Peace Corps Journals

The Story of the Spongebob Shirt

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-05-31 23:08:01

The story I’m about to describe to you is how I came across the greatest t-shirt known to man. Alright, maybe its just the greatest shirt in my entire wardrobe. Yeah, alright, true. I do only own like 9 shirts, … Continue reading →

Wishing the time away…

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Travels in Togo...

2012-05-30 22:03:16

For the past couple of months I’ve just been wishing the time away. My mind is completely consumed by Peace Corps and I’m SO ready to have this journey begin. Also, it doesn’t help that I am so mentally DONE with my job but keep getting opportunities to extend my term (it’s a temp job … Continue reading →

funny story

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Martin's Office

2012-05-30 15:38:54

Chapter 1 One time I was in Lome. It was me, Jake and Stacie, and we were all about to go on a kick ass vacation to Cameroon. So we go to the airport ready to get on our flight … Continue reading →

The First Supper

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo TalesFromTogo

2012-05-29 14:16:34

Alright, so you’ve heard about the greatest coach flight ever experienced, and you know about my newly found creepy habit of playing peek-a-boo with little kids on the subway, but I’ve got a few more little stories about my awkward, … Continue reading →

Bon Anniversaire!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

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

2012-05-28 13:21:00

What a difference a year makes... always learning about me...

I did it. I survived one year in a most, let’s say, charming place on earth. I left my home on June 1st and after a few days in Philadelphia of training, I arrived in Togo on June 4.

Optimism is good thing. From my personal Zed drivers to my counterparts to my 16 women and to all the Togolese who have enriched my life here, you inspire me with your persistence and resilience and sense of hope and the ability to take each day one at a time. I have learned that I am not so different from you in that I too, have a renewed sense of optimism every morning. It is a good thing. Ca va aller.

Saying “No” is difficult but a necessity. I get asked for all kinds of things: cadeaux, the clothes I wear, the purse I carry, the money in my wallet, and for a bed to stay in for the night (that last item is a request from volunteers, not the Togolese!) It is still not easy to say no to anyone for anything. Du courage.

I am a foodie. I have come to the conclusion that my palate has a taste for fine food. And I want it often. While I enjoy the occasional In-n-Out burger, I am most happy and content with my five course tasting menus prepared especially for me by talented chefs. I so need a personal Togolese chef to cook for me. Bon appétit!

I enjoy the finer things in life. I do and can appreciate the not-so-fine lifestyle. Heck, I took bucket showers with nasty water for eight months. And I have slept in hotel rooms that make my skin crawl and with things that do crawl. I have slept on hard concrete floor with biting ants. So I can do it. I just don’t want to. I want my St. Regis bed (yes, it waits for me at home). I want my fluffy white towels. I want ice cubes. But for now, I will endure. Une bonne vie!

I believe people can only help themselves. Give a man a fish; feed him for a day. Teach him how to fish; feed him forever. I will not participate with organizations that give fish, computers, books, bikes, or shoes without the ability for sustainability. I will forever teach. Peace Corps gives me that gift. Merci beaucoup.

I am my own doctor. I now have my trusty SHIT book. While I didn’t correctly assess my gall bladder attack (that wasn’t in my book), I can treat pretty much anything. Ha! Or at least tell you what to do. Watching Samantha clean her wounds (i.e. Sam on a bike vs. motorcycle – the zed won) was not fun but giving her instructions on what to do was easy: wash and rinse. I think I winced more than she did. Merde.

I have no humility. Well, I have been known to change my clothes in my car in the middle of the day in a city parking lot. That was when I was a desperate actress-wanna-be.

But this is different. I no longer care if you can hear my bodily functions and I mean any of them. I don’t close the bathroom door even if you’re sitting two feet away. I heave-ho my leg onto a motorcycle and if I were Brittany, the paparazzi would earn their keep. I no longer care if you see me in my underwear. I really don’t. If you haven’t seen it, well then let me introduce you. Bonjour!

There’s something to be said about clean bathrooms and toilet seats. I have to have ‘em. My friends state-side know to conduct bathroom reconnaissance before I consider using one. It must smell clean and be clean. I have learned to not drink when I know the only available bathrooms will be in the grass, concrete, or dirt. I have urinated down my leg and onto my shoes for the last time, at least I hope. Why are there no toilet seats in Togo? They break. It’s disgusting. Merde (literally, this time).

Life as we know it cannot be described with words. Togolese have no idea of what life is like outside their world and I know for certain, even after hours and hours of explanation, that I would not be able to accurately describe it. Just like I know for certain that for those of you in the states, you will never have an accurate picture of my life here in Togo. The only way is to experience it. Venez chez moi!

I really know my friends. They say that when you are in true need, your true friends will shine. And boy, have they shone. And new stars emerged from the distant darkness. And then there are those that wink, just ever so gently – you have to really stare or you may miss it. It’s good to know the difference. Je vous aime.

I am forever a volunteer. After 49 years of continued service for others, how will I ever stop my need and want for giving to others? I don’t think it’s possible. However, I will make smarter decisions and better choices. Toujours une volontaire.

What does the future hold? Possibilities. Lots and lots of possibilities. It is both a good thing and a detriment. Choices. There never has been and never will be anything that can hold me back from doing what I want to do. I can do everything. To decide on the want, however, seems to be the hardest choice of all.

And my life is all about the possibilities I create and the choices I make. And about all I can learn about the human spirit along the way (most importantly, mine). J’arrive!

After one year in Togo, I can say wow. Wow to me. Wow to the people who touched my life, here and back home. Wow to my women’s group. Wow. Wow. Wow. (Do I sound like a barking dog?!) But really, truly, all I can say is wow. And to all the wow-ees to come my way. My arms are open. My heart is open. The spotlight is on us. Come on in. Viens! Viens! Viens!

A day (or two) in the Togo volunteer life... goals 2 and 3...

1. Katy, Samantha, and I went to visit the Dapaong reservoir (which is the most beautiful area I have visited to-date) and I asked a Togolese woman if she would take a picture of the three of us. She obliged but then promptly asked for money. She said she was ill and pointed to her hand which was missing a finger. Sam (who had just fought the bike-moto battle) promptly pointed to her injuries and without missing a beat said something to the effect of, “Yeah, me too. Are you going to give me some money?” The woman was speechless. Oh how I love you Sam.

2. While in Dapaong, Katy and I went to buy bread. The usual greetings were exchanged and then I overheard this man say something in French and I was in slow motion mode so there was a delay with the translation in my head. After a pause, I realized the man had asked Katy, “Is she your mother?” Me. Yeah, a common error. Katy is 5 feet 9 ¾ inches. I am 5 feet. Katy is Italian. I am Hispanic. (ha, just checking to see if you’re reading.) Yeah right, I am her mother you silly, silly man.

3. The very next day, Katy asked her moto driver how old he thought I was. He guessed that I was between 25 and 30. Thanks for asking Katy. You gave me a great birthday present.

