budget is, I will make a chart, and on one side, have a list of all possible expenses for one week. I will begin to ask them what they need to sell their product. I'll have cut-out pictures of those things, and begin to place them on the expense side of the chart. How much time does it take, and how much money do they have to spend….using pictures. On the other side of the chart, I will ask them how much they sell in one week and what they sell it for. By the time we’ve finished the chart, hopefully the value of tracking this information will be obvious, the light will dawn and they will begin to make some changes, and make more of a profit….Awwww capitalism. (there is a not so small part of me, that enjoys the way they do it now,) but in the end, I know that it will be helpful for them to understand these concepts. It will enable them to better provide for their families. It will help put food in their Cauldrons, so to speak. At this point in time, they have no concept of expenses vs sales, and very, very often are making less money than they are spending. They just make or grow the product, and receive money. They are just happy to go home with money in their pockets. Groupement Head Honchos - Tough CookiesThere are over seventy-five women who belong to the ‘Femme Groupement Association.' None of them speak French, only a few words of greeting. All speak Ewe. I have work to do to earn their trust and respect. Right now, I'm just a novelty. They really don’t have much use for me since I don’t speak their language, so little by little I’m getting to know them and getting to know about their businesses. This is going to take time and patience.

Voodoo SacrificeAs I was walking home one day last week, I came to the fork in my road about a blocks distance from my house. There in the center, where the road splits, was a stake in the ground. The stake was bent from the weight of whatever was hanging from the stake. As I got closer, I noticed a foul odor and then I could see that there was a large dead crow hanging from the stake. My first thought, was that this had some Voodoo significance, and my second thought was….hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me!

I asked Alougba about it later in the day. She told me in a very matter of fact way that the crow had been a “fetish” sacrifice. With a worried look she said a lot of babies had been dying. She said there had been a Voodoo ceremony. They sacrificed the crow to stop the babies from dying. I asked her if it worked, and she said, “oh yes!” I think there was much more to the ceremony, because the night before I had heard Voodoo drums and chanting all night long.

The stake and the crow are still there…three days later.

I had promised to invite Toussaint (I’ve been spelling his name TwoSain since we met, and recently discovered it was spelled Toussaint, so I will start using the correct spelling.) and his family over for a meal. They live just up the road from me about two city blocks distance. Toussaint has helped me with so many things since I arrived in Tchekpo. I wanted to repay his kindness. Toussaint loves his family, that is evident. I admire how hard he works, and how much he does in the community. He teaches primary Catholic school in a neighboring village, thirty miles away, and rides his bike to and from work every day. His moto broke down, and he can’t afford to fix it right now. When I asked him to bring his family for lunch, he was very happy. He double and triple checked the time and date with me for the week prior to the lunch. We had settled on Sunday at 1pm. Sunday after church seemed like a nice time to have them over.

Toussaint is very involved in the Catholic Church in Tchekpo. He took me to his church when I first arrived in Tchekpo, introduced me to everyone, and made sure that I had a front row seat. He works with the church youth groups, sings in the choir, and he reads some of the prayers during the mass. He also has quite the cute dance moves, when they all get up and have a procession through the church during the offertory.

I fretted over what to cook for them. Not knowing what they might and might not like, and also not knowing if what I cooked would turn out well. Aloughba and Toussaint had been to my house for impromptu dinners, but this was different. I wanted this to be special. I decided to prepare Spanish Rice. It seemed like something I could do, something they might like, and also maybe slightly different than their daily fare, yet not too different. Togolese eat a lot of rice and tomato sauce concoctions, this just had a little different twist to it. On Saturday I walked to the marche, and picked up all the ingredients I didn’t already have.

I went to church on Sunday, and got home about 11, which gave me about two hours to prepare the meal. I made Spanish rice, a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinaigrette dressing. I also made garlic toast, and tapioca pudding for desert. I put a table cloth and flowers on the table. Toussaint is somewhat overly eager about everything, so I wasn’t surprised that he and his family showed up at noon instead of one. I was pretty much ready for that. (I really wanted a whiskey sour about now, but settled for grape crystal lite.) Toussaint wife’s name is Celestine, his daughter is Philomene, and his son, Desiree. They are a beautiful family, inside and out. Celestine, is quite beautiful, and has a radiant smile, which both Philomene and Desiree have inherited. I had met Celestine a few times in the marche and also very briefly at their house. Celestine sells ponja (African fabric) and flipflops at the Tchekpo marche. Celestine and I had greeted each other at church, but she was always very quiet and reserved. I had wondered if maybe she didn’t like me. Maybe I had taken up too much of Toussaints time. But at the dinner she was very friendly. She seemed very glad to be here for lunch. During lunch I discovered she only speaks Ewe which explained why she hadn’t talked much to me previously. She didn’t say much during lunch but Toussaint would translate everything that was said…..and Tousssaint doesn’t really know much English, so again, communication was a mish mash of words, hand waving, laughing and pointing. The kids Philomene and Desiree were taking it all in. Everytime I would look at Philomene and Desiree, they would flash this delightful shy smile.

 Toussaint, Celestine, Philomene and Desire Dinner was nice. Toussaint said a prayer before we started eating. To my pleasant surprise, they seemed to really like the Spanish Rice and all of the food, as they each had two or three helpings of everything. There were no leftovers. Celestine helped me with the dishes, and then they went on their way home.

Philomene and Desiree showed up at my door about an hour later. I wasn’t sure why, but then I saw that they wanted to get into my basket of art supplies. They stayed and colored and played with stickers for about an hour.

Toussaint told me that Celestine wants to have me over for dinner.

It was really, a very nice way to spend the Sunday afternoon.

I think being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa helps me understand the concept of ying and yang. Until now, it was just a cliché that I would espouse when I was required to look at the fact that almost everything you experience comes with the good and the bad. Every day in Togo, and as Peace Corps Volunteer there are highs and lows. It seems every day I have moments of bliss, and moments of despair. Every trip I take in a bush taxi or moto has humor and horror, and when I go to Lome I experience energy and exhaustion, light and darkness. Ying and Yang.

I recently returned from two days and one night in Lome. I will be going to Lome at least once a month. My monthly stipend is deposited into a bank in Lome, so I have a reason for going there at least once a month.



PCV Lounge in Lome

YING: I look forward to going to Lome because I get to visit the Peace Corps Headquarters, where I meet and socialize with other PCV’s who have come to Lome for a variety of reasons. There is a lounge at the PC Headquarters where Peace Corps Volunteers gather. The lounge includes a library where PCV’s exchange books. The lounge is air-conditioned…woohoooooo! There are comfortable couches and chairs, and a wireless connection for computers with a much better speed than anywhere else in Togo. It’s the only place I can open photos that have been emailed to me, or even look at photos on Facebook. The lounge also has two desk top computers and a printer. I’ve been there several times now, and I always meet at least one or two PCV’s I haven’t met before. There is an instant rapport between PCV’s, and usually you end up going to lunch or shopping or sharing a bush taxi home with one of them, and then you have another new friend. It’s always interesting to hear the stories about their particular experience; why they joined, where their village is, how their French and local language is going, how long they’ve been here, and what they plan on doing when their service is over. 

Peace Corps Headquarters - Lome

YANG: I don’t like Lome because it is a dirty, huge, chaotic city, with too many people and lots of ugly crime, like child prostitution and hard drugs, and it’s filled with unsavory characters. It’s also a couple hours of bush taxi rides to get there and back.

RachealYING: My ride to Lome in the bush taxi was unexpectantly easy on this weekend. I got to sit in the front seat, and for the first time, the bush taxi was not packed full. I also met a lovely woman, Racheal, who lives in Tchekpo. She spoke good English. She was accompanying her father and mother to the hospital in Lome. Her father used a caine, and looked as though he might have suffered a stroke at some time. When I inquired about him, Rachel said he was having trouble with his eyes. When she talked about him, there was worry in her voice. Racheal and I had an hour and half to get to know each other. She is a nurse. It was not hard to tell that she is a very good, compassionate nurse. My daughter Andrea is a very good, compassionate nurse. It’s easy to spot the good ones. They speak about their work with passion and compassion. Racheal and Andrea are the kind of nurse you would want taking care of you if you were sick. By the time we reached Lome Racheal and I were fast friends. I told Racheal about Andrea and Andrea’s work as a hospice nurse. Racheal told me she had been working a long time for very little money, then one day her Director came to her and told her that he thought she did a very good job. He offered her a big raise and permanent employment. She was amazed at her good fortune about this.

I in turn explained to her about the Peace Corps and about what I was doing in Tchekpo. Because she spoke good English and seemed so compassionate and interested, I asked her if she could help me with something. I wrote in an earlier blog about my translator, Moses. Moses is a good boy, and he will continue to assist me when he can, but he’s not available enough, especially now that school has started. What I really need is an adult who wants to get involved in the community, and who also speaks English. All Togolese think #1 All Americans have a lot of money, and #2 That you might somehow be able to help them get to America. Initially that is the reason 98% of them want to assist you with anything they can. I explained to Racheal for me to be useful to the community, I must find a “partner” who speaks English and French, and can translate Ewe (the local language.) I explained that I did not have a lot of money, and I couldn’t help anyone get to America. A partner would need to want to partner with me for one reason and one reason only, and that would be to help the community. I could see that Racheal completely understood, we exchanged telephone numbers and she promised to find someone to help. The ironic part of this story was that when I shared this information with Moses, Moses told me that Rachel was his senior sister. I had not given Rachel the name of the boy who was helping me. Small World. I felt even better that Moses sister was also going to help, and Moses liked the idea too.

Ashely and CatYING: When I arrived in Lome, I went directly to the Peace Corps Headquarters. I had arranged to meet Ashley and Cat there. I hadn’t seen Ashley since our swearing in, though we had texted each other a couple times a week. Cat has been here about nine months, and she is a spirited, lively young woman. I met her at the swearing in party. Ashley and Cat live in a different region than I do, but they have been brainstorming some women’s programs they want to start, and they want me to partner with them. I like both of them a lot and am excited and pleased they want to work with me even though I’m in a different region of the country. I spent most of Friday in the PC lounge with Ashley and Cat, visiting and laughing and catching up on everything. They had been in Lome since Thursday, and were going home on that Friday afternoon, so I only had that day with them, but we packed a lot in; a little shopping in the marche, lunch, internet and visiting with other PCV’s who came in and out of the lounge…OH, also we had all received care packages, so we were sharing luxurious items such as bite size snickers, and M&M’s! It was my intention to just spend Friday in Lome and go home late afternoon the same day, but because I spent so much time visiting with Ashley and Cat, I still had a lot to do. I decided to spend the night in Lome. I stayed in the same hotel that Ashely and Cat had stayed in the night before, and the same hotel that I stayed in during the swearing in ceremony. The Gallion Hotel is within walking distance of the Peace Corps Headquarters.

The Gallion Hotel

My room at The Gallion

Friday Night Jazz at The GallionYING: The Gallion is a typical third world hotel for travelers who are on a budget. The rooms are…..similar to a really bad hotel in the States, maybe worse, but the food and service is good, and it’s fairly clean. Fairly clean might be a relative statement. Ashely woke up with a nasty spider bite after her stay there, and several of the PCV’s woke up with welts (from bed bugs) during swearing in. The great thing about this hotel is that it has free wireless availability. My room was on the second floor. I shared a balcony with other rooms, however I was the only person who used the balcony that night. The balcony overlooked the courtyard and this was a Friday night. I had no idea that Friday night is jazz night at this hotel. They had a fabulous four piece band playing exceptionally good music all night. So…Friday night I sat on my balcony, overlooking the courtyard, eating snickers, and listening to great live music. Pay Dirt!!! The real topper was that I was able to video skype with Andrea, Emily and Kittie on Friday night and then Eric, E.J. and Dorothy on Saturday morning. Again…Pay Dirt!! I got to chat on facebook with my god daughter Jessica, and my friend Pam. I had just received a care package from Pam and her husband Richard that very day, so it was really fun to be able to chat with her. It was a great night, and I thought life was especially good! That was the Ying. YANG: I finally ended my skype marathon at about 2am and I went to sleep curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bed, hoping that I would not wake up with a spider bite or welts from bed bugs. At the time it seemed like a reasonable tactic. It worked! No bed bug bites, and no spider bites. So maybe that was a ying/yang.

YING: The next morning I went down to the courtyard, set my computer up again, had the most delicious espresso, and egg omelet while leisurely working on my blog and waiting for the time that had been pre-set to video skype with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy. It made me so happy to see Eric and E.J. and my beautiful grand daughter Dorothy. I had not laid eyes on any of them for almost four months. We had a great visit, and it was almost, almost like being in the same room with them, though I longed to hug Dorothy.

OK….I might have taken notice at this point that Ying and Yang were seriously out of balance. The Ying was greatly overshadowing the Yang. I didn’t notice until I saw the ominous clouds forming (symbolically and in reality) just as I was getting ready to leave Lome.

