Peace Corps Journals

Voodoo Part One

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo A Change of Pace and Place: Going to Togo

2012-02-09 12:08:00

Peace Corps volunteers aim to better facilitate development work by integrating into the culture of their host countries. While spending Christmas in the States, I realized that despite being able to answer the many questions my friends and family had for me I still had yet to fully understand one very important part of the local culture: voodoo. This religion influences social interactions and work life, and knowing more about it may lead to understanding why villagers adopt or do not adopt certain behaviors. Also, voodoo is very interesting to me because it is completely different from any other belief system I’ve seen before coming to Togo. So, I’ve began to ask questions.

Tenants to voodoo believe that there exist many other-world beings, among them spirits, ancestors, and gods. Spirits are global and can be found everywhere. There are good spirits, and there are bad spirits. Ancestors are more localized to a village and include great-grand parents who have died but whose spirits continue to exert an influence on daily events. Lastly, there are gods for many natural elements such as water and air as well as for animals like scorpions.

Each villager who practices voodoo has their own personal legba. A legba is a small mud statue with oval mouth and eye holes. Occasionally cowry shells, which were used as currency in Togo in the times before money, are used for the eyes. The statue has a small indentation in the top which is filled with earth. Adherents use this indentation to make offering to their legba, such as sodabi, animal blood, or corn flour mixed with water, which is absorbed into the indentation and strengthens the protective powers of the legba. Chicken and goat blood can be given to the legba, but not pig blood (which is reserved for voodoo sorcerers). These statues are often found in a line outside family houses and compounds, with a larger legba for the father and smaller ones for the mother and each of the children. They always face outward and they stop evil spirits or kill people invaded by them before the spirits can enter the home.

Monsieur Yawovi standing beside the Appelli that guards his house

Compounds and groups of houses are also protected by appelli, which sit within the walls of the compound and face the house. Their structure is similar to the legba, but they are bigger and have an iron ‘pivot’ planted in the ground in front that helps them protect a family. There are at least 8 other types of statues which serve various purposes in my community, and statues probably vary from village to village along with changes in local beliefs.

Various types of fetishes sold at the market in Vogan: skulls of local reptiles and canines, horsehair brooms that are waved about during dances, and the preserved remains of (hopefully not too endangered) birds.

These legba and appelli statues are different from fetishes, which are objects enabling spirits to help the owner of the fetish. Fetishes include a variety of objects, from goat horns and dead birds to objects piled into bottles and snake skins stretched out on boards. Small wooden statues are used to represent the ancestors in ceremonies, and villagers will make offerings to the fetishes and ancestors just as with the legba. Occasionally they may even put a cigarette in the ancestor’s mouth to smoke! The wooden statues are meant to symbolize the continued presence of an ancestor in the world, and women who have lost a child after having twins will have a statue made to replace it and protect the remaining child.

Wood carver in the nearby village of Adokowoe beside ancestor statues

Each cluster of houses has its own shrine where villagers perform ceremonies and hold fetes. The shrines vary widely in structure, but they are usually the size of a small room with a door in the middle of one side. On each side of the door is a cement ledge for seating. There are two rectangular holes on each side of the door. Next to these holes, offerings are hung to please the gods: the bones and meat of animals, crops such as corn, cassava, peanuts, and beans from the recent harvest, etc. The front of shrines is always painted white.

Shrines can be covered by a tree planted in their centers or by metal / palm thatch roofing. Within the interior, there is a second cement ledge holding back a mound of earth. Cola nuts from previous ceremonies cover the ledge, and various iron tools are planted in the ground in front of it. Cola nuts are considered the food of the devil, and villagers eat them throughout the fetes. The devil leaves the tools behind after he visits. I got very confused trying to find out whether the devil was a good or evil deity. I was told that these tools protect a villager and that when a mean person tries to attack them these tools will make the attacker fall to the ground so they can’t get up and the villager can escape. There also exists an overseeing ‘God,’ different from those designated for natural elements and animals, and I’m not sure whether he is considered good or bad either.

A small voodoo shrine next to the local azeto’s house

Villagers who have sickness in the family can come pray to deities at the shrine to make them better. There are also certain days of the week when people are not allowed to enter the shrine. While visiting a friend in a nearby village, he enthusiastically showed me the local shrine and then, eyes downcast, told me to come back the next day because entrance isn’t permitted on Mondays.

Voodoo fetes go all night, driven by the energizing power of cola nuts and sodabi. People dance, sing, and drink, sometimes for days on end. These ceremonies are often held at the end of the harvest in October and November, before the start of the dry season when villagers are most wealthy. At one that I attended last year, half the village gathered under a Neem tree near the center of town. They formed a circle around a group of priestesses dancing in a line around the tree, and men sat grouped on benches to one side fervently playing drums. The priestesses formed a double line, with the oldest coming first and the youngest, the children, in the back. When each pair arrived in front of the drums, they would do our local ‘chicken’ dance and then continue circling around. Each woman was painted with red powder and they had long cowry shell necklaces hanging across their bodies. Every once in a while, these priestesses would walk off followed by other villagers playing instruments to do a tour of the village. This fete went on for three days, nonstop.

Each fete is presided over by an azeto, aze meaning ‘magic’ and to meaning ‘one who.’ He is a sorcerer who has magical powers, among them the power to change people into animals. The azeto also presides over funerals, sells fetishes, and gives horoscope readings. For my next blog post I am going to interview the local voodoo sorcerer to delve deeper into this very important aspect of Ewe culture.

Venturing up to northern Togo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Kate Travels the World

2012-02-08 21:23:58

I spent a couple days in Western Kara with my lovely friend Danielle after a planning session for the woman’s conference. On the journey, I noticed how different the northern part of the country looks from the south. Kara region seems downright fancy and developed compared to parts of the south. The roads were blissfully [...]

FOOD TO EAT IN AMERICA

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Tales of Togo

2012-02-08 11:49:00

Almost every day I think about what food I miss. For those of you who don’t know, I’m considering extending a 3^rd year in Togo. What does this mean? If things go according to plan, I will be on home leave in America for ONE WHOLE MONTH sometime around November or December 2012 (and then my service will extend until January 2014)

So here’s the things I want to eat during that month I will be home (or when I get home permanently if this 3^rd year thing doesn’t work out) Start looking at who wants to take me out for what! J (I’m serious)

Also, don’t judge me. You come to Togo for over a year and then we can talk.

- TACO BELL!!!

Crunchwrap Supreme

Mountain Dew

Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes

Hard shell taco

Soft shell taco

Cheese rollup

Etc

- Olive Garden (salad & breadsticks & WINE!)

- Bagel & cream cheese & Doritos

- Sushi

- Chinese food… crab ragoon

- Jimmy John’s

- Baked potato with cheese and BACON

- BACON

- Portillo’s hot dog / cheese fries / chocolate cake shake

- McDonalds McChicken sandwich

- FlatTop stir-fry with a cranberry lemonade

- Portillos Caesar salad

- Panera broccoli/cheddar breadbowl

- Baja Fresh Chicken quesadilla

- Huck Finn Becky Thatcher

- Root beer

- Poptarts (Oreo and strawberry)

- Ego waffles

- Strawberries and whipped cream

- Vegetable platter (celery, carrots, broccoli and the dip in the middle)

- Baked Lays and French Onion Dip

- Long Island Iced Tea

- Vegas bomb

- Mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce

- Bosco sticks

- Belizean restaurant

- Puerto Rican restaurant on Pulaski next to J&R

- KFC mashed potatoes/cornbread/chicken

- Icecream

- Cornbeef sandwich and mustard

- Puppy chow

- The Patio – ribs/baked potato/coleslaw

- Diner on La Grange Ave (can’t think of the name! AH!)

- Cinnamon Toast Crunch/milk

- Broccoli/cheese

- String cheese

- Brownie bites/milk

- Blueberry muffins

- Banana bread

- Cornbread

- Pizza

- Cheese popcorn

- Pizza lunchable

- 711 slurpee!!!

- Gas station red slushie!

GEE? Whats That?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-02-07 23:55:00

So, what’s a GEE volunteer? What exactly do you do? I’vewritten several blogs describing life in Africa and my life in general.However, I have not written anything about why I’m here: to work. Part of it isthat as a new volunteer my main job the last two months at Asrama has been tolearn about my village, set up my home, conduct a study of village, meethomologues, and general integration.

You cannot just walk into a village and say, “I’m here!Let’s get to work.” I’m a stranger and the first step to helping my communityhere is to get to know them. What are their needs? How are things done here? Whatresources are available? Also, just learning how to live (the day to daynecessary stuff like food, water, clean clothes) in Africa is a full time jobwithout adding on starting GEE work.

Another big part of the first few months at post is toshadow another volunteer. My closest fellow GEE volunteer is Jes. I was able totravel to a village called Mamakope where she co-conducted a local weekend campfor girls with Lisa the volunteer of Mamakope. These were local girls fromvillages nearby who got to take part in this camp. They had sessions coveringtopics like Confidence, VIH/SIDA, child trafficking, and relationship skills.It was great to have to opportunity to experience that.

After spending a couple of months in village Peace Corpssends us (everyone from my stage) to Pagala for In Service Training (IST). WhenI was in Tsevie we had what is called Pre-Service Training. Tsevie was mostlylanguage based with an introduction to GEE work. Now, at Pagala we havetechnical training.

Which brings me back to what is a GEE volunteer. Girl’sEmpowerment and Education is a rather abstract concept to promote. Gender rolesare very rigid here in Togo. Women do domestic work and men go to their jobs orto the farm. The idea is to promote education for girls, empower them andwomen, as well as encourage gender equality. How do we go about this? Wellbasically we learn how to be a “jack of all trades” and often have a widevariety of projects.

We work with students, teachers, Patrons (the head of atrade skill who teaches apprentices . . . so hairdressing, tailor, bush taxidriver), apprentices, and men. We teach Life Skills, Men as Partners, formClubs at schools, teach AGRs (Activities generatrice de Revenue), form villagesavings and loans programs, teach about HIV/AIDS, Take Our Daughters to Work, Women’sConference, Camp Unite, Camp Espoire (for children effected by AIDS), CampGirls and Science, and many other projects. As a GEE volunteer I’m very free inmy options for projects to work on at village.

I learned a lot at Pagala and it has given me many ideas forthings that would be great in Asrama. So now I need to take back the ideas and projects thatinterest me most and find out if the people of Asrama are interested in them ornot. I’ll also need to find good work partners to aide me.

When I get back the concrete game plan is to start teachingat the lycee. It’s been decided with the Provisor (headmaster) that I will taketime out from classes to teach a GEE specific class with the help of my Lyceecounterpart, Mr. Bikore, the science teacher. I plan on combining topics andlessons from Life Skills and Men as Partners (which is great for teachinggender equality topics). I will also be helping down at the hospital and inparticular on baby weighing day. Eventually, I will teach GEE topics to themothers there. I would like to start clubs at the Lycee as well. Right now I amthinking either a girls science club (girls are not encouraged to do scienceand it would be an excellent opportunity for them) or a general girls club witha free range of topics. I plan on getting input from my Provisor andcounterparts. I am also interested in Village Savings and Loan Program. It’s agreat way to help women fund small projects and is an extremely sustainableproject. My predecessor did a MAP formation with teachers and I would like tofollow up on that.

Now with all my ideas and further technical training I’mexcited to get back to Asrama and start getting the ball rolling.

Peace Corps Volunteer Helps Educate Her Malawi Community on HIV/AIDS & Environmental ...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo YouTube Videos matching query: "peace corps" "Togo"

2012-02-01 18:07:28

	Peace Corps Volunteer Helps Educate Her Malawi Community on HIV/AIDS & Environmental Conservation Sarah Swenson from Cle Elum, Washington, is a Community-Based Natural Resource Management Volunteer in Malawi. She has worked with women in her community on small business projects such as bee-keeping, jam-making, and HIV/AIDS awareness. She currently works with a local band to educate her community on HIV/AIDS and environmental conservation. To learn more about the work of Peace Corps Volunteers, visit www.peacecorps.gov	From: peacecorps Views: 2448 7 ratings
	Time: 03:03	More in Nonprofits & Activism

an issue about stuff

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-02-07 14:20:00

I am sitting in the PC transit house in Atakpamé right now. We are editing our third issue of Farm to Market, a joint NRM/SED publication. In other words, it’s a collaboration between agriculture and business Volunteers. I really enjoy working on this publication, despite, um, interesting personal relations with certain other people on the editing team. Atakpamé is probably my least favorite city in Togo outside of Lomé. Its nestled in the hills at the eastern end of the plateaus from whence the region Plateaux gets its name. The road down to the transit house is so rocky that its barely passable even for motos. Walking it at night can easily result in a twisted ankle or urine soaked toes. I can’t remember the last time I wore actual shoes

About two weeks ago I walked out of my house one morning and my host dad told me that the Minister of Health was coming in a couple hours for a meeting. I was like “cool” and walked over to the boutique by the chief’s house to buy phone credit. There I met Kodjo who was helping organize the meeting. Judging from the level of commotion—big meetings are held under the neem tree outside the chief’s house—it dawned on me that I should ask what Minister of Health was coming. The one for Dankpen, my prefecture, the one for Kara . . .? No, the Togolese Minister of Health. I went back to my house to find a nice shirt and a clean pair of pants.

About 10am a convoy of late model SUVs rolled up and disgorged a swarm of dignitaries. There is a strict order at these kinds of events as to who sits where. The most important person gets the nicest chair in the middle, the lesser important people get chairs on either side and behind him. This was such a big deal that my chief du canton got a wooden chair halfway down the front row. My prefet was there, the local Ministers of Health were there, a television crew was there, and so on. I stood there trying to figure out what was going on and someone told me to sit down because I am an “authority.”

The National Minister of Health is actually from Bassar, which is about 60k south of me, in the same region. He picked Nampoch as one of the sites to promote a treatment against river blindness. I have no idea why. The whole event was a pretty big deal. A bunch of my friends put on a hilarious sketch that illustrated why people should take the medicine and avoid river blindness and the Minister gave a speech.

Afterwards, a couple of the dignitaries did a television spot. They were all surprised to find a Volunteer in Nampoch. Apparently they consider it to be fairly remote. One woman told me, in English, that she got her Masters from UCLA. Now she works for WHO. Definitely not what I expected when I rolled out of bed that morning . . .

I went to Pagala a week ago Sunday to be a trainer for the 2011 stage’s In-Service Training. Paul, my boss, told me that he and a bunch of other people had seen me on TV from the Health Minister’s visit.

I turned 30 in Pagala. I was not happy about this fact originally. Pagala is my least favorite place in Togo. But it was actually a nice birthday. The new NRM stage sang happy birthday. D stopped by for the night on her way home to visit me. Katie K, a 3^rd year PCV, told the kitchen to make me a birthday cake. I totally surprised when they brought it out. Then everyone sang to me. Again. Then I went out and counted my gray hairs.

IST was fun. The new stage is a good group of people. It was exhausting for us as trainers, but I guess that’s part of it. I led sessions on the Food Security Committee, Funding, and Pump projects.

The day before I left for Pagala, Jenn and Bry came out to Nampoch for a meeting with our Committee Against Forced Marriage. It was a successful meeting. The members are really motivated so stuff gets done without a lot of blood, sweat, and tears on my part, so that’s encouraging. Afterwards, though, we were sitting around drinking tchakba, and I got to talking with a couple of my friends. Gilbert is a student in university majoring in English, so a lot of the following conversation was in english that he translated into Konkumba.

My friend Eli said that the Committee is good but that it needs actual power. I said that it has power because forced marriage is illegal according to Togolese law. They explained that, in their culture, you do not involve yourself in someone else’s affairs unless it affects you. In other words, if you try to stop a father from marrying off his 12 year old daughter, he will think that you have a personal problem with him. I started explaining how laws were there as a tool to help Togolese society develop and improve. Then I started thinking—Togolese civil law was adopted from the French legal code. French law developed with the society—it was adapted by society in response to perceived needs. In Togo, however, the law was imposed by elites on a society that had a different mindset. Now, the law is in place, but Togolese society has to adjust to it. That is where a lot of the development problems stem from.

There is another factor at work too. As our conversation progressed, I talked about how my little sisters are in college and can become whatever they want because of the protection that US law provides them. Then I asked Eli, when he holds his newborn daughter in his arms, what he dreams of her becoming when she grows up. He replied “I dream that she lives.”

The Library Has Been Completed! (with photo album)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo To go to Togo: Adventures in the Republique Togolaise

2012-02-05 16:08:00

I want to thank everyone who has contributed to the completion of the "first" library in Adjengre, Togo. I especially want to thank all my friends, family and Peace Corps admin that supported me throughout the project.

Just a quick recap: There is an existing library already in Adjengre adjacent to the Cultural Center (a big concrete room where they occasionally hold town meeting). It is the size of a closest and has about 10-20 old, useless books. I really wanted to renovate that library because the location of the library would have been ideal as it is in the exact center of town and therefore easier to access by everyone. However in the ended I decided to build it in the high school because of the following reasons:

Cost: It is the size of a large closet, literally, so the cost of renovating was very, very high. I would have basically had to build a whole new building.
Sustainability: The library is never open because there is no librarian just someone who works at the Cultural Center sometimes. I have never seen it open when I have been walking by and when I did want to see the library I had to wait an hour till someone found the guy who had the key. I would then have to pay for someone to be the librarian and that would be impossible to have it be sustainable.
Most impact: Sadly, the people who are going to make the most use of out of the library are teachers and students. There is not a culture of reading or searching for information here.

All these issues were solved if I constructed it at the high school

Cost: The school gave me a room and all I had to do is block up the windows, build furniture and buy books. A lot, yes, but I didn't have to construct a new building.
Sustainability: The school has set up a committee of students and teachers to manage it without me having to direct them. Teachers and students worked tirelessly everyday to set it up, bring the furniture from the carpenter, etc. Each student who wants a library card pays 200CFA per year (about 30 cents). They collect all the money and are saving it in order to buy new books, replace lights, etc. It is open almost all day, every day.
Most impact: There are already 114 students who have signed up for a library card and more every week. The teachers are starting to incorporate the library's resources into their courses.

You have to understand that students don't even have school books, let alone access to the internet and therefore a library, for the majority, is their only access to books and information.

Here is a photo album I put together chronicling the creation of the library!

Building a Library

Thank you!

The Peace Corps Volunteer

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Life is full of choices, if you have the guts TO GO for it!

2012-02-04 22:50:00

(sung to the tune of “Beauty School Dropout” from the movie “Grease”)

Your story we must tell

A middle-aged-lady ne’er do well

Most mixed up non-delinquent in Sokodé

Your future so unclear now

What’s left of your career now

Can’t even get a trade-in on your smile

(yovo yovo yovo yovo yovo yovo anasera)

The Peace Corps Volunteer

No running water at all in your house

The Peace Corps Volunteer

Missed your PDM and flunked permagardening

Well at least you could have taken time

To wash and clean your pagné

After getting med-evac’d to DC

The doctor took out your gall bladder!

Better get moving

Help all your VSL women save

What are you proving

You got the dream and a cute homologue

If you stay until your COS date

You could join the Peace Corps Reserve

Get on that moto now and go back to Sokodé

The Peace Corps Volunteer

Hanging out with friends at the Total Bar

The Peace Corps Volunteer

You know your SED program will soon be gone

Well they couldn’t teach you to speak French

You think you’re such a local

But the Togolese will speak to you as if you understood them!

Rachella don’t sweat it

You’re not cut out to go back home

Better forget it

The limo won’t let you take your luggage any more

Now your water is boiled

Your feet are soiled

And still Togo is cruel

Wipe off that dirty sweat and go back to Sokodé

Rachella don’t blow it

Don’t put my good advice to shame

Rachella you know it

Even Dear Abby would say the same

Now I’ve called the shot

Get off the bush taxi

I really gotta fly

Gotta be going to that air conditioning in the sky.

The Peace Corps Volunteer

Go back to Sokodé…

Vacation!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Lizzy's Log

2012-02-04 18:45:00

6 December 2011

I celebrated World AIDS Day by tabling for Peace Corps at the Togo 2000 exposition. It was interesting to be around so many Togolese professionals and schoolchildren that weren’t phased by the extravagance. Yes, it was interested, even exciting, but everyone there had a quality that made them seem drastically different from the folks in my village.