4. Sam taught me and Katy how to play pinochle. I am hooked. Does that make me old?

5. Katy introduced me to the HBO series, “Game of Thrones”. Oh-oh. I want a dragon.

6. I was asked to conduct a training session for Peace Corps trainers (who will train the new group of volunteers arriving in July). You know your French is bad when the Training Manager tells you, “You can use English”, and then imploringly looks at you as if to say, “Please, speak English.” I so love you Blandine.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo TIA (This Is Africa): Togo Edition

2012-05-27 22:20:00

So I recently realized that I have mainly focused my blog on goals #2 and #3 of PC (#2: teach Togolese about Americans, #3: teach Americans about Togolese) and have not touched much on goal #1, which is transferring skills to Togolese. Most of you are probably what exactly it is that I’m doing here besides eating strange food and playing with my dog. To be honest, most of my actual work activities didn’t really come about until a few months ago when I changed sites, but now things are starting to get rolling and this summer is going to be crazy busy for me.

Rachel

Rachel is my official homologue and an amazing woman. Her trade is upholstering, but her skills and ambition surpass that. Upholsterers (in French, tapissiers) are usually male and she did her apprenticeship with a male employer and other male apprentices. She now owns her own workshop and has 15 all-female apprentices (she had 9 when I moved in February). Our first project that we’re doing together is collecting photos of her work to ultimately make into a catalogue to show potential customers. She tends to only do made-to-order because otherwise people (mainly family and friends) come to her and say that they like something and then they take it promising to pay later but never do. It stems from a cultural belief that family members who are more well off should help those that are less well off.

Christoff (Sam's Homologue), Sam and Rachel enjoying a burrito lunch we served them the other day. Goal #2.

We are also working to expand her merchandise to offer bags, wallets, etc. She already makes the bags for CEDAF (see below) using their woven pagne but has the ability to use other materials (pagne and leather, for example). I have given her some sample pictures that she is using to replicate, but in her own artistic way. I’m really looking forward to working with her throughout my next year of service and hope to help her improve her business in any way that I can.

The bags Rachel makes with the CEDAF pagnes.

CEDAF Weaver’s Group

CEDAF is a co-op group of women in Dapaong that offers support to women and young girls with few or no other options and teaches them skills and life lessons. They are known for their production of traditional woven pagne. There have been many volunteers before me who have worked with them and I was eager to see how I could add to their already well-established organization. I recently helped the women receive and process a very large order from an NGO in the US, and taught them skills such as how to create an invoice, exporting and quality control. The NGO was pleased with their work and, if they should receive future orders, I hope to make them self-sustainable in the process. We just shipped off the first order last week so now we’re discussing what will be our next step.

World Map Project

My site mate Sam and I share a love of geography, so I was excited when we both wanted to do a World Map Project and decided to do it together. What is a World Map Project? It is a tool that was designed by a PCV in the 80s to help spread geography education to areas where maps and textbooks are not widely available. It allows you to draw and paint a detailed and proportional world map on a wall or floor area. We found an elementary school in Dapaong that was interested and held a drawing contest with the CM2 students (the US equivalent of 5^th grade). We picked 25 of the best artists of 100 students to assist us. At our first meeting, we began by asking them to draw what they could of a world map from memory. Most were able to draw Togo and a few more could draw Africa, but nothing more than that. We asked who had ever seen a world map before, thinking that in a regional capital it would be more likely than in the smaller surrounding villages, and two students raised their hands. In a country where adults commonly ask me “Where in Europe is America?” I shouldn’t have been too surprised. It took a week and a half, and lots of patience and trying to suppress my detail-focused OCD, but the end result looks amazing and the kids were so excited. One of my favorite parts was when Sam (who’s from Michigan) and I showed where our hometowns were on the map and then the kids realized the distance compared to the size of Togo and their mouths would just drop. Togo is their whole world and my attempt was to try an open their world up a little. We already have a request from another school for another map and I’m excited to start!

The school's director even got in on the action.

Togo–PC Partnership

Women’s Groups

Must like in the US, women here commonly form interest groups amongst their community. They aren’t groups that play Bunko, however, and use the groups to form a coalition of women who sell the same thing in the market or women who live in the same quartier and profit from the security formed between the group members. Many groups either save money or take out loans together, but they could just meet to share advice about family and ways to improve their lives.

I have met a few times over the last several months with one women’s group in Dalwak and have taught basic business skills such as marketing and how to see if your product or service you are selling or want to sell is profitable and a good business venture. I did an example on how much capital it requires to start selling tchakpa, a local fermented millet drink. Start-up materials alone are over 50,000cfa ($100US, a lot of money here) and after half the total quantity was given away as a cadeau, most women would lose money for the day–not what the women expected but they had never took the time to calculate it before so therefore never knew. To see it just click in their minds was amazing. Throughout the next few months I will be presenting on other topics to this group and a few others nearby as well.

A popular savings technique that is surpassing microfinance and even basic tontines (rotational savings groups where each week a different member receives the “pot” of money) is a village savings and loans association, or VSLA. The original success of microfinance was based in the idea that it allowed the poorest of the poor to secure loans but the original design has been commonly been modified into a for-profit business and the result has made microloans inaccessible to the poorest of the poor. A VSLA aims to use the security of locally formed groups to help members save amongst themselves and give each other loans, usually closing out a year later with a substantial (30-40%) interest rate. I knew coming into PC that I wanted to help start a VSLA but it’s important that the interested group actually is interested, otherwise the project won’t work. My Dalwak women just asked me if I could help them set up a savings group so that’s another project I’ll be working on over the next few months.

Business Club

I had a group of high school students approach me a couple months ago about the possibility of starting a youth business club. We now have a group of ten students and together are starting our first project. We will be selecting between 5-10 female students to give a small loan to for the summer to start her own small business. She will learn basic business and management skills, as well as the fundamentals of taking out a loan and the business club members will be the ones teaching them these skills. I will be supervising. It’s a model that former Togo PCVs have used and I hope to help these girls save money for their school fees in the fall and instill my students with the ability to teach these skills to other groups.

Additionally, the business club wants to open a computer informational learning center in Dapaong, catered mostly to students. Computer/Internet café type centers exist, but few places teach how to actually use a computer and classes are expensive. This is an expensive endeavor but ultimately one that I think could greatly benefit the community and be very useful in today’s technology-based society. The students (and me, actually) will be learning how to write a business proposal and investigate funding options. If successful, this will be a lengthy process but also hopefully very rewarding.

Lastly, to work on their computer and Internet skills, they students have asked to be put in touch with students in the US with whom they could converse in English. If anyone knows any high school kids who may be interested, please let me know.

WWEC

I’ve talked about WWEC a few times already on this blog, but I never wrote a follow-up post to our regional conference in March. Basically, it was a huge success and the women were amazing and fun to interact with. We taught them a variety of things from yoga to nutrition to gardening to accounting. I was chosen to be a national coordinator of the event for 2013 so you’ll be hearing a lot about it in the coming months. It’s going to be a lot of work but I truly believe that it is an extraordinary event that really empowers women and brings together women from a variety of backgrounds to share information and work towards bettering their lives, that of their families and of their communities.