The Trip HomeYING: After my too wonderful for words video skype conversation with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy, I walked back to the Peace Corps Headquarters to spend a few hours. I had met Becca, a PCV the day before. She had to travel through Tesvie to get back home. We decided to share a cab to the Bush Taxi stand and then share a bush taxi to Tesvie. It would save money, and we could get to know each other. She had been in and out of the PC lounge on Saturday, but we hadn’t had time to talk. She had told me her village is in the Kara region which is where my friend Dillon lives. Becca has been a PCV for about a year, and she had met Dillon and loved him like we all do. Becca was great. We had fun traveling to Tesvie together. Much better than going it alone. Because I had received a couple care packages from home and went grocery shopping at the yo-vo store while in Lome, I had a lot to carry back. Becca helped me…..as far as Tesvie anyway. On the trip home I told Becca I was really feeling my age. I’d only had a few hours sleep for the previous two nights, and I had all this stuff to carry, including my backpack with my heavy computer. The trip from Lome to Tchekpo is arduous all by itself, without these added elements. When we got to Tesvie, Becca and I parted. I promised to come up to the Kara region soon to see her and Dillon, and to see the most northern part of Togo they both talk so fondly about. We both got in different bush taxis at that point, and both had another hour or so to go. BIG YANG…..The clouds were now impossible to ignore, It looked like rain. When it rains here, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The bush taxi I was in was bursting at the seams with people, cargo, babies and animals. It was humid. The taxi stunk. It got very dark outside, and it started to rain about half way to Tchekpo.

BIG, BIG YANG: I wondered and worried about how I was going to get to my home from the main road in Tchekpo and hoped the rain would be manageable for just another half hour. It started pouring buckets, monsoon like rain as we drove into Tcheckpo. The bush taxi stopped at the entrance to my little road and let me out. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I was carrying over fifty pounds.



  The Big YangOne of many garbage piles - rt of pictureAs I stepped out of the bush taxi into the pouring rain, some neighbors who live on the main road waved me over. They wanted me to take shelter on their covered porch until the rain stopped. At that point I didn’t care how treacherous or hard it was going to be, I just wanted to get home, so I hoped they saw me wave through the downpour and I went on my way. I don’t think I can accurately describe my walk home that day, but I’ll try. I started to walk the road to my house. It goes slightly uphill all the way, and it is a red, clay dirt rutted road. On either side of the road there are piles of trash, some piles have been burned, and many times it’s just piles of trash, garbage, lots of discarded black plastic bags. On a normal day I regularly see remnants of shoes/flip flops, pieces of torn clothing, cans, corn cobs etc. The chickens, goats and baby chicks feed off of this garbage daily. The rain was so hard, that the middle of the road, which has many gulleys, was flooded and the water was flowing very, very fast. I was never in danger of being swept away as you are in a flash flood. I don’t know why, but I knew that drowning was not going to be my demise. I had about a half mile to trudge, and trudge I did. There was no one else on the road because of course they knew better. They also knew that the rain would soon stop and that the roads would dry up as quickly as they had flooded. I, however thought I needed to get home now…while I still could, lest I be stranded in some villagers hut for the rest of the night. I thought it might rain forever. So with my heavy backpack filled with my heavy computer and electronics, and my arms full of cumbersome sacks, I pushed through the fast flowing current and swirling, rapid, dark red water. I could see shoes and clothing and unidentifiable items swirling on top of the water. I cringed at the thought of what I was walking through, which was water filled with garbage and trash mixed with human and animal waste. I could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, not the diseases I was surely exposing myself too. When my feet sunk through the squishy consistence, I wondered if it was mud, or something else! I happened to have on my favorite pair of Banana Republic short khakis. I could see that the red clay was splattering all over them. I had experience with wet red clay on my clothes before. I had a passing thought that my slacks would be ruined forever. (Well I’m only human…come on, they were Banana Republic khakis !) Because I couldn’t see through the red dark water, I also couldn’t see where the ruts were. I stepped in many of them. Sometimes the ruts I stepped in made the water go up as high as my thighs. Dense, red water, swirling with garbage and shit (to put it bluntly) up to my thighs, but I was almost home, I could see the yellow tint of my house in the distance, just maybe a block away, and then the rain started to slow down. I saw three young boys walking towards me. Now I was just dealing with mud. My shoes became heavy from the mud that was accumulating. I could now at least see my feet, but the sacks I carried were still painfully heavy. My arms ached, my back ached. If I’d had time, I would have cried, but I didn’t have time for that. When I met up with the boys who were walking towards me, I shoved the two sacks into one boys arms. I asked him if he would help me the rest of the way home. "S’il vous plait," I said, "to the jeune maison!" He took the sacks, but started jabbering something to me. I thought he was asking me how much I would pay him. I really don’t know what he said, but that’s what I thought, and I was in no mood for someone to be asking me for money, so I grabbed the sacks back from him and trudged the rest of the way by myself. The boys stood there, and watched me, all the way home. I could hear them jabbering, but it was unintelligible. Who knows what they were saying?? Maybe they were just trying to figure out what I wanted? They were probably saying, “you stupid YoVo! What the hell are you doing?” I don’t’ know. I made it to my house and immediately took my favorite khakis off, filled up a pail of water and soaked them. I scrubbed and soaked and washed, and scrubbed and soaked and washed for what seemed like an hour. I then filled another pail, boiled some water and took a warm shower, scrubbing my feet and my legs until they were raw. 

Home at last!

YING….I’m so glad this exhausting day ended with a Ying! I had just literally collapsed in a chair when the telephone rang. It was my friend, of over forty years, Pat. There was never a better moment to get a phone call from home. It was so good to hear her voice. The previous two hours melted away as we caught up with each others Ying and Yang; on what had been happening in both of our lives since the last time we talked. Pat was recuperating from hip replacement surgery the week prior, and the death of two beloved family members just months before. She was doing well, despite all of her pain and loss. Talking to her put everything in perspective and while listening to her my day became a distant memory, a minor annoyance, well maybe (smile) Ying and Yang.

I had promised to invite Toussaint (I’ve been spelling his name TwoSain since we met, and recently discovered it was spelled Toussaint, so I will start using the correct spelling.) and his family over for a meal. They live just up the road from me about two city blocks distance. Toussaint has helped me with so many things since I arrived in Tchekpo. I wanted to repay his kindness. Toussaint loves his family; that is evident. I admire how hard he works, and how much he does in the community. He teaches primary Catholic school in a neighboring village, thirty miles away, and rides his bike to and from work every day. His moto broke down, and he can’t afford to fix it right now. When I asked him to bring his family for lunch, he was very happy. He double and triple checked the time and date with me for the week prior to the lunch. We had settled on Sunday at 1pm. Sunday after church seemed like a nice time to have them over.

Toussaint is very involved in the Catholic Church in Tchekpo. He took me to his church when I first arrived in Tchekpo, introduced me to everyone, and made sure that I had a front row seat. He works with the church youth groups, sings in the choir, and he reads some of the prayers during the mass. He also has quite the cute dance moves, when they all get up and have a procession through the church during the offertory.

I fretted over what to cook for them. Not knowing what they might and might not like, and also not knowing if what I cooked would turn out well. Aloughba and Toussaint had been to my house for impromptu dinners, but this was different. I wanted this to be special. I decided to prepare Spanish rice. It seemed like something I could do, something they might like, and also maybe slightly different than their daily fare, yet not too different. Togolese eat a lot of rice and tomato sauce concoctions; this just had a little different twist to it. On Saturday I walked to the marche, and picked up all the ingredients I didn’t already have.

Toussaint, Celestine, Philomene and DesireI went to church on Sunday, and got home about 11, which gave me about two hours to prepare the meal. I made Spanish rice, a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinaigrette dressing. I also made garlic toast, and tapioca pudding for desert. I put a tablecloth and flowers on the table. Toussaint is somewhat overly eager about everything, so I wasn’t surprised that he and his family showed up at noon instead of one. I was pretty much ready for that. (I really wanted a whiskey sour about now, but settled for grape Crystal Lite.) Toussaint’s wife’s name is Celestine; his daughter is Philomene; and his son, Desiree. They are a beautiful family, inside and out. Celestine, is quite beautiful, and has a radiant smile, which both Philomene and Desiree have inherited. I had met Celestine a few times in the marche and also very briefly at their house. Celestine sells ponja (African fabric) and flip-flops at the Tchekpo marche. Celestine and I had greeted each other at church, but she was always very quiet and reserved. I had wondered if maybe she didn’t like me. Maybe I had taken up too much of Toussaint’s time. But at the dinner she was very friendly. She seemed very glad to be here for lunch. During lunch I discovered she only speaks Ewe, which explained why she hadn’t talked much to me previously. She didn’t say much during lunch but Toussaint would translate everything that was said…..and Tousssaint doesn’t really know much English, so again, communication was a mish mash of words, hand waving, laughing and pointing. The kids Philomene and Desiree were taking it all in. Every time I would look at Philomene and Desiree, they would flash this delightful shy smile.

Dinner was nice. Toussaint said a prayer before we started eating. To my pleasant surprise, they seemed to really like the Spanish rice and all of the food, as they each had two or three helpings of everything. There were no leftovers. Celestine helped me with the dishes, and then they went on their way home.

Philomene and Desiree showed up at my door about an hour later. I wasn’t sure why, but then I saw that they wanted to get into my basket of art supplies. They stayed and colored and played with stickers for about an hour.

Toussaint told me that Celestine wants to have me over for dinner.

It was really, a very nice way to spend the Sunday afternoon.

PCV Lounge in LomeI think being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa helps me understand the concept of yin and yang; that almost everything you experience comes with the good and the bad. Every day in Togo, and as Peace Corps Volunteer there are highs and lows. It seems every day I have moments of bliss, and moments of despair. Every trip I take in a bush taxi or moto has humor and horror, and when I go to Lome I experience energy and exhaustion, light and darkness. Yin (the good) and yang (the bad).

I recently returned from two days and one night in Lome. I will be going to Lome at least once a month. My monthly stipend is deposited into a bank in Lome, so I have a reason to go there at least once a month.

Peace Corps Headquarters - LomeYin of Lome: I look forward to going to Lome because I get to visit the Peace Corps Headquarters, where I meet and socialize with other PCV’s who have come to Lome for a variety of reasons. There is a lounge at the PC Headquarters where Peace Corps Volunteers gather. The lounge includes a library where PCV’s exchange books. The lounge is air-conditioned…woohoooooo! There are comfortable couches and chairs, and a wireless connection for computers with a much better speed than anywhere else in Togo. It’s the only place I can open photos that have been emailed to me, or even look at photos on Facebook. The lounge also has two desktop computers and a printer. I’ve been there several times now, and I always meet at least one or two PCV’s I haven’t met before. There is an instant rapport between PCV’s, and usually you end up going to lunch or shopping or sharing a bush taxi home with one of them, and then you have another new friend. It’s always interesting to hear the stories about their particular experience; why they joined, where their village is, how their French and local language is going, how long they’ve been here, and what they plan on doing when their service is over.

Yang of Lome: I don’t like Lome because it is a dirty, huge, chaotic city, with too many people and lots of ugly crime, like child prostitution and hard drugs, and it’s filled with unsavory characters. It’s also a couple hours of bush taxi rides to get there and back.

Yin of Rachel: My ride to Lome in the bush taxi was unrepentantly easy on this weekend. I got to sit in the front seat, and for the first time, the bush taxi was not packed full. I also met a lovely woman, Racheal, who lives in Tchekpo. She spoke good English. She was accompanying her father and mother to the hospital in Lome. Her father used a cane, and looked as though he might have suffered a stroke at some time. When I inquired about him, Rachel said he was having trouble with his eyes. When she talked about him, there was worry in her voice. Racheal and I had an hour and half to get to know each other. She is a nurse. It was not hard to tell that she is a very good, compassionate nurse. My daughter Andrea is a very good, compassionate nurse. It’s easy to spot the good ones. They speak about their work with passion and compassion. Racheal and Andrea are the kind of nurse you would want taking care of you if you were sick. By the time we reached Lome Racheal and I were fast friends. I told Racheal about Andrea and Andrea’s work as a hospice nurse. Racheal told me she had been working a long time for very little money, then one day her Director came to her and told her that he thought she did a very good job. He offered her a big raise and permanent employment. She was amazed at her good fortune about this.

I in turn explained to her about the Peace Corps and about what I was doing in Tchekpo. Because she spoke good English and seemed so compassionate and interested, I asked her if she could help me with something. I wrote in an earlier blog about my translator, Moses. Moses is a good boy, and he will continue to assist me when he can, but he’s not available enough, especially now that school has started. What I really need is an adult who wants to get involved in the community, and who also speaks English. All Togolese think #1 all Americans have a lot of money, and #2 that you might somehow be able to help them get to America. Initially that is the reason 98% of them want to assist you with anything they can. I explained to Racheal for me to be useful to the community, I must find a “partner” who speaks English and French, and can translate Ewe (the local language.) I explained that I did not have a lot of money, and I couldn’t help anyone get to America. A partner would need to want to partner with me for one reason and one reason only, and that would be to help the community. I could see that Racheal completely understood, we exchanged telephone numbers and she promised to find someone to help. The ironic part of this story was that when I shared this information with Moses, Moses told me that Rachel was his senior sister. I had not given Rachel the name of the boy who was helping me. Small World. I felt even better that Moses sister was also going to help, and Moses liked the idea too.