The kids came through in clean uniforms that fit (as opposed to ones made three sizes to big, so that they last). Their parents had given them some money to buy trinkets and snacks. They were happy and asked relevant questions when pressed by their teachers to look interested. They looked like American kids on a field trip. It was almost exactly the same.

The stands were organized into five or six large buildings in what looked like an old factory transformed into a state fair. The stands presented clothing, foodstuffs, traditional medicine, body guard padding, lots of shoes (I got some bright yellow pumps with giant rhinestones on the toe- why???), and an entire corridor to promote Moroccan goods and travel.

It was still clear that I was in Togo, though. Men would make up a random thread of conversation just to ask for my address or phone number not-so-subtly within the next few minutes. A young girl selling skin product continually came back to “greet” RD, another volunteer tabling with me, in a shamelessly flirtatious manner.

And something I had never experienced before happened. I’m still not quite sure what to make of it. A stout man from Cote D’Ivoire approached the table. He had the look of a guy who wants to show you you’re wrong, but who is trying to be coy about it.

“Hi, yes, what is this Corps de la Paix you are presenting?”

“We’re an agency of the American government. We are in many countries around the world and have four programs in Togo: health, environment, business, and agriculture…”

He let me go through my schpeel looking quizzical and I was anticipating another proposition.

“So you’re telling me that the U.S. is interested in promoting peace?”

“Yes, we think that by promoting health and education, and building relationships, we’ll prevent conflict.”

“Then why did your country, your President Obama, send troops into my country to kill our leader? You are not about Peace, you’re about oil, and theft, and bullying other countries. It’s because of YOU that I was forced to leave my country. YOU.”

“I’m sorry that you were forced to leave your country, sir. Honestly, I don’t know much about the conflict,” quickly filling up the pause to avoid being subject to a tirade, “but I assure you that the American people, and especially those of us in the Peace Corps, are not interested in causing problems for you or your country.”

He didn’t hear a word and went on yelling for 15 minutes. I just sat there looking sympathetic and feeling annoyed. The guards were keeping an eye on him, so I wasn’t worried. He was hurt and needed someone to blame. I felt like a FEMA worker in the months after Katrina. Maybe there was truth to what he was saying; maybe it was propaganda.

I continued to apologize for the way he felt and tried to help him transfer his anger away from our table. Eventually, he saw that I was responding in a not-so-engaged way, unhurt by his accusations, I wished him good luck, and he left.

I spent the next day making sure my projects would stay afloat while I was gone and preparing myself to leave. Living in Togo for the last year and half meant that I didn’t own any long sleeved shirts, closed-toed shoes, warm pants, or jackets. But I had been preparing for this for a few months. I’d had my tennis shoe soles glued and sewed back on in my market, dug through the departing volunteers’ “grab bin,” and gone to Lomé II (the Sam’s Club of Togolese markets) and found a jacket that could’ve been sold at Salvation Army (in a good way). I was ready. Kind of.

The fear and anticipation of a volunteer going home for vacation began to worry me. Will I gain 20 pounds? Will I come back? Will I complain about Togo in a way that reinforces stereotypes people already have about Africans or will I present a fair picture?

For most of November, I had been in a positive place mentally. Though the days seemed longer while I dreamt about home, it was easier to enjoy my work knowing that I would have time off. I wanted everything to be perfect, so that I had no reason not to come back. Work was going well. I was integrating into Togolese life better. People saw me less as an outsider. I was happier.

The taxi driver that was supposed to bring me to the airport at 1:00 am cancelled at 8:00 pm. I had already called everyone on the Bureau’s list of recommended drivers. My bags still needed to be re-packed, and I wanted to do a Pilates video (thanks, KT) before my 24-hour sit-down.

Luckily, Peace Corps guards are some genuinely nice and helpful people. One volunteered to walk around the neighborhood to find me a driver. He told me not to worry, he’d take care of it. I stressed that I only had enough money to go to the airport and back for my return; could he please negotiate the price for me? Normally, you’d pay 2,000F during the day. Evening travel is more expensive and I’d negotiated a 3,000F trip. I told the guard my maximum price, since it would be a last-minute request, was 4,000F.

Two bags at 23kg each, a workout, and a shower later, I was walking out the door. The driver showed up at 1:00 am exactly. He seemed nice enough. Then he saw me. He looked at the guard as if he’d left out the important detail of me being white.

“Good evening, how are you sir?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And you.”

“Fine, thanks. How much is it please?"

“20,000F,” he reached for my bag as if this was the normal price and we should continue as usual.

“I’m sorry sir, but I usually pay 2,000F during the day. I can give you 3,000F because it is night.”

“3,000F?!” He huffed and rolled his eyes. I was apparently the one begin ridiculous. “I’m tired and you woke me in the middle of the night. I’m doing you a favor. The price is 20,000F.”

“I don’t’ have 20,000F.” But I also don’t have many options at this point.

I wanted to cry. Could a driver (I don’t already know) be nice, fair, and honest? I’m so tired of being a target. This is why I don’t like Togo. How am I supposed to come back to this? My eyes welled. I stepped away from the car and the guard took over my negotiation.

I heard whispers. She is our sister. She’s a volunteer. Please, sir. Pardon.

When the driver came to get my bag he looked pissed. His brother wasn’t supposed to betray him. He was supposed to let him rip me off.

“How much?”

“4,000F. Let’s go.”

“Thank you.”

I cried all the way to the airport. In the airport I cried all the way through security. They stared at me, teased me. Togolese people don’t cry in public.

“Why are you crying? You’ll see him again,” assuming I was crying over some boy. They laughed among themselves as I searched for a tissue in my bag, wiping snot on my sleeve in the mean time.

No, I wasn’t crying over some boy, I just wanted people to be friendly in a familiar way, to encourage me to come back, to help me want to finish my job. I wanted to feel wanted or appreciated or just respected as a customer.

The ladies at check-in asked me the same thing, but were a bit more sympathetic. I still hadn’t found a tissue. They’d been carefully packed in a place I would obviously remember if I needed one.

“Why are you crying?”

Just make something up to move on… “I don’t want to leave.” Seriously? That’s the best you can do? Make up a story about how someone died at least. That, they might sympathize with…

“Oh, when are you coming back?”

“In a month.”

She handed me a tissue. FINALLY. The whole thing is saturated with snot in one jarring blow. Nice, that’s classy.

I go through security trying not to think about the taxi driver. The small but poignant incident orbits through my thoughts and every time I think about coming back, I question why?

I sit in the terminal trying to distract myself. The air conditioner makes the room freezing and I wrap myself in a brightly colored wrap mothers in my village use to tie their babies on their backs. Made in China. I read my book, call my partner, and get in line when it’s time to board.

The woman taking our boarding passes is from Mango. I greet her in Tchokossi. She turns to her friend and looks amazed. This, I love. I break through my white stereotype box just a crack and feel human again. We board and I pass out until long after our layover in Cotonou.

Baby Benin

When I wake up there is a strange whining sound coming from the seat across the aisle from me. It kind of sounds like a newborn goat. I turn to see a large chestnut-colored woman in western clothes holding a baby. The well-to-do couple sitting next to her seem uncomfortable. Her size? The baby crying? This all makes sense to me. I think about offering to switch places with her so she can use the empty seat next to me.

I glace over, trying not to stare, and realize that something is wrong with the baby. The way she’s crying isn’t normal. It’s like her voice is being filtered through plastic tubes that are pinched and blocked in places. Her mother shifts her to the other shoulder and I see. He tissue behind her eyes has swollen and engulfed her eye-balls, protruding all around them. One more so than the other. The soft pink tissue is moist, taught, and oozing slow heavy tears.

Then they begin serving food. Royal Air Maroc is a lovely airline. The woman looks puzzled. There is not enough space for her, the baby, and the food. I try to anticipate the situation. The woman speaks French and she says no, she doesn’t want to switch. Then I notice she has a lot of things strategically placed around her.

I put her food tray on the seat next to me and when I’m done eating and her baby is sleeping, I hold her until her mother’s eaten a few things on her plate. I’m nervous about hurting her. She’s clearly in pain. What if her eye touches something and gets infected because of me?

The woman finishes quickly and hands the flight attendant the tray. As I hand the little girl over, I am relieved that I’m not longer responsible for this fragile being and proud that I could help and surprised by all of the people around me who didn’t even try, just giving her looks of shame for having a baby whose problems make them uncomfortable.

Maybe people think she wants them to pretend they don’t notice. Maybe they don’t want to interfere; it’s not their business. Maybe it was something more personal. Or maybe they saw me helping and felt they didn’t need to get involved.

I tried to talk to her a little. She looked so nervous, scared, alone. This was her first child, she was maybe 30. It was obviously her first flight. She was taking her baby to Morocco for surgery. She said she planned to be there for at least a month. She didn’t know anyone.

No one else spoke to her the rest of the flight, and as we were leaving, no one else offered to help her with her bag. So maybe I’m too harsh, too judgmental, but seriously, where are your manners folks?! Compassion? Help a neighbor? Maybe they just had their own worries.

Casablanca

In Casablanca, I argued with the customs official until he let me go outside of the airport. I had grand ideas of taking the train into the city and back, getting a nice tour of the countryside.

“Your flight leaves in an hour, you can’t leave.”

I go to the bathroom. When I come back, I don’t see the first officer and stand in another officer’s line. He sees me and motions the new officer to send me to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see you. I re-read my pass and I think you misunderstood.” His pride doesn’t appreciate this accusation. “My flight doesn’t leave for another four hours.”

“Ma’am, your flight boards in three hours, you have to be back in one hour or you’ll miss it.”

“I understand, I just want to go outside. I’ll be right back.” The other guards think I’m crazy, too, but they also seem to think he’s being harsh. It’s my own risk to take.

His stamp pounds super-officially into the pages of my passport. I am giddy. I run down the escalator and exchange $20, enough for a train ticket. I’m in a hurry and the 20-somethings working behind the glass window seem amused by my enthusiasm.

The train has just left and another won’t come for 30 minutes. But my mood can’t be brought down. The train guard explains the schedule and I ask him if there’s anything outside the airport worth seeing. He seems amused by me as well.

“There’s a forest… but nothing really.”

I’m thrilled to breathe fresh, cool, air; to need a jacket and socks. I wander around the highway and takes pictures of nothing. I find a small market behind a building with women selling egg sandwiches and men with sweet-tea-rotten teeth. I sit down and enjoy breakfast. I have no idea how much things cost and hold out some money in my hand, they take it all. Later I realize I probably paid just enough for the sugar in my tea.

The cool air is thrilling, but I would hate to prove the customs officer right. I walk back through and head to the terminal. The gift shops are filled with brightly painted porcelain containers, beaded fabric creations, and leatherwork. I spend what seems like a ridiculous amount of money on a magazine, juice, and a Christmas tree ornament that says Morocco on the back of a camel.

I passed out on the plane to Madrid attempting to finish The Geography of Bliss. It was about 5:00 pm when I arrived, and already dark. I forgot that happens when you’re more than 10 degrees away from the equator. In village I know exactly what time the sun rises (5:30) and sets (18:15). There is no Daylight Savings Time. This change threw me off.

I figured out, after a bit of exercise, that push carts are free in the Madrid airport (which is huge) and that lockers are a good investment. I took my carry on bag towards the metro and suddenly realized that I looked like a sweaty advertisement for Good Will in 3^rd generation cowboy boots, skinny jeans (that passed for newish), and a jacket that, well, served its purpose.

Whatever. I was in Europe with no one to be embarrassed of me but myself. So I told myself that I looked totally normal.

The well-coiffed family across from me on the metro had two kids. The son had boots that matched his dad’s and the daughter her mom’s. The mom wore make-up that looked like she’d be going on stage soon for a musical debut. They looked so clean. Everything looked so clean. I noticed other women. They were in the same musical… Nope, it was just me. I had done my best to blend in. At least there were other white people around so I didn’t stick out so much.

I checked into a hostel near the Plaza Mayor. The receptionist was a man from Senegal who spoke 8 languages and wasn’t too impressed that I was coming from Africa. For some reason, not knowing any Spanish, I felt more comfortable speaking French with everyone.

I went on a walking tour, made friends with other travelers, and dutifully took my amoebas medication that forbid me to drink alcohol (in Madrid!). Our tour was led by a fabulous Mexican guy who’d moved to Madrid 10 years ago. The group was made up of young Russian, German, Ecuadorian, and Australian tourists. At night we saw a beautifully inauthentic flamenco dancer and I went out with the Australians to enjoy the night scene (sober).

My roommates were Americans studying in a nearby college town. I felt so distant from where they were in life, even though I was just like them a few years back. There was also a Columbian (?) kids soccer team in the house. The mom invited me to join in for corn patties with ham and juice. The kids were wild but respectful with me. It felt very familiar.

While some of the other guests were complaining about the hostel’s quality, I was in love. Hot shower. Running water. Electricity. Blankets. Lockers. Reading lights! It had everything. I’d love to learn some Spanish, return to Madrid, and enjoy it in a less touristy way.

At the info desk in the airport, the agent asked where I was from. Canada? I don’t recognize your accent. “I’m an American living in West Africa.” Made sense that I sounded weird.

My flight from Madrid to Dublin was probably my favorite of the whole trip. I met a fun older couple coming back from a birthday getaway in Spain. I sat next to the husband who told me about some of the sites in Northern Ireland and the upcoming centennial celebration of the Titanic. It was unbelievably nice to enjoy a conversation with an educated older man that you could easily take for a father or grandfather figure instead of a creepy old man.

The couple was planning a trip chez moi, and in true Togolese style, I gave them my contact info and insisted they stop by to saluer my mom. (It’s kind of NOLA style too, to do something like that, make friends anywhere and have them over for dinner… but the way I said it, I felt more Togolese.) His life was so interesting and I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation, but I was also exhausted, and in true Travel Lizzy style, passed out.

In Dublin I went through customs, always fun when you’re coming from Africa, and got a little to friendly with the guards. (They cracked a few smiles, which I took was against the rules…) They confiscated my beef jerky (care package from AMERICA!) and the sandwich I brought from Madrid, not any of the weird Togolese things I brought back.

I flew into Boston tired and eager to see ML. I got a pumpkin muffin and cranberry juice that tasted like plastic (not how I remember them). After a trek around the terminal, I located quarters, a pay phone, and a razor. After calling ML and mom, I fell asleep with the same book. I finally finished it, retaining only that I think I’d like visiting Iceland. After that I started reading Letters to My Daughter by Maya Angelou, which I finished before arriving in Chicago. (Awesome.)

ML picked me up in Chicago, the next day I got to see my family who just moved there, and we drove to ML’s “village” the next day.

Sweaty

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-02-04 11:36:00

The electrician is at my house. He’s installing an outlet on my porch. It’s getting hotter and the hot/dry season hasn’t even begun (March-May). Truly only being cool for a few minutes after a morning shower has motivated me to find him and get this done ASAP. Preparing for when it gets worse and I’m forced to sleep outside. This way I’ll have my fan ready to go, sleeping on my lit pico, draped in a wet cloth..and in an effort to avoid what may be one of my biggest pet peeves here- sweating trying to sleep. Oh this life.

These past two weeks have been interesting. Last week we had a training for my stage (now 18 people) in Pagala. Pagala itself is an interesting place. The PC has a training center there—imagine an old summer camp set-up. It can be cold (welcomed) but also buggy as it sits next to the river. PC hires a staff for a week and they keep us well fed and our cabins clean. I learned from my first Pagala experience that it’s not necessary to stuff yourself to misery at every meal just because it tastes so good and there’s plenty of food. Vanessa and I made a promise to each other we would treat our bodies better this time around! Veronica and I had our morning runs before our long days of sessions began. We had extensive training on behavior change in an effort to understand why some of our efforts and work here doesn’t stick. It will be interesting to see how we implement the material, especially since Aposto ( and all of our counterparts) was there and heard the same thing I did. The two of us drew up an example situation of what we learned and applied it to local shop owners here in LT; teaching them basic business skills, the importance of budgeting, saving, and accounting. He’s been busy since we’ve gotten back and we haven’t had a chance to discuss if we will implement the plan.

The rest of our time at training was spent creating a permanent garden. Our SED group and our counterparts worked for three days creating a decent sized plot from start to finish. Tilling the soil with a hoe and pick ax isn’t fun- especially since it hasn’t rained in several months. Not to mention I didn’t change out of my dress and flip flops the first afternoon. I’m sure my parents will chuckle at this but it was nice to get my hands dirty, sweat for a reason, and walk away at dusk being able to see what you’ve accomplished, with the blisters to prove it. We learned how to fertilize the soil with ash, manure and sand so that it would withstand the heat that on its way. Our group made a pretty good team and we planted corn, peanuts, soybeans and banana trees to anchor the corners of the garden. Hopefully the PC staff will take good care of it and it will be blooming when I return to Pagala this summer for camp.

I stayed an extra day to attend the MAC training with a dozen other PCV’s who have been chosen to lead this new initiative to eradicate malaria in Togo. How do you make sure the people have enough mosquito nets, convince them to then use the nets or put screens on their homes, make sure the hospitals and clinics are administering the right tests and medications when someone comes in thinking they may have malaria? It’s a ground-work kind of effort and we’ve got the volunteers in place (95 in Togo right now) and now it may be a challenge of motivation and inspiration. We watched a TED Talk with Daniel Pink to try and spur some useful ideas to light a fire under our PCV team. It’s quite a feat – we are truly creating a plan out of nothing… we’ve got our work cut out for us. But we’ve got smart people on our team and I’m proud to be one of the few SED people in a group of health volunteers. Check out our blog: mactogo.blogspot.com

I returned to LT on Saturday afternoon and while so many people were truly excited to see me and I felt very loved and welcomed, it still has been quite difficult. I knew it would take a few days to get back into my routine here and that has definitely been the case. Spending time with my devotional every morning, praying, and attempting to seek God’s voice, plan and peace each day. Putting every small moment that brings a smile to my face (like my super successful English Club on Wednesday afternoon) in the bank for the days when I question my purpose and efforts.

It’s definitely been a busy week already; discussions with Aposto about next steps for his business and the ONG. Trip to Sokode to catch up with Rebekah (so encouraging) and get some work done for Camp Espoir. Baby weighing at the hospital this morning- encouraging (fat babies) and discouraging (many underweight little ones and mama’s who give birth at home) all at the same time. Found a filp chart on family planning – something I’ve recently become excited about as Aposto and I went to a small session on the basic information at PDM. One of my new hopes and goals to implement here within the village.

Met with Aposto, a female teacher and my French tutor yesterday to set up a plan to create a girls club for 5^th-7^th grade girls on basic life skills. It went really well as all parties involved are on-board and motivated. Everyone knows our girls struggle with self-confidence and believing they can be successful. Using super helpful resources with step-by-step lesson plans from PC, I drafted a three month curriculum plan that we will present to the middle school director next week. Excited and hopeful that we will be able to reach at least a few… reminding myself to have patience and be flexible.

Headed to Kara (north) tomorrow for a long weekend of training with other female PCV’s who will be conducting a nationwide women’s conference for the women of Togo. It shall be interesting and I’m excited to learn from some of the best PCV women here in Togo! More to come on that next week.

Rant

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Tales of Togo

2012-02-04 10:40:00

Let me preface this by saying that I am not the first person to arrive at such an idea and there’s probably lots of well-written literature on the topic but I’ve gotten to a point in my Peace Corps service where I just want to share my thoughts on the topic from my personal perspective.

What topic?

Foreign aid / Development work / Giving out free shit

First of all – the intentions are no doubt good. Hungry people deserve to eat; children deserve to be educated… etc. etc. I don’t know anyone who disagrees there… but is there a way to guarantee people basic human rights without such negative consequences?