WWEC women doing yoga.

Club Espoir

Club Hope, as is the English translation, was started as an expansion of the summer Camp Espoir to help reach youth affected by HIV/AIDS throughout the year. Once a month, Savannes PCVs host a morning of fun, games and a little bit of educational lessons. While my schedule doesn’t allow me to make every month’s meeting, when possible it’s a fun and rewarding experience.

Duck, Duck, Goose

Farm to Market Newsletter

Farm to Market is a quarterly newsletter produce in a joint effort between the SED and EAFS (Environmental Action and Food Security) programs to link the work that we both do. Although produced by Togo PCVs, it is shared throughout PC West Africa and with similar programs. I am one the new editors for the next year and am very excited to collaborate with my fellow editors and put my design skills to use as well. Our first issue is out in July.

Camp Joie

PC Togo offers many summer camp opportunities for Togolese youth. Camp Espoir, as mentioned above, is one and Camp Joie (Camp Joy) is another. Camp Joie invites children who are physically disabled to participate in a week-long summer camp where they have fun and come together with other disabled kids in a setting not really found anywhere else in Togo. I’ll report more after the camp but this is another one of things on my upcoming busy schedule.

there's something about kittens

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-05-27 12:55:00

as i write this, Bry's recently ex-kitten is purring on my chest. Bry has been gone for a couple of days and her cat misses attention

how many Togolese does it take to kill a 7 inch snake? As many as can find big sticks

when is a Togolese convinced that a snake is actually dead? one word-- hamburger.

seriously, i watched a snake killing the other day and this one woman refused to accept that that the thing was dead even though its head was mush

a snake-killing gave rise to one of the best ethnic cracks Ive heard in Togo. I was drinking tchakpa with a friend of mine who is a primary school director. Across the road from us, a couple of guys found a snake in a roll of thatch and beat it with sticks bigger than they were. They brought it over for the director and me to examine. A cluster of jumpy kids hovered over my shoulder. Every time the snake twitched, they jumped. Anyway, I was like "so are you going to eat this?" cause konkumba eat everything except for crocodiles. The director was like no. but then he was like "but if this was chez Lamba, the kids would already have it skinned and over a fire." this was hilarious. Lamba live across the river. they and konkumba dont get along very well.

i found out that this weed that ive been pulling out of my garden by the armfull is actually edible. I was at the nampoch marche with my friend a couple nights ago and I tried it. he was like "its konkumba salad"

since my nook decharged the other night, ive been watching this TV show-- "homeland." its pretty good. good acting, psychological and stuff. i cant get into the plot though. I feel detached from the terrorists-want-to-attack-the-us-and-we-have-to-stop-them motif.

since i promised kittens . . .

they are cute. highly adorable. and do all kinds of kitten things. like crap all over my my house.

it is funny to watch them when Ninghan brings in a lizard (often bigger than they are) and they try to eat it.

last night i was sitting on my porch when Ninghan ran across the compound and jumped up on a 5 ft wall. then she snatched a mouse out of one of the thatched roofs

then she took it inside for the munchkins to play with

having 4 kittens, ive decided, is a lot like having a kid. they crap everywhere, yowl a lot, and keep you up all night

another thing that bothered me about "homeland" was that i couldnt recognize any of the cars in it

fyi- the kittens arent naturally pink. the trim in my house is red, and the paint rubs off (it also scrubs off the floor along with kitten crap).

continuing on the poop vein, Jacques drug me over to another compound yesterday afternoon to drink tchakpa. there was this kid, maybe 2-3 asleep on a mat. we sat there drinking. he peed himself and woke up. his mom brought over a bowl of rice to eat, and yelled at him to wash his hand first. they ate. then he got up. stood there looking at me-- and crapped on the ground. plop plop plop. his sister didn't even blink. she went and got some sorgham heads and scrapped it up. i tried not to read anything into this

ive been waging war on ants this week. since it started raining, ant hives, colonies, whatever, periodically swarm. there is this one kind of big brown ant that seems to prefer to live in concrete/mud brick walls- like my house. i go around the outside of my house every couple of days and spray their holes. im afraid of their burrows opening up on the inside of my house sometime. that would be miserable

the same stuff that i used on ants, and that makes me afraid of 6-foot tall mutant ants/cockroaches coming to murder me in my sleep, is the same stuff that my friend Djabab sprays on his plow cattle to kill tumbu flies

village rumor has it that my oldest host sister, N'tido, is pregnant. A fact that ive been hoping was my imagination for the past 2 months. Ugh.

In defense of strangers

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo trent sumner

2012-05-26 23:30:00

I'm gonna put up a real post sometime. . .I mostly promise. But for now you'll just have to make up your own story about these pictures. I'll give you some hints: the Disney castle is actually Notre Dame de Lourdes, from Lourdes I caught a bus up to Cauterets and from there I hitched up to Pont d'Espagne and hiked to Lac de Gaube.

Also, I'd just like to quickly state that Stranger Danger is the dumbest thing ever. As I was walking a little out of Cauterets, before I even stuck my thumb out an old woman stopped her car and opened the passenger door for me. I hopped in without hesitation. We had a nice chat as she drove us up the mountains. She told me how she was heading up to Pont d'Espange's arthritis clinic for a three week cure and she saw me 'and [she] thought to [herself], there's a young man who's about to see something beautiful and I want to help him out with that.' So she stopped and offered me a lift. Seriously, she saw me walking on the road and thought about what a great time I was about to have and lovely sights I was about to see and she wanted to make it even better, so she did.

When we got to the clinic I started to get out of her car and extended her tired old arthritic hand to me and she said 'It was very nice to meet you, Trent. You're the first American I've met in a long time and I had a lovely time talking with you. I wish you all the luck in the world on your travels.' I thanked her for her kindness and wished her luck and courage with her arthritis, then we smiled at each other and parted ways.

It was breathtakingly simple and lovely.

C’est Mon Choix

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-05-25 21:33:00

As a result of a number of contributing factors, teen pregnancy is a significant issue here in Togo. Many young people feel pressure from peers to engage in sexual activity, rumors run rampant about the dynamics of sex and love, girls get bribed into having sex for gifts, teens often receive no education about their developing bodies, and there is little awareness about contraceptive options available.

Partly for these reasons, as part of my rounds talking about family planning, I of course found myself talking to students about not having children until they have finished their studies and were ready to support a family. I found that talking to students is a bit different than talking to adults. With such a mix of ages and maturity levels, getting students to participate can be a challenge and talking of sex can set the group into nervous giggles.