Yin of Ashley and Cat: When I arrived in Lome, I went directly to the Peace Corps Headquarters. I had arranged to meet Ashley and Cat there. I hadn’t seen Ashley since our swearing in, though we had texted each other a couple times a week. Cat has been here about nine months, and she is a spirited, lively young woman. I met her at the swearing in party. Ashley and Cat live in a different region than I do, but they have been brainstorming some women’s programs they want to start, and they want me to partner with them. I like both of them a lot and am excited and pleased they want to work with me even though I’m in a different region of the country. I spent most of Friday in the PC lounge with Ashley and Cat, visiting and laughing and catching up on everything. They had been in Lome since Thursday, and were going home on that Friday afternoon, so I only had that day with them, but we packed a lot in; a little shopping in the marche, lunch, internet and visiting with other PCV’s who came in and out of the lounge…OH, also we had all received care packages, so we were sharing luxurious items such as bite size snickers, and M&M’s! It was my intention to just spend Friday in Lome and go home late afternoon the same day, but because I spent so much time visiting with Ashley and Cat, I still had a lot to do. I decided to spend the night in Lome. I stayed in the same hotel that Ashley and Cat had stayed in the night before, and the same hotel that I stayed in during the swearing in ceremony. The Gallion Hotel is within walking distance of the Peace Corps Headquarters.

Friday night jazz at the GallionYin of the Gallion: The Gallion is a typical third world hotel for travelers who are on a budget. The rooms are similar to a really bad hotel in the States, maybe worse, but the food and service is good, and it’s fairly clean. Fairly clean might be a relative statement. Ashely woke up with a nasty spider bite after her stay there, and several of the PCV’s woke up with welts (from bed bugs) during swearing in. The great thing about this hotel is that it has free wireless availability. My room was on the second floor. I shared a balcony with other rooms, however I was the only person who used the balcony that night. The balcony overlooked the courtyard and this was a Friday night. I had no idea that Friday night is jazz night at this hotel. They had a fabulous four-piece band playin exceptionally good music all night. So…Friday night I sat on my balcony, overlooking the courtyard, eating snickers, and listening to great live music. Pay Dirt!!! The real topper was that I was able to video Skype with Andrea, Emily and Kittie on Friday night and then Eric, E.J. and Dorothy on Saturday morning. Again…Pay Dirt!! I got to chat on Facebook with my goddaughter Jessica, and my friend Pam. I had just received a care package from Pam and her husband Richard that very day, so it was really fun to be able to chat with her. It was a great night, and I thought life was especially good! That was the Yin.

My room at the Gallion.

Yang of Gallion: I finally ended my Skype marathon at about 2am and I went to sleep curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bed, hoping that I would not wake up with a spider bite or welts from bed bugs. At the time it seemed like a reasonable tactic. It worked! No bed bug bites, and no spider bites. So maybe that was a yin/yang.

Yin of the morning: The next morning I went down to the courtyard, set my computer up again, had the most delicious espresso, and egg omelet while leisurely working on my blog and waiting for the time that had been pre-set to video Skype with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy. It made me so happy to see Eric and E.J. and my beautiful granddaughter Dorothy. I had not laid eyes on any of them for almost four months. We had a great visit, and it was almost, almost like being in the same room with them, though I longed to hug Dorothy.

Yang of the morning: OK…I might have taken notice at this point that Yin and Yang were seriously out of balance. The Yin was greatly overshadowing the Yang. I didn’t notice until I saw the ominous clouds forming (symbolically and in reality) just as I was getting ready to leave Lome.

Yin of the trip home: After my too wonderful for words video Skype conversation with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy, I walked back to the Peace Corps Headquarters to spend a few hours. I had met Becca, a PCV the day before. She had to travel through Tesvie to get back home. We decided to share a cab to the Bush Taxi stand and then share a bush taxi to Tesvie. It would save money, and we could get to know each other. She had been in and out of the PC lounge on Saturday, but we hadn’t had time to talk. She had told me her village is in the Kara region, which is where my friend Dillon lives. Becca has been a PCV for about a year, and she had met Dillon and loved him like we all do. Becca was great. We had fun traveling to Tesvie together - much better than going it alone. Because I had received a couple care packages from home and went grocery shopping at the Yo-vo store while in Lome, I had a lot to carry back. Becca helped me…as far as Tesvie anyway. On the trip home I told Becca I was really feeling my age. I’d only had a few hours sleep for the previous two nights, and I had all this stuff to carry, including my backpack with my heavy computer. The trip from Lome to Tchekpo is arduous all by itself, without these added elements. When we got to Tesvie, Becca and I parted. I promised to come up to the Kara region soon to see her and Dillon, and to see the most northern part of Togo they both talk so fondly about. We both got in different bush taxis at that point, and both had another hour or so to go.

Big yang of the trip home: The clouds were now impossible to ignore; it looked like rain. When it rains here, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The bush taxi I was in was bursting at the seams with people, cargo, babies and animals. It was humid. The taxi stunk. It got very dark outside, and it started to rain about half way to Tchekpo.

Big, big, yang of the trip home: I wondered and worried about how I was going to get to my home from the main road in Tchekpo and hoped the rain would be manageable for just another half hour. It started pouring buckets, monsoon like rain as we drove into Tcheckpo. The bush taxi stopped at the entrance to my little road and let me out. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I was carryin over fifty pounds.

The Big Yang: As I stepped out of the bush taxi into the pouring rain, some neighbors who live on the main road waved me over. They wanted me to take shelter on their covered porch until the rain stopped. At that point I didn’t care how treacherous or hard it was going to be, I just wanted to get home, so I hoped they saw me wave through the downpour and I went on my way. I don’t think I can accurately describe my walk home that day, but I’ll try.

One of the many garbage piles

along the roadI started to walk the road to my house. It goes slightly uphill all the way, and it is a red, clay dirt rutted road. On either side of the road there are piles of trash, some piles have been burned, and many times it’s just piles of trash, garbage, lots of discarded black plastic bags. On a normal day I regularly see remnants of shoes/flip flops, pieces of torn clothing, cans, corncobs etc. The chickens, goats and baby chicks feed off of this garbage daily. The rain was so hard, that the middle of the road, which has many gullies, was flooded and the water was flowing very, very fast. I was never in danger of being swept away as you are in a flash flood. I don’t know why, but I knew that drowning was not going to be my demise. I had about a half mile to trudge, and trudge I did. There was no one else on the road because of course they knew better. They also knew that the rain would soon stop and that the roads would dry up as quickly as they had flooded. I, however, thought I needed to get home now…while I still could, lest I be stranded in some villagers hut for the rest of the night. I thought it might rain forever.

So with my heavy backpack filled with my heavy computer and electronics, and my arms full of cumbersome sacks, I pushed through the fast flowing current and swirling, rapid, dark red water. I could see shoes and clothing and unidentifiable items swirling on top of the water. I cringed at the thought of what I was walking through, which was water filled with garbage and trash mixed with human and animal waste. I could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, not the diseases I was surely exposing myself too. When my feet sunk through the squishy consistence, I wondered if it was mud, or something else! I happened to have on my favorite pair of Banana Republic short khakis. I could see that the red clay was splattering all over them. I had experience with wet red clay on my clothes before. I had a passing thought that my slacks would be ruined forever. (Well I’m only human…come on, they were Banana Republic khakis!) Because I couldn’t see through the red dark water, I also couldn’t see where the ruts were. I stepped in many of them. Sometimes the ruts I stepped in made the water go up as high as my thighs. Dense, red water, swirling with garbage and shit (to put it bluntly) up to my thighs, but I was almost home, I could see the yellow tint of my house in the distance, just maybe a block away, and then the rain started to slow down. I saw three young boys walking towards me. Now I was just dealing with mud. My shoes became heavy from the mud that was accumulating. I could now at least see my feet, but the sacks I carried were still painfully heavy. My arms ached; my back ached.

If I’d had time, I would have cried, but I didn’t have time for that. When I met up with the boys who were walking towards me, I shoved the two sacks into one boy’s arms. I asked him if he would help me the rest of the way home. "S’il vous plait," I said, "to the jeune maison!" He took the sacks, but started jabbering something to me. I thought he was asking me how much I would pay him. I really don’t know what he said, but that’s what I thought, and I was in no mood for someone to be asking me for money, so I grabbed the sacks back from him and trudged the rest of the way by myself. The boys stood there, and watched me, all the way home. I could hear them jabbering, but it was unintelligible. Who knows what they were saying?! Maybe they were just trying to figure out what I wanted? They were probably saying, “you stupid YoVo! What the hell are you doing?” I don’t’ know.

I made it to my house and immediately took my favorite khakis off, filled up a pail of water and soaked them. I scrubbed and soaked and washed, and scrubbed and soaked and washed for what seemed like an hour. I then filled another pail, boiled some water and took a warm shower, scrubbing my feet and my legs until they were raw.

Home at last!Yin of home and a friend: I’m so glad this exhausting day ended with a Yin! I had just literally collapsed in a chair when the telephone rang. It was my friend, of over forty years, Pat. There was never a better moment to get a phone call from home. It was so good to hear her voice. The previous two hours melted away as we caught up with each others Yin and Yang; on what had been happening in both of our lives since the last time we talked. Pat was recuperating from hip replacement surgery the week prior, and the death of two beloved family members just months before. She was doing well, despite all of her pain and loss. Talking to her put everything in perspective, and while listening to her my day became a distant memory, a minor annoyance, well maybe (smile).

Yin and Yang.

Last week I and three of my village partners, (Alougba, Two-Sain and Dove) participated in a three day conference called M.A.P. (Men As Partners.) The conference was held in Zafi, a little village about ten miles from Tcheckpo. Every morning the four of us would catch a bush taxi to Ahepe, and then moto to Zafi, and every evening we would go home the same way. Participants came to this conference from six surrounding villages. There were about twenty-five participants, and five trainers. This is a very new program that was initiated in Togo by the Peace Corps. Basically it teaches men how to be more involved in their families lives, it shows them a better or different view of what their wives and women have to deal with on a daily basis, and it teaches women a better understanding of their mens issues, fears, and the day to day internal conflict they experience as a man in Togo.

The conference kick-off was a fun, inter-active group exercise that illustrated the fact that we need to respect each others opinions, and the fact people naturally will have very opposing beliefs about issues.

The conference was amazing, professional, effective and well organized. The facilitators, Sekou, a one year PCV, and Rose, the Area Director for this Peace Corps Program were dynamic facilitators and speakers. They captured the entire groups attention. Everything was well planned out, with a doable agenda for all three days. I wondered how the concept would be perceived and how my village participants would react. It was a lot to ask, to have them spend three days away from however it is they make a living, travel to Zafi and attend this conference.

We broke up into groups and thoroughly examined several difficult issues they all experience, such as sexual harrassment towards women, all different kinds of violence towards men, and how they deal with it. Excessive use of alcohol. The discussions were animated and pertinent. At the end of the second day, six groups of four people each put on a sketch about a particular issue that had been discussed, debated and rehearsed. The sketches were performed in front of villagers from Zafi. At least sixty people from the little village of Zafi came to see the sketches. (This is one of the many things you have to appreciate about an event like this…that the Peace Corps Volunteers, not only put on a great and relevant conference, but they also got the whole village of Zafi involved in the conversation.) At the end of the sketches we had a question and answer session from the audience. The audience was engaged and asked insightful questions.

The last day of the conference was all about what were we now going to do with this information and insight. How/when/where are we going to bring this back to our individual villages. My three guests already have a calendar of future events for M.A.P. We will meet together soon, and decide how we will get the word out about the upcoming programs. They would like to put on one program a month for the next six months.

In the wrap-up session, we went around the room and asked people for final comments about the conference. Two Sain said, “I want to take the information back and share it with my community, but first I see that I need to make changes in myself.

M.A.P. (Men As Partners) A Success Story.

One Swallow Does Not a Summer make!

Moses and I were sitting on a bench in Alougbas compound. We were waiting for her to finish making gari. I filled the time by explaining to Moses that I needed to find more people who wanted to be involved in the community. Alougba and Tou-sain and Moses are great, but I need input from more people. Moses in all of his infinite sixteen years of wisdom looked at me and said “One swallow does not a summer make.” “Huh?” I said, thinking I had lost him in translation. He repeated the sentence, and then proceeded to tell me that this was an African proverb and it meant one persons advice is not enough. One needs to get advice from many people. I just stared at him speechless at his insight. He smiled and said, “We will find more people!” “D’accord,” I said. Ok!

The Dichotomy of Moses

He is sixteen, the youngest of eight brothers and two sisters. His father died two years ago, which forced his mother to move from Ghana to Tcheckpo so that she could live closer to and have help from relatives. So Moses left his friends and the only home he had ever known at the tender and sensitive age of 14. Culturally the difference between Ghana and Tchekipo is stark. It would be like moving from inner city, New York City to rural Kansas.