What negative consequences, you ask? (Here comes the rant part)

SELF-DETERMINATION DOESN’T EXIST! This is like the main belief behind the Code of Ethics for Social Work… the idea that everyone is capable of helping themselves and moreover, that everyone has the right to make decisions for themselves because each individual knows what is best for him or her. (This is my definition and if I had internet access I’d probably be able to formulate it in better words so feel free to Google it/dictionary.com it) It’s not just that we’re creating such dependence on this foreign aid but perpetuating the idea that (in my case) Togolese aren’t capable of helping themselves without the help of America. (This applies to other underdeveloped countries in conjunction with America/Europe/developed countries)

I’m going to sidestep and take it a step further that in Togo, there’s an idea that all Americans are white, all white people are rich, all rich people are white… etc. For many years, it has been “the white people” who have built churches, roads, water pumps, schools, etc.; therefore, Togolese must not be capable. If not this mentality, try this one on for size- Why should I pay for my child to go to school when last year some white person paid for it? “No, my daughter, I am not paying for you to go to school… you found a white person last year, find one this year.” Not to mention this leads to parents encouraging their daughters to find men with money which leads to disease, early pregnancy and ultimate dropout anyways. In a less harsh scenario, they might become somewhat successful merchants in order to pay their school fees but then eventually dropout or fail anyways because they don’t have enough time to study (and work and cook, wash clothes, dishes, go search water and do all the domestic work)

It also hurts the economy of Togo. Take this for example: there’s a couple from a developed country giving out notebooks, pens and other school supplies. Not only does this cause controversy between ethnic groups (those who get more than others brag and the others are jealous and problems ensue) but it hurts business. Instead of purchasing these supplies in that village, they brought them from home, therefore taking away the business that the woman (who sells school supplies in that village) should normally get. And with that money she’d spend it on food and that farmer could spend it on gas, and so-on and so-forth… circulating currency instead of doing the exact opposite of taking away business (ultimately for everyone)

Obviously it just creates this dependency, perceived incompetence, potential laziness and to top it off, it’s just not sustainable and can cause more harm than good. Why work when someone will do it for free?

From the perspective of a Peace Corps Volunteer, this is beyond frustrating. People see me and the color of my skin and automatically expect money. The 3 Peace Corps goals are to 1) share knowledge 2) learn their culture 3) share American culture. Nowhere does it speak of money.

This causes more problems than I can even articulate. Take this example: A volunteer did a large conference for 40 students in 7^th grade- she planned for months. The day before the conference the presenters asked how much they will be paid for working with us. How much? ZERO. Nothing. We’re volunteers; we’re not paid, not only are we not rich but a lot of us are poor/in debt. They don’t believe this. They refused to work because in the past- some white person did a similar project and gave out money and gifts.

Yes, this is stereotyping foreigners and more precisely, white people but can you blame them? Children who don’t speak French, or even speak at all know how to say “White person, give me money” because there were white people who have done this for years and years. (Not to mention they also brought Christianity, bought and sold slaves and colonized the land/created arbitrary boundaries)

This is a rant. This isn’t necessarily coherent or sequential in thought… but if you took the time to read this I just hope you took one thing away from it – giving money to other countries might hurt them more than it helps them. (And “money can’t buy me love” which seems to be the common misconception)

/rant

Other than that, life is good. Some days are worse than others but I’m still having the experience of a lifetime and honestly, I’m scared to one day come back to America… more about this later

Street food and other random things

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Kate Travels the World

2012-02-03 17:09:44

Eight months into Peace Corps service, I’m feeling good about where I’m at. Parts of life that seemed bizarre or even aggravating a few months ago now seem relatively normal. I rode in a jam-packed car—seven people in a five seat car, several chickens in baskets tied to the roof, and huge sacks of rice [...]

The Volunteer’s Dilemma

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Stacie's Blog Has Got It Going On!

2012-02-03 09:45:00

I gave a third of my monthly salary to a complete stranger last week.

I’m still not entirely sure why. I might be having a ¾ service crisis, or I might have finally assimilated into Togolese culture. It’s hard to say.

A year ago, when my parents were preparing for a trip around the world, I advised them to create a traveler’s philosophy on giving out money. It is something that they would come across frequently and it’s important to decide how to deal with it. Some people will give out money to beggars, some only donate to organizations, others none at all. There is no real “right” answer, but it’s important to take into consideration the mindset of dependence you create and the standards you are setting for future visitors.

My decision while working abroad has always been that I am giving the people all I consistently have: my hard work and dedication. There will always be people in need of money. Poor people, sick children, hospital bills, empty stomachs. The reality is, one person with a pocket full of money is never going to be able to help the entire world. My work is generally focused on capacity building, program development, and policy, with the hopes that a strengthened organization could do more to help the community than I could on my own. So my personal philosophy is to never give out money. Ever. I think it causes more harm than good in the long run.

So after almost two years of people saying, “Yovo! Cadeau! Il faut me donner quelque chose!” (Or for all you Anglophones out there : “White person! Present! Give me something ! ”) I’ve always responded with « Je suis le cadeau ! Je travaille pour la communauté, pour les gens ici. Je suis une volontaire, je n’ai pas l’argent, je peux te donner seulement mon temps » (“I am the present ! I work for the community and the people here. I’m a volunteer and don’t have money. I can only give you my time”).

But, I’m a rule breaker. “Guidelines are there to be broken” if I may paraphrase my very wise mother (however, this may not be an exact quote, she always says I hear what I want to hear). It’s happened twice (this surgery, and the medical bills for three HIV+ orphans I know). And because it’s viewed as such an unsustainable way to help people, I’ve always been too embarrassed to tell other people.

And for good reason. Don’t think me heartless, but I truly believe it is important to recognize the unintended consequences of good intentions and giving. International aid has left people off far worse than when they started, and for reasons that people write entire books about, it can cause damage to the entire population in the long run. I will readily admit that all of my international experience thus far may, in the long run, be detrimental to those I tried to help. Not solely because of me, but as a cog of the greater international aid wheel. I am not saying that I regret having these experiences, but I am the greatest beneficiary. The work and help given in Russia, Uganda, Ecuador, and Togo all pales in comparison to what I got out of it: personal growth, resume boost, travel, languages learned, adventures, etc. In a very superficial way, the people I’ve met in my travels have been “helped.” But not in a sustainable fashion.

But back to the stranger with all my money. It was a confusing start. My friends Naka and Austin had arrived at my gate, I had gotten off work and was hanging out with my marché mamas down the road. So I walked back to greet them. They had a Togolese woman with them, which is not uncommon, I assumed just another village friend that accompanied them. I ushered them all into my compound and began to regale Naka and Austin with my snake experience. After a few minutes, Naka asked if I was going to talk to my friend. “Friend?” I asked, “I thought she was with you!” I went out onto my porch to see who this women was, and why she’d come.

She explained that she was asking people in the neighborhood for help. Her sister needed money for a stomach surgery and it would be impossible to pay it themselves-especially because they had already paid all the pharmacy bills. She showed me the bill for the imminent surgery - it was 43,800CFA (500CFA is a dollar; the average Togolese person is paid 10-15,000 a month, if thatThere are very few people that make anywhere near what I do (120,000 a month = around $240…I know.. raking in the dough with that college degree). ). I am one of the most affluent people I know. But all the same, between travel, food, bills, etc, I tend to break even every month. So 40,000CFA is a lot of money to me as well.

We talked some more and she told me about her family, and her life in general. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her I would think about it over night and for her to come back in the morning. She appeared the next morning and we chatted again. At this point, I still had not made a decision. But my instinct was that I really liked the woman and found her genuine. I went with my gut and gave her the 40,000CFA (leaving her family to come up with the 3,800).
It seems extravagant. I know it is. But there was a lot to take into consideration.

1.I have been to the hospitals here. They are a terrifying place to be, and outrageously expensive. No wonder everyone goes to the traditional healers.

2.I just got back from America (where I had procedures done for my own stomach issues, the lab work alone was over $100) and a surgery would be in the thousands.

3.I’ve been in a very reflective mood since coming back, with four months of service left, trying to figure out what I’ve actually done; if I’ve actually helped anyone since being here.

4.Whereas it might be inconvenient for me to not have the money for a month, it would be out of the question to even come up with the money, much less pay it off.

The next day, I went to the hospital to visit my new friend Amelie and her family at the hospital. It turns out when she said she needed money for her sister for a surgery, it was for her sister’s ten year old son. This little boy was wrapped in a single pagne on a rickety old hospital bed jammed in a room that was wall to wall with beds filled with patients. His mother assured me without the surgery he would have died. Amelie pulled back her nephews cover to reveal a bandage that went from his sternum to his belly button. He was grimacing in pain but still managed to give me a weak smile and say thank you.

After visiting the hospital, Amelie took me to her house nearby, and I met the seven kids she takes care of. She gave me food and chook and we spent the rest of the day sitting under her papaya tree, talking. She cooked dinner for Liam and I, while we listened to the African Cup game. The following day, Amelie came and cleaned my house for eight hours straight (it’s not THAT dirty, she is just thorough…). She’s planning on taking me to her family’s village in Benin as soon as it’s possible. I never asked or expected anything back from Amelie or the family, but she is absolutely set on doing everything in her power to thank me for helping save her nephew’s life.

Time will tell if what I’ve done has helped or hindered. It might not be the right step in fixing the world’s problems, and it is certainly not sustainable, but I don’t feel bad about going against my own word. The little boy is leaving the hospital tomorrow. Right or wrong, I am happy knowing that there are at least a few people that I can truly say that I helped.

We're on a Odyessy of the Mind!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Gone to Togo

2012-02-02 09:21:00

In December I spent two fabulous weeks in California seeing all my friends and family that I could pack into that time. I ate so much good food and was lucky to hang out with my niece who is the most adorable child on the planet. It was a much needed break from my isolated life here, but now I'm back and pushing ahead at full steam. One thing I'm really excited about now that I'm back here is our first Maritime Region Odyssey of the Mind competition. For those of you who have never heard of OotM, its a national competition in America that encourages creative thinking, spontaneous problem solving, and team work. OotMs philosophy is that creativity can be learned through practice just as much as any other skill and that's what I'm trying to teach my students.

Students try to find a way to drop an egg without it breaking.

Some of the volunteers in my region have formed teams that will compete this April performing spontaneous hands on tasks as well as a long term problem requiring the the team create an apparatus that can help someone who is handicapped and then perform a humorous sketch demonstrating how it works. My team, which meets for two hours every Monday, has been practicing hands on challenges, some verbal challenges, and team work problems. You really start to see how much creativity and critical thinking is lacking in the students lives. There is a lot of forcing of solutions and mocking of all new ideas, so I think what we are doing is going to have a huge impact on the problem solving abilities of the students we work with.

Students trying to turn over the fabric without stepping off.

The biggest challenge I'm facing with my team is to incite original ideas. So far the things they have suggested as an aid to the handicapped are crutches, canes, a motorized wheel chair. I can't answer the problem for them, so I just have to keep encouraging them to try harder to think outside of the box. Can we think of some humorous task or something more non traditional than limited mobility which would affect someone with a disability? Their homework is to come up with something super creative, but so far we're stuck on crutches. However, I'm not worried. Once the students start feeling confident in expressing new and potentially controversial ideas, I am confident they will come up with something creative.

In other news, I've got cats coming out of my ears. When I returned from Morocco I realized one cat was pregnant. When I came back from America to five new kittens, I also found that my other cat was pregnant. I am now the temporary owner of 2 cats and 7 kittens. While cute, its a bit much and so I'm hoping to find them all homes where they will be loved and not eaten. I'm really not sure how easy that task shall be...

When did it become 2012?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo it's a lovely small world

2012-01-31 20:51:00

December and January were incredibly busy months. Some real projects picked up and I went home for Christmas and New Years! It is so strange to think that this year, 2012, will be the year that I leave Togo.

MALARIAACTION COMMITTEE!!

In Togo,about 50% of deaths of kids under 5 are caused by malaria. But, malaria eliminationhas not been one of the main goals of peace corps-Togo – until now! And, I’mreally excited to be part of the Malaria Action Committee (MAC). That statistic came from our first job ascommittee members- getting a survey from every volunteer in Togo and discussingthe data at a meeting/training. At the meeting,we also set up the goals, objectives, and action plans for our group anddiscussed how Togo can really get involved in eliminating malaria. Togo is sort of an ideal country for thisinitiative because it is so small- and there are so many Peace Corps volunteers(PCVs). I think if Peace Corps really getinvolved – and every volunteer gets involved- the malaria situation can improvesignificantly. Right now, we are workingon preparing and organizing small “projects-in-a-box” that can be done by everyPCV with minimal training, organizing our information on the healthcare systemshere, finding the means to media and PR stuff, and writing and preparing a newand improved survey. There is anotherblog site specifically for the Malaria Action Committee. It can be found at: Like I said, I’m super excited about this;it almost makes me wish I could stay in Togo longer ….but that’s what every PCVsays “first year is rough, second year is exciting and fun and projects startto work...”

CUTBACKS

One day, ata peace corps training center in Pagala, the country director called a meeting ofall volunteers who were present. Shebegan talking about the budget and how “changes” were going to be made. The somberness of her speech made me thinkthat she was announcing that Peace Corps would be pulling out of Togo. Luckily, that was not the case. Instead, she announced that the SED (SmallEnterprise Development) program was getting cut. This is a huge deal for Peace Corps Togo. Togo only has 4 programs: CHAP (health), SED(business), EAFS (environment/food security), and GEE (girls education). So if one program is cut, our populationdiminishes significantly. Instead ofhaving the 100-PCVs who were in country when I arrived, we will be having like80 or something. It changes the wholetraining schedule too- and villages – Which villages will continue to have aPCV and the tons more that will not get a PCV again.

PROMOHANDICAP

“Assaham”can always be seen at the truck station running around, making gestures, and oncein a while getting food or money from a passer-by or the local vendors or the mechanicsthat are familiar with him. He may bethe physically dirtiest kid you have ever seen – you can practically see thelayers upon layers of dirt and dust. Whenhe sees me, he always runs up to me, making noises through his smiling mouth,and holding his dust-covered hand out, anticipating our handshake. Last time, he had a bandage on his arm – Iwondered what happened- hoping it was maybe an accident and nothing doneintentionally by another. You can’t askhim what happened because he can’t hear what you’re saying. He’s one of the many hearing- and visually- impairedkids in Togo. Many families in Togo arepoor, and a child like may just be viewed as an extra burden, being unable togo to school or work or help around the house. This leads to many kids who are neglected and abandoned, who grow up incommunities where they are mocked and abused. Over ten years ago, a missionary who we’ll call Mr. T noticed this inthe villages around my town, and decided form a group dedicated to educatingand assisting these children. Along witha few others, Mr. T gathered some kids, found a room to rent, and beganteaching whatever could be taught. Sincethen, this group PromoHandicap has grown and is now a recognized organizationin my prefecture. The community helpsout once in a while- donating supplies or money, but recently, the debt hasgrown too much and they were kicked out of the rented room. Now, the children are in Mr. T’s ownhome. So, Alisha and I and thePromoHandicap group, are hoping to build a school and dormitory for thesekids. Over November, December, andJanuary, we fit tons of meetings into our packed schedules and most recentlybrought the project idea to our country director for feedback. She is completely on board- and we are reallyexcited because we are one step closer to making this idea a reality. I love this group. I think they are the most genuine andhardworking group I’ve met in Togo – and you can see the needs and what thisproject will do for the handicapped community- It’s such a good opportunity and– like MAC, almost makes me want to stay in Togo longer. We will plan to have the official proposalssubmitted at the end of February and then have the project online and receivingdonations ASAP after that. SOOOOO- ifyou – or anyone you know- is interested in helping this project succeed- let meknow! I cannot wait to see their facesin a couple months when we tell them the project can be done.

SCHOOLISSUES

Contrary tothe well-stated words of Notorious B.i.g. “mo money mo problems,” and theinferred theory of less money less problems, Togolese teachers and studentshave begun expressing their idea of less money = more problems. Strikes are common in Togo. A couple times since I’ve been here, thehospital has gone on strike because they have not been paid (by thegovernment). Teachers of primary, middle,and high schools have also gone on strike for the same reason: no salary. However, recently, school strikes (and nowriots) have real effects. A few monthsago, the teachers went on strike for a few days and then resumed. So, when my neighbor’s kids told me that theteachers were on strike again, I thought nothing of it. Until the strike continued and people beganspeaking of school being “finished”. Rumorwas: that if they don’t get paid, school will be done for the year. However, little by little, teachersreturned. And now, most teachers havedecided to go back and teach, even though rumor again has it that they stillaren’t being paid the full amount. Wewill see what happens; there are still people saying that it’s possible thatthey will go on strike again in February. In the same domain of education and unrest, in December, universitystudents marched and rioted in Kara and Lome. Usually, students receive a stipend/scholarship to attend school, whichis used to live, but lately the government stopped paying students. Hence: the riots. Students marched down the streets, blockingtraffic and yelling. Over the course ofa few days, the riots became violent, and universities were shut down and hasjust reopened last week not reopened since. I sort of have strong opinions about this whole situation, but I won’tpost them online- if you are interested and you know me, then ask.

AED UPDATES

“My babyjust had the results of the final test. She’s not sick; she’s not sick! She’s normal! It’s finished! God has given! Another round of drinks!” The bartender brought everyone another beeror soda. The staff of the HIV/AIDS grouphad gathered to celebrate my return from the US, the New Year 2012, and now,Pierrette, the president of the group was announcing that her daughter MarieReine was officially HIV-negative. Everyonecheered “A la santé!” and continueddrinking. I looked over at the newestmember of the group, Nazarine, who was born in October, and wondered about herstatus. Will we find out she isHIV-negative too? Or will she grow intoa young girl carrying the virus, eventually succumbing to AIDS…. There’s another young girl- about 11 yearsold – who has AIDS. I can’t stand tothink of Nazarine like that. The girl isskinny- incredibly-skin-and-bones-skinny. She walks very slowly like she is having trouble balancing herself onher skeleton body. She smiles sometimes;I think I’ve seen her smile twice – and I can’t and don’t want to pictureNazarine growing into an AIDS patient like her. Nazarine is the chubbiest, happiest baby I have ever seen. She is like a baby Santa Claus. (Which actually sounds sort of scary, somaybe erase that image from your mind)? She smiles a two-toothed smile, makes a lot of baby noises when you talkto her like she can actually understand, and laughs – like really laughs. It’s hilarious to watch; she opens her mouthwide so you can see the tips of the two front teeth that are just arriving,lifts her face up and back like the force of the laughter can’t keep her headin its normal position, and lets out this huge baby laugh. Then, if it’s an especially big laugh, shegets the hiccups, like her body was just shook by this earthquake laugh and nowis getting little hiccup aftershocks. Iusually end up cracking up too, and so does Clementine, her mother.

POPPY andQUI SAIT

While I wasgone, poppy and qui sait got into trouble. They killed more pintades (guinea fowl/like a chicken). The owner of the pintades luckily did notkill poppy and qui sait, but gave them a warning: a cut on their leg; a scar toremind them. So, I have been keeping thedogs cooped up. I know the only reasonpoppy is not dead yet is because I am white – the foreigner/ the VIP invillage. I just hope that Poppy will besafe until I leave and take him to the US.

ENGLISHCLUB

Although I’vebeen super busy, I was able to meet with some of the kids in the English Cluband was really proud of what they did over the strikes and their holiday break. While I was away on vacation, they hadmeetings about gender equality, the environment, and the importance of girl’seducation. They talked to the principalto get trashcans for the school- and they succeeded in getting cheap trashcansmade. They formed an “environmentalpolice” group who will monitor the trashcans, and make sure people usethem. I can’t believe they did allthat! On their own initiative! I’m so excited about that. Think: the school for the years and years andyears of being there, did not have trashcans and instead had piles of trashcovering the grounds. Now, my Englishclub kids have installed trashcans and they are actually working! Crazy.

HOME!!!!!!!!!

I honestlydon’t think I can succinctly write about how excited I was to go home andeverything that I did and everyone I saw and everyone I wished to see butcouldn’t. But, I did go home- for about2.5 or 3 weeks- and had the most amazing time. I was so happy and just felt “whole” being with my family again. Christmas was amazing, New Years was fun, andall the friends I was able to see were wonderful. I can’t believe everything that has changed-housesengagements babies careers! – and everything that is still the same – never failingfamily/friendships J

PDM

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-01-29 14:07:00

Periodically throughout service wehave trainings with our fellow volunteers to hone our skills and disseminatenew information. This past week my stage(SED & CHAP) arrived in Pagala with our homologues for PDM. Focusing on behavior change methods, familyplanning for CHAP, and perma-gardens for SED, we spent five days from 7:30am to6pm in sessions designed to modify our way of thinking about projects andimprove our technical knowledge.