This time around I was with a team of Red Cross workers. We began by explaining why waiting to have children is important for them as students, followed by a brief discussion about using contraception if they do choose to have sex. At this point the school director who had been lurking in the doorway cut in. He spoke of abstinence and that it was the only method of family planning the students were to use. Later when we were saying our thanks and goodbyes in his office, the director brought up once again—to the Red Cross director of their HIV/AIDS program—that he should not be talking condom use with students, only abstinence. He “knew his students, and if you open the door just a little there will be a flood of sexual activity.”

The school director is not alone in his thinking about teaching “abstinence-only” to students. In the U.S. there have been a number of pushes to implement this type of sex-ed in public schools; even withdrawing funding from school who choose to teach about condom use and other contraception. Distributed by PSI, the slogan “L’Abstinence, C’est Mon Choix” (Abstinence, That’s My Choice) can be found on billboards and T-shirts all over Togo. And these believers in abstinence are right, the only surefire way of avoiding teen pregnancy and the spread of STIs is by having teens abstain from sexual activity, but abstinence-only is also misguided in its belief that talking about sex and contraception will cause teens to start having sex.

I for one—someone who started getting a sex-ed, including contraction, in middle school—can attest that, upon hearing that things such as condoms could keep me from getting pregnant or a nasty STI, I did not run off to have sex. Assuming that contraceptives are the key towards teens starting their sex lives is very naive, and over-estimates the amount of thinking that goes into some teenagers’ sex lives. Yes, we very much want to think that the number one concern of a newly sexually active young person is their health and babies, but in reality when that moment strikes, if they have never been educated to think about protecting themselves, they won’t.

The reality is that teenagers often mature sexually before they do mentally. Unfortunately teenage sex is not a decision purely driven by a logical assessment of the possible consequences of their behavior, no matter how many times someone tells them, just say no. There are of course many youth who do abstain from sexual activity, but it isn’t because they have never discussed sex or contraception.

Youth should be taught to value their bodies and wait to have sex until they are mature enough to evaluate the consequences, but a balance needs to be struck. Even if we close our eyes and pretend it doesn’t exist or hope desperately that it will just go away, time has shown us that teen sex happens. In Togo teen pregnancy is a large contributor to girls not finishing school and apprenticeships. It is not because someone didn’t tell them not to have sex that they became pregnant, it is because they were never told to use contraception. We need to show these youths, who—besides our pressure for abstinence—still choose to have sex, how to protect themselves and avoid having to suffer from the very real consequences of unprotected sex.

That’s All Folks

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Stacie's Blog Has Got It Going On!

2012-05-25 18:16:00

2 years: -Countless marriage proposals -1 Regional Camp Directed -2 Houses -2 National Camps Directed -1 Host family -2 World AIDS Day Events -Countless funerals -1 HIV/AIDS NGO -20 Club Espoirs -5 USAID Grants -2 children from Club lost to HIV -4 bouts of malaria -1 good friend lost to malaria -1 boy saved by stomach surgery -1 moto accident -2 cases of amoebas -Countless Togolese parties -1 case of giardia -4 cases of bacterial infection -5 instances of "level 10-ing" -2 visits to the witch doctor -1 Marathon -Countless PCV dance parties -1 trip to Cameroon -1 attempted kidnapping -1 trip to Morocco -1 Family Visit -1 Friend Visit -Countless children held -1 child birth witnessed -2 mountains climbed -2 languages learned -Countless letters written -12 blogs -Countless bush taxi rides -1 cave spelunk-ed -1 Canadian -1 baby incorrectly named after me (Cecile=Stacie..in Togo) -Countless friends made -1 snake in the shower -1 rat -Countless lizards -Countless scorpions -1 fountain swam in -1 waterfall swam in -1 lake swam in -1 dose of schistosomiasis medication (water-borne illness) -2 Thanksgivings -2 Birthdays -1 St Pattys Day Party -1 Seder -2 Halloweens -1 visit home -2 dogs -1 dog eaten by neighbors -1 cat -3 litters of kittens -1 cat given away -1 Yam Festival -2 Village Chiefs -1 riot witnessed -3 protests witnessed -Endless harrassment -Countless times being called "Yovo" (white person) -Endless laughter -Countless smiles -Countless gifts -Countless acts of kindness -Countless reasons to be grateful _______________________________________________________ I’ve been back in Oregon for a little over a week now. A whole world away and everything from that life seems to be fading fast. Life in America is awesome, obviously. I’ve unabashedly gained 5lbs on my mother’s cooking, and have already moved on to new adventures (building a cob wall at a certain community garden for instance!). I’ve been readjusting to the US by researching insurance plans, getting a phone, apartment hunting, and trying to ignore that inner nagging I have that I’m not actually home. That this is all actually temporary, and I will return soon enough to the chaos and frustration and adventure that is Togo. I understand now why volunteers who left before me don’t keep in contact. It’s not because they’ve forgotten, but that it is too sad to think back to the way things were. Not to romanticize it. If ever I was to have lingering thoughts about extending my service, I only have to think back on the last two weeks when I was struck with a nasty bout of falciparum malaria, which turned into, according to my sporadic and incompetent Togolese doctor, a “brain infection.” I fought for my life, and thankfully, won. At the time I was happy to get the hell out of there before my life was challenged again. But now, as I sit here in my comfortable house with all the amenities PCV's can only fantasize about, I’m torn between two worlds; neither perfect, but both home in their own way. In my 3-day rush between my hospital stay and leaving, I said good-bye to all my friends and family. Goodbyes are the WORST. My brain keeps wanting to automatically skip over this part and think of the frustrating bush taxi ride up when the door fell off every single time we stopped (approximately every 10 minutes) and took 15 minutes to put back on, or my ride to the airport where the taxi driver (Michel) and I belted “The King of Wishful Thinking” and “Walking on Broken Glass” along with the radio. The heart felt admissions by my friends, the improvised “Talent Show” when the electricity went out during the goodbye party where everyone made up ballads in my honor “Staa-cee you leave us but staying in our heeeeeart,” are too painful to think about. The Peace Corps family I left behind are my best friends. Soon enough they too will make the same painful transition and pretend that the access to food and paved roads is enough to compensate leaving their hearts behind. In all honesty, I was miserable for the majority of my last six months in Togo. I was constantly sick, health problems galore. I had a short temper with taxi drivers trying to rip me off, and the wonderful things of Togo lost their shine. It was far from easy. Every day was inconvenient and a struggle at best. But looking back, it was a small price to pay. There is a spirit and vitality in Togo that I have never experienced elsewhere. There is an outright joy for life that can only come from a lifelong uncertainty of how long it will last. I only wish that I could have appreciated more at the time. I am excited to start the next chapter of my life. I am ready for it. I will be attending grad school for University of Colorado in Denver in the fall for my Master’s in Public Administration. I am ecstatic to be with my family. My parents have been over the top awesome about my transition and are highly empathetic. I have a current project that fell into my lap which thankfully gives me purpose and is a much needed distraction. I have a million and one reasons to be happy and grateful, and I am. But it is an odd feeling to be content and a little heartbroken all at the same time. I miss speaking in French, greeting in Kabye, making hand gestures that are only understood by Togolese, haggling over prices, spending lazy days milling around and playing with hoards of children. I miss the broad sense of community that encompasses everyone, even strangers like myself. I miss the ridiculous moments of unbelief when there is a goat resting between your feet, a stranger’s baby in your lap, it being over 110F out, and being crammed in with 25 people when there is reasonably only room for nine. When there is nothing else to do but give up and enjoy the ride. There was a big part of me that was created and shaped in Togo. A patience, an understanding, and an acceptance of the human condition. I’m afraid that without the right conditions, and constantly being put to the test, I will lose that part of me. I told everyone, friends and family alike, that I would call, I would write. I’ve been home for over a week and have done neither. I know they’ll be worried, and wanting to know I am safe and home. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Pain and jealously prevents me. That they are there and I am here. I thought I was appreciating Togo while I was there, but there was so much time I could have been doing more, soaking more in, and experiencing it all while I had the chance. It is a weird paradox. When I was there, America was the dream. Now I am here, living it, and all I can think about is despite everything, despite Togo itself, it was the dream. Life, though, is moving on regardless. The day-to-day will soon overtake the struggle of wanting to be in two places at once. All I can hope for is that it will be sooner rather than later that I can think of Togo and be happy for the time I had there. Miss the people I know, without the heart-wrenching ache, and just pick up the phone and give them a call.