Moses is a leader in his Catholic Church Youth Group, “for orphans,” he explained to me. By orphans he meant that these children have lost one or both parents. By my count, there were at least twenty kids. When the group gets together on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons, they have variety of projects. They sing and dance, and play the African drums, and put on sketches. They invited me to attend their group last Sunday. It was a lot of fun, and it was fascinating to see how Moses leads the group, and assures that everyone is involved and happy. The childrens ages range from three to twenty.

Moses likes to come to my house. He likes to listen to my ipod and drink my crystal lite and eat my snacks. Occasionally while I’m working at my desk he asks if he can stay and listen to my ipod while I’m working. He’ll sit in a chair, closes his eyes, and remains perfectly still for as long as I will allow. At times I will hear him humming a little or swaying a little to the music, but for the most part he is perfectly still until I tell him it’s time for him to go.

Good friends from home have sent me a variety of materials for art projects with the children. I keep everything in a big basket in my living room. Word has spread among the children in my neighborhood about the basket of wonderful things they’ve never seen before. They filter in and shyly go through the basket asking what this is, and what that is. I have stickers, and crayolas, construction paper, magic markers, glue sticks, stencils, etc.

Moses found my basket one day. He brough each item out and asked me to explain. He was interested in the stencils and magic markers. I showed him how the stencils worked. He asked me if he could sit and work with the stencils for awhile. He sat and colored the stencils meticulously for at least two hours. This brilliant boy, who speaks three languages fluently, sitting and coloring, completely content and happy. He wanted to give the piece of art he made to me as a gift, but I told him to give it to his mother. He told me later that she loved it, and that it made her happy.

Voodoo

Voodoo has an omnipresence in Tchekpo and in Africa. You hear, feel or see little signs of it every where. You get so used to the voodoo drums beating in the background at all hours of the day and night that the sound becomes almost part of the landscape.

The beat of the voodoo drums provide my African day or night with a musical score. Just as in a film that is well produced and edited, you rarely notice the musical score in the background. In a film musical score you shouldn’t notice when the music stops or starts. The music sets the tone, prepares you for what might happen next, builds tension, or fear or enhances humor and sorrow. I think the voodoo drums work in the same way.

I’m intrigued with the Voodooese (Moses said that’s what their ethnic group is called) They are everywhere, yet you feel rather than see their presence. One day as I was walking to Alougba’s house I ran into a Voodoo parade/celebration. It was around 4pm on a Sunday. I heard the drums first, They seemed louder and closer than usual. Then I saw a procession of maybe fifty people. Most of the people in the procession had streaks of white painted on their faces, arms and legs. The drums were loud and constant. The procession appeared to be surrounding five or six people who were wearing masks and bright colored clothes. These five or six people were also wearing brightly colored hats with brims all the way around, with strings hanging from the brims, down around their faces. All of the people in the procession were moving to their own beat of the drums. Villagers came out of their compounds and lined the road, watching respectfully and as curiously as I, as the Voodoo procession marched by.

I saw Moses later in the day, and asked him about the procession. He explained that he thought it was similar to a coming of age celebration for the five or six central figures. That made sense. Moses nor anyone else who is not Voodooese understands more than the very basics of Voodoo. From what I’ve seen there is a tolerance, respect and maybe a certain amount of awe of the Voodoo ways and customs. There is certainly a reverent acceptance.

The Doll

I’ve noticed a few times little children carrying around very strange looking little dolls. They are carved out of wood, with painted hair, and they have bright colored clothes on. These are the only dolls I’ve seen, and really one of the few “toys” I’ve seen, so I always noticed them. The dolls bodies look a little like totem poles, by that I mean the bodies are somewhat distorted. Short, and wide. They are wearing colorful african ponjas. The children who are carrying them look as if this doll is their most prized possession, and several have walked up to show me. One morning a little girl, Adele, who has become a particular favorite of mine has one of these dolls. She’s three or four with huge eyes and dimples, and a fearless, playful really happy personality. I've never seen Adele without her doll.

Alougba noticed my curiosity about the dolls. She explained that when twins are born, and one of them dies, which apparently happens often, the Voodooese make a doll for the surviving twin to keep with them forever to remind them of their sister or brother.

Tres interresant!

My sister Jody gave me a thoughtful gift before I left for Africa. Twelve pairs of reader glasses! Everyone who wears reader glasses knows how easily they are broken and how often they are lost. In the states I had a pair stashed everywhere. In the car, in the kitchen, in my purse, and still there were many times that I was rummaging around for a pair. I’d hate to be stuck in Africa without them, because without them I can’t read.

To date, I have given away three pairs of those twelve pairs of glasses. The first pair I gave to Alougba. She was sitting in my house, and as often happens we were trying to communicate by looking a word up in the French/English dictionary. I saw Alougba straining to see the small print of the dictionary. She finally got annoyed, threw the book aside, and let me know she just couldn’t see it. I pulled out a pair of my glasses and told her to put them on. She did. She put them on upside down, and looked again at the dictionary in front of her. The look on her face was funny. She threw her head back, and had a big smile on her face. She then wanted to look up many more words, and we spent that afternoon doing just that. Alougba repeatedly put my glasses on upside down. I finally decided not to correct her. Apparently she liked the way they fit better when they were upside down. I told Alougba she could keep the glasses. I could sense that she couldn’t believe that she would receive such a gift. She carries a yellow plastic bag around everywhere we go, that I have assumed carries most of the things that she values. She has a little notebook, and a pen, the box of crayolas I gave her, and now her glasses are in the bag.

I had a similar experience with Moses (my sixteen year old translator) and believe it or not the Village Chief. Each time we were looking up words in the dictionary. I could see Moses struggling as well, so I handed him a pair of glasses. Moses said, “ohhhhh wowwwwww.” I told him he could keep the glasses. He was very appreciative, very excited. He asked me if they would also help him see the blackboard in school. I told him, no, unfortunately these glasses will only help with his reading.

Tchekpo has 10,000 to 15,000 people. Obviously the now eight pairs of glasses I have left (I lost a pair), aren’t going to help much. It’s not that the people here haven’t seen eye glasses. I’m sure most have them have seen them, but eye glasses are definitely not a part of their world. I started thinking about how much more difficult it must be not to be able to read or see distances….how hard school must be for Moses because he can’t see the blackboard, how difficult it must be for Alougba to help the community if she can’t read about all resources. Then I thought of my friend Pat…back home in Prairie Village, Kansas. Pat Kaufman is the Director of SHARE; the volunteer organization at Shawnee Mission East High School. As Director of SHARE she works with high school students, helping them understand the importance of volunteering, and community involvement, and matching students with volunteer opportunities. When I left for Africa, Pat told me that if there was a project I thought she and SHARE might be able to help with to let her know. I sent Pat an email and told her about the fact that no one had glasses in Tchekpo, and they didn’t have access to eye exams or glasses. I wondered if there was some way that her group might collect eyeglasses and send them to us. Pat wrote back within twenty-four hours, and had already put the wheels in motion.

The high school students at Shawnee Mission East High School in Prairie Village, Kansas have organized a drive to collect eyeglasses to be distributed to the people of Tchekpo, this little village in Africa. The collection of glasses will run until the end of October. To pay for the cost of shipment, SHARE has started a project called Pies for Eyes. The youth volunteers will be baking pies and selling them at school.

When the glasses arrive in Tchekpo we plan on forming a group here to help distribute them as effectively as possible. We will work with the Dispensare (clinic) to divide the glasses up according to strength, and if they are for far-sighted or near sighted, then we will do the best we can with an eye chart to determine which glasses might be helpful. I spoke with my friend Racheal; a nurse here in Tcheckpo, and she thought she might be able to get an optometrist from Lome to come and assist us. We will do some community outreach for this starting with the primary schools, asking teachers if they know of children who have trouble seeing, then the highschool and finally we will go to the churches and get the word out to adults. It obviously won’t be perfect fits, but I think that a significant number of people in tchekpo will be able to see better.

If you, your workplace, your church, or an organization you belong to would like to help donate glasses, please send me an email, and I will pass the information on to Pat, so that her group can contact you, and tell you where to send the glasses you’ve collected. Remember! She plans on shipping the glasses by the end of October.

I’ve told a few people in Tchekpo that these glasses are coming, and that a highschool in Kansas is collecting them. Their grateful response has been more than I anticipated. It’s these looks on their faces when they feel any sense of hope in a place where there’s not much hope that is gratifying. I will be posting pictures of the eye clinic on this blog, and pictures of that look of hope on the faces of the people in Tchekpo when they can see the world a little more clearly for the first time.

Many thanks to Pat Kaufman, the SHARE Program, and the high school students at Shawnee Mission East High School in Prairie Village Kansas for their generous spirits. This will make a difference!

My Generator

Since I don’t have electricity in Tchekpo, I bought a generator to charge my electronics. I have a solar charger, but the solar charger will not charge my computer. It will charge my phone and my camera and ipod. There is no cyber café (internet) in Tchekpo. The closest internet is a bush taxi and 35 very stressful minutes away. My director suggested I buy a generator. My plan is to go to Tesvie or Tagebow once a week to use the internet café. At that time I’ll cut and paste my emails to a word document (long ones anyway) read them and respond to them from home, and then cut and paste my response the following week. Sheeeesh! My neighbor Two-Sain helped me get my generator started, and he’s going to buy a 5 liter bottle of gasoline in Tagebow to keep it running for awhile. The generator is very, very loud! The sound of the generator drowns out the sounds of Africa that I like and have become accustomed to.

I’m wondering how well this will all work. Nothin is easy in Togo! I’m constantly getting used to the fact that nothing is easy. It’s doable…just not easy. You kind of always have to figure out a way to make things work the best way you can. But that’s life, right? That’s what you do every day too. For example, I decided it would be beneficial to work on my computer while it was charging. It’s charging right now. The generator is sitting outside the back door, and I have the door closed to keep the noise level down a bit. My cord stretches to my living room chair. Using my computer while it’s in the process of charging will give me an extra hour of computer time. Once my computer battery is charged I can use my computer without the generator for about two more hours, and then have to charge it again. However, it’s 5pm and I’m hungry. It gets dark at 6. I try to cook, do the dishes and bucket shower before it gets dark. I have a petrol lantern and flashlights, but I really hate cooking and showering in the dark. When I do these things in the dark, I can’t see the giant spiders that lurk in every corner. I will work on a schedule that will be as efficient as it can be. I won’t be charging my battery at this time of day anymore…probably in the early afternoon, and then use the two extra hours of my charged computer in the evening, in the quiet, without the generator, or perhaps listening to a little classical music on my ipod while I write. That sounds luxurious! I am happy that I will have better access to my computer, even if I don’t have internet access. I’m attached to my computer, and being able to use it is important to me. I try to hold onto little bits of my life before Africa). My computer is one such connection. Wearing my western clothes and listening to my music whenever I can is another.

Conveniences

I told myself that I would not admonish, scold or pontificate to my friends and family about all the conveniences they enjoy that they don’t think about or appreciate….so I won’t. I didn’t appreciate it. However, I imagine going home in two years, and how unbelieveably wonderful it will be to turn on a water faucet, flush a toilet, turn a light on with the flick of switch (or just have all the light I want at night), or connect to the internet, all in a flash. It might be a little early in the process for me to be dreaming of those things. I should mention the television also. I was such a TV addict in the states. I remember Kittie asking me what I was going to do without my television. Oddly, it’s the thing I miss the least. I never, ever think about it. Usually in the evening, I sit on my porch and listen to the BBC on my shortwave radio for about an hour. I get the gist of what’s happening around the world, and that suffices.

Life Without Conveniences

It took four hours today to do mainentance on my water filter. Twice a month I have to clean the “candles” two cone shaped elements inside the water filter that protect me from getting parasites and worms. I empty the water filter, take the filter apart, remove the candles, scrub the candles with a toothbrush and then fill it back up with water that has boiled and cooled. Today was the monthly water filter maintenance. I did all of the above, in addition I needed to boil the candles for twenty minutes.

I’m having a table made for my kitchen, so that I don’t have to sit on a little stool to do my dishes in the pails that line the floor. To do the dishes, I first boil the water and wash them in one pail, and then boil water and rinse them in another pail. I never leave dirty dishes overnight or even for more than an hour. I’m trying to do all that I can to keep rodents and roaches at bay. I’ve only seen two roaches in my house…but they were the biggest damn roaches I’ve ever seen. I’ve not seen any mice or rats yet. Let’s hope it stays that way! The Togolese don’t take any precautions concerning the water. They just scoop a cup of water out of their pail from the well and drink. They do use soap to wash their dishes, and they rinse them, but they don’t boil any of their water. They also are, for the most part completely unaware of personal hygiene, as far as washing their hands. The way I understand it, is they have built up immunities to these parasites, and we don’t. Knock on wood…I have not been sick one day since I’ve been here. I am diligent about following the advice and precautions that will keep me healthy.