We got one whopper of informationnear the end of the week. We were informed by the Country Director and SED APCDthat PC Togo will be phasing out the SED program. The West Africa Regional Director made thedecision to eliminate SED in order to focus PC efforts in Togo. As a result we won’t be accepting any new SED volunteersand our numbers here in Togo will be reduced for now by a quarter. The current volunteers with finish theirservice, but it’s still hard to imagine only having three programs.

To the training I brought ahomologue from a local NGO that works on women’s rights and health, and both heand others enjoyed the fact that he was at the training. He was excited toactively participate in activities, joked around, and caught the heart ofvolunteers as he rolled his eyes and inserted perfectly timed exclamations ofexasperation that seemed to fit exactly with how we all felt about someactivities.

One activity was home visits topractice some of the family planning training we had received. We were separated into small groups ofvolunteers and their homologues, driven out of town into a small village, giventhree family names, and told to go talk to the family about familyplanning. After being dropped off in aseemingly nowhere place, my homologue heaved a heavy sigh that rolled into anexclamation of “Mon Dieu.” Yup, that ishow we all felt, while home visits can be very effective and important, it washot and sunny, dinner was approaching, and we had to go knocking on doors—aheavy sigh was appropriate.

Once the home-visits began though,they were quite interesting. We have hearedabout some of the rumors people in Togo believe about birth control, but I hadnot heard many of them personally. Onour third house we spoke with a man who understood the need for family planning,but was concerned that if his wife began a method of birth control such asNorplant she would take a lover. It wasconfirmed, some Togolese actually believe that giving woman an opportunity tonot get pregnant will automatically make them adulterous. Because of that fear hesaid he practiced abstinence during periods that they do not wantchildren. Sam’s homey had a great replyto his practice of abstinence. “Maybe you do practice abstinence and it iseffective, but one day you will be feeling really happy, your wife will bethere and soon you’ll have that kid you didn’t want.” That got a quite a few LOLs.

The Peace Corps facility in Pagalais very similar to summer camp, and from what I’ve heard it was a retreat campin the 70s that the Peace Corps bought years later. The facility is very similar to a camp you’dthink of in the U.S.—we stay in cabin-like bunks, eat together in a dininghall, and there is even an old swimming-pool that has long been abandoned. One difference is that the camp has not beensue-proofed. The pool is not fenced andthere are few paths that do not have jagged rocks and roots traversingthem. It was with these rocks that I hadmy exciting interaction.

Just earlier in the day I hadmentioned how no one in the U.S. could get away with grounds like those inPagala, when, after dark, I was accompanying a friend to find hot water fromthe kitchen to tend to her own foot injury and I walked directly into a bigrock sticking out of the ground. Stubbing my toe, I busted it right open. Being the great friend I am I now had asympathy food injury to compliment my friend’s. Thankfully it turned into onlywhat resembles a really deep blisterand after some washing, the removal of a substantial hunk of skin, exclamationsof “oh gross!” and some bandages I was able to limp on.

Trainings at Pagala are a greattime to catch up with other volunteers and gain important knowledge—my biggestlesson this week being to use a flashlight when walking around at night. While taking a hunk off my toe was aneffective lesson, I think I prefer the home visits.

Package List

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-29 10:44:00

To everyone who has sent me a care package, thank you so much. Its wonderfully uplifting. Here is a list of things that I could always use:

Crystal Light (helps cover the taste of bleach)

Pasta sauce packets

Dried fruit (cranberries, raisins, pomegranate)

Trail mix

Tuna packets (the pastic saches are easier than the metalcans)

Peanut Butter (The stuff available here is not even similar)

Deotorant (Lady Speed Stick . . . Togolese don’t wear any soit’s impossible to find)

Anti-bacterial (aka Purell)

Hand wipes (a wonderful thing to have on hand in Africa)

Disposable razors

Hot cocoa

Maple syrup

Candy (hard candy or chocolate that has a hard shell likeM&Ms)

Magazines (It’s great to get a glimpse of America)

Letters!

Again, thank you to everyone who thinks of me out here in Togo. I can feel the love

Cluster whhhaaat!?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Manda's Blog

2012-01-29 10:05:00

Bon Annee! A year ago I could have never imagined my life this way, and I still feel like I am in a giant dream or nightmare. My first few months at post in Togo have pretty much been well… interesting, to say the least. One sickness after another, 4 days in the med unit, lack of adequate living conditions and more illness as a consequence, pick pocketing, thieving masons, bug and bat infestations, bike crashes, puppy seizures, doorstep marriage proposals, curtain fires, fishy flavored everything, bush rat and frog meat, I could go on and on. Yes, doesn’t sound all that romantic eh? I can say without a doubt, I am learning more about patience, resilience, coping, and forgiveness then I ever imagined, and I have high hopes for the next two years. Definitely wouldn’t have made it without the support of my fellow volunteers here in country, and my wonderful friends, family, and boyfriend back at home. No, I haven’t forgotten all of you, your letters, care packages, and warm thoughts have pushed me through the times that I thought I would break. Nothing like eating an entire care package or two of food, while painting with water colors sent for children, and reading letters from home to get you through the tough times. So thanks everyone. I am a little behind on posting so a little about life before Christmas…..

After being stolen from by my Mason and by someone in my own Marche, I was beginning to get a bit discouraged, Pollyanna be gone... Alas, I have hit my 4 month mark here in Togo! In one sense that feels like an accomplishment only 23 more months to go, although I sometimes kid myself thinking I have been here for 6 months and wondering how will I ever make it to the end. Not to fear, with my new sidekick Danfo (puppy), a kick ass host family, an amazing group volunteers, and a pretty great village… two years may not be enough. As far as the work aspect of being a volunteer, when you have to spend the first few months setting up your house with cement flooring and walls, pulling teeth to get a latrine, and ridding yourself of all ailments it’s a little difficult to do much else. But so it begins…

Wednesday December 21st, under the shade of a Neem Tree I held my first real meeting. After about two hours of waiting for everyone to arrive, I finally had to convince them we should and needed to start, even if the 8th son of the chief (who actually really isn’t his son at all) hadn’t shown up yet. Frightfully, I started the meeting by attempting the some fifty different ways to greet in Gam Gam only to resort back to broken French when no one understood or chose to respond, didn’t get much further with the French. The meeting was held to explain the women’s conference happening here in Togo in March, to nominate a woman, and to talk about my work/project plans for the next two years. I began by first explaining that I don’t actually know everything about… well… everything. I had to tell them that I don’t know how to build a dam, help them with their legal problems, or find a cure for malaria. From the grunts, groans, and sighs I was slightly worried that the rest of the meeting was going to go downhill from there, but I was pleasantly surprised. Because of things I have seen and experienced throughout my first few months I was beginning to think there was a lack of motivation, innovation, and creativity in this country, oh did my village show me. When I shot down the idea of building a dam, they remained insistent. The access to water her is shameful; there exists only four pumps of which three are in working order. Three pumps for a village of over 1,500 people, the women have to walk long distances and wait in long lines to get enough water. I tried to explain that a dam project was too large, too expensive, and too far out of my skill set (which for now ceases to exist altogether.) I brought the question of what would happen if a dam was built and it broke, who would maintain it, who would fix it? They responded by first telling me they already have 200 dollars saved up for a water project, and that they could create a committee to address problems and repairs, also they wondered if one could be trained to assess damages if they were to occur. Why not right? When I shot down their public latrine for the marche idea, because latrine projects are notorious for failure (they fill up, and become unsanitary) they suggested having people pay a small fee to use the latrine, using that fee to employee someone to maintain them. They also suggested composting latrines. Say what? Do I have the perfect village? These are ideas that I was supposed to propose, ideas that only other volunteers or educated people know, or so I thought. That’ll teach me to be paternalistic again. They tossed around so many ideas, that it all became a bit overwhelming… there is so much potential, so much motivation, but lack of resources and money, most things would require external or foreign aid of some sort. That brings up another whole subject- which I struggle to decide if I agree with or not. All of the sudden felt a weight of pressure to succeed in doing one or more of these projects, a pressure I wasn’t ready for, for I still haven’t figured out what my role or responsibility as a volunteer, community member, or simply a human is at this point. Another topic I will probably write more about it later for now I’ll spare you the craziness of complications of my mind.

After the meeting, my homologue and major invited me for what I thought was just a drink. Despite my constant insistence that I am a vegetarian, I am constantly told “little by little” I will habituate and become a meat eater. Thus, a not so little smorgasbord of meat was purchased, to you know- snack on during our drink, a three platter snack to be exact. . So what types of meat you ask? To my delight: beef, goat, and mystery meat. After exhausting my meat French vocabulary, trying to get to the bottom of what the mystery meat was and refusing to eat it, in fear that I would be consuming dog (yes they eat dog) my major finally says in overly pronounced English “It’s from the bush, like a raaaat.”

Oh joy.

The delicacy of Bush Rat… who would have thought that a rat could have such succulent meat? Of course I hesitated momentarily, I thought to myself for a second, whispered “you only live once right,” grabbed a piece of the moist, sauce covered meat and ate it. Three generous servings later I finally decided I had enough for the day, politely thanked them for the snack and drink and left the bar feeling slightly nauseous. Making my way home to nap away the nausea and reflect on my 23 years of being a non-adventurous meat eater, I am stopped by the very intoxicated Chef de Village who insists on buying me a calabash of Tchakpa, the perfect addition to a belly full of dead animals. I go through the motions; pour a small splash on the ground for the ancestors, sip it down, offer some to the old ladies, finish it off leaving another small bit to splash on the ground again, and pretend to misunderstand when they try to fill my calabash again, thanked the Chief and dodge away before I found myself stuck… drinking forever. On my walk back home the sun was more unforgiving than ever- sweating, sick, slightly tipsy, sleepy- the animals inside me decide to retreat as if they were still alive… I find myself puking behind the primary school, rat definitely tastes better going down. Luckily for me, it’s Wednesday, the day of the week my host family prepares my meals… not going hungry that’s for sure- give me some fish, frogs, or corn mush- anything but BUSH RAT!

5 am Thursday morning, I crawl out from beneath my mosquito net, wrap my pagne around my waist, pick up Danfo and open my four foot tall door to a bustling compound. I sigh with relief, for today I get to escape to the city. As I pack up my last items, strap them to my bike for my 170 k ride up North- I stop for a second to observe what is happening around me, trying to appreciate the chaos for what it is, and slap myself for sighing at my ache to escape- for this is my new life and I better get used to it. I then remember the presents I gathered and wrapped in make-shift Christmas paper for my host family, I dash back inside my hut in hopes of distributing them before everyone goes their separate ways. As I hand each person their gift they look at me not really sure what to do. I tried to explain the American tradition of gift giving and wrapping paper (thinking how silly it actually is to spend money on paper only to rip it up), still nothing. So I take 2 year old Kossi’s present and start un-wrapping it to show them, next thing I know they are tearing into their gifts faster than I could blink. What came next was a series of rejoicing… they all screamed, laughed, and danced! The little ones were smiling ear to ear, and I stood back and observed as they inspected each other’s gifts and exchanged excitement for one another. I’ll never forget that moment when Kossi’s mom grabbed him, kissed his face and hugged him with such excitement before showing him how to push his new matchbox car. They didn’t even need to thank me, their appreciation was loud and clear, and at that moment I no longer ached to leave village, nor ached to be spending the holidays in America. If only that same appreciation existed for the ridiculous number of gifts we receive every holiday. Alas, I had already made the commitment to ride up to Dapoang with two other volunteers. I was ready to go and was worried about being late to meet the others, but my host family kept insisting I wait until a villager came to see me off. Not thinking much of it, I began to get irritated as they blocked my departure. Finally the villager showed up, handing me two bills and a handful of change equaling about the equivalent of 10 dollars. My community had spent all morning gathering money for me, for all my money was stolen in the market the day before. I felt my eyes begin to well with tears; I knew this was a special gift and probably wasn’t easy to come up with especially during the holidays. Once again people who have so little are able to give so much. To put icing on top the cake I had a pretty bad crash on my way to meet my friends, not surprising right? As I bleed all over the place trying to pick myself, my bags, and my bike up a man raced over to help me. He strapped everything to my bike for me, dusted me off, and said sorry, sorry over and over again, proceeded to ride slowly behind me- just close enough to keep me in sight, but not too close to bother me. As we hit the mark where we were to go our separate ways he wished me good health, a good Christmas, and good voyage. Despite everything that may have gone wrong in the days, weeks, months leading up to this one, it is moments like those that make being here worth it, simple signs of gratitude, giving nature, and compassion.
I met Alisha and Sky on the main route and we made our way North. The pain from my crash persisted through most of the trip and by the time we made it to Mango I was dead tired, over sunned, and accomplished. The next leg of the trip would be easy, so I thought. Don’t think I could I have been more wrong. The next day we battled relentless savanna winds, blistering heat, a climb that went up but never came down, and semis that raced at on head on nearly knocking us off our bikes. My body was aching and I couldn’t replenish the salt that was dripping from my body, I fell behind the other two about halfway to Dapaong cursing so much you would think I was a sailor. The Togolese on their shitty bikes loaded with yams and God knows what raced past me, surely wondering why the crazy white girl was talking to herself, yelling in a language they couldn’t understand. Alas, we made it to our destination where for days on end we stuffed way too many volunteers into one place and over indulged on food, alcohol, and Christmas movies. Although I missed you all at home terribly, I must say I had a pretty amazing Christmas. As for what came next…. To be continued

They Call Me Yovo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-29 09:42:00

I love being in Togo in Africa. Every day I can’t help tothink how cool it is to be here and what an opportunity I have. However, it’sfar from perfect. It’s not easy being white in Togo and particularly a whitewoman. Most people here are wonderful and go out of their way to help, butthere is another side of being an outsider here.

Yovo. That’s my name here. Children and adults alike call meyovo. In Ewe it means white person. Other languages have other names for whitepeople, but in the southern part of Togo its yovo. I’ve heard the yovo song athousand times, “Yovo, yovo, bon soire. Çava bien? Merci”. You can google it and find it on youtube. Put it on repeat fora few hours and you might begin to understand what it’s like here. Sometimesinstead of yovo I get “la blanche” (French for white). I ignore people who callme “la blanche” (and its always adults . . . usually men). When in village Icorrect children and adults when they call me yovo. I tell them I have a nameand it’s not yovo. My name is Jennifer.

I thinkthe heart of the matter is identity. I’m seen only for the color of my skin.People seem shocked and amazed when they see me. They may even touch me(especially my hair) if they are bold enough. Most of the time I don’t know ifthey think I’m even human. Its gets tiring the same thing day in and day out.

Sometimeswhen I’m in my yard cleaning dishes or washing my clothes the children in myvillage will gather at my fence and just stare at me. I had one little girl sitdown at the entrance to my fence and sit there staring for thirty minutes. Iasked her what she wanted, if she needed anything. However, she didn’t know anyFrench and I don’t know Adja. I’ve been here for two months now and every daythe children gather to stare at me. I’ve taken to keeping my dog, Swarley,outside with me when I’m doing work in the yard since he hates children andthey’re terrified of him.

I havea lot of patience for the children staring and calling me yovo and singing whenI’m out and about. But it’s different when they come to my home and do it. Itmakes me angry when I’m in my house and I hear kids rattling my front doorshouting the yovo song. Or if I see them peeking through the gaps in my woodfence and hear “Yovo, donne moi l’argent” which translates to “white persongive my money” That really makes me angry. I usually reply with. “No you giveme money.”

Iunderstand the children can’t help it. They are just repeating what they aretaught. Yovo is just a word to them and has no meaning to them. If you toldthem the work for white person was “nanana-boo-boo” they would use it. If yougo to Atapkame, the Plateau regional capital, they children do call you yovo.However, they are just as likely to start singing “Party! Party! Party!” whenthey spot you. Party? Who taught them that? Peace Corps volunteers of course.Just goes to show you that the children have no idea what they are saying. Mostof the time they are just so excited to see you. Is it their fault you filledyour patience quota for the song after the thirtieth time that day?

Ten Things I Love About You

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-29 09:43:00

Favorite Things About Living in Africa

1. Living in Africa: I know a bit redundant, butreally still deserves its own show out. The simple fact that I’m living inAfrica is just incredibly cool. I’m also not in Togo as a tourist. Nothingwrong with visiting Africa, but because I live here I get to know the realheart of Africa. I can say I know Africans and that they are my friends.

2. The land: Its breathtakingly beautiful. In rainyseason its green and lush. There are palm trees, coconut trees, papaya trees,pineapple trees, and so many more. There are these massively tall trees with alight color back. The trunk of some are as big as a bus.

3. People: Most people here a wonderful. Togolesepeople are giving and will g out of their way to help you. They are also someof the most interesting people I’ve ever met. They have the most genuinesmiles. Life here is difficult and yet they can smile and find humor.

4. “Star Showers”: This is a term used to describelate at night after a long hot day and you go to take your bucket shower underthe stars. Get it? Star shower? Not sure where the term originated, but allvolunteers know the phrase. It’s a poetic way to describe dumping cold water onyourself from a bucket. However, the view cannot be beat. Stars are so brighthere out where there is no electricity. When I return to the US I will missshowering under those vivid and bright stars.

5. Fresh fruit: Yeah, when you eat a pineapple justtaken down from your yard it’s undeniably fresh. The fruit here is incredibleand so much sweeter than what we buy in the United States.

6. Pagne: It’s the colorful printed fabric herethat is then made into clothing from tailors. I love that my clothes are fittedfor me and not some generic size. The colors are so vivid and the patters areso unique. Though cotton is more comfortable. But you know what they say . . .‘when in Togo wear pagne’

7. Watching the creative, mindboggling, andsometimes downright dangerous ways Togolese transport things and themselves.From cars meant for five people holding nine to a moto having the zedman, twowomen and five goats laid onto of each other all on one motorcycle . . . Togolese defy physics and the law of gravity.It’s amazing to see what they can carry on their heads. Just yesterday comingback from Notse a saw another moto coming towards us with a long objectstrapped to the back with bungee cords. As we got closer I saw that it was acoffin. My first thought was “huh . . .it’s a coffin on a moto,” followed by “I hope nobody’s in there.”

8. Cold Soda: there is little better than drinkinga cold coke on a hot African day. I love to hear that pop and fizzle afteropening the top.

9. Freedom of clothing: Labels don’t matter here(not that you can’t find name brands in Dead Yovo markets). You can wearanything in Togo (well . . . there are some stipulations if you’re a womanabout showing your knees). You don’t have to match and often Togolese will wearwith confidence some big fashion no-nos. If you want to wear a Halloweencostume? Go ahead. Fur hat in Africa. Why not?

10. Fanmilk: Togolese version of “ice-cream.” Itcomes in a sachet and is sold by men ridding around on bikes with coolers infront honking their horn so you know they’re coming. For 150 FCA (500 is about1 US dollar) you can enjoy your own fanmilk. My favorite is FanIce, which tasteslike vanilla icing. There is also FanChoco, FnVanilla, FanExtra (like yogertand is a little tangy).

Back down the rabbit hole

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Life is full of choices, if you have the guts TO GO for it!

2012-01-29 08:56:00

Hey! Who pushed me down the rabbit hole? I wasn’t quite ready to leave the comforts of my home, my friends, my running water, and glorious food.

I followed that darn cute rabbit again. This time I knew what I was getting into and yet, I still stood over that hole, peering down, not quite sure what to do, wanting to take the leap, until someone had the nerve to push me. Johnee, I know it was you. And that adorable rabbit looked so much like Dillon…

So off we go again!

Down, down, down we go

After a somewhat nail-biting travel adventure, I arrived in Lomé. Um, having to connect onto a flight through Ghana clearly reminded me that I had arrived in West Africa; my flight wasn’t existent anywhere I looked, so I had to run around the airport dragging all my luggage to find an answer. At one point I was so deflated, I left my luggage with a girl at the “information desk” so I could run around more efficiently. I honestly didn’t care if it was stolen because I was desperate to get to Togo.

Since I didn’t have a Ghana VISA or a phone to contact anyone, it would not have been good if I was stuck.

Trying to find various airline offices (yes, my flight existed and I was indeed on it) and to stand in the correct various lines at the precise time was a challenge for me. It’s a good thing they speak English! After much sweating, walking frantically, and a seven hour layover, I managed miraculously to sit in a propeller plane bound for Togo.