-Sitting middle seat in coach for a 14 hour flight back to the states is apparently not the ...

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo TalesFromTogo

2012-05-24 01:49:42

Seriously though, I felt like a king on my flight back to New York. If you’ve read my posts about transportation in Togo you’ll sort of understand why. I couldn’t believe it. I had a big soft cushiony seat. All … Continue reading →

existential speculations or life in Togo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-05-23 13:30:00

I was in Kouka the other day talking to someone on the street when this guy walked past me wearing a skin-tight University of Wisconsin-Platteville tshirt. its a small world

I dont think that god wanted me to come home from Lome. D and I spent some quality time on the ride up from Atakpame sitting along the road in Blitta while the brake line in our bush taxi was repaired. At least they caught it while we were stopped . . .
The next day, I called Richard at 830 to come pick me up from bina. Then i called him at 11 something- he said that his moto was broken en route. He finally got there about 1600 and we left. Then I spent 2.5 hours in Manga with Jenn while he fixed a flat . . . and finally got home at like 2130. . . .

. . . to find bags of rice and gari shredded on my floor and the discovery that the kittens are not as litter trained as I thought.

I think that tumbu flies are best argument both for and against the idea of the world as the product of Intelligent Design. They are definitely a great argument against the idea of a Loving God who cares about His Creation. Unless He has singled out dogs as special objects of His divine displeasure.

I am happy to be home. People in the south, specifically the Ewe, are different than they are up here. The Ewe are more abrupt than people in the north. People up here are more laid back and respectful.

I am still amazed by how fast stuff grows here when it rains. Including my garden. My tomatoes are like 2 inches high after 9-ish days. I found sweet potatoes, some kind of native squash, and marigolds coming up in my garden. The marigolds are especially exciting.

The kittens are really cute. They have figured out how to get up on my bed, so now they like to cuddle. Then I feed them fish and fear for my fingers. Oh well.

One of my new favorite things to do is to sit out with my family in the evenings and shell peanuts. The kids can do it really fast; they crack the shells on the pavement and break them open with their fingers. Adjai can do it with both hands. I cant do it at all. Well I can, but I destroy as many peanuts as I shell. So I shell them with 2 hands and sit there and let konkumba swirl around me.

Im kind of amazed by how much I read here. I read all of Asimov's "Foundation" books. Now I am working through McMaster-Bjuld's "Vorkosigan" series. Jenn is re-reading "The Wheel of Time" so I dont feel too bad.

My Facebook feed is full of graduation announcements. MDs, MAs, PhDs, BAs. . . . its kind of depressing cause that would have been me in a different life. But, congratulations to all the grads.

The longer I am alive, the more I appreciate, or perhaps discover, all the shades of grey that color life. For example, child trafficking is a problem here. The other night Jenn was telling me how she interviewed a zedman who had been "trafficked" at 16. He went to Nigeria, worked for awhile . . . and came back with a new moto and English. He has more education and experience than a lot of people in Nampoch now, plus a way to earn a decent living in his moto. Going to Nigeria worked out for him.
The flip side to this is the guy in Nampoch who, last month, tried to send a junior-high girl to Nigeria. I cant figure out if she is his daughter or a relation or what. Anyway, the director of her school noticed she wasnt in class, threatened her brother with beating unless he talked, found out what had happened to her, and called the Minister of Social Affairs, the national one, who happens to be from Kouka. Within a couple of days, a warrant was issued for this guy's arrest and another warrant was sent after the girl to fetch her back from Nigeria. Jack, and the rest of my forced marriage committee, take great pleasure in retelling the story of how the gendarmes came and arrested this guy. He was in prison in Bassar for about a week and a half before he paid his fine and was released. I have to bite my tongue whenever I see him around village now lest I say something untoward. The girl is back now too. Justice was served, the bad guy chastised (apparently his wife had to help him urinate after the gendarmes cuffed him . . .), and the victim returned.

Two instances of child-trafficking, one that benefited the "victim" in the long run, one that was basically a kidnapping. The latter case makes my skin crawl; the former case makes it hard for me to universally condemn something that I found easy to trash before. I could argue that, here, 16 is basically adulthood so the zedman wasnt really a "child" when he was trafficked. I think that works. I think it explains the discrepancy. The age of consent, 18, in the US is an arbitrary rule that has become a socially relative fact. It hardly works here where the concept of "childhood" is abbreviated at best and in no way resembles that culturally mandated period of societal dis-responsibility in the US. The 10-12 year old girls I saw working in the fields as I biked in today bear witness to that. They contribute directly to their family's well-being at the sake of their own education. I find it easy to condemn people who dont send their children to school, but what about when its the choice between education and hunger? A preteen girl torn from her home and shipped to Nigeria is tragic. But what about when she comes back fluent in English, like the woman I met in Bina a month ago? Still as tragic? Yes. Maybe. I dont know. Shades of gray.

Every time I see a horizon here, I wonder what cool stuff is over it waiting to be discovered.

Garden pix!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo C'est si bon

2012-05-23 08:56:00

So long time, no blog. Short version: I got married, had a baby, left the State Department and moved into a 600 year old cottage in England.

Now on to the good stuff: what is happening in garden?

These irises are the most amazing color. Vigorous old clematis thriving in the back.

The climbing hydrangea will be in full bloom in the next few weeks. I am working hard to keep it under control so it doesn't pull the house down. There is a lovely honeysuckle the color of a Pacific sunset on the right. The perfume is heaven in the evening.

Happy poppies and columbine galore.

The wisteria is in full bloom in the front and we just planted a bunch of roses along the front wall and around the door.