Cooking!

I have been eating very well, very healthily. I don’t eat any meat or fish here. They gave us a Togo Peace Corps Cookbook. A very comprehensive cookbook. The name of it is, Where There is No Whopper. I’ve already made several recipes from it. One of the village men I visited with Alougba gave me a sack of Tapioca as a welcome gift. It was a big sack of tapioca. I’ve made tapioca pudding four or five times. The recipe was in the cookbook. It’s easy to make and I have all the ingredients on hand. Tapioca, egg, milk(powdered), sugar and vanilla. That’s it. The following are some things I eat or cook on a regular basis:

•Egg drop soup

•meatless goolash

•French toast with honey

•I buy fresh bread daily. The bread is very good. I often grill the bread in olive oil and garlic to have with my meals, or just grill it in regular vegetable oil or margarine to have as toast in the mornings or for sandwiches.

•tomato sandwiches

•fried potatoes and egg omelet often

•I’ve replaced my daily White Chocolate Mocha from Starbucks with a cup of instant coffee with powdered milk. I don’t know how, but it tastes really good every morning.

•Mint tea with honey (Togolese honey is especially delicious)

•Oatmeal

•Lots of fruit and vegetables; pineapple, bananas, mango, tomatoes, onions, a variety of beans, cucumbers and potatoes

•Maybe once a week if I’m lucky I have a salad. I can only buy lettuce in Tesvie, and it only stays fresh for about 24 hours.

All of the vegetables have to be peeled or treated before eating or cooking. The villagers often use human or animal waste for fertilizer, and they do not wash their hands before handling the produce. I soak the vegetables for thirty minutes in cooled water that had been boiled and add bleach, then I rinse it and pat it dry.

There’s been many an evening that I’ve opened a packet of Knorr Spanish Rice or Chicken and Broccoli, or a box of Kraft Macaroni and cheese or a packet of tuna salad that have been sent to me from home. I’m often exhausted by dinner time and it’s so nice to be able to make a meal in a few minutes. Kittie sends a lot of little packets from restaurants: mustard, jelly, mayonnaise, honey, etc. These are a treasure trove, because I can’t store jars of those things. My tomato sandwiches are SO good when I get to spread some mayo on them, and toast and jelly….well it’s a real treat. (This was a shameless, what they call in the advertizing biz; product placement advertisement)

Expectations

In Tchekpo, visitors expect to be fed when they come over, or at the very least they would like to be fed. I think it would be perfectly ok to not offer anything. I’ve noticed that Alougba and Two Sain both often show up around dinner time, as they did tonight. They’re not too obvious or anything. They are curious about my American Food. I wasn’t going to have dinner tonight because I had a late lunch. I asked them if they were hungry, and they said yes. I made a packet of Knorr chicken and broccoli and some garlic toast. We ate dinner by candle light while trying our best to have a conversation in a mix of three different languages. We talked about the upcoming conference in Zafi which they will both be attending with me, and they are excited about it. I’ve gone over the details with them at least five times. I’ve discovered that in many situations you can transcend the language barriers. You can hear joy, excitement, fear, worry or frustration without the words that define those emotions. We have some hearty laughs with our very animated conversations. Eating this late meant I would be doing the dishes and taking a shower in the dark, but the enjoyment of the evening made it worthwhile.

Our Peace Corps trainers told us to just take the first three months to settle in, get to know the people and the culture. Pay attention and be respectful of the differences between my way of life and theirs. Just “be,” one wise veteran PCV advised. They said, don’t worry about immediately starting programs, or getting immersed in your work. I see why now. It will take time to assimilate and acclimate to this new way of living. The work and our projects will evolve and become evident over time. I can’t just step abruptly out of the security of my own familiar experience. I need this bridge of time to cross from my own experience to a new way. I will learn to work within their system. That’s my job for the next three months. Assimilate and Acclimate.

What I Miss and Don’t Miss

Nothing is easy in Togo! But I never thought anything seemed easy in the States? Just a different experience. I do miss convenience, and technology and machines that do things for you. I miss my family and friends beyond measure. I don’t miss jumping into a car to drive to the store a few blocks away, or airplanes and helicopters flying over my house. I don’t miss gas stations or my car, or car maintenance. I don’t miss shopping malls. I don’t miss television nor do I miss the constant onslaught of bad news in newspapers and on TV.

What I’ve Learned to Appreciate

Although nothing is easy in Togo, I’ve grown to appreciate the voodoo drums that have become a consistent background noise, the neighbor singing a beautiful African Song as she washes her clothes in the courtyard, the sounds and the laughter from the children all around. I appreciate the amused and astounded look on their faces when I speak their local language. I appreciate the beauty of the African night sky, which mesmerizes me, and yes I’m even starting to appreciate waking up to the sounds of the roosters. I am also beginning to appreciate this culture, these people; how hard they work daily to survive, and inspite of the harshness of their world, how they live, how they laugh, how they love and how well they take care of their families, I appreciate how generous and protective they are of me. All of these things and more make it a little bit easier in Togo, where nothing is easy.

There is always going to be a story ready to be told about bush taxis and motos. I can see that now. I have a story for every single time I’ve taken one so far. But this story will just be a general description of the state of the art of riding in or on a Bush Taxi or moto. We’ll save the happenings for another day.

I wait by the side of the road in Tcheckpo for a bush taxi to slow down and pick me up. Many will pass me by because they are already full and on their way. I can usually tell when they are going to pass me by, because I can spot heads and body parts hanging out the windows. That usually means they are full..when you actually see heads or arms or legs. I generally don’t have to wait more than thirty minutes. Before I get in the taxi, I pray to God, Allah, Buddha, Ron L. Hubbard, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and all my dead relatives, and then I take a deep breath and make the sign of the cross, hoping that I’ve covered all my bases. I go through that same ritual when I get on the back of a moto.

In a bush taxi, I hope for a seat by a window, for oxygen supply and to help suppress the unusual odors you encounter. I also hope I don’t get a seat by any of the doors. There are no locks on the doors, and they really don’t seem to shut all that well. If I do happen to get a seat by the door, I try very hard not to be leaning against it. I maneuver one arm up on the seat in front of me, and hold on….just in case that door would open. I am alert at all times and take whatever precautions I can. Today was a banner day. I got to ride in the front seat, with just the driver and one other passenger. That was a first. I’ve always coveted the front seat, but had never been given that honor until today. I will spend the rest of my bush taxi riding days hoping for the front seat.

Bush Taxis are gutted vans. I can’t tell what make they used to be, but I noticed today I was in what used to be a KIA van…I’ve thought others looked like Toyota vans. It’s difficult to know because they’ve been altered so much. They are gutted and then fitted with two to three chair benches facing forward and one more narrow bench that faces the passengers. There are two employees for each bush taxi. The driver and the Bush Taxi Runner. The Bush Taxi Runner sits on the narrow bench that faces the customers. Usually there are customers sitting on that bench as well. I’ve been a passenger in a bush taxi that carried up to twenty-two people. This number included a couple small children. Impossible you say!! Oh contrare! I know there was also at least one rooster in this particular taxi. I did not see it, but I could hear it. Usually there are from twelve to fifteen people at least, and usually there is cargo. Huge sacks of grain, or furniture, or who knows what. The van is loaded down. Men, women and children all carrying a sack or two of something. It’s also amazing what they can carry on a moto. Huge sacks plus two or three people. When I bought my generator, I was on the back and my 50 pound generator balanced between my drivers knees for the forty minute trip.

There are informal bush taxi and moto stations in Lome and Tesvie. When leaving from Tesvie, one road goes towards Tcheckpo, Ahepe and Tagebow, and one road goes towards Lome. In the other towns, you just stand anywhere you want along the main road, and when a bush taxi approaches, you just wave. They will either wave at you as they pass by because they are already full, or they will stop and pick you up. When you walk by the informal station in Tesvie and Lome, several moto drivers and/or taxi runners will ask you where you are going, and if you need a moto or bush taxi. The moto’s cost more because they are faster and you don’t have to wait as long. You have to wait until the bush taxi is almost full before departing. They will usually depart with a little room left and pick up people who are waiting all along the way. I’ve never seen a bush taxi depart that isn’t almost filled to capacity.

There are little stands along the roads that sell liter bottles of gasoline mixed with a little oil. They use plastic funnels to put the gas in the tanks. There are no gas stations…none that I’ve seen anyway. These little stands are the gas stations. On a moto ride this weekend, the moto tire needed some air in it. The driver stopped at this little gas stand, and the gas stand operator pulled out a manual bicycle tire pump that they used to fill the moto tire up. Just pumped it by hand.

The Bush Taxi Runner sits in the seat that faces the customers. It is usually a young boy, maybe 14 to 16 years old. Once the taxi departs the Taxi Runners job is to hang his head out the window and solicit riders along the road, until the taxi is full. When they pick you up on the road the bush taxi just comes to a rolling stop if possible, and allows you just enough time jump in. The taxi has usually already started on its way while the taxi runner is hopping in and closing the sliding door of the moving vehicle. The taxi runner always carries a little purse. He is the money collector. He waits until about five minutes from you arrive to your destination and then requests the fare.

It is an interesting system. I think they have the business down to a science, as far as efficiency. It’s evident they have figured out it is a numbers game, as in most businesses. There is always a sense of urgency in the bush taxis and on the motos. Everything is done quickly. Tires are changed quickly, gas is put in the vehicles quickly, passengers are picked up and let out quickly. They know they have to have at least so many people on every trip, and they have to make so many trips per day to make a profit. The Taxi Runner is very important and needs to be aggressive for them to meet their numbers and their timeline. The Taxi Driver needs to drive very fast so that he can make a certain number of trips per day. Because of the rutted roads there are many flat and blown tires. The taxi driver and runner can change a tire in a matter of minutes. It’s very impressive.

The way Bush Taxis and motos dodge the ruts and holes is impressive. I think I’ve decided there is a rhythm and a real skill, and yes, I’d have to say even a gracefulness in how the better drivers of bush taxis and motos maneuver the roads. They will often swerve to the wrong side of the road to avert a rut. You think at times that they are defying gravity. They both honk their horns a lot…warning people to either get out of the way, or to the fact that they will be passing the vehicle in front of them. In both the bush taxi and as a passenger on the moto, I spend a lot of time with a grimaced wild eyed…ready to jump out of or off of…. look on my face. I’ve slashed the thin leather on the taxi seats, and I think I saw blood on the back of the shirt of the moto driver one day….from my fingernails!!

You meet some interesting people in a bush taxi. Many are curious about me, but a lot of people just ignore the fact that there is one white person in the van. There will be more stories about bush taxis and motos. There is a story to be told every time.

I am now firmly planted in Tchekpo. This will be my home for the next two years. I find myself saying that phrase to myself a couple times a day. There is always an inflection of wonderment at the end of the sentence, when I say it. The last two weeks have challenged my physical and mental capacities to the fullest. This is a new post so I did not automatically inherit anything from a Peace Corps Volunteer who is on their way home. The house was completely empty. I had to furnish it from scratch. I was determined to make this a comfortable home. I succeeded. It’s comfortable and pleasing to the eye. My house, as I stated earlier is not at all representative of the village. My house is a palace compared to the rest of the village. I think the Chief and the Tcheckpo committee wanted me to be happy and comfortable. They want me to stay two years. I will post pictures of my house and my village soon.

The Landscape and Neighbors

I live about ½ mile from the main road that goes through Tchekpo. From the main road to my house I walk or bike a winding, dusty, rutted road. I pass mud-hut compounds with thatched or tin roofs. I pass a lot of garbage/trash piles. Some have been burned very recently, some are very big areas. I pass lizards, and goats, and a lot of chickens and baby chicks. I usually pass five to ten people along the way. They are either walking somewhere, or selling something in front of their huts, or just sitting in front of their compounds greeting people. It was highly recommended in training that I take my time to and from the main road or whenever I am walking through the village to stop and talk with each person. I do. Well I don’t actually converse with them yet, but I do stop, and say the Ewe greetings…Whiz-unnnnn-lowwww, or Aw-fwaaaa, and cho-bee-do. I bow, hold my elbow with my hand and shake their hand.

Tchekpo is about thirty minutes east of Tesvie (where I was in training) and about an hour and a half from Lome, the capital. Lome is where Togo Peace Corps headquarters is located. To the East of Tcheckpo are three villages where other Peace Corps Volunteers are living…Ahepe is about 30 minutes east of Tcheckpo (Jeremy’s village) and Tagebow is thirty minutes beyond Ahepe. Tesvie, Tchekpo, Ahepe and Tagebow are all along the same main road and they are all about thirty minutes apart, depending on how fast the bush taxi or moto driver is. Then there is Zafi, which is off the main road. It’s a small village about nine miles from Tchekpo. Abby lives in Zafi. She was not in our training group. She has been here about nine months. I recently met Abby. She’s an interesting PCV. She rode her bike the nine miles to Tcheckpo to meet me and to give me an invitation to a three day conference she is hosting in Zafi for the MAP (Men as Partners) program. MAP is a new program that teaches village men how to be more involved in their families lives. I’ll be going to that conference with my homologue, who from this day forward will be known as Alougba. I’m also taking Two-Sain. Two-Sain is a neighbor. He is married and has two children. I met Two-Sain during post week.