Camp Pagala

After a brief overnight stay at the bureau, I was off to Pagala for training with my stagemates. It was so good to see my pals and to see with my counterpart Derrik. Special thanks to Ryan for making my welcome so awesome! Seeing him run out to be the first to greet me was so sweet.

During the next three days, we learned how to create a permagarden (a dense and nutrient rich garden that will produce vegetables all year round). It was a lot of hard work performed by everyone and of course, some not-so-hard work done by me. We had a lot of good laughs, caught up with one another, and all-around fun.

I ventured out the last night to a bar to celebrate (as you know, not my typical thing). Bars in Togo are unique. To order a drink, you ring a bell (they are on every table), a woman arrives to take your order and brings your bottle and a glass. To pay for your drink before you leave, you return your bottle to the counter so they know what to charge you.

The bathroom is located next to a wall outside and if you need to use it, someone must hold a flashlight for you so you can see and pee standing up, down a hole in the corner of the wall.

The “dance floor” (an undesignated area in the middle of the lowly lit, if at all, bar) is pocketed with holes and rocks so great caution is necessary or you can really hurt yourself should you plant a foot carelessly. I couldn’t resist dancing to Abba’s “Dancing Queen.” It’s one of the few songs I recognize and what fun! We all dance together while the Togolese men observe. Ryan is a kick to dance with; he’s so animated and it’s pure joy. And these PC girls can dance up a storm. Wow!

We sit on plastic chairs or long wooden benches while gazing up at the stars through the hazy dust. It was lovely to be with my friends but luckily, Lydia is always there for me when I want to head back early. Thanks Lydia!

SED phase out

The big news of our last day was that our Country Director, Carolina announced that Peace Corps decided to phase out the SED program in Togo. Our group of eight will be the last volunteers to finish in 2013.

Among the reasons, Peace Corps wants to do three programs (GEE, EAFS, CHAP) better rather than spread its resources in four areas. All sectors were evaluated and it seemed that SED could be eliminated. Blah blah blah. I have my speculations: budget cuts, PC needs to put its resources in countries with more exposure, PC has been in Togo for 50 years, etc.

This decision impacts everyone. Instead of two groups coming in each year, we will have one. Instead of approximately 52 new volunteers per year, we will have 36. Training may occur in July. Lots of jobs will be lost. When the health unit supports 80 or less volunteers, there is a need for one PCMO. I can’t imagine having only one. I love both Kate and Aurelia so, so much and they support us so well. *sigh*

My Sokodé post will not be replaced, not that there was ever a guarantee that it would. But, it makes me sad.

Let’s make lemonade from the lemons, n’est-ce pas? I’m up to the challenge!

Home Depot

Ryan has named the various boutiques in town with American brands. There is an Office Depot, Costco, and of course a Home Depot. These are boutiques that are ½ the size of a small 7-eleven. All the merchandise sits behind counters so you can’t pick out what you want.

I needed a light bulb.

Here’s what you do:

Walk inside the Home Depot. Saluer everyone in Kotokoli or French.
Find someone behind the counter to help you. If there are other customers there, good luck. Tell them you need a light bulb. Point to the one you want. They plug it in to make sure it works. The person writes up a receipt and it feels like it takes forever especially when other customers are all around en masse.
Push your way out and take the receipt to another woman, in another part of the boutique and wait in another incoherent queue. Push your way through. Pay. Take your copy of the receipt back to the first person, wherever he is. Wait again.
Give your receipt. He’ll get your light bulb for you. Voila! C’est fini.

A lot of you asked me what my typical day looks like and look at me incredulously as if I don’t do much. I forget to remind you that what takes you 10 minutes, takes me hours or longer.

Packages

Wow, I had Christmas in January (being that I was laid up in a hotel bed in a lot of pain this past Christmas, this was worth the wait!)

Thanks to everyone for my goodies (Stephen, Antonio, Dale, Arlene, Ericka, Tracy, Kimberly, Lindy, my daddy, and my mommy). I was really overwhelmed.

I think Kimberly’s “Advent Countdown to Christmas” package was super creative. One gift per day for 25 days until Christmas. I am desperately trying to open one per day, but it’s not quite working. I’m up to day 6. This is so, so much fun. Merci beaucoup!

For those of you who had packages ready for the post office before my med-evac, go ahead and send away!

For those of you who are starting one, STOP! I know, you like thinking about me when you see things you know I’d like, but please, please save your hard-earned money for when I return home. Please. Please. Please. Don’t stop thinking about me (!), just stop buying. I can’t believe I’m actually telling you not to send me anything, but I am. I am quite content. Truly. If you continue at this pace, I will have to stay in Togo for a long time and I want to come home!

Love and hugs to everyone. I love you.

Weather report

Temperature inside my home (8:00 am) : 86 degrees. At 1:00 pm: 96 degrees. At 9 pm: 90 degrees. Why did I have to buy a thermometer from REI? So I can understand what hot season is really like. It will descend upon me in a few weeks. Stay tuned!

Dirty Laundry

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Finding Peace

2012-01-28 17:32:00

Like most Volunteers, I often find myself missing things from America that aren't available in Togo. It's so easy to think about foods, living conditions, and lifestyle differences we miss, that I sometimes forget there are benefits of living in Togo too.

One example is being able to hire help around the house. PCV's pay for people to dust, sweep, clean, cook, do laundry, get water, or help with gardening. Until recently, I avoided this because handling it alone wasn't too bad.

However, when only a week remained before a PC training, I found myself with a full schedule until then and basically no clothes to wear. Partly because of time constraints, laziness, and personal inefficiency, I decided to go ahead and get a laundry lady. Up until that point, I'd been doing laundry for myself, but was gradually finding that my clothes never got as clean as they were originally.

Fortunately, I had someone in mind for the job. One local laundry lady offered to wash my clothes when I first came, but I’d always refused. Last week, I decided to take her up on that offer. There was one big obstacle though… she only speaks the local language, Kotokoli. When I finally tracked her down just two days before my training, our conversation ended up being more through gestures than words.

I tried to through in bits of the local language I knew and thought were applicable. “Tomorrow morning. Work? Me. House.” I said, making motions to myself and then in the direction of my home. She offered an alternative, along with lots of other things I didn't understand. “No, after tomorrow morning.” I would already be gone, so I kept insisting, “Eye-yo, cherreh terreh.” “Je vais partir apres demain.” No. Tomorrow morning. I leave after tomorrow. I said , switching back to French. She responded with things way over my local language vocabulary, and sensing my confusing called someone nearby to come “speak French to her” as she put it.

The translator explained to me that she had some things to do the following day, but was available in two days. I explained to him my dilemma was that I needed the laundry done the next day, because I'd be leaving early the day after that. They went back to explaining this to her in Kotokoli, and got the lady to understand and she agreed to come to my house the following morning. We agreed on 7 a.m., but I wasn’t sure if that would mean real-time or with a hour or two delay because of the l’huere Africane.

To my surprise, the lady came the next morning knocking on my door at 6:30. I would have normally already been up at this time, but stayed up late the night before. The weather has been moving toward hot season, so I’ve been finding my house more and more uncomfortable to sleep at night. Instead getting to bed immediately, I decided to work on a few documents with my computer until I bored myself to sleep. With that, and a few splashes of cold water, I was off to bed by around 10:30 or 11:00 p.m.

It took me a few seconds to hop out of bed and throw on the only pair of clothes I intentionally kept out of the laundry pile before greeting the woman at the door. We took care of the normal salutations in Kotokoli, and then she got to work. “Good morning. How’d you sleep? How are the kids? And the house? And the work? And the activities? And the walk?”

I handed her my entire clothing collection, and she let out a gasp of surprise. Then, she explained again in Kotokoli that’d she’d be more available the next day. In one word phrases, I tried to reiterate that I wouldn’t be home, so she started filling my buckets with water.

Washing clothes is usually done with a three bucket system. This requires arranging the buckets in the order of: 1. Soapy, 2. Less soapy, and 3. No soap. As the first bucket becomes too dirty to use, that water is disposed of (thrown on the ground, used for gardens, flushing toilets, or otherwise). Then, the remaining two buckets move up accordingly and a new “no soap” bucket is added. This process is repeated until all the clothes are done.

I stood to watch as she started rubbing a bar soap on my purple clothes, and thrashed them in the first bucket to the second, last, before hanging them to dry. She then moved on the the blues, oranges and methodically continued making her way through all of my colors of clothing. Arranging them by color helps avoiding dye stains when the local fabrics run. However, rather than seeing buckets filled with dyed water, today all I saw was the brown Harmattan dust running off my clothes.

I had given this lady every piece of clothing I own, minus a few socks and underwear. This was the largest amount of laundry I’d done (or had done in this case) at my house, and I thought I was severely underequipped for drying them all. I now only have one sturdy metal clothesline because my second nylon string was literally falling apart from the weather. Somehow, she made all the laundry fit anyway, by piling some on top of others, then went to placing them over the concrete walls surrounding my house.

At the end of the three hour job, she only asked for a pair of my flip flops, which I graciously offered along with 2,000 fCFA (a total value of less than $5 with the $.50 flip flops). Equipped with clothes to wear, I headed off the next morning to a four-day PC training.

Congrats Ashley and Chantal!!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo aklala du Togo

2012-01-28 16:02:00

I am proud to share with you a recent presentation Chantal and Ashley gave Ambassador Melanee Verveero, Head of Global Women's Issues at the US State Department during Hillary Clinton's recent visit to Togo!!

Ashley Lewis and Chantal Donvide represented Peace Corps Togo and thier work in Kpalimé. Ashley has been assisting Chantal in the continued growth and development of her business, aklala batik during her service as a Small Business Development Volunteer with the Peace Corps. Since Chantal and I laid the groundwork for the opening of her successful batik business in 2008, she has continued to expand her operations and clients through continued assistance and support from Ashley coupled with Chantal's inner drive to be a successful businesswoman. Ashley was able to take what we had started and concentrate on assisting Chantal craft a working business model to continue her success. In the two years since Ashley arrived, I have seen so much growth in aklala batik and in Chantal. It is her drive and passion, coupled with the foundation of support offered by the Peace Corps in Togo to promote her business.

Chantal is my hero, and I am the one inspired.

Congratulations Chantal and Ashley!

Hillary, I hope you love your gift! Enjoy!

Please stay tuned on the continued development of aklala batik! If you are interested in any products feel free to contact me here: meglynn.ryan@gmail.com

Ak bey ka ka LOOO! (Merci, Thank YOU!)

Slideshow from January

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Kate Travels the World

2012-01-27 12:46:39

Just got back from technical training on family planning and behavior change in Pagala. We brought our Togolese counterparts and spent the week with volunteers from my stage. Ernest and I are excited about our “plan d’action:” working on building latrines, family planning counseling, working with middle school girls, and training health agents.

A wee summary

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Adventures of Rose

2012-01-26 18:32:27

A few days, or possibly weeks ago, an alumna from my high school emailed me, wanting to know more about going into the Peace Corps. I wrote up this summary and figured it would be a good way to get back into posting on my blog as well.

When our alumni director interviewed me, she asked me whether our high school had influenced my choice to go into the Peace Corps. I had a hard time articulating that in the moment, but it certainly did. Choosing to serve requires an immense amount of self-confidence and a belief that one single person CAN make a difference. I know that the supportive environment, both teachers and other students, at our high school nurtured those qualities in me. I'm not surprised that another alumna is looking for a way to 'give back.'

Let me just say, if you are considering doing service in international development, I believe that Peace Corps is the best option available. The training and support you receive and the huge emphasis on project management, cultural integration, and community-initiated work is a unique blend. Too many other volunteer opportunities focus on one thing - like cultural exchange, where they send volunteers to an area, they do a cookie-cutter project like building houses, eat a few meals with a host family, and then go home. In the Peace Corps, you arrive in your village and spend the first six months doing a participatory needs assessment, learning what your community is good at, how they celebrate grand occasions, how they mourn loss, and what they want to do to improve their own lives. Then you develop ideas and projects hand-in-hand with your local counterparts. It's slower and you will work harder than in other projects, but in the end, you have personally learned a huge number of skills in project management and design, skills that you wouldn't have had exposure to in the workplace in America for several years. And your unique integration with the community, positive identification of their resources (human, plant, animal, financial) allows your community itself to find the strength to not only be successful with you, but also to continue the work after you've left.

I spent three years in Togo, in West Africa. I went in as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer with an emphasis in Non-Profit Development. The following summary is only the bare bones of the work that I did, I recommend you take a look at other entries on my blog: theadventuresofrose.blogspot.com for a fuller picture. I spent most of my first year doing projects in my tiny no-electricity-no-running-water village, working with a local seamstress to build up her business and then, through her, teaching apprentice seamstresses and tailors basic business skills. My second year, I took on managing and running a national youth leadership camp, recruiting camp counselors and young people from all over Togo to learn skills from the personal - self-confidence, to the practical - puberty and adolescence, to the social - how to prevent HIV/AIDS and teach others to prevent it too. I took on a third year of service (service is normally only 2 years) because I had the opportunity to take on a leadership role in the volunteer community, helping to improve training and support for volunteers. In addition to supporting volunteers, I was able to continue the community projects I'd taken on, bringing them to the next level - re-establishing a scholarship program for girls with a US-based foundation to support them, and starting to put together monitoring and evaluation techniques for the youth leadership camp that would enable us and our funders to better attract donations.

As you can see, I did a lot of interesting work - from grant-writing to building a gigantic walk-through uterus to help kids understand how menstruation and pregnancy work. I participated in tons of community events - from a convoluted traditional engagement ceremony that started with a 45 minute hike up a mountain to joining the local church choir (trying as best I could to sing along in the local language Ewe).

It was at times tough and tear-your-hair-out frustrating, but I am so happy that I did it. I am very proud of the work that I did, blessed by the friendships I made, and profoundly changed by the challenges I faced.

I strongly encourage you to apply to the Peace Corps - keep in mind that the application process itself took a year for me, and that's pretty typical, so go into it with patience and flexibility.

we've got an electronic version!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Togo I Go!

2012-01-25 15:31:00

Ann just signed us up for an electronic version. A new venture in publishing. The cheapest we could charge was $2.99 (sorry about that). We would love for a few people to buy a copy and give a positive review!!!

http://www.amazon.com/Gospel-According-Hunger-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B0071DLPXK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1327504391&sr=1-1

Neighborhood Watch: Snake Edition

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Stacie's Blog Has Got It Going On!

2012-01-24 11:12:00

There are currently five Togolese men rooting around my house looking for holes. Snake sized holes to be precise. My neighbor, Arcade, showed up early this morning with his crew to oversee the search. Now, to my horror, they are on hands and knees, trying to ignore the grime, dog poop, and all the other gross things I try to ignore on a daily basis in and outside of my house, on a full out snake hunt. How did this all begin, you might ask? When I decided to take a shower last night, would be my answer.

Not to sound like a cliché, but it started out as any normal quiet night at my house. I had been at the office for a bit, gone to the market, made lentils and rice for dinner, and was planning on having an early night by myself. Although it’s fairly cold out at night by African standards, I needed to wash off the dirt and dust from the day. Even if I didn’t leave the house, the layer of dust that coats everything in the house rises up and clings to you every time you move.

I am lucky enough to be one of three volunteers (out of over a hundred) in country with running water and electricity. I am fully appreciative of this fact (especially because my first year of service I had neither). Even though the shower water is icy cold (believe me, because of harmattan – the windy season- this isn’t a pleasant thing) , it still trumps a warm bucket shower any day.

Running through the list of things I needed to get done this week, (final project reports, grad school scholarship applications, etc), I got under the shower head and proceeded to lather with soap from head to foot (note: the order is important). I was completely sudsy and ready to start on the arduous task of cleaning my feet (this can only be understood if you have lived in Africa for any length of time, there are layers of dirt. The dusty top layer, the dirt layer that can be confused with your chako tan lines, and then the layer of grime that has actually somehow been absorbed into your skin – usually around the bottoms of your feet).

As I began to bend over, something caught my eye. I twisted my head towards the corner of the shower stall (which is roughly 3ft by 4ft), and saw a large brown snake slowly swaying back and forth rising out of my shower drain. For an instant, I thought I was delusional and seeing things. But as I continued to question my mental stability, it had already risen a foot out of the drain and less than six inches from where I stood. I decided on the off chance that I wasn’t crazy, I should do something. I literally could not find the air to scream. I dashed out of the shower, suds and all, ran for my room, grabbed a pagne and my cell phone, and dashed outside.

I immediately called Liam, who lives about 15 minutes away in the next village over.

Stacie:“THERE’SASNAKEINMYSHOWERTHERESASNAKEINMYSHOWEROHGODOHGODITNEARLYTOUCHEDMETHERESASNAKEINMYSHOWER”
Liam: “What? Hello? Stace? What’s wrong?? I can’t understand you”
Stacie:“THERESAFREAKINGSNAKEINMYSHOWERITWASGINOURMOUSCOMEQUICKANDKILLITICANTGOBACKINSIDE”
Liam: “Still can’t understand you, talk slower”
Stacie:“ICANTTHERESASNAKEINMYSHOWER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Liam:“A SNAKE?!”
Stacie:“YESASNAKETHERESAREALLYBIGSNAKEITSTRYINGTOKILLME”

By this point, I am in my front yard, covered in soap, wrapped in a towel, and the little boy from next door is just staring at me while I’m unintelligibly yelling into the phone. Liam was too far away to be any immediate help. By this time the snake could have left the shower (the water was still running) and slithered into any crevice in my house. This required immediate action by someone much braver than me. I got off the phone and started yelling for my next door neighbor, Arcade. Maggi-Man (he works for Nestle and owns a Maggi-cube truck which he takes me around town in from time to time) go way back. He has helped me out of many a’ pickle, without much choice other than neighborly duty and feeling of obligation to help the cowardly white girl who lives by herself.

He had two friends over, and they all looked for something to bludgeon with as I quickly explained what happened. Armed with a pcb pipe, a table leg, and a large branch pulled from my mango tree, they cautiously entered my house as I waited outside clutching my phone. I could hear them looking around and then scuffling and a lot of beating noises. The re-emerged from my house shortly after with the snake, at least three feet in length, draped twice over the pipe. It. Was. HUGE. And still moving. They had bludgeoned like the best of ‘em, but I could still see it’s tongue flicking. I had the heebie-geebies in the worst way possible. They took it outside the compound and threw it away, and after much discussion on how it could get into my house, they decided I was safe and left.

I entered my house, certain now that under every chair and around every corner a slowly swaying snake was waiting for me. I had just enough time to see the blood splatters that started in the bathroom and continued into the living room before the power went out. I was huddled on my couch in the living room in pitch black dark, wondering how one snake, albeit a very large snake, could hold so much blood. Mazzy was practically sitting on top of me. She had missed all the excitement sleeping on the back porch, but now she was on full alert realizing I was scared witless. So I called home. Thankfully it was a reasonable hour in Oregon, and my parents already awake. I have had enough experience living abroad to wait until I wasn’t at a full panic to call home. Parents tend to think of the worst when you call internationally and are screaming into the phone. Don’t ask me why, their worriers. ;)

Once I had relayed my adventures to my parents, vowed to never shower again, checked every corner of my house, and turned on all the lights in the house, I sequestered myself in my bedroom, barred the door, put a towel against the crack in the door, I tucked my mosquito net around my bed as best I could, and tried to sleep, with the light on.

The rest of the night and next morning passed by uneventfully, until Arcade and his men showed up. The found the hole under my house where the pipe had been dislodged so anything could come in or out. They cut back my mango tree, just in case it had been living in it, and climbed up on the roof to….well I’m still not sure what they did up there, but it sounded anti-snakey.

All-in-all it was a very Togolese experience. And as usual I feel ridiculous but otherwise unharmed. I must be more used to living in Africa than I thought. I am not traumatized like I thought I would be. It has pushed me to the decision to finally get curtains for my kitchen though. I’ll want some privacy when I’m taking a bath in the sink.

hot season is coming . . .

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-01-23 13:30:00

The other night the wind did not pick up like it usually does. Instead the heat stayed in, near the ground—this creeping ooze that filled the compound and all the corners of the house. There was nowhere to go to get away from it. It was mostly calm, so the air was like this blanket that pressed against your face wherever you went. The next day, D bought a fan cause she has electricity. Hot season is coming.