View from the garden bench in the back. One of my favorite places to hide.

Columbine bouquet from yesterday.

Detail of the honeysuckle.

Lovely flowering sedum as seen from the sidewalk.

This peony is enormous.

****

For the next entry, details of ritual markings pointed out to me by a local conservation officer yesterday. Apparently beams over doorways and chimneys were marked with symbols to keep away evil spirits. Paradoxically, this "white magic" invokes the Virgin Mary for protection. We found these markings in the beams all over the house as well as taper burns from candles (before candles were invented) leaned against a beam. Since most of the beams are painted, you can see them best in the side of the house where there are a few unpainted beams.

It is so exciting to be living in a house of this age. And trying when you are constantly knocking your head:).

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Majoring in Life

2012-05-21 21:41:00

Hello, everyone! It’s been too long. I’ve got a lot of stuff to report, so I’ll break it up into segments for easier processing. I’m in the last four (can you believe it??) months of my service now, and while it seems like I just got here, I’m also really getting excited about coming back home. But first, a re-cap on all that I’ve been up to in the last few months…

Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conference

This conference had been in the works since last September, and I was really, really pleased with how it turned out. Our 27 participants from all different backgrounds, villages, towns, ages, religions, and ethnic groups came together for a week to focus on health, confidence, family, and life goals. It was a pleasure to see how enthusiastic and participative all the women were, how well-organized the PCV and Togolese facilitators were, and how smoothly it all came together. Some of the themes we covered were: Nutrition, family planning, being a role model, self-esteem, planting and cooking with moringa (a really healthy tree—lots of protein, vitamins, etc.), stress, water filtration, raising livestock techniques, and everyone’s favorite: yoga! We had all the ladies up at 6:00 doing yoga and talking about fitness. One of the participants from last year’s conference led the yoga with me, which was really fun. 6:00 is definitely sleeping in for women in Togo… one morning I got down at 5:45 to set up the mats and saw women running laps around the courtyard to warm up. They continued with high energy through a packed day of sessions and activities, fueled on weird food like salads, burritos, and stir-fry. One important aspect of the conference is promoting an “open to new ideas” attitude, including trying new, balanced meals to mix up the usual Togolese diet of corn pâte and a handful of sauces. The burritos were a real miss; the women just ate the rice and beans off the corn tortillas that PCVs spent hours making with the kitchen staff at the hotel, confirming the cooks’ suspicions that we Americans eat strange food. But other things, like the moringa powder we put on the tables to add to each dish, were a huge hit, and like I said, the yoga was a major success. One of the participants that I nominated, Salamatou, now does yoga every morning at her house here in Mogou, and has even started running laps around the soccer field at the school, in spite of comments from her neighbors and friends about her unusual behavior. “The doctor had been telling me for a while that I needed to change my diet and work on my fitness,” she told me a few weeks after the conference. “But after the Women’s Conference I really decided to do it. I’ve cut back on salt and oil in my cooking, I work out everyday, and look at me! I’ve started to slim down. And I’ve never had more energy!” I’ve joined her for yoga sessions a couple of times, which was a great experience. While doing “chat et vache” (cat/cow) poses in the courtyard, chickens are running around, kids come in and out of the house getting ready for school, neighbors stop by to buy sugar (she sells small groceries in the market every day)… it’s all chaos. But Salamatou isn’t phased. “Breathe innnnn, breathe outtttttt,” she says, and “sugar’s in the room on the left, 50 fCFA for the small bag, 100 fCFA for the big one. Breathe innnnnnn…” I love it.

Men As Partners (MAP) Training

This conference just wrapped up—May 8^th through the 11^th. It was the first of its kind for the Savanes (my) region, even though many PCVs have organized MAP trainings in the other 4 regions of Togo. So, this was a highly anticipated event, and it fulfilled and surpassed everyone’s expectations. We had other PCV friends come from down south to help out, and they told us this was the best MAP event they’d ever seen. All we do is win! : ) It really was fun to do; a nice challenge, and it was wonderful planning it with my friend, the lead on the project, Christy.

Like the women’s conference, this was a 3-day training for 28 participants from all over the Savanes region, with different backgrounds, levels of French, etc. But unlike the Women’s Conference, it was a training of trainers, meaning the participants were expected, at the end, to be able to train others in the community in MAP. Also, the message was much more specific: gender equity is in everyone’s interest. Here’s how you, as a man, can and should care about women’s rights. This is a tough message to sell given the entrenched traditional ideas about gender roles in a patriarchal society. But the MAP framework is a really interesting, really effective approach to gender. It places men and boys as the main beneficiaries of gender equity. Instead of railing against sexual harassment and unequal division of labor in the home, MAP goes back to the basics. What is gender? Why do we have different tasks for men and women in the family? How does violence negatively affect our families and communities? All sessions are based on questions and interactive activities which help the male participants think through and challenge preconceived ideas of gender in their society and come to their own conclusions about what needs to change, and how. Some of the activities were hard to watch, like “Sharing our attitudes about gender.” This is the very first activity of the training, and is intended to get participants used to sharing their ideas and hearing others’ with respect. That said, some of the perspectives are less than enlightened. In the activity, multiple statements are read and participants decide if they ‘Agree,’ ‘Disagree,’ ‘Totally Agree,’ or ‘Totally Disagree’ with the statement. For example: “Men are more intelligent than women.” Most participants were ‘Disagree’ with this one, thank goodness. So it seemed we were on the right track. But then, “If a woman dresses in “sexy” (skirt hem above the knees, etc.) clothes, she deserves to be raped.” Almost all of our participants were ‘Totally Agree.’ Throughout the training, Christy and I tried to stay out of the discussion as much as possible. We had a really capable team of Togolese facilitators and pretty much left session management up to them. But on this one I couldn’t help myself… deserved to be raped?? Come on, guys! So I ‘shared my attitude’ that no one can deserve a crime, and that I think men are strong enough to resist these girls, and they all laughed. I think part of it is the cultural expectation of dressing correctly. Here, you dress UP for things. Going out of your house is an event. Even if you are the farmer-iest farmer, you put on your best clothes for the marché or a bush taxi ride. So not dressing properly is seen as intentional and a major faux pas. Also, people kind of do believe that you can deserve a crime by not taking proper precautions against it. Locking doors, closing windows (very small windows, so people can’t go in or out of them), not leaving anything of value out in plain sight, it’s a national obsession. But anyways, I digress. The point is, it was very interesting hearing people’s views on gender issues in such a candid way, and then watching how they changed throughout the course of the three days.