Tchekpo was described to me as a medium size village. The chief told me that under his jurisdiction there are 10,000 to 15,000 people in the Tchekpo and surrounding area (quartier) . There are over 500 kids attending the highschool, age 12 to 20. School starts September 10th. I’ve already made arrangements to teach English there. Fidel, my next door neighbor is the Assistant Director at the High School. He teaches German. He’s very nice and funny, and he’s going to tutor me in French. Fidel is enthusiastic about me teaching English. He is going to make the introductions and arrangements. We’ve decided to have an English Club as opposed to an English Class. That way only kids who are really interested will attend.

Tcheckpo has a marche (market). It seems each village has a different set market day. Tchekpo’s market day in on Mondays. Tesvie (which is huge) is on Friday. Tagebow’s market day is on Wednesday. They all sell a wide variety of items, from fabric to vegetables, and each one specializes in certain items. For example Tesvie is known for the great bread. Tchekpo and Tagebow sell bread, but they are not known for their bread. Tagebow is known for it’s tie die fabric and artisan works, and Tcheckpo is known for it’s fruit and vegetables. The market vendors are 90% women.

One of the things I am scheduled to do is to work with the Tchekpo Marche Groupement deFemme (Market Womens Association.) Their association has been in existence since 1996. They have 75 members. I had my first meeting with them last week. I feel that my French is pretty good, but for some reason no one understands one thing that I say?? And I can’t understand them?? They speak primarily the local language Ewe (ev-ay) or what the Chief and Fidel called “broken” French. At any rate communication is and will be a source of frustration for a while. I’m doing everything I can to circumvent the problems. I found a tutor (Fidel) and I also found a translator, or he found me……a sixteen year old boy from Ghana named Moses. Moses came to my house recently and said that he heard I was looking for a translator. He speaks beautiful English, French and Ewe, and he’s very eager to assist me. He’s a very, nice, smart boy. His eyes lit up when he saw pictures of Alex! We will undoubtedly run into issues with his availability once school starts, but I’m hoping we can work around his schedule. Bottom line is that I need a translator for meetings, which is somewhat frustrating since I’ve been taking French for nine months, but all of the PCV’s report the same issue, even the ones who spoke good French when they arrived. It’s just different kind of French, and all the villages primarily speak their local language.

Furnishing the house

Because this is a new post, and the house was empty it was necessary to be resourceful about getting it furnished and getting it furnished quickly. I bought most of my furniture and all of my kitchen equipment from two different PCV’s who are now back in the United States.

Danielle was a PCV in Lome. I met her at the regional meeting and she had pictures of everything she had for sale. I bought most of it. I bought a kitchen cabinet, that she said would be great, because it had steel mesh screen, which the rats couldn’t chew through. Uh huh. And I bought a bed frame from her, three bookcases and a coffee table. I also bought a dutch oven from Danielle which will be used as an oven for baking. Then I had to figure out how I was going to get all these things from Lome to Tcheckpo. Danielle told me that it was going to be a real hastle, and that I would annoy everyone, but once I got to post I would be really glad that I went to all the trouble it was going to take. She was right, on all three counts. It was a logistical nightmare. People were very annoyed with me, and I was SO glad that I bought these things from her and bribed and cojoled people into bringing them to Tcheckpo.

I also met Kristine at the regional meeting. She was a three year PCV. She was going home in August also. She told me she had a table and four chairs, and that I could buy all of her kitchen equipment. This was a real coup. All of the things Kristine sold me would have cost at least five times as much, had I bought it all at the market, one at a time. She had pails for water, (you need a lot of pails in Africa) silverware, collander, a non-stick skillet (which is more valuable than gold to PCV’s), plates, bowls; everything I would need for my kitchen. She even threw in a large can of roach repellent. Uh-huh. Again, I had to figure out a way to get her things from Tesvie to Tchekpo. I also had to work around her departure schedule, as she needed them until the week before she departed Togo.

All PCV’s received 230 mill for move in expenses, plus their August stipend, which is 130 CFA…so total of 360 mill to basically buy everything I needed to set up house. It’s a good amount of money, but I had a lot to buy. I needed to buy a mattress, two pillows, ten cushions for my couch and two chairs and a gas stove and gas tank. Those items alone cost 150 mill. Myself and two other PCV’s talked one of the trainers into going to Lome with us one day before we left for village, He scurried us around Lome to the best buys on mattresses and cushions and fabric. He was great! We got great prices and great quality because of him. I now have a bed, that’s not on the floor, and doesn’t sink in the middle and two pillows. When I get into bed and close my eyes, it’s so comfortable, I can almost imagine that I’m in the U.S.

The couch and two chairs cost 34 mill (OK, that means I’ve spent 184 mill out of 360 mill. I have 84 mill left) to get me through the rest of August. But 84 mill goes a long way!

Kristine and Danielle gave me an excellent price for the things I bought from them. Practically gave me the stuff really. I was able to get everything I needed and even had a little money left over to have a couch and two chairs made by the local menusier (carpenter) in Tesvie. The couch and two chairs cost 34 mill. (Now I have 50 mill left!) It was nice to get something new, and have it made. They have a pretty standard pattern for couch and chairs in Togo. They pretty much all look alike, with very little variations, but I got to be creative when I bought the fabric for the cushions in Lome. The seamstress brought the slipcovers today, and I just love them!

Moving Day

I still had a lot of finagling to do to get all the stuff to Tcheckpo from Lome and from Tesvie, but with a little help from Blandine (our training manager) and the Peace Corps driver I had befriended, I was able to do it. However on moving day, the formitures (PCV trainers), Blandine and the driver were, how do I say this….were incredulous at all the stuff that I had amassed, and that I had to get loaded onto one van to Tcheckpo. I was the last person to leave, and we were all laughing so hard. The van was practically dragging on the ground. Blandine is a hoot anyway. She kept saying that my stuff was so nice that she was going to buy it all when I leave in two years. She just kept shaking her head and laughing, and saying that over and over. She suggested I give the driver a little extra money, because he had no idea that he was going to be moving so many things. I did, and he was happy.

The day I moved all my stuff here, I spent the entire day setting things up, and arranging the furniture, just like I’d do back in the states. I put the bed together by myself. It has four posters to hold the mosquito net, and the frame is really heavy. Kristine had included a hammer and steel nails in the bounty I bought from her, so I was well equipped to put everything together. However I was literally dripping sweat the entire day. It was hard work. The first thing I did was take out my photos of family and friends, and made a photo collage to hang on my wall. Really, that’s the very first thing I did. I didn’t have any company that first day, and I was relieved. I just wanted to spend the day by myself, settling in. Villagers and neighbors and teenagers and children paraded in the rest of the week and every time they came in, I took them to my photo collage and explained who everyone was. They loved it, and it was a really nice way to introduce myself, my family and where I come from. Part of this whole experience is to help people in other parts of the world understand Americans. Hmmmmmm. I’m not sure that I’m going to be the best example of that, but my family and friends are, and now theres a lot of people in Tcheckpo who almost feel like they know you, and really, really want to meet you.

Amenities

The villagers are pretty in awe of my house in general. It’s so unlike the way they live. They do their living in their courtyards. I do my living in my house. I was prepared to live in a hut with a thatched roof, but I’m very grateful that I have my little house. It is very nice…yes indeed, but I feel compelled to tell you that I do not have electricity or running water, and I still have to take bucket showers, and use an out-house….so the house is somewhat of a façade. I said earlier, I did splurge, as did most of the PCV’s in my group and bought a two burner table top gas stove and gas tank, so that makes cooking a lot easier, than on a petrol or coal stove. However doing the dishes, is quite an endeavor. Having enough water on hand is something one always has to be thinking in advance about. I have a water filter which I have to clean and scrub every two weeks. In addition, I have to boil water for it every other day. I usually get at least three pails of water a day from the well. The well is outside my compound, about a half block away. Two-Sain, my neighbor told me I needed to get a much bigger barrel for water storage. He said that many times they will run out of water for days at a time, and that I will want to have some stored. I need water for dishes, for my water filter, to wash my clothes, for my bucket shower, and to pour into the bucket flush toilet. So it ain’t all easy street! I have lured a little ten year old girl to carry it from the well back to the house for me. She won’t take any money, but I give her a cookie or a little trinket of some kind. She just hoists that pail on her head and brings it in for me. Her name is Leah,…..so not to think I’m abusing some child labor laws…. All the kids join in the carrying of water and all the other things that need to be transported for their families, every single day. There is usually a stream of women and children with pails on their heads at the well at any given time of day. Thank God for Leah, that’s all I have to say. I carried it by myself the first couple times, and it nearly broke my back. The villagers at the well would laugh that I’d carry it (more like drag it) instead of putting it on my head. However one thing on my list of things to master while I’m here will be to learn how to carry things on my head…at least once.

Tchekpo. It’s starting to feel likehome.

We were all looking forward to this weekend. Two weeks prior, we were at our Post sites from Monday through Saturday. That Saturday afternoon, we all traveled some distance to our regional meetings, using various modes of transportation. The trip home would normally take about three hours, but we got stopped about half way home because a large truck had caught fire and they wouldn’t allow anyone to pass. So the three hour trip turned into a six hour trip. We arrived back in Tesvie around 7pm, had dinner with our host family, and we visited with our host family about their previous week and about our week at Post. I fell into bed and got up at 4:30AM on Monday morning, heading to class at 7am. So…what I’m trying to say here is that from Saturday July 10th until Saturday July 23; a full two weeks, we have not had one minute of unscheduled time. As soon as we returned from post we had a full week of training and language classes, and we even had a thirty minute presentation in French to give on Thursday. My brain and my body were exhausted. SO…we were all looking forward to this Saturday at noon. Because at that moment we were free for the next thirty six (or so) hours to do whatever we wanted to do. All week long I had been looking forward to Saturday at noon. I didn’t have one plan, or one thing scheduled to do. I was just going to wing it. First thing I did was cancel my usual lunch at my host family’s house. I decided, instead to buy some street food and go to the cyber café. There I spent a luxurious two hours on emails, my blog and facebook. I also had the added treat of running into Tom on Facebook chat. We hadn’t planned it, so it was really fun that we both happened to be there at the same time. We were just able to sit there and chat and be silly for about an hour. Tom always appears at just the right time, and this time was no exception. I really needed to talk and laugh with someone. It was like medicine. But all good things must end, as did our chat. He had places to go and so did I. We reluctantly both said goodbye for the time being.

When I was ending my chat with Tom, Ashley texted me and told me that a group of PCV’s were meeting at the Mercy of God Bar…..mmmhmmm…..yes Mercy of God Bar. The Mercy of God Bar is laid out kind of like a mix between a Togolese compound and a Greek ruin??? Can you picture that?? Anyway there are religious blurbs written on the walls, and there are several religious statues…one life-size statue of Jesus holding a red light bulb. I walked down to Mercy of God and could see my friends sitting at the far end of the courtyard. We were the only ones there. There was loud music blaring. Lorena, christa, Elise, Ashley, myself and Carrie all sat around the table. They drank beer, and I had my usual orange Fanta. It was great conversation, and very relaxing, and I was still glowing from my impromptu facebook chat with Tom, so I was in a great mood. We talked about the Peace Corps….Lorena and Carrie have been here for a year, so they acted as the veterans, calming our fears, and assuring us that our two years would go by very quickly. They also told a couple stories that would give us pause, and scare the daylights out of us. After several rounds of beer (and Fanta), we decided to walk back to the Tech House. The CHAT volunteers had decided to spend the weekend in Tesvie, like they did over July 4th, so everyone was just kind of wandering around town doing their own thing, enjoying the leisure time and the nice weather. Ashley and I had some tentative plans to go to a funeral, which is really a huge, huge party with music and hundreds of people. Lorena (the volunteer with one year under her belt) explained that this is “funeral season” in Togo. Apparently they postpone the funerals of people who have died until this time of year when people have a little more money from their crops, and the weather is better. It was explained to us that really, funerals are the biggest event in Togo….bigger than weddings or births. Funerals are THE MAIN EVENT. Ashley and I were very curious and her host father knew the person this particular funeral was for, and he said he’d take us. Ashley said that her host family had been cooking for days, and that a dozen women had been at her host house getting ready for the funeral. Plans change as quickly as they are made in Togo. Somehow all of the people disappeared from Ashley’s house. Apparently they had all migrated to another part of town, so we decided to just meet up with everyone else at the Tech House. We would have to catch a funeral on another day. So here we were all again…The CHAP group of twelve and the SED group of twelve all gathering at the Tech House. I have no desire to relive my youth, so I often just stick around for a little while and let them get on with the partying, but “the kids” had other plans for me. They insisted I stick around because Lorena, the veteran had insisted we all walk down to the bar on the other side of town. We sat around the tech house until around 9pm. They were drinking a variety of alcoholic beverages…boxes of wine, rum in plastic pouches, sodabe, the local liquor, and beer. Music was blarin, everyone was laughing, and it was difficult not to get caught up in their youthful frivolity. Sooooo maybe I could relive my youth, just for one night!! It didn’t take that much coaxing to get me to go along on the walk to the bar. It was now dark, and off the twenty-four of us went walking, and stumbling down the rugged roads through the empty, trash filled (marche) market. It was quite a happy, festive, drunken group. We arrived at the bar, and there were at least a hundred Togolese milling about outside when we arrived. Togolese are always happy to see the Yovo’s (white people). They rushed us to the front of the line to a small window where we paid our cover charge (yes a cover charge) to get in, and we were just as quickly escorted into the walled off courtyard which was their version of a bar and dance hall.