I was going down to Bassar the other day. We got to one point on the Kouka-Kabou road where I did not recognize where I was, it was so different. Bulldozers are pushing back the brush and preparing the new roadway after logging crews cut out the useful lumber. Then people pick through the roadway for every burnable scrap of wood.

Speaking of traveling, this is the best time of year to ride in bush taxis, at least up here. The roads are turning to sand and powder, so a lot of the holes and ruts are somewhat smoothed out. Motoing is a lot harder cause motos don’t do well in sand.

I had a nice bush taxi ride down to Bassar the other day. The road was wasn’t too terrible, and the car left on time. We didn’t have too many stops, except for one flat tire. I got the front passenger’s seat. The guy sitting next to me kept dozing off and bouncing off of me but that was ok. When we got to where they are working on the road he kept saying “c’est bon, c’est tres bon.” I didn’t really care though because I love sitting in the front, and the seat was good. I don’t care how its allegedly not safe. Most of the bush taxis in Togo are Mazda or Toyota vans that have the engines under the driver instead of in the front of the vehicle, so a head-on collision is theoretically more dangerous in one of them. However, I’ve seen way more bush taxis that have rolled over and burned than have gotten in a head-on. I prefer to be able to get out of the car quickly, instead of being crammed in the middle of 20 other people in the event of an accident.

My wish list includes Clif Bars too

Its kind of interesting how much stuff has changed here just in the past year or so. My favorite egg sammie guy just rebuilt his little café—its really nice now. A couple new storefronts have opened up in Kouka. Double and triple kit phones that play mp3s are more common—despite the fact they are all chinese knock-offs. MP3 headsets entered the scene about a year ago and a lot of people have them now.

Speaking of buying things, it’s the new year, so Nigerian moto salesmen have been through. Now a lot of the zed drivers have new motos, which they will resell again next year when they are worn out.

And speaking of Nigeria, current war/strike there is creating a problem here because that’s where Togo gets most of its gasoline. The gas stations in Kabou, Kouka, and Bassar are either out of gas or are hoarding it. There is a thriving illegal gasoline trade here—little stalls along the road that sell liter bottles of gas are ubiquitous. They are getting rich because, since they stockpile gas, they are the only source of it now. Gas used to be 500-600 CFA/liter in the station and at the stand. Now its up to 600 at the station, and 800-1 mille at the stands. Traveling just got a lot more expensive.

I saw the most hilarious thing the other night. Nighan was out and the kittens were asleep on my lit picot. I was watching something in bed when I heard this crash and snarling from the other room. I got my flashlight pointed at the door in time to see both kittens charge into my room side by side, growling and hissing. They each had one end of a mouse that Nighan brought in. The kittens ran under my bed where one of them eventually won out, and then I got to listen to kitty jaws crunching a mouse. I didn’t mind though, I was too busy laughing.

I sort of like TIME Magazine's Person of the Year for this year-- the Protester. It is cliche, but summarizes the year's most important development. I, however, take issue with the obituary section. Yes I love Steve Jobs-inspired/developed products and will keep buying them. Yes, the man was a genius. But, compared to the rest of the people who died this year, why the hell does he rate the first mention, like he was the most important? Buried back in the section is the obituary for Sargeant Shriver, the guy who founded the Peace Corps, among other things. Who has more of an impact-- someone who developed stuff that people want to spend money on or someone who created an organization that helps the world? Would you rather have an iPod or clean water? Someone's importance should not be related to how much money they made in their lifetimes, but, sadly, it is. Jobs did a lot, but no one in Nampoch knows what the hell a Macbook is . . . .

You can't go home again

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Life is full of choices, if you have the guts TO GO for it!

2012-01-22 15:18:00

“You can’t go home again” has entered American speech to mean that after you have left your country town or provincial backwater city for a sophisticated metropolis, you can’t return to the narrow confines of your previous way of life. – Wikipedia

I’m trying to think of something pithy to write that accurately describes what I’ve been feeling since I’ve returned to the U.S. after my six months in Togo.

How’s this for pithy: I love America.

Sound corny? Well, it accurately conveys not so much an appreciation of but rather a fête of the possibilities America provides.

I love Target. I love my car and the freedom it provides. I love paved roads. I love my bed. I love electricity and running water. I love flushing a toilet. I love the weather in southern California. I love the diversity of people and along with that, my anonymity.

I celebrate that we have access to an abundance of choices. Perhaps a gluttony of choices, but choices nonetheless. While I despise how we can be materialistic and wasteful we can also choose to abandon the compelling enticements of excess and overindulgence. Do I really need another stuffed animal? Do I really need to eat that $200 gourmet meal? I may still say yes, but I have the choice.

I make different choices in Togo because I have a different menu of options and they provide a newfound joy.

Now, what gets me over-the-top excited is a look-through the grab bin (the used stuff that volunteers leave behind in the Peace Corps volunteer lounge) and finding an old shirt and giving it a second life.

I am equally as thrilled when I successfully flush my toilet using a bucket of water (it’s a combination of a steady hand, angle of the bucket, and my excellent control of the flow-speed of the water).

I love the way the wind feels in my hair when I am on a motorcycle.

The Togolese men and women I work with and know amaze me with their dedication to the community. Du courage, indeed.

There’s equally another not-so-pretty side. I am saddened to see children who can only play with rocks and lines drawn in the sand or an empty can tied to a string.

I am shocked to hear that people I know don’t have something as simple as an aspirin to lessen the pain of a simple headache. My med kit would certainly go a long way.

I can’t accurately describe the pitiful road conditions. Why does the Togo government turn a blind eye to this madness?

Through the looking glass

Joan, you asked me how I’ve changed. Perhaps what I’ve written is a glimpse into the subtle changes of my thoughts. I think you are best equipped to enlighten me as to how you perceive the changes? I can’t be objective. Where is the mirror of truth?

I knew the Peace Corps experience would transform me forever as a person. But I don’t know what that will look like.

My viewpoint has a new landscape because I’ve added one more filter for me to see through that has added another perspective, attitude, and dimension.

I can come home again. I’ve just arrived in a new suit.

It’s January already!?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Kate Travels the World

2012-01-21 17:34:44

I’m definitely getting back into my groove in N’digbe after an amazing Christmas and New Years. There have been plenty of project opportunities both with partners in village, and with other Peace Corps volunteers. I had the opportunity to attend another volunteer’s “girl camp”–a weekend full of confidence-building activities, health talks and self-empowerment for [...]

America IS beautiful

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-01-20 14:50:00

Wow, was I ever reminded of this recently. I was fortunate enough to be able to travel home to Iowa for 2 weeks recently and was pleasantly surprised at just how amazing America is. Second year PCV’s talk about it like it’s heaven and this was quite strange to me in the first months of my service. But now I understand. It’s interesting how you begin to accept your surroundings and life here and Togo and forget how truly different the developed world is.

I had a feeling I would feel a bit strange or overwhelmed with my first encounters of the developed world but I had no idea they would be this clear. My first flight was from Ghana to Amsterdam when we landed at 7 am the awareness was at its peak:

- - Squealing (literally) at the cold air on the jet bridge

- -In the bathroom:

o Jumped when the toilet flushed automatically

o Washed my hands three times in the hot running water just because I could

o Noticed the mom changing her young daughter out of her pajamas and into her day clothes. Thought immediately of Togolese children and their change of outfits or lack thereof. (For a while, I related everything to Togo. This went away surprisingly quickly.)

- -Realized I can drink the water out of the fountains/ there were fountains to drink out of!

- -Enjoyed the uniquely dressed Europeans

- -Admired couples showing affection in public (unheard of in Togo)

- -Even more fascinated at the diversity; cultures and ethnicities

- -Walked through a book/gift shop and amazed at the amount of things and how shiny everything was.

- -Excited to see/hear Americans and English

- -Amazed at how easy the flights has been (smoothly the airports/travel operates)

- -Noticed how Americans can get a bad reputation for being loud and obnoxious as I stood behind a family of 12 traveling back from a safari in Kenya

- -At the same time, felt so strange being able to understand everything

- -Watched intently as the mama in front of me fed her toddler some juice/fruit drink for kids (thought of Togolese mamas feeding their kids fried dough)

If you counted, that was 14 things. Fourteen observations in under an hour. When I landed in the U.S. with nearly 24-hours of travel under my belt I only had a few more distinct culture shocks; Target, cars, coffee.

I had forgotten something so Michael and I stopped by Target on our way from the airport. PCV’s dream of Target but I hadn’t had time to prepare for this coveted experience. Michael, knowing this might be a tad overwhelming, held my hand tight and quickly directed me to the area we were looking for. Surprisingly, I made it through the produce section but it was the dishware that got me. We were passing by the isle where there were three styles of place settings on display and I just paused to take in the beautiful colors, designs, and the incredible way everything matched. It was so beautiful so simple, made so much sense, and soon I was crying. Michael patiently comforted me and we quickly made our purchase and got out of there.

I was also acutely aware of vehicles for a while. Why was there only one person in these giant SUV’s and even in four door sedans? It seemed a bit crazy for only one person to be driving when at least 4 more people could fit (Togo). Finally, the next morning Michael headed for Starbucks as he knew this was going to be a big moment that I’d waited for. “Drive through,” he asked? “No way- I want to smell it,” I exclaimed! And man, was it wonderful. My first coffee shop, with its delicious sights and sounds, let alone the amazing coffee itself! Wow – was that wonderful.

The next two weeks proceeded to go quickly- too quickly but I worked hard to stay present, enjoying each moment. We visited Michael's family, had a belated Christmas with my family, had some quality sister time with Maddie in Iowa City, enjoying the beautiful campus and cool crisp air. Michael and I spent a weekend in Des Moines where I scheduled coffee, lunches, dinners and drinks so as to be able to see everyone. The rest of the time was spent in my hometown where I made a few presentations to Rotary and Kiwanis Clubs and a couple of elementary classrooms about my experience thus far. Words don’t really do my time in America justice. Being able to see people from high school, college, and my Des Moines days, time playing cards around my family’s kitchen table, running to the store anytime we thought of something, biking and running in the mild winter temperatures, enjoying all of the food I had put on a ‘to-eat’ list and overall just drinking in every moment of the comfortable life. It was blissful. A very special and big MERCI BEAUCOUP for the amazing people who made this time so meaningful.

All of this wonderful-ness has made the transition back to Togo a bit challenging. I knew it was going to be really hard missing people and I felt I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this before I left Togo. What I didn’t prepare for was the adjustment of leaving the conveniences and comforts of the developed world and returning to the way of life in Togo. Yes, I cried a lot on the return flights. But they were tears of leaving the people who are very special to me. I had no idea in the days to come I’d be crying at the challenge and culture shock of re-entering into this life I’ve chosen.

Knowing I would be struggling this first week back, I arranged to come stay with Vanessa in her village. Thank God for this angel in my life. Patient, calm, tolerant, laid-back, Vanessa is in a lot ways- everything I’m not. She has listened patiently as I vent about the frustrations and backwardness of Togo. She hugs me when I cry and miss Michael and my family. She smiles as we sweat like pigs walking through her village, gathering things for lunch. She grins and bears it when her running water stops running or when packs of children scream ‘yovo’ (white person) wherever we go. She reminds me of the beautiful and nice things about Togo as I gripe and complain about how backwards things work here. I know this is in part because of her wonderful, nature and spirit but it’s also because she hasn’t left, hasn’t been reminded of the other way of living. I was blessed to be able to enjoy a few weeks in the comfort of the US and now I feel like I’m paying for it a little bit. I’m readjusting… slowly.

One last situation and then I’ll get out of the pity pool. There is a second year PCV here in Badou who I really admire and look up to. She has been here a year and a half and is a model volunteer in my mind – what’s more, she has a great attitude about her life and work here. Before she left for vacation (she too visited the States), she had gone through all the procedures to establish a girls club at the middle school. Tuesday was her first meeting and I was very excited to watch and learn from this seasoned volunteer. In my mind, the meeting went horribly. Terrible. But you’d never know it by the look on the face of the PCV and the enduring spirit and energy she gave throughout the entire thing. The girls showed up 30, 60, even 90 minutes late. Girls showed up who were not in the group and she had to go through the attendance list over and over. Kids played loudly right outside the door so she was forced to yell to be heard to the group of 30. When she finally got to the lesson 90 minutes from the start time of the meeting, she was met with blank stares. Introducing a brand new concept (goal setting) to this group of young teens was like speaking to a brick wall. Thankfully, one of the PCV’s counterparts and a teacher at the school was there and he helped her when the girls weren’t picking up her French (which is good) or understanding her examples. AHHHHH I’m thinking! This PCV followed all the procedures to make sure this would work, was well prepared with handouts and visual aids, yet it was still a struggle. But, she took it all in stride and left the meeting able to smile and chuckle about what had happened.

Lesson: Even after a year-and-a-half of work in her village, Togo is still Togo. But it’s me who must change. I, as the PCV, must adapt, change, adjust my standards, my expectations, my frustration meter. I must remember the pace of life in Togo. I must remember that only a small, motivated few are going to understand, receive your message and be willing to work with you. Remember that half of your day could be spent searching for the office to pay your water bill (out in the boonies in Badou with only one sign to point you in the general direction).

Deep breaths and run time. And prayer. Lots of prayer and seeking the little blessings God's planted along my path reassuring of me of my purpose here, back in Togo.

The price of progress is

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-01-18 13:03:00

a lot of trees. Crews have started working on the road between Kouka and Kabou-- my current link to civilization. When its done, it will go from a partially washed out, rutted, dirt road that is barely passable in the rainy season to a 2 lane blacktop that will be one of the nicest roads in Togo. All of this is hard on the teak forests that surround parts of it though. It will also be hard on my friend Jen's village, Manga, because the road will completely change the village. And Kouka too. But it will take me like an hour to get to Bassar when the road is finished, instead of the current two, or an hour and a half to get to Kara, instead of the current 2.5 . . . crazy.

My insatiable curiosity is, i have decided, no longer good for my mental health in some respects. A couple months ago, when we were doing the technical visits for our pump project, i saw a long, thin, silver snake cross the road in front of our motos. My driver freaked and swerved, but the snake was fast and long gone. i thought it was pretty, and i also thought that the likelihood of me running into every venomous snake in west Africa was pretty low, so i didn't think much of it. Then, a couple weeks ago in Lome, i was looking up another snake that i've seen around here a couple of times because i was really curious as to what it was . . . i stumbled across a picture of a black mamba. they are long, thin, and silver. . . .

The Kouka girl's football team came out to Nampoch last friday for a match. they won. 2-0. on penalty kicks. like anything else is new. but it was fun. A bunch of my Volunteer friends, Abs (Abby), D (Danielle), Siya (Katie) and Bry (Bryanna), came out to do a condom demonstration and a talk on family planning after the match. they did a really good job. I had to go back and add their real names in parentheses . . . .

Ningan is awesome. her kittens are imps from hell. she's been bringing back mice at night for them. whichever one gets to the mouse first runs into my room with it and growls for a half hour to keep the other 2 away. since the mice are about half the size of the kittens, i have to lay there and listen to them chew on it for an hour . . .

in other cat news, the other two haven't showed up yet most likely never will now.

My wish list, in case anyone wants to get stars in their crown or blessings in the hereafter or to have a chicken sacrificed in his or her honor and sends me a package:

seasoned salt/pepper

beef jerky

instant mashed potatoes

instant anything that just needs water added . . .

crystal light

AA batteries

snacks- of the instant kind that i can eat instantly

salami

cheese (Velveeta?)

cigars (thanks Annabelle)

cheesy anything

oreos

granola bars (thanks Bry)

trail mix

chex mix

tuna packets

crackers

cheetos

ok, i think i am done now . . . I've been craving snack foods for the past week

People in village are starting to finish up their harvests. this means that huge cotton trucks go up and down my road as they collect the cotton harvests from small villages. Nampoch is deserted most days, but people are starting to be around more as they begin hot season 'repo'.

its still cold at nights. which means i get to sleep under a sheet. i walked out the other morning in my shorts. N'tido was huddled over the fire wrapped in a pagne and wearing a sweat shirt. i asked her if she was cold, she looked at me like i was crazy. it probably only gets down to like 65 maybe, but i can't tell. a thermometer in Kara last weekend said that it was 40 C. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans and felt fine . . .

its still really dusty. some days, the air is white. if i squint and tilt my head just right, i can briefly imagine that i looking at blowing snow. . . .

Harmattan---the Dusty Season.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo La Vie au Togo

2012-01-15 17:11:00

Bonne Année! (Happy New Years). I’m back in village now in Togo after a great 3 week vacation seeing family and friends. It was amazing to have hot showers, a sparkling Christmas tree, time with family and friends, and yummy food! It was a little overwhelming to say the least after not being in the U.S. for over a year and half, but my time there was great and thanks to everyone who made it so special! I rang in the New Year in Paris with my boyfriend and his family and then headed back on a jet plane to Togoland. I spent a couple days enjoying what Lome had to offer --pool, indian food, semi-fast internet and then climbed in a bush taxi to head up country.

Now back in village it is dusty season also called Harmattan. People burn all of their crops, an agricultural technique I still have major doubts about it and then there is an abundance of dust swirling around in the air. It is the only time of year that you ever snuggle underneath a blanket and are still cold at night. I feel like I’m taking sinus decongestion around the clock, but it will soon be over and hot season will arrive.

Everything is pretty much as I’ve left it, and when I got back it was nice to see certain friends in village, though I was trying to avoid the masses as everyone wanted a ‘cadeau’ (gift) from America. It’s certainly weird to get back to the solitude of Badou after being around people straight for about a month. I’m in the midst of two books the Steve Jobs biography and a book married to a Bedouin Women that DW sent. I spent today which is Sunday with my old landlady and her daughter that was in town, we went to the Catholic Church service because it was the anniversary of the death of her husband and there was to also be a big marriage ceremony. The marriage ceremony was quite basic, and then after the whole church marched their way to the house where we ate rice, meat of some kind? danced and then parted ways. I took a dusty moto ride back to my house and have been doing laundry.

I have some new work on my plate in the coming months, the Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conference, finishing my Community Health Agent last Training, and working with our new Malaria Action Committee with PC Togo. The later involves some data collecting by every volunteer. We will each visit 50 homes and do a survey in addition to getting statistics from the hospital. It will give us a better vision we hope of accurate statistics. Most of the statistics collected have a large…umm error rate so it’s hard to ever get baseline data. It really isn’t even totally the fault of the people collecting data; everyone is so overloaded with too much work and paperwork that finishing it with accuracy never seems to happen. On an exciting note, the Women’s Savings and Loans Association my sitemate and I started did their first savings round last week. So hooray for them, this is a huge move that has taken months to happen! I gardened the other day with one of my favorite women in village and we planted carrots and green/red peppers. I also brought back a tiny (basically foolproof) sunflower pot kit for my house from Paris, and I saw the first sprout today. Out of all the things to miss, I really do miss flowers a lot.

I went running yesterday for the first time of the year with Zoey my dog. I’m hoping it will become more of a regular thing this year. I finally got some new dance/run music in the states from my lovely sister so running should be more fun.

Okay that’s all for now, I hope everyone had a New Year, and a big ‘akpaloooo’ (THANK YOU) for all of you for the letters, emails, packages that you’ve sent, they really do put such a smile on my face!

Photos below are from the last couple of months hope you enjoy!

one of my community health trainings !

tippy tap handwashing station at the health training!

my first kotokoli wedding. zulu is the bride with the large hairwrap.

me and zulu's friends before the wedding.

the outside space in my house, the pink part is my porch.

neighborhood kids hanging out on my porch.

pathways scholarship conference at university of lome.

christmas peace corps style.

ringing in the new year in paris.

Taylor House Tour.avi

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo YouTube Videos matching query: "peace corps" "Togo"

2012-01-13 18:55:06

	Taylor House Tour.avi Taylor Schaa with the Peace Corps, gives a tour of her house in Lama Tessi, Togo West Africa.	From: lwschaa Views: 1 0 ratings
	Time: 02:39	More in Travel & Events

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Majoring in Life

2012-01-14 16:23:00

Happy New Year, everyone!! Toby and I wish you all prosperity, health, happiness, good work, money, and lots of babies in 2012 (a la Togolais). My friend and I were looking through our planners, trying to set the dates for Camp Etoiles du Nord 2012, and got a little freaked out… this year is going to fly by! I’m organizing three major conferences (Women’s Conference in March, a Men As Partners training for my region in May, and Camp Etoiles in July/August) on top of my usual village and national activities. 2012 looks much busier than my 2011 planner, and the best part is, I’m so much more comfortable here now, so things like Girls Club and Camp are not nearly as scary as they were last year. I just have to stick to my plan and excecute.