On the last full day of the training, we organized community groups to come in and be audiences for the participants to so they could lead sessions as practice before heading home. This was a great part of the conference. We sent some of the participants (the teachers, mainly) over to the huge middle school in Dapaong to lead sessions with students and teachers on sexual harassment and consent. The other groups stayed on site and led sessions with groups of taxi moto drivers, social workers, and a small environmental volunteer group. It was all a big hit. The moto guys, in particular, loved their sessions on ‘New types of courage’ and ‘What is violence?’, and the environment group had so much fun with ‘Agree/Disagree’ that they played for an extra hour. Then, two days after the conference was over, one of our facilitators ran into the environment group in the marché. They had set up shop in a cafeteria (sells egg sandwiches, rice, spaghetti, etc.) on Saturday morning, and were leading ‘Agree/Disagree’ with everyone who came in for breakfast. Just like that! We hadn’t even really trained them, they were just there for a couple hours to do one activity, but I guess they really loved it and got to work right away.

So, overall, a great event. We sent everyone home with certificates (like gold in Togo—folks LOVE certificates), their very own MAP manual, and had a dance party on the last night with tchakpa. One thing I really, really appreciate about Togo: grown men will literally drop whatever they’re doing and get up and DANCE, I’m talking booty shakin’, linking arms with their friends, laughing and running around DANCING when their song comes on. I couldn’t imagine a group of teachers, for example, dancing it out at the end of a conference in America. But, for the record, the women at the women’s conference out-danced the men three times over—we had to shut the ladies’ party down at midnight. They’d been having a traditional dance stomp-off competition. The men all went to bed of their own accord around 8 pm : )

Premier Mai, 2012

Once again, Premier Mai proved to be my favorite holiday in Togo. This year, one of my Mango cluster friends came over to celebrate with me, as her village is mostly Muslim and doesn’t party it up quite like Mogou. Apparently, few places party it up like Mogou. We started the day with a parade through town, featuring all the workers of Mogou. Teachers, moto drivers, health workers, couturières and taillers (tailors), me and Affaires. Aichetou got me in on the teachers’ uniform, so I was wearing the matching shirt and looking very official. We got into very organized lines and marched around town, those in front carrying a Grey Goose Vodka promotional tablecloth or sign or something, cuz we needed a banner. M. Akata, the class clown of the teachers, let the parade yelling ‘Left! Left! Left right left!’ and Salamatou led everyone in singing, “We are the workers of Mogou!” The parade went to the Régent du Chef Canton’s house (head guy for the canton, like a county? but smaller), where all of the notables were seated, waiting for us. We then had our spokesperson present our group and give a short history of Premier Mai: labor day. Shout out to Dad and Brian for doing research for me on the world history of labor day… they loved it. He then read the list of things we, the workers of Mogou, appreciate in our community (the new electricity, the cell tower, the road construction from Mogou to Tchimonga, etc.) followed by our list of demands/ requests for this year. Those included: new road to Mango, a parking lot in the marché for the cars/ trucks that come in, a police post, electricity for the health clinic, etc. I really liked this part. Everybody got together the day before and made a list of things they liked and didn’t like about Mogou, and what we should ask for to change from the Chef. How great! Let’s do it, guys! Some of that stuff, like electricity for the health clinic and the parking lot, should be pretty easy. New road to Mango? Well, at least I know I’m not the only one who thinks it’s bad.

After the parade, it was marché day as well, so we hit up the beans and rice, got some mangos, and headed back to my house to take a nap before the afternoon festivities started. Affaires had already been by. “Where are you?” was scrawled on my porch in charcoal. This is his favorite day out of the whole year, and he was busy getting his people together. At around 2pm, Aichetou came by with another woman from our group to collect us. They tied my pagne on my head for me, and off we went to get the others. There were about 10 of us who ended up together that afternoon… part of the deal is walking around collecting everyone so that the people of the village can see how pretty and fancy you all are. So after 2 hours of that, we ended up at the bar to watch the impromptu dance party that went into the night. We called it a day pretty early, like 9pm…. the rest of the village stayed out all night.

Everything in between…

Besides all my activities, life has been going pretty well. I had the pleasure of hosting my fourth American visitor (Mom, Dad, and Kev, I’m counting you guys as one visit…), Ruth Marks! She was so fun and such a trooper, and we had a great trip running all up and down Togo. We saw Lomé, Kpalimé, and the mountains of Danyi, all the way up to my village and back down again. It’s always nice to get a fresh perspective on life here and catch up on what’s going on back in America. She also took some great pictures of Mogou, which I normally don’t do because it would be a bit awkward for me. I was trying to post them now, but the internet is not cooperating… I’ll get a bunch up when I go south next month.

So now, here I am up in Dapaong on a very unscheduled trip… I ran out of cooking gas three days ago and finally couldn’t eat another meal of mangos and crackers, so I came up to refill. I had a rough weekend in general: snake in my latrine (killed it!), baby mice falling from my kitchen ceiling, bug outbreak in my house after a big rain, etc. so I’m kind of glad for a quick, one-day break. I’ll head back tomorrow and will be in village for about 3 weeks, studying for the GRE. Fun, fun! But really great as far as free time goes… I can literally spend days just studying without much worry. The kids are all in their final exams, and since the rains started all their parents are planting in the fields, so nobody’s really around to do anything with me. Perfect! After the GRE, my main (and last, really) thing is Camp Etoiles du Nord, the planning for which should take most of my time until the end of my service. I officially got my COS (close of service) date: September 21^st! Since I’m getting replaced, and the new group is coming early this time around, I have to be out of my house by September 14^th instead of the usual November. It’s still a full two years, and I feel like I’ll have done a significant amount of work by then, so it works out well for me. I’m really glad I’m getting replaced in Mogou: the village has changed so much since I first got there, and I’m hoping with some of the groundwork I laid, the next volunteer can really get a lot done. Or at least enjoy the electricity : )

One last thing, sad news: Toby got sick and passed away yesterday. There’s something going around with the dogs in the area, so I don’t think it was anything intentional (at first, Affaires thought it could be poison). It was very sudden, but as all my neighbors tell me, you never know what’s going to happen in life, and “we don’t cry over animals, Ellen.” He was a great dog, and I miss him a lot, but at least I know he was the most loved (and spoiled) dog in the whole canton.

'Til next time... which I hope will be much sooner : )

Looking Back

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Peace Corps 2011 Togo

2012-05-21 20:48:00

May 20, 2012

Togo has been my home for the last eight months. I have been living in my village, Asrama, and an official Peace Corps volunteer for six months. I wanted to wait to talk about the experience of the first few months at post after having gained some emotional distance. They say that the first three months of your service at your post is when you are most likely to drop out or Early Termination (ET) from Peace Corps because they are the most difficult months.

Having survived those first three months and beyond I have to agree that the first three months at Asrama so far have been the hardest. Training was a stressful, but extremely structured time period. We were told where to go and what to do, and everything we needed was provided.

All too soon training came to an end and it was time for Swear-in Ceremony. It was an immensely emotional time for all of us. We had to say good bye to our host families, the stress of giving speeches in local languages before cameras, buying everything we would need to set up our posts, the joy of finally officially becoming Peace Corps volunteers, celebrating, and then saying good bye to go off alone to do what we came here to do.