One of these days I will write one article about all of the juxtapositions in Togo. Who would have thought there would be a bar with a cover charge. Not only that, they had karaoke, and a stage, and some of the best hip/hop dancing I’ve seen. The funny thing is that girls/women are looked down upon if they show up at a bar, (not the yovo’s) so it was 98% men. All the men were dancing together…quite close, and quite provocatively. Juxtaposition. Homosexuality is completely taboo here, and yet the men are very intimate and demonstrative with each other. They dance together, and they often hold hands walking down the street. It was so much fun, and so fascinating to be there. Dillon and I pulled up a chair, and just watched and laughed as everyone danced and partied. One Togolese man who was dressed in a long white coat, black slacks, a bright yellow neck tie and a hat came up to me several times and asked me to dance. “Oh mama” he said, “you must dance!!!” I turned him down three or four times, but after a beer, I thought…what the heck, so I danced, and I danced, and I danced. The “kids” loved that I was dancing and they formed a circle around me and clapped their hands. I am a bit embarrassed to be reporting some of this. I will be sixty in two weeks for godsakes! I do realize that I must have certainly looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. It had been a hell of long two months, and this seemed like the perfect celebration of all of our hard work, not to mention what we were about to embark on….All leaving each other in a few days to go our separate ways to our individual villages. The Togolese man said..”Ohhhh mammmma, You dance like an African woman.” Woohoooooo! He also offered me something to smoke. Whatever it was smelled somewhat familiar, but I declined. I have not lost all of my good sense. At one point there was a dance train of at least fifty people going around all the tables. Togolese and Yovo’s all dancing together having a great time. Then it was time for the stage show where they had some great Karaoke, and the hip hop dancing on the stage. There were several sets of both singing and dancing. Again…all men. It all emulates the hip hop scenario in the U.S. The guys all have big, low riding pants on and big shirts, and baseball hats worn a little sideways, with the bill of the hat flat as a pancake. I could have sworn I was at a T.I. or Little Wayne concert. The dancing was as good as anything I’ve seen on any stage, and you had to wonder when and where, and how these guys practiced, but they were in perfect sync, and it was all quite impressive. Words could not possibly do this evening justice. So….one night of reliving my youth. Oy veh! I did only have one beer the entire night. I was high from the sights, the smells, the music and the camaraderie of my fellow PCV’s.

The evening eventually came to an end. We all left the bar at the same time. All twenty-four of us, louder and a bit more jovial than when we had arrived. I had texted (another juxtaposition) my host family on the way to the bar and told them I would not be home, and that I would be sleeping at the Tech House. I knew it would be too late, and I didn’t want them to have to wait up for me, so I decided to stay at the Tech house with the rest of PCV’s. Though I REALLY did not want to. They all had hammocks, or had claimed their sleeping spot early in the evening. I thought I would be sleeping on the bare ground, or cement, or on the floor of the Tech House. I convinced Solomon and Mark to walk me home to see if perhaps my host family was still up. I was holding out hope that I could crawl into my nice little bed, but the compound was all locked up, so the three of us trudged back to the Tech House compound. Mark and Solomon were good company, and kept me laughing the entire way. There are two bedrooms in the Tech House. Lorena, the veteran PCV was staying in one, and Damien another veteran PCV was staying in the other one. They had both come from their own villages and helped with training for this week. Lucky for me…Lorena let three of us who did not have a place to sleep (Ashley, Lizzie and myself, sleep in her room. Four of us in two twin beds, but we were under a mosquito net, and we weren’t on the floor. It was as if I’d found out that I would be staying at a 5-star hotel. I was so relieved. I had one more week of intense studying ahead of me, and losing an entire night of sleep would certainly obstruct my capacity to learn anything.

The next morning I awoke, as usual, early, and to the sounds of those damn roosters. Everyone else seems to be able to sleep through that. I got up, and was able to take a quick shower, and headed home, but first I had to navigate over at least six sleeping bodies stretched out and sleeping on the hallway floor. That could have been me!

I think I detected disapproval from my host family when I arrived home, as they were very quiet and didn’t ask me anything about the evening. I had to laugh to myself, that I felt like a teenager being scolded by my parents for staying out all night.

It was a great night. It’s not such a bad thing……reliving your youth….just for one night (smile).

That Saturday afternoon, we all traveled some distance to our regional meetings, using various modes of transportation. That trip took three hours. During those three hours I caught a bush taxi to Tagebow. Bree and Joe live in Tagebow. They are Peace Corps Volunteers who have been here 2 years will be leaving in August. Solomon will be replacing them. Tagebow is 30 minutes east of Tchekpo (my village).

I packed up my things at my new house. Left most of it there for my return, and walked from my house to the main road with my homologue and with the man who manages my house. They helped me haul my suitcase down the rutted dirt road to the main road. I stood by the main road of Tcheckpo with my suitcase for thirty to forty-five minutes until a van filled with people finally stopped and picked me up. Once I reached Tagebow, I unloaded my suitcase and tried to follow my next directions, which was to talk with someone in French and tell them to give me and my suitcase a ride to the white peoples house. Tagebow is not a small village, but there is only one white couple in the village, and I was told that would be direction enough. That’s all the driver needed to hear, however there are scammers everywhere in the world. I was spotted as an easy mark as soon as I got out of the van in Tagibow. A Togolese man approached me very kindly and asked if he could help. I told him that I and my suitcase needed a ride to the white people’s house. He motioned for me to stay where I was, and he would find someone to drive me. He returned in a matter of minutes with an eager driver, and he loaded my suitcase in the van. I will learn something new every day. This day I learned not to get into a bush taxi BEFORE negotiating the price. I only had about six city blocks to go, but I needed a ride because of my heavy suitcase, and because I didn’t know where to go. In the van the driver told me it was going to cost 3mill, which is more than twice as much as it should cost. I was really low on money, and needed enough to get home the next day. I talked him into lowering it a little, but I really didn’t have any negotiating power at this point. We arrived at the house, and I spent the afternoon, just relaxing with the PCV’s, Bree and her husband Joe, and Solomon. Solomon really lucked out. His house is fully furnished, has electricity, running water and a refrigerator….and he calls himself a Peace Corps Volunteer!

In the late afternoon Bree and I walked into town and tried to negotiate a ride to the regional meeting at a PCV’s house 40km away. I was in awe of Bree’s French and negotiating skills. It was great training for the future. She didn’t budge, but in the end, even though she had talked them down (disquiter) several dollars, Joe still thought it was way too expensive, so we decided to take motos, which costs a lot less. This would be my first experience on a moto, that wasn’t a training exercise. There were four of us leaving from Bree and Joe’s house, so four motos came to pick us up. I told Bree how scared I was, and she chose one of the drivers for me, thinking he looked safest. She also told him I was afraid and that he needed to go slow. “aller lentamente” she said. Go slowly. HA!

I have to admit it was very fun. Fun like a roller coaster is fun, or fun like Russian rollette might be fun. Death defying. That’s what it was. These are dirt, rutted roads, and they drive like a bat out of hell. It was crazy! I did arrive intact, but I do think that I was pretty wild-eyed when I got off that moto. I paid the driver and told him he did a good job. He really did. I mean…how many people could drive that fast over a dirt rutted road and not lose their passenger.

When we arrived in the town of the regional meeting, we walked a few blocks to Cerille’s house. Cerille is a one year PCV. There were old and new PCV’s there. All the ones who are living in my region (Tchekpo). There are five different groups of PCV’s in Togo. There’s CHAP which is health and aids prevention, and SED (me) Small business and NGO development, and GEE – girls empowerment and NRM,which is for farming and horticulture and I.T.(computers), which is Solomon. So it was really nice meeting the old and the new volunteers and learning how we all interact. One thing was made perfectly clear then, and often, and that is that once we get to post we can do anything we want. They do a lot of cross program work, so I can work on health and aids prevention and I can work on programs for the empowerment of girls, or even farming and horticulture. If there’s one thing I like, it’s being told, that I can do anything I want, so my imagination was peaked and my expectations soared to learn about all the things they were doing, and all the things that I could do once I get to post.

I will go into those things in much more detail once I get to post. Cerille (host of the regional meeting) was amazing. There were about twenty of us altogether, and we all spent the night. She fixed a dinner that was the best food I’d had in two months. Spaghetti with zucchinis and tomatoe sauce, a delicious salad (first salad I’d had in two months) AND brownies, and even two cakes. In addition she had little bite size snickers for us. I was in food heaven. We all were. They even had cold beer, and they even had ICE. First time I’ve seen ice since I’ve been here as well. Ashley is in my region, so we had a lot of fun. I didn’t drink alcohol, nor did I dance, but the rest of them did, and it was just fun to experience and observe.

The next morning Cerille fixed a big breakfast of eggs, and hashbrowns and fruit, and we had our official regional meeting. There is a regional PCV director, and he went through all the programs, and possibilities. It’s all taking shape. Why I’m here, what I will be doing. These PCV’s are special, and they work really hard, and really care about what they are doing. I’m very impressed, and enthusiastic.

We all left around 10am, and this time a van picked us up right at Cerilles door. It took us many hours to get home. After seven days at my post in Tchekpo and then the Regional meeting, I was ready to be back with my host family, and to be fed, and to have a bed with sheets, and to hear all the stories of all the other PCV’s about their week at their post.

I am an official Peace Corps Volunteer! The Swearing In ceremony was quite impressive, and emotional for all of us. I will give you a full report and post pictures soon. It will take me a few weeks to update my blog about the swearing in ceremony, and the weekend in Lome, and my new house and first few weeks in Tcheckpo. Everything takes a long time here. You spend so much time just surviving, cooking your meals, doing your laundry, walking everywhere, but I will soon get into a rhythm and pattern and hope to start posting on a regular basis.

In the meantime, I finished a couple old posts I had been working on, which I will post today. I'll probably publish a couple posts a week until I get current (sorry they are so old, but I thought the old ones might be worth posting anyway, just to keep things in some sort of sequence??) The two that follow this one are from the last two weeks in July.

For now...and for the first few weeks, I'm setting up my house, and meeting people in the village. While I'm setting up house I am also working on my first project which is to create a map of Tchekpo. with the help of my community partner, I am forming a committee of villagers who are helping me with this. This project will introduce me to the community, and introduce the community to me. There are 10,000 to 15,000 people in the village (Tchekpo.) There is a clinic, and the Chiefs House, and ethnic neighborhoods, for example the Voodoo neighborhood is on the outer edge of the village. There is a police station, and the market and tailors and couteaires, and carpenters and grade schools, and a high school, etc. This projet will help me know where everything is, and how things work in Tchekpo and it will give the people of Tchekpo a view of Tchekpo they've never had.

I know I've not posted anything in a while. I will catch up and start posting on a more regular basis soon. The last three weeks have been jamm packed with language and technical courses. When I'm not in class, I'm studying. Ok...I've had a few hours of R&R...but not many!!

Today (Monday) was our last language test and our last class

Tuesday - We start packing all the rest of our things

Wednesday - We finish packing and leave our host families and Tesvie for Lome

Thursday - We will be shopping for things for our new homes on Wednesday and Thursday afternoon. Thursday night we will be sworn in as official Peace Corps Volunteers

Friday - We leave for our new homes (posts) Tchekpo!!

I had a dress made for the swearing in. We all did. It's an all-out African "Complait"! Oh-la-la!!! We have each prepared a short speech in the local language...mmmmhmmmm. The swearing in is always televised, and they tell us that our local villages will be gathered around a TV set somewhere watching. I don't know how that will happen in my village since it doesn't have electricity???

I'm excited, and so happy I am at the end of training. It will take me a while to get settled in, but I'll start posting soon..... STAY TUNED!!!

Love to all!

The U.S. Ambassador to Togo met with our Peace Corps Volunteer Group on Wednesday. It was fascinating. She talked with our small group, very candidly for almost two hours about the history, future and politics of Togo. The picture she painted was dismal, and she doesn't hold out hope for progress in Togo. About the only progress is going to be the very small incremental changes that we are able to make as Peace Corps Volunteers. I can't go into detail about the politics on my blog, as we have been told that our blogs are closely monitored. So....I have no desire to be an American martyr in Togo. I will update this portion on Facebook or through emails when I get a chance.