Also, I’m in a great mood because I just got back from a fantastic vacation with my family in London. It was awesome getting to see them for Christmas and spend time hanging out and seeing the sights, eating delicious food and taking hot showers : ) We saw so many museums, did lots of tours, saw “the Mousetrap” play, and had teatime everyday. I brought back loads of tea to Togo and I’m trying to continue the teatime thing. My fam was really patient with all of my requests (Indian food, sushi, cereal, a pedicure) and I think they had fun watching me marvel at Harrod’s food hall and Diet Coke in to-go cups. Dad told me to pick out a loaf of bread at the grocery store… it took me 10 minutes. There was so much bread! It was all sliced, half was wheat, and then there were different thicknesses and brands… so overwhelming. Brian finally had to put a loaf in my hands and tell me it was time to move on.

Then, Brian came back to Togo with me for a 10-day visit! It was a great way to transition back to my Togolese life. He was such a trooper and didn’t complain at all as he rode bush taxis, climbed mountains, and saluer’d (greeted) everyone in Mogou with me. Here, everyone is your “brother”: your cousin, your friend, or your moto driver can be your “brother.” So when I introduced him, most people then asked, “Oh, where is his post?” thinking he was another volunteer. “No, no, he’s my brother, same mother, same father,” and then their eyes lit up. “All the way from America?!” He was a big hit.

So now, I’m back in Mogou, working a lot on the Women’s Conference. This weekend, my co-coordinator and I will be reading all the applications and selecting the participants, which I think might be hard…in the process of collecting the applications, I’ve met a lot of really awesome women, and I hope we can accept them all. Also, our website is up, and it looks great! Check it out: http://wwectogo.wordpress.com/.

Some news from Mogou:

- Toby got a lil overexcited when chasing a baby goat (one of his favorite activities), and ended up killing it. Fun fact: current price of a baby goat is 2 mille fCFA ($4).

- Today is January 13^th, a sorta-minor national holiday. It was the day President Eyadema (the current president’s father) took power, and is not celebrated very much now since his death. But, my compound (the party house) doesn’t let much get between them and a holiday, so we’re fête-ing it up.

- Gas prices are skyrocketing because of the Nigerian oil subsidy repeal. Gas had been between 500 and 550 fCFA ($1.00-$1.10) per liter for almost all of my service. Yesterday, it was up to 750 fCFA ($1.50) in the morning and 850 Fcfa ($1.60) by the afternoon. Which, by my calculations (yiiikes math..) is over $6 a gallon. It now costs me $8 to get in to Mango by moto, so I’m pumping up my bike tires.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Majoring in Life

2012-01-14 16:55:00

Women in Mogou coming back from harvesting millet (sorghum... its a grain) at 6:00 am. And I thought I'd gotten up early!

Brian with my biggest fans in the whole village.

Brian on top of the mountain! We went to see the mountain caves up by Dapaong where the Moba people hid from the Tchokossi during the war in the 1700s.

With my wonderful brothers in London! Check out the Starbucks in my hand... so exciting! And the red double decker bus in the background... so London!

Awww what a cutie! Hard to believe he has it out for baby animals...

14 January 2012

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Are you ready Togo?

2012-01-14 14:59:00

The school strikes are still going strong. Teachers are refusing to go to school until the government meets their demands. Their demand being to get paid fairly. Unfortunately, the corruption in this country is overwhelmingly prevalent, and many people think that the strike isn’t going to work.

In other Togo news, the price of gas in Nigeria went up and the Togolese black market gas vendors buy all of their gas from Benin, who buys from Nigeria. So, Togo gas went from being 500F (about $1) per liter to 1200F (about $2.50) per liter over the course of a week. Needless to say, there are gas shortages everywhere, the price to travel by moto has doubled, and travel prices by car are changing every day. It’s a crazy (and expensive) time to be in Togo!

A few days ago, I was reading the book The Zanzibar Chest about a Reuters correspondent in East Africa in the 1990s. It was really sad reading about the famine in Somalia and the genocide in Rwanda. I thought of my Togolese brothers and sisters and imagine how heart-wrenching it would be if disaster stuck here. Anyway, I couldn’t stay in my house and be sad all day so I went on a walk and ran a few errands. I walked over a friend’s house who is a wood sculptor. He lives across the “street” from the village chief who recently passed away, and I noticed people gathering at the chief’s old gazebo. The artist friend told me they were having a traditional dance to honor the chief – the women from the nearby village of Adelé came to show their skills. We sat under the gazebo in the late afternoon and I watched the women dance like only Africans can. Some were dressed as men and I laughed as they imitated the men trying to dance with women and act cool. They brought out tons of locally brewed beer (tchouk) and gin (sodabe), and as the orange sun set over the distant mountains and the drums beat to an African rhythm and the women sang, danced, and kicked up dust, I thought that I could imagine no other life for myself than this.

It’s been tough to start a lot of projects in village knowing that I’ll be leaving for the whole month of February. Plus, I’ve been traveling to Sokode trying to deal with the Tribunal so that we can finally put to rest the investigation of the stolen money. I have to go again next week and I hope it will be the last time. I found a new house in Pagala. It’s next door to several families and I think I’ll feel much safer there than in my current isolated house. Peace Corps is coming up to look at the house next week and if everything goes well, I hope to move in when I get back from the US.

I’m really excited about the Women’s Conference coming up in March. We plan to give 20 women from the Centrale region a weekend that they’ll never forget. We’re putting them up in a nice hotel with hot showers and air conditioner, and doing things like yoga, meditation, aerobics, art, journaling, diversity activities, and other things that they’re going to think are totally off the wall! For most of the women, it will be their first time ever experiencing a nice hotel and fellowship with other women without the responsibilities of cooking, cleaning, and watching kids. I really think it’s going to change their lives. We’ll also we talking about self confidence, sex, menopause, financial independence, gardening, nutrition, etc. Check out the WWEC website HERE.

This morning on my way into Sokode on a moto, my moto driver stopped and asked me to get off the moto and walk a little bit. We were on a dirt path in the middle of nowhere. So I got off and he just drove away. I start walking. Fifteen minutes later, I finally see him and he’s with another moto driver. We said that I could take this guy since the original guy’s moto was broken. Togo! So, I hopped on this guy’s moto and we start trekking to Sokode when all of the sudden the moto driver started pointing at something and saying, “wow, look, look, look!” I saw two wild monkeys jump out of a tree and run across the road before jumping into the tree on the other side of the road. It’s the first time I’ve seen wild monkeys in Togo, although I’d heard that they exist. It was really cool.

Three more weeks until vacation!

I (H)Ate bugs

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-01-12 18:40:00

I do not like insects. I am not one scream and run away when I seethem, but they make me unhappy. I thinkit is mostly an issue of personal space. I like my own space, and only things I invite into my little bubble arewelcome. Now people, and animals such ascats and dogs, can be welcome in my space, but when I don’t want them I canclose a door or simply say, “Leave me alone.” And I have my space back; this isnot the case with bugs. No matter whatyou do they will invade your space. Youcan sleep under a net and the little ones will crawl through, you can spraynoxious insecticide everywhere and they will soon appear again; bugs arepersistent, annoying, and unwelcome.

Most recently bugs have invaded myfood. It started with rice weevils. I opened my bin of rice and found a fewlittle weevils crawling around in there. Being a sizeable quantity of rice it would be silly and irresponsible(um hello, Africa?) to toss it out just because there are bugs in it. Thesolution: cook the rice as normal, just skim the little buggers off the top ofthe water when then float up. Of coursemuttering to yourself with exclamations of, “Eeeww…, gross,” and, “I hate bugs,I hate bugs, I hate bugs” will come along naturally. Any bugs left in are simply a bit of extraprotein—yeah, delicious.

After the rice came thebeans. I bought some dried beans in themarket and when I proceeded to sort through them to get rid of little rocks andbad beans I found more bugs. This timethey were sphere-like flying insects. Their quick escape from the beans into my house freaked me out a bit andI had to take my bean sorting outside. Idid my best to shake out all the bugs and pick out beans that looked fishy, butstill today I found one of these bugs hanging out in my beans. No worries it was squished successfully. The result of this? I am going to go on abean diet for the next couple of weeks to use them all up before new buggieshatch. I really should have bought asmaller amount of beans…

I have looked online for solutionsto the “bugs in my grains” problem, but the number one suggestion is to freezethe rice or beans to kill the eggs and keep new ones from hatching. If you remember I am without a refrigeratorand getting anything below 85 degrees is highly unlikely. The other option given: Toss them out, but as I said before, I livein Africa…

Other than the bugs in my food myritualistic spraying with insecticide, which will surely lead to cancer one day,has kept the buggers at bay. Of coursethere is a constant parade of ants tromping though my bathroom, but withoutreal ant traps there is no way for me to get my bug poison down to them.

Another handy solution to my bugproblem is that I have a lizard living in my ceiling... or that’s what I thinkit is… I’m pretty sure this friend, who I hear scurrying around on my dropceiling periodically, eats up those more unpleasant bugs like big spiders andcockroaches. At least I haven’t ever hadany real problems with them, so I like to assume that that scary sound in the ceilingis doing some good. Just like thoseextra bugs I eat give me the little boost of protein that is keeping mehealthy, after a few “uggh’s” you have to look for the positives or you’ll gocrazy and possibly waste all the food in Africa.

Back to Togo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Ma Vie Togolaise

2012-01-12 11:02:00

I’ve been back in Togo for about a week now and I’ll admit coming back from America wasn’t the easiest thing. When I arrived in my village and entered my house with fresh, American eyes, I couldn’t really believe that this is where I’d lived for over a year. The floor was covered in dust, cobwebs were everywhere, and the space seemed somehow smaller. Waking up the following morning to the myriad of noises that begin each day at about 5am in my Togolese village (roosters crowing, guinea fowl on my tin roof, sweeping, babies crying, loud Anofo greetings, pots clanging, and more), I definitely thought to myself: not this again. However, I got myself out of bed, made some breakfast, greeted my host family, and biked to Mango to pick up food and supplies at the market. Once I was out biking, I started to feel better. It was nice to be getting exercise after days of travel, the women I buy from at the market all greeted me warmly and enthusiastically, and by the time I was heading back to Magna, things started to feel normal again. That day, I had given money to one of my host moms to buy food at the market for my favorite Togolese meal (beans and gari) and so at night, lit up by a full moon, I sat around with my host family eating with my hands from a communal bowl and had that reassuring feeling that everything was going to be alright.

Overall, my trip home was filled with that same feeling of reassurance. After being away for 15 months, America seemed like a far-away dreamland that I wasn’t really a part of anymore. Landing in JFK made my stomach flip and I had to hold back tears while getting my passport stamped. While waiting for my connecting flight to Boston, I stood in front of the menu of one of the Delta terminal’s 3 Starbucks for about 15 minutes before deciding on a pumpkin latte just because it sounded Christmasy, American, and too fancy for Togo. Arriving back to my home in Brookline was like living out one of the many dreams I had of coming home and my first hot shower was glorious. Seeing friends and family over the next 3 weeks was so great and the best part was how normal it was to see everyone, like I had only been gone a month, not 15. Overall, it was way easier than I had expected to just jump back into my American life. It was reassuring that after so long I could come home and be so at ease. After a few days, Togo seemed so far away and I could understand why returned volunteers always say that after being home a short time their Peace Corps service starts to feel like the dream. Just like living in Togo gave me a new perspective on life in America, being at home gave me a new perspective on my Peace Corps service. In Peace Corps, the only other Americans you really interact with are other Peace Corps Volunteers. This causes us to lose site of the uniqueness of what we’re doing and instead we just compare ourselves to each other and feel frustrated that we aren’t integrating enough into our communities or working hard enough to pursue projects. After talking to my friends about their lives and various reasons for dissatisfaction with their jobs and having to explain my own life and work, I appreciated more being a Peace Corps Volunteer and having the freedom and autonomy to pursue whatever I’m interested in. Although I’ve had many failures, frustrations, and days of inaction, I have been involved in projects that I’ve learned a lot from and am proud of (primarily my work with the Pathways scholarship program and on the girl’s empowerment camp in Mango- I also finally got funding for my village well project, which, when completed, will be a big accomplishment). So, while leaving home was sad, I was able to come back to Togo reassured that my life in America is still there for me and that I do have projects and people I care about enough here in Togo to give me a good reason to come back for these last 10 months.

So, here I am, back in Togo. Once again, I’m sweaty, dirty, and wearing an outfit made from fabric of clashing colors and patterns that would make me look like a clown in America. Jeeves, thankfully, did well during my absence and we have been playing, cuddling, and going on runs and walks since I got back. Apparently, he went on a bit of a hunger strike the first days I was gone because my host family wasn’t putting milk powder in his food like I do, but he got over being spoiled and now is back to gulfing down plain pate (the Togolese corn-based staple) like a normal village dog. My host family was excited for their gifts. I distributed earrings, candy, calendars, and printed pictures I’d taken of the family. The calendars were the biggest hit, they had scenic pictures from America and around the world that my host dad had me explain to him in detail, and they have already been mounted on the mud walls of the various compound huts. I also brought back some French-English dictionaries for students I work with. About 2 months ago, I was helping a student with his English homework and when he was struggling with words, I told him he should look them up in a dictionary. However, the second I said it, I realized that, of course, he probably didn’t have a dictionary since Togolese schools don’t give out books and most students can’t afford them. This was, in fact, the case. I can’t imagine trying to learn another language without having a means to look up words and translations, so I brought back some French-English dictionaries and the students were thrilled.

Otherwise, things are basically the same here. Almost all the crops have been harvested; it seems like only cotton remains to be picked. Harmattan is still here, so, although it’s still hot during the day, I’m able to sleep well at night with temperatures in the 60s. Hot season will be here in about a month and a half, which I’m dreading, but for now, I’m trying to enjoy being somewhat comfortable during the day. In the next few months, we’ll be constructing a new well in the village and I will also be participating in a women’s empowerment conference for the region where I, along with several other volunteers, will organize trainings for women from various villages on nutrition, money-management, income generating activities, sexual health, and a variety of other topics that promote healthy lifestyles. This project actually still needs funding, so if you’re interested, you can donate through this link: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=693-389. This weekend my good friend Molly, who is a PCV in Morocco, is visiting me, so that’s another thing I’m looking forward to! Other than that, I’m just getting back into the slow pace of life here after my busy trip home. It was nice seeing so many of you in the States and I hope that winter actually brings snow to you soon (at least for those of you who want it)!

Holidays in Togo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Getting off the Grid

2012-01-10 15:01:00

Happy holidays, all! This holiday season was my very first away from home an it is one I'll never forget! It's a little strange celebrating Christmas and New Years in a tropical underdeveloped country, but I still enjoyed myself greatly. The heat and humidity made me forget it was December, which was pretty helpful. Anyways, I'm sure y'all want to hear all about how I spent the holidays in this alien world, and I will tell you in two parts:

INITIATION INTO TOGOLESE TRANSPORTATION

A group of us spent Christmas in Dapaong, a city in the Northern most part of Togo, where my boss held this massive feast for us with his family, at his house. THere's a house in Dapaong that is owned by the Peace Corps for us PCVs that functions as a work station and a transit house, aka where we all stayed and hung out during our time there.

Now, I live in the Southern most area of Togo and had to ravel for many hours to get to Dapaong for Christmas. The way up wasn't so bad; a few of us took a Post Bus, a huge yellow Greyhound-like bus run by the Post office that wealthy Togolese normally take. It wasn't on time, but whatever, nothing is here. I'm pretty glad that Africa time is just like Willard time; I'm always basically on time! The real story is in getting back from Dapaong, when we couldn't get tickets for the Post Bus, so we had to take a bush taxi back.

No big deal, people take bush taxis all the time, and I have as well. The Togolese travel by bush taxi (a large van), car, or motorcycle - all of which you pay someone to take you to your destination. The thing about bush taxies and cars is that the driver wants to make as much money as possible, which means fitting as many people as possible into the car. 7 people in a 5 seater is the norm, I often practically sit on people's laps. And if it's a man, he normally asks me to marry him or to take him as my African boyfriend. I come up with some pretty elaborate and convincing stories: I have a boyfriend in the States, a fiancé doing his Masters in France, and a Togolese husband in my village. What can I say? I'm fictitiously well loved. Anyways, this is how we ended up in a bush taxi with 15 seats and 26 people.

Not only that, but with 4 tons of cabbage loaded on the roof. Yes, after our original taxi had broken down a quarter of the way through our route, this new bush taxi took us on a two hour errand run in Kara, many hours away from our destination - Atakpame, which really was only three quarters of the way I needed to go to finally get into my own bed, anyways.

So, there I was, sitting in the back of a bush taxi with four other volunteers and 21 new Togolese friends (I mean, we were sitting so close!), going around 5 miles per hours on the "route national", pockmarked with potholes, as it is one of the few roads in Togo that is paved, and with motos zooming past us. Oddly, the only thing that bothered me was the loud woman and her friend practically cuddling with me on the seat that kept on making the clicky noise of disapproval. God, does that sound annoy me! But, I had a book - Atonement - and good company - my friend and neighbor of 20km, Sarah Beth - so I remained content on my roller-coaster ride closer to the inferno that is the humidity of the South. Some of our other volunteer friends, bless their hearts, were getting real agitated with our travel time and conditions. Every time we stopped, I could hear their sighs and I eventually tried to reassure them that "we'll get there when we do, and we have no control over the situation, so might as well sit back and enjoy the ride". They didn't seem to appreciate that; if roles were reversed, I wouldn't either. Carefree me saying that to worrisome and anxious them was like a skinny girl saying "Oh! I just eat whatever I want. I guess I just have a fast metabolism." and you just want to punch her in the face so you can drown your chubby sorrows in a milkshake.

Night falls and we're still rolling along. Somehow, my question "Nous sommes où?", where are we?, gets misheard into "Vous venez d'où?", where are y'all from? by our boisterous seat companions. Sometimes my fancy French doesn't get well comprehended in post colonial Africa, and I'll probably come back with a "village French" accent. And so, I am therefore malformed and think we are significantly closer to our destination than the reality. My butt has gone numb and it's too dark to read and I am hungry. We started traveling at 8 am from Dapaong and didn't stock on snakes and the entire van is restless. Finally, I started to doze in and out of sleep, trying to stay patient and calm.

Then - gagunk! - we hit a pot hole majorly hard and the entire van gasps. A volunteer friend does the clicky noise, sighs, and says "That can't be good". She's right. We pull over on the side of the road … flat tire. Well, actually flat-tire-that-is-already-pulled-awa-from-the-rim. Or, better yet: flat-tire-because-you-idiot-driver!-you-put-26-people-and-4-tons-of-cabbage-onto-a-flimsy-skeleton-of-a-van-and-it-was-too-heavy-and-now-it'll-take-us-longer-to-get-to-Atakpame. We sat on the side of the road and awaited the changing of the tire.

There was a house off the road that was blasting creepy gris gris music. Gris-gris (gree gree) is like sorcerer magic, and in a country where animism reigns strong, the Togolese are unbelievably superstitious. The way we knew this gris-gris music was by way of a friendly guy at a tchackpa stand (fermented millet beer) in Dapaong, who showed us a video on his phone of the "devil snake" that used gris-gris to flip the bus of the Togolese soccer team on their way to the World Cup. Accompanied with the music that was currently (and creepily) blasting from the side of the road, was a video of a strange creature - snake bottom, cat front, and a mummified lady's head with a shock of long white hair, It looks like something that belongs in Ripley's Believe it or Not. So, when sitting on the side of the road at 9:30 pm (way late in Togolese time), the gris-gris music is blasting and all the other volunteers and I have just about had it with our trip. We had to keep on reminding ourselves that we would get there eventually and to have patience.

Finally, the tire was replaced and loud lady orchestrated where everyone was going to sit as we got back in the van (her real motivation was to reserve enough space for her big ol booty). We soberly continued our journey for another hour and a half and finally arrived in Atakpame, made it to the peace Corps house there, and ate and slept. It took us 15 hours to go around 300 miles, we had one car break down, then another get a flat tire. We were exhausted and I was ready to settle down and continue reading my falling apart book. Clean, full, and comfy in a bunk bed, I open said book to find that the most crucial 50 pages had fallen out during our initiation into Togolese transportation. Boo.

I finally made it home 2 days later after a bout of food poisoning in Lomé, but those days were definitely not as exciting as my trip to Atakpame. I did come home to three puppies born in my backyard, though!

A NEW YEAR IN VILLAGE

This story really isn't as exciting as the first, but it does give some insight into Togolese culture and rituals, as well as my life in village. I was really lame and didn't participate in everything, but let's get on with the story!

On New Years Eve, Paul and I went to the marché together since I needed to stock up on food since my little trip left my kitchen barren and he had to get things for "la fête", or the holiday. The marché, an outdoor market that is normally a skeleton of empty wooden stands except on Saturdays, was crazy busy, probably since it is the only marché for 15km (or more?) on Saturdays. And it was the day before the huge holiday. In Togo, Christmas is bleh and New Years is bumpin'. There were small little fireworks and sparklers being sold everywhere, as well as cheap Made in China toys and balloons available; felt like the circus. Paul and I got everything we needed and went to a boutique - or an indoor shop - to find some good eggs, since all six I bought the day before were bad.

We sat down and had some lukewarm Cokes and talked about New Years traditions in Togo and in the States. It became clear very early on in my time here that church and religion are very important, so it came as no surprise that Paul and the rest of my Togolese family would be spending the night at their Pentecostal church. I was invited, of course, but decline. I told him about the tradition of New Years resolutions back home and how everyone typically strived to "become a new person" and weight loss was a common goal. He chuckled at that; chubby is beautiful for women here. Paul told me that in Togo, New Years day is spent with family and friends, everyone invites each other over to serve their favorite rich dishes. The day is spent eating and drinking and enjoying one another's company. He also said that the family plans together for their year - what crops to grow, how to spend or save money, and general goals that concern the family. I'm not zoo sure if this is a reality in all Togolese households as this is a very patriarchal society and there are Girls Education and Empowerment volunteers for a reason, but I really do like the idea. Family is such a huge part of the culture here and everyone worlds together to sustain the family. Mom, I'm sure you're glad to hear this!

Anyways, I missed out on midnight mass, partially because it started at ten and ended at one in the morning, partially because Pentecostal mass just takes all the energy out of me, and partially because I was ultra homesick/still recovering from food poisoning and just wanted to sleep. Before Paul left with the family for mass, he brought me a bottle of sodabe, local moonshine that he makes, that was pink with grenadine syrup. He told me it was to start the holiday! and I warily took it, knowing that I could never drink a bottle of this stuff alone, even if it takes me all year!

I slept through midnight and woke up at 6 am to fireworks going off and children running around, excited for the parties to start. Paul brought over plantains his wife fried for me, and noticed that I hadn't started drinking the sodabe. He was really adamant about me drinking it, probably to share the custom, and I felt pretty obligated, I mean he even brought me a shot glass to use, so I took 2 shots. Alone. In my house. On New Year's Day. in Africa. The sodabe matched the pink of my fancy pagne dress and I hoped that the cheerful color would be a determinate on my year to come rather than the fact that I was drinking alone. Shortly after that somber moment, Paul and I headed over to his sister's house with a bunch of other men. I was the only girl and in a really weird position, having New Year's lunch with a room of men all sharing this intimate family meal. Obviously, I was respected enough to eat with them, let alone served the catfish sauce they made especially for me, but I was excluded in that I didn't speak the local language well enough to even have any inkling about the conversation, and that I'm a girl/woman, so culturally it is assumed that I wouldn't have much to add to the convo anyways. It was a strange feeling, but soon I was distracted with the shots of sodabe being passed around and being officially drunk at 10 am. I wanted another American there so badly and I tried to focus on the fufu I was eating (with my hands!) and try to pick up on the tonal language.

Two shots of sodabe, a glass of wine, and a sodabe cocktail later, Paul and I headed home and I stole away into my house to sober up and make a pineapple upside-down cake as my lame contribution to the afternoon feast with his immediate family. While cutting up the pineapple, my homesickness was overwhelming and I decided to lay down for a minute. The combination of being uncomfortable at lunch and drunk and alone but living in a dang fishbowl and being away from all that I know was too much, and I was incredibly homesick. I kept looking out of my window and it would all just crash over me again: I am living in Africa and there is a red dirt film all over everything and crumbling mud houses and big bellied babies and polygamy and voodoo and real poverty and this is real life! I was dwelling on what all my friends at home were doing; probably getting all glamorous and trekking through the cold to go to a New Year's party. The fireworks going off made me think of Sewanee and passing the huge fireworks store at the base of the Mountain and how excited I would get, chugging up that incline on my way to the Domain. part of me was aching to take it all back and be back in the States, just do a simple rewind of my recent life and be comfortable in my easy Western identity. Then, a larger part of me started to calm down and i took a little nap and woke up sober-ish and refreshed, but still missing the heck out of Margaret and Ryann.

Lauging at myself and my little breakdown, I got back to work on the pineapple upside-down cake. I guess I hadn't completely sobered up because I forgot the egg and had to pull out the cake and add it, messing it up all. All I could think was WWCD? What Would Chelsea Do? Laugh and go on! Half the cake end dup burnt to the pan, but the family really liked the good part! I guess Madame sensed my need to be alone and brought over some rice and sauce for me instead of having me eat with everyone else under the communal mango tree. I was really grateful for that.

That evening, Paul and I went to go say Happy New Year to Joseph, my flaky #2 (Paul is my #1, obviously). We went over to one of Joseph's wives, Patrice's house and she served us fermented pâte (like a fermented grits but thicker and you eat it with your hands) with a chicken sauce (meat is a rarity here), as well as more wine (ahh!). Her children had gotten toys for the New year - the cheap plastic Made in China toys, but the kids showed them to me with so much pride and joy. The twin boys had airplanes and the girls had white dolls with blonde hair. It made me feel incredible sad that I have been such a greedy snob all my life, but also so happy to share their joy with them. I have felt a lot of gratitude for being born and raised in America since I've been here, but this night I wondered what I was so homesick for, when there are so many families here who want to share their happiness with me. They were content with the little they had, as I should be. They have struggles, as does everyone, but it isn't the greed for more and the best, but rather to survive and succeed in daily life.

Joseph wasn't there, so Paul and I finished eating and headed to his other wife's house. Joseph wasn't there either, and luckily they didn't feed us more food, and I was secretly glad to leave so quickly because I wanted to get home and sleep more. On the way home, Paul admitted to me that he had passed out after that morning meal too, except he was under the mango tree with all his friends and he woke up alone. We both had a good laugh at that and turned in for the night. I am very lucky to have a counterpart, or "homologue", who is also my Togolese dad and friend and is as open minded and determined as Paul. His family has taken me in with open arms and have been so patient with me as I try to break out of my shell and gain my footing without the comfort of my Western culture. I have a good feeling about the work we'll be doing together.

Oh, and that was the night I noticed that my village got electricity while I was in Dapaong, but I'll write more about that later. :)

Any New Years Resolutions? I'm going to run the half marathon in Ghana in September, take the GRE, and continue to push myself out of my comfort zone to have a positive and fulfilling experience here. I'm not resolving anything work related, because I have no control over how it'll work out and if it'l be successful, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to work! It just means that I am not tying my self worth to work that depends on so many other people.

Happy New Year, y'all. Send me letters!

More Tsevie Photos

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-09 09:56:00

More photos From Tsevie

Austen and Sarah-Beth. We often went to Albetros, the bar in Tsevie, after a long day of classes to enjoy sodas

Learning how to do the AGR, liquid soap. Melissa is stirring. Da Patience is in the red, yellow, and black. She is one of our trainers. Rebekah is in the green.

Volunteer dancing

Host families singing and playing music for us as part of a cross-cultural event

The formatures and formatrices doing a fashion show for us in the various traditional and modern Togolese clothing

Half the Battle is Getting There

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-09 09:58:00

Traveling in Togo is a big part on my life as a Peace CorpsVolunteer. Getting anywhere here is a big complicated production that is equalparts terrifying, exhilarating, and frustrating. I’m never more aware of mymortality than when I’m on the back of a moto bumping along the road fromArarama to Notse praying that I don’t fall off . . . or that we hit a goat.It’s also equally difficult to adequately explain what travel is like here. So,I have decided describe a journey from start to finish.

Zedmen are an important nuisance in Togo. Everywhere you goyou will find men on motorcycles just waiting for their next passenger. Whenthey see you they hiss and typically call out “On y va?” There are many roadsthat cars simply just don’t frequently go down to take passengers. Yesterday, Ileft my house at 9:00 A.M. and walked into town with all my bags (my huge EagleCreek Bag, my moto helmet, and my purse). I passed several people walking downwhat I like to call “downtown” Asrama where you can find a tight cluster ofboutiques, street food vendors, and our two bars. Everyone wants to know whereI am going and when I will be back (a normal conversation that I have athousand times a day).

It doesn’t take long for a zedman to spot me. I told him Iwas going to Notse. He informed me it would be 2,000. I laughed and asked himif thought I didn’t know the “vrai” price. I told him it was 1,500 from Asramato Notse and then I quickly walked away. I’ve learned through trial and errorthat if the zedman gives you the wrong price then find someone else. The nextguy didn’t question when I said 1,500. After all, I live here and travel thisroad all the time. I know the price. It’s hard when you’re traveling somewhereand you don’t know the price. You’ll overpay by a lot every time. Yovo prices.

I hand him my giant bag and he places it between the handlebars. I prefer to carry as little as possible on my back when I’m on a moto.I’m not the most coordinated person and it’s hard enough as it is to remain sittingon the moto without a large bag messing with my balance. With my earphones inplace I carefully pull my helmet on and get on the moto from the left side(very important unless you want to get burned by the exhaust pipe).Instinctively I reach behind me and grab the metal bars and hold on for dearlife.

The road from Asrama to Notse has seen better days. It’s adirt road the reddish brown color of terracotta. Inevitably at the end of myjourney I will be covered with a thin layer of dirt from head to foot. Thoughthe road is mostly a straight path the zedman has to weave back and forth onthe road to avoid giant pot-holes and livestock. I usually have a death grip onthe bars to keep from bouncing right off. Whenever I’m leaving or returning tovillage, I do enjoy the ride despite the horrible conditions of the road anddust.

There are several villages from Asrama to Notse. The secondyou cross the bridge and river before Asrama there is a tiny village, Odef, andif you blink you’ll miss it. There are several who’s names I can never rememberbecause they are too long and difficult to pronounce. After Odef is a mediumsized village about the size of Asrama called Kponou. Then about midway thereis the village Kpouve.

Villages in Togo tend to stay on the road because the roadsmean life here . . . commerce. Just past the dirt road the land is wild.Plateau is a beautiful region with pineapple, coconut, and palm treeseverywhere. During rainy season it’s green and lush; full of life andpossibilities. Every time I make the trip, I am struck by the beauty of Togo,of Africa.

Notse is a pretty big city. Not as big as Tsevie was, butthere is electricity and a marché that always has a few stands even when it’snot marché day. At the end of the road to Asrama there is a massive pineapplestand. Asrama and Notse are known for their huge delicious pinapples. I endedup buying six to take with me to Atapkame.

To get to Atapkame from Notse you have to take a car. I waslucky that there happened to be one going there right after I bought mypineapple. The journey there costs 1,200. Typically, in Notse I grab a fiveperson car, which typically by the end of the trip has eight people in it; fourin the back seat (sometimes five), the driver and two other people sharing oneseat up front, and commonly the drivers apprentice sitting in the trunk. Thatdoesn’t include the occasional chicken, goat, or child. You get dropped off atthe station (gare) just barely in the city limits of Atapkame. Then I alwaystake a moto from there to the Peace Corps house 200-150 CFA depending on if youdiscute well or not.

I hope this gives everyone a better understanding of travelhere. It took a lot of trial and error, but I think I’ve finally gotten thehang of travel here.

Food, food, food

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-01-09 10:04:00

I had this mentioned many times to me from loved ones fromthe states, “You talk about food a lot.” I think I’ve worried people with theconstant facebook chatter and letters about food. It is true that a huge chunkof my life now revolves around food. I think I need to explain the realitieshere so that maybe people can understand why.

In village the food available to be is quite limited. Themarché is only once a week so everything I want to eat for the week pretty muchneeds to be purchased that day. Whats available daily? Beans, rice, foo-foo(pounded yams), pate (. . . corn mush stuff), tomatoes, onions, eggs,spaghetti, and okra. Day in and day out eating the same stuff gets boring. Onmarché day stuff is still pretty lean in Asrama. Pretty much I can buy the samestuff it’s just cheaper on those days. Fruit like oranges, bananas, andpinapple is sold on marché day. You can buy oranges any time already peeledfrom one of the ladies on the street (I don’t like Togo oranges. They taste alittle bitter to me). If I want variation I need to travel to Notse where I canbuy cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and good bread (the bread in Asrama isn’t verygood).

So, imagine eating the same thing day in and day out. Aftertwo weeks in village I’m craving variety and general nutrients. My daily dietis severely lacking basic essential nutrients. I have taken measures to helpwith that like putting Peak (evaporated milk enriched with all the needednutrients) in as many meals as possible. I also take daily vitamins. Still, Ifeel like my body know the difference. I look forward to going to Notse andgetting a chicken sandwich from my favorite restaurant loaded with veggies oreating yovo food in Atapkame.

Many volunteers when given the opportunity overindulge whengood food is available. Before Swear-in ceremony we spent a couple of days inLome buying everything we needed to set up our houses. One of the big stops wemade was to Super-ramco, a grocery store. We bought essentials to start anykitchen, but we also bought some of the things we missed that just are notavailable outside of Lome. When we were all done shopping and waiting for thePeace Corps car to come pick us up we were chowing down some questionable foodchoices for lunch. Slices of cheddar cheese, swiss, and salmi was passed backand forth. Sever types of Ben and Jerry’s also made the rounds among us . . .not to mention all the candy and different sodas (and some brave souls were chuggingmilk). Some of us were certainly sick later that day, but if you asked all of uswe’d tell you it was worth it.

Then there is the sickness. I’ve been sick a good chunk ofmy service here in Togo (I think I’ve been ill more than I’ve felt well). I’vegone two or three days without food simply because I can’t keep anything down.Sometimes the thought of eating the same meal one more time makes me lose myappetite.

So, is it any wonder why food is such a big part of my lifehere in Togo? It’s not easy getting good food here, so when I’m out of villageand it’s bountiful I indulge. If you ask any volunteer they would tell you thesame thing.

Paris Hilton changing the world.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Manda's Blog

2008-04-07 03:48:00

http://jenbrea.typepad.com/africabeat/2007/10/paris-hilton--1.html

This blog directs one to the frightening level our media has reduced its self to. Paris Hilton taking her show to Rwanda, to what save the destitute dying children? No doubt that continent of Africa has its problems, but the issues it faces have merely become fads. We no longer see the real issues being addressed instead we are blinded by such things as Paris Hilton taking her hit reality show to Rwanda. Is seeing someone like Paris Hilton lending a helping hand supposed to motivate the rest of the world? Yet we cannot put the blame on Paris Hilton and her producers alone for the uneducated information we receive about Africa, the blame can be spread out to Hollywood in general. Films such as Hotel Rwanda, Blood Diamond, etc. show the horrors that those particular places in Africa have been burdened with. You are brought to tears and sickened by the things you see. At the end of these films you walk away with the feeling that the entire Continent is hopeless, that the horrors you just heard retold still exist, when in fact many of the films you watch about Africa are exactly the opposite. As the blog says Rwanda is one of the safest countries in Africa and on its way to be one of the most economically sound countries is Africa as well. Though these films do educate us on history that we should all be aware of, given the fact that 800,000 lost their lives. Since then Rwanda has seen promising economic gains and the country remains at peace. Its scary to think that thousands of people will be watching Paris Hilton every Tuesday try to live the "povern destitute terrifying" life of a Rwandan, when we could be focusing on the current issue of say Dar fur a region of Sudan that is experiencing one of the worst mass killings, genocide, of the 21st century. We should be educating ourselves on the horrifying acts of the Sudan government supplying weapons to the Janjaweed in order to carry out a systematic killing of their own people. Or say protesting the Olympics that will be held in Beijing China because of their economic tie they have to Sudan and the support they are giving to the government to ensure their oil supply will not be affected. Though media does reach out to many that would otherwise be uninformed, the intentions and methods of informing need to be reevaluated.

Life values assessment

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Manda's Blog

2008-04-14 06:33:00

When creating this list I was sure what was to be by number one, wisdom. Without wisdom I feel no other value would matter, but when looking back on my day, I realize that wisdom was in fact not a large part of it and regrettably so. I went through my day waking up in the morning, going to work, and completing homework without any real thought of why I was doing those things. I did not think of how I was able to do them, and why I was given the opportunity. Even though wisdom was not a large part of my specific activities today and has been largely apart of my life at other points, and has shaped the person I am today. Without a personal understanding of myself and a sense of my goals in life, then none of my daily activities would have meaning thus I would experience an entirely different life. Because my family is largely the reason for my religious and personal beliefs they have constituted each one of these values in my daily life.

Service was on my top five list of values, and though I have been involved in many forms of service before, it is not a part of my everyday life. Service can come in any forms big, small, and whatever the form it is something I wish I would take a second each day and think about more. I have yet to involve the level of service I wish to have contributed to this far in my life. The only thing standing in the way of that goal and any other goal I may have is solely myself. I believe that one can do anything one sets there mind to, and there should be no excuses or obstacles standing in your way. If I believed otherwise then it would simply refute many of my life values including integrity, wisdom, etc. I believe that God will not make a mountain that you cannot climb, thus if I stated objects that were standing in the way of my goals, I would be invalidating my own beliefs. Though I do not involve each one of my values in my everyday life, they are always there, and I am the only person standing in my way of those values. Sometimes we live life to quickly and don't slow down enough to realize what is around us, what our values are, what are rational for our action or therefore lack of action are. Wisdom

Family

Integrity

security

service

health

community

loyalty

friendship

enjoyment

creativity

independence

personal accomplishment

personal development

leadership

expertness

prestige

wealth

location

power

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Manda's Blog

2008-04-26 04:45:00

Is Food Art?

“The act of eating engages all senses as well as the mind.” Can food truly be art, a question that arises in today’s modern views of art? A blog by Susan Smillie presents that very question. Smillie introduces the notion of food as art by discussing the controversy around the invitation of a renowned chef, Ferran Adria, to a prestigious German art show. Many critiques said it was a disgrace to view food as art, because food is merely a crowd pleaser. Smillie refutes the arguments in many thought provoking ways. She discusses how any reputable artist is influenced by his or her critiques, much like a chef, and thus how there work is as much art as any art.

Smillie explains how “art is work that moves individuals,” bringing up many of the same notions that Kosymer discusses in her book The meaning of Taste. Kosymer illustrates the many symbolic meanings of food, and how those symbols are very much a part of art. She discusses not only how the shapes of food have an underlying art, but the aesthetics of taste, each of which can move an individual in many ways. We all value our sense of taste and if that were taken away wouldn’t that have a profound affect, a moving affect?

The act of eating engages all of the senses, as well as the mind” (Similie). A quote that cannot be easily argued with, and which Kosymer explains through the story of a father recognizing his daughter’s love through the sensation of tast. Our taste buds create sensations far beyond what we know, emotions that we wouldn’t expect, much like any other form of art. Our taste has a considerable effect on our minds, both which Smillie and Kosymer perceive as part of the beauty of food.

Smillie, Susan. (2007, May). Is food Art?. The Observer, Food Monthly (online blog). Retrived April 24th, 2008 from http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/food/2007/05/theatre_of_food.html

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Manda's Blog

2008-04-26 05:25:00

Edible Edification

Atkinson discusses the controversies of art and food. He explains how cooking is a lot like building, which in many senses is a form of art. He brings up the rebuttal of many critiques that because food is eaten, that it cannot be a form of art, because they beauty that once existed simply disappears. He presents us with just how architects create a building; chefs transform something editable into beauty. Atikson shows us that food is really more then something that satisfies our taste, but can have a true aesthetic beauty.

Elizabeth Telfar expla