She also explained how the Foreign Service works, and about her career in the Foreign Service. Many former PCV's major is International relations. They end up and in fact their destination is the Foreign Service. Hmmmmm. If I had it all to do over again, I'd really have been interested in this.

She invited us all to the embassy in Lome whenever we wanted to come, and said we could use her pool, and as long as we came in groups of twenty or less we could plan parties there, and also use their research and computer center. Ashley and I already have it on our calendar. Ashley is twenty-five and single, and hoping to hook-up with the marines who are on duty in Lome. I am just hoping to swim :-) and drink.

A side note...The Ambassador is a sixty year old woman who is retiring this year. She is very much looking forward to retiring to Santa Fe, New Mexico with her husband. One of the volunteers asked her if she was taking any favorite Togolese recipes with her. She said she was not taking one Togolese recipe. Enough said!!

J’ai faire la connassiance du Chef Canton au-bata-maund. (I met the Chief of the area of Abatamand, which includes twenty-seven villages) This was a training exercise as well as honoring and paying tribute to the Chief of the villages we are living in. The training exercise taught us what the protocol might be like when we go to our own villages, and how we should introduce ourselves to the chief of our village. It will be important for us to get the support of the Chief of whatever village our “post” is in. Just as in American communities, there is a political structure and protocol that needs to be honored if we are to accomplish our goals. Chief Canton seemed to be a kind, wise man. He oversees the governance of these twenty-seven villages. All twenty-four of the Peace Corps volunteers and about twelve of our trainers went to his compound for a formal meeting. You cannot or do not speak directly to the Chief. You speak to him through his secretaire who is sitting right next to the Chief. The Chief welcomed us and gave a little speech. He said he was very happy we were there, because it is one world now. He wanted to know how we’d been treated so far, and he wanted to be sure to let him know if we ran into any problems. He has been governing this territory for twenty-six years. He was a doctor prior to being Chief. I’m not sure how he was elected, but was told that usually a Chief is a Chief until death.

Every morning I’m up by 5:30am. I awaken to the sounds of roosters crowing right outside my window. I take a bucket bath, eat breakfast, which usually consists of bread and peanut butter or cheese, sometimes an egg, and a banana or an orange. Class is from 7:30am to noon. We break for lunch, I walk home (take another bucket bath), rest for awhile, and then walk back to the tech house. We start class again at 2:30 and go until at least 5:30. My favorite part of the day is walking to and from class. The people are so friendly…all of them. The walk is probably about four city blocks. Some of the children have begun to watch for me. They start yelling at me, and run towards me with open arms when they see me coming down the block. Some of the braver ones run up and hug my knees. I’ve taught some of them to high-five/low-five and knuckle punch. They caught onto it very fast, and laugh, and laugh when we go through our greeting. Seems like there’s a few more children waiting for me, along the way, every day. During these walks I realize and notice how, poor and desolate everything is in Tsevie. The roads are red dirt clay. Trash is burned in a pile in front of the compounds. The smell of burning rubbish permeates the air. There are roosters, and baby chickens, and goats roaming about, all along the way, and everywhere you go. Women and men are walking down the road balancing a variety of items on their head. (More about the landscape of Togo later)

When I return home for the evening, I take another bucket bath, eat dinner, visit with the family and do my homework. I am usually quite ready to go to sleep by 8:30.

My “host-mother” took me to my room. There was a bed, that looked a lot more comfortable than the bed in the hotel, and a table with a tablecloth on it, and a chair. My room is painted a bright aqua. I did luck out and get electricity, with one light bulb in the room, and one wall socket where I can recharge all my equipment. One window, no fan, that combined with the mosquito net that would block most breezes equal one very hot room, but I’ve already become accustomed to the heat. I simply take at least three bucket baths a day. I showed them a few of my family pictures, just so they’d know a little about me, and then they left me on my own. I was glad to be left on my own, having been around groups of people, day and night for the previous seven days.

The family compounds are usually a group of building/rooms that are surrounded by stucco walls. There is a courtyard, and there is a kitchen room, and a main living room and porch off of the courtyard. The whole thing, including the courtyard is about the same square footage as your average house…just laid out differently. Courtyard instead of front and back yard. They spend the majority of their time in the courtyard, sitting, cooking, working. Several goats and roosters roam around and appear to be permanent fixtures. I’m still not sure who all the people are that come and go out of our compound.

I’ve worked hard at trying to learn all their names and figure out how and if they are related:

• Kafuir (pronounced – Ka-free) She is thirty-four and the matriarch of this family compound. She’s very nice to me, but at the same time I instinctively know not to mess with her….she’s kind of a no-nonsense woman. Kafuir is 34.

• Clee-mawn is Safuirs husband. He seems to be a very nice, gentle man. He speaks pretty good English, and said that he has worked in Houston and Baltimore?? He and I have had a few discussions about the politics and economy of Togo. Clee-mawn is very bright, and wants more for his children and for Togo.

• Say-seel (Kafuir’s sister) is 26. Say-seel is here a lot, but I think she actually lives across the road in another compound. Say-seel is spunky and has a fun, playful sense of humor. She sometimes cooks my meals, and she likes to sit with me when I eat. Say-seel is very strikingly beautiful and has a son named Mo-dess. I have not seen or met Mo-dess’s father. All of the children are sweet and quiet and very, very hard workers, with the exception of Mo-dess.

• Mo-dess is precociously self-confident for a four year old. He is the youngest of the children who are around, and seems to be everyones pet. He’s funny and ornery like his mother Say-seel. It’s fun to watch Mo-dess and Say-seel interact.

• Flor-aus is Kafuirs mother. Flor-aus is 67, and looks darn good for her age. Flor-aus lives across the way as well. Flor-aus is very, very fun. She speaks a language called Ewe (pronounced Evy) Flor-aus was delighted that I went to the trouble of learning a few phrases of Ewe, just for her.

• Nay-la and Ack-bennie both fourteen year old girls. I still haven’t figured out, exactly how they are related, but they do most of the labor around this family compound. They seem to enjoy it. They start early in the morning. You can hear them sweeping the courtyard area around 4:30am, and they help with the cooking and cleaning. Nay-la is my favorite. She is so serious for a fourteen year old, and tall, and I think maybe I’ve adopted her so that I will not miss my granddaughter Alex so quite so much. A water well is right outside my room, and when it’s time for a shower I get water from the well and take it to the shower room. Nay-la always appears out of nowhere and insists on getting my water. I had to do laundry for the first time on Sunday. Nay-la helped me do it all. I should say Nay-la did it all. I sat with her, the entire time she washed my clothes, but she would not let me help. There is a technique to washing your clothes by hand, and Nay-la didn’t seem to think I had that technique down. It took us a couple hours to do a weeks worth of laundry. I went to the town market yesterday, and was surprised to see Nay-la there selling peanuts as a vendor.

• Coo-lee and Renee are thirteen year old boys. They don’t live here, but are here most of the time I’m here, and do some of the work around the compound. Coo-lee is tall and thin and handsome and always has a smile on his face. Renee is short and very shy. Both the boys are very, very nice. Coo-lee showed me how to use the flashlight on my phone.

There are quite a few more individuals who come in and out of the family compound. I haven’t learned all their names, but they are all happy to see me, and shout “que dieu te benisso” (God bless you) whenever they see me. I think most are extended relatives of some sort. There is a very, very, very old man who lives in a tiny room in the compound. I’ve asked who he is, but haven’t been given a clear answer. He stays in his room all day and all night. Every now and then he sits in his doorway.

Nay-la, Ack-bennie, Coo-lee and Renee all seem to have a lot of curiosity about me. The longer I’m here the less shy they become. I told them last night that they needed to help me with my French, and Clee-mawn encouraged them to help me. I brought construction paper and crayola markers and stickers, and I’ve brought them out once or twice. All of the kids thought the paper and markers and stickers were cool, and spent hours drawing. They presented me with a few pictures, and as I passed by the old mans room I noticed one of their pictures hanging up on his wall. Nay-la drew the flag of Togo, and she drew a picture of Togo. Some of the art was interesting. Coloring kept Mo-dess occupied for a LONG time. He would bring me what he’d done every few minutes. A little thing like construction paper and markers is a great luxury here for children.

Our home and the PCV training site is in Tsevie, which is about sixty miles from Lome. It rained…..poured in fact, almost all day, the day we left Lome. We were all instructed to wear our best outfits and shoes to meet the families we would be spending the next nine weeks with. When we arrived in Tsevie, we drove into the PCV “Tech House” compound. The PCV Tech House is several buildings behind stucco walls. There is also a large gazebo with a thatched roof. It was still raining when we arrived. We made our way from the vans to the gazebo. Waiting for our arrival in the gazebo were twenty-four representatives from twenty-four families sitting in thinly cushioned chairs. We sat in chairs facing them. The twenty-four of us all sitting down, facing the twenty-four families, then they started the introductions. I was the first one called. They called my name, and then they called the name of my family. It was a woman and her sister. Everyone applauded, and we greeted each other in the middle of the room, and then I went over to their side and sat with them. Finis…..I was now officially a member of a Togolese family. This introduction was done twenty-four more times, until all of us were sitting with our new families…laughing, giggling, and trying to communicate the best we could. The families seemed genuinely happy and excited to have us there. Many of them have done this before…hosted a PCV for nine to twelve weeks. The director of the PCV Tech Center said a few words, and then they had their version of a welcoming buffet. They passed around plates of food…it was kind of like the Togolese version of dim sum. After the food, we all left and went home with our new families.

Arrived in Lome, Togo a week ago Saturday, June 5, 2010. There are twenty-four of us…new Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV’s). We all met in Washington D.C. for one day of orientation. We then all took the same flight to Togo, via an eight hour layover in Paris. Everything is well planned and coordinated. It is a multi-faceted entre in to this new world. Trainers and planners have done an excellent job in facilitating that the twenty-four of us have ample opportunities to bond and to learn all that we need to learn in a short amount of time. It is obvious that every step of this introduction to Togo as a Peace Corps Volunteer has been well thought out.

Week One – June 5 through June 9

We landed in Togo around 8pm on June 5th. We were met by the PC Director of the Country and a few other staff members. Our luggage was quickly loaded onto buses and we were driven to our “hotel”. There was a tasty Togolese meal waiting for us at the hotel. The Director made a few welcoming remarks, and we were left on our own to settle in. I shared a room with Christine on the third floor, and managed to “lug” all my luggage up the three flights of stairs. There were two beds in each room. The beds had very thin mattresses and mosquito nets. The ‘hotel’ was rough to say the least. Our first night was a good stepping stone into a life without luxuries such as ice, warm water, plumbing and absent of anything American. We awaken to the roosters crowing, and it seems that will be our alarm clocks from this day forward. It is the rainy season in Togo. The ceiling in my bedroom leaked each time it rained, and you could see mold growing almost everywhere. This was to be our home for the next four days, as we processed through the Peace Corps system in Togo. The next several days in Togo were all about how to stay alive in Africa. Our workbook with the acronym (SHIT) Staying Healthy in Togo, covered malaria, African diseases, and how to filter our water, and care for our very own water filter system. We also received a couple vaccinations a day, and began to take two different kinds of malaria prevention medication. We had training on how to take a bucket bath and how to wash our dishes and our clothes, and the day we left for the training site we received our very own bath bucket and got to pick out a panga (pon-ya) which is wrap around fabric you wear after your shower. The malaria training session was quite effective. I’m quite sure all twenty-four of us will be vigilant about staying on our medication and making sure our mosquito nets are secure.

We did have free time in the evening, and everyone got to know each other. We stayed up and played cards and drank warm beer. I have found nothing really cold in Togo since I arrived. It’s a fun, smart, serious yet light-hearted group and even the trainers have said that it seems like an exceptionally good group of new PCV’s. The second night we met at a local bar, and many of the current PCV’s and those PCV’s soon departing met us there and introduced themselves and welcomed us. It was a fun party, but the Director had said the new PCV’s needed to be home by 10, so we left the old PCV’s and went back to the hotel. The third night we went to dinner at the PC Country Directors home. The Assistant U.S. Ambassador to Togo attended this dinner. She sat at my table, right next to me. The dinner was delicious and the conversation was fascinating.

Ummmmm. It appears I will be leaving early tomorrow morning for Togo, West Africa! I'll meet up with however many other volunteers are starting their service in Togo at the same time I am, in Washington DC, for one day. We will leave for Togo on Friday afternoon. We'll have a layover in Paris (see Kittie you were right, I am going to Paris!) and then on to Togo.

When we land in Togo...the Peace Corps staff (about 7 staff members) will meet us at the airport and we will immediately go somewhere for a 3-1/2 day retreat. We will primarily be speaking in French from that day forward. After that it sounds like they have 'Plenty' planned for next many weeks. I'll probably find out where I'll be permanently within three weeks. That will be interesting.

I've just not let myself think about the fact that I won't have easy access to the people I love. We'll figure out a way to communicate. At the very, very least I will have access to a computer twice a month. I think I might have daily email access for the first few weeks??

KCI to Washington DC tomorrow morning 7:40. Au revoir!