I remember the ride from Lome to Asrama. Peace Corps had bought out bush taxies to take us and our belongings to our new home. I was in the van with the two other new volunteers in my region; Rad and Alex. My village was the first stop. I was filled with fear, excitement, and worry as the van bounced along my horrible dirt road. The closer I got the higher my anxiety rose. We unloaded all my stuff onto my porch and the taxi drove away.

That first night was the hardest I’ve had in Togo so far. I don’t know what I would have done without my dog Swarley that first night. I felt so alone and overwhelmed. The Togocell tower in village was out that night so I was unable to call anyone for moral support, which made things so much worse. My homologue, Akpo, who was the only person in village that I really knew at the time was in Benin. I laid on my bed wondering what I had gotten myself into. Doubt clouded my mind. Could I really do this? Live here? Was I strong enough?

Togocell continued to be out for the next few days. My first conversation back home was to explain to my Dad not to panic, but that I was on my way to Lome having been bitten by the Chief of the Gendarm’s dog. I’m so happy for that dog biting me now. Going to spend three days at the Med Unit in Lome was really wonderful. It allowed me to have a moment to mentally process everything and talk to my Dad, who has always been good at getting me to move beyond my fear and encourage me to do my best.

Things got better after that, but were full of disappointments and challenges. Getting projects started was painfully slow. The first three months I concentrated on integration and setting up my home. I went to marche on Mondays, hung out with the Chief de Asrama, talked to Akpo, made visits to the school, and drank coke at my buvette. Integration is full time job when you arrive in village, but it doesn’t feel like you’re accomplishing anything. It’s frustrating learning to navigate a community whose first language you know nothing about and second language is only spoken by the educated.

Then there was the constant sickness, which thank God has finally seemed to calm down. For a while it seemed every two weeks I was horribly and violently ill. The med unit kept telling me it was probably food poisoning, but that sounded like suck a mild and an unsatisfying diagnosis for what I was experiencing. I was worried something really bad was wrong with me that the tests were just not catching. I expected to be sick joining the Peace Corps and living in a third world country, but not that sick. However, my health seems to have leveled out.

When I began teaching at the lycee is when life in village really improved drastically. People stopped calling me yovo. Now wherever I walk I hear people shouting my name. Teaching not only gives me something to do, but it also gives me a sense of accomplishment. Makes being here worth all the initial heartaches. Plus, I honestly love working with the kids. They are great and make me laugh. This is why I joined Peace Corps. I wanted to make an impact.

So what am I trying to get at with this entry? I know there is a new stage arriving in Togo in July and that there are other future Peace Corps volunteers waiting eagerly for that departure date searching the internet for any tidbit of information about their new life. I want to say that yes, those first three months are going to be filled with heartache, illness, challenges, and overall adjustment. However, if you stick it out Peace Corps can be so rewarding.

I can’t imagine leaving Togo for anything. I truly love it here. I’m looking forward to teaching again in September. I have Camp Unite this summer. I have plans for future projects like a Homme Comme Partener (Men as Partners) formation in October, a Mothers Nutrition Day at my CMS, and Take Our Daughters to work the following spring break. I think that joining Peace Corps has been the best decision I have every made for myself. Sure, I had moments of doubt and I’m so grateful I was able to preserver past them.

Little Moments

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-05-20 14:04:00

Since I last wrote I’ve had a handful of special little moments. Little things from each day that I’m grateful for as there has also been a lot of downtime and something I’m struggling with a bit lately.

Little moments like this morning when the choir broke out with a couple new songs that had the most beautiful harmony I’ve ever heard from a choir. Strong, bold, beautiful. The Catholic church I attend here celebrated the confirmation of about a dozen people. The church was packed and I had to share half a seat with my nurse friend from the Hospital. I tried to not let the moment be ruined by the swarms of children at my feet in the packed, three hour service.

Little moments like yesterday at the weekly market when Aposto and I hung my mosquito in an empty stall and talked to the crowd about sleeping under their mosquito net. Yes, this sounds like an easy concept, but when it’s too hot, people sleep outside and leave their net inside. Our point was that you can hang your net outside too as I demonstrated by laying on a mat under the net. We made signs in the two local languages and in French. Some people asked questions, some people gave their testimonies of how their net had kept them healthy, and lots of people wanted to buy a net. The other cool moment was walking to a little store in town with my little friend Wren and her brother Abadu Baba. Wren is 7 or so and we joke that she is my Togolese daughter. These two live in the same compound as Aposto and I as I was waiting to go to the market I asked Wren if she wanted to walk to the store with me. Abadu, who likes me on some days and other days just screams when I appear, decided he wanted to join us and so it was quite the site to so many people from out of town who don’t know me. It felt like they were my kids as we held hands and sang Abadu’s favorite song and I bought them a treat on the way back.

Friday the little moment was in the hour I got spend helping weigh and give the Polio vaccination drops to the dozen or so new babies who were there for their ‘check-up.’ I’m so thankful for such a capable nurse at our hospital. She is smart, confident and speaks very clear French – and she trusts me and gives me stuff to do! Later, I checked my email and had some very sweet messages from a couple of mentors back home. One reminding me that, “not many people would give up two years of their life to help kids half a world away have a better life,” and “your work is never easy, but always important.” So encouraging, so uplifting. Thank you to those special people!

Thursday the moment was at the last girls club of the year as I taught the girls some American relay games (wow, they’re competitive!) and then enjoyed some candy from America as we talked about what we had learned throughout the club. Returning home, exhausted from the heat of the day, I had some quiet time with the new baby (still not sure of his name) as the evening cooled down and then sat with him and my host mom as she gave him his nightly bath.

Wednesday morning the moment came when I was at the monthly meeting with Lama-Tessi’s local health agents. One of the more capable group I’ve met with, I really felt like these were my people; my team. I told them about my goal of spending time with each of them when they have their meetings in their neighborhoods and do their home visits. Not only as a way to keep them accountable to their action plans, encourage them in their efforts, but also to support the discussing of Family Planning at their various events.

Another cool moment came as I watched my English Club kids head home with armloads of books for the summer. Being the last session for the year, I wanted them to be able to use the books that we have throughout the summer, so they each checked out (all on their own!) a handful. It hit me that while it doesn’t seem like much, it’s pretty neat that these 15 kids have something from the generosity of my hometown and what’s more, something to read this summer. I was watching and thinking this as we were walking back to my house (they love to carry my things and walk me the 2 minutes to my house) and I let them come in and look around for the first time. (Something in the culture here; people don’t go into people’s houses much, everything is done/discussed outside). They were funny; staring at new things in wonder: rice in a box? A giant ball that you can’t kick or throw but you use to ‘work out’ with? And trying to identify me in the many pictures I have decorating the walls. It was funny; they make me smile.

Tuesday I attended the other local health agent meetings in the small villages north and south of LT. The village to the south where we met in the morning has a really nice hospital. Why, I asked, is there electricity, a real table for women to give birth on, a full pharmacy (things the LT facility lacks)? Why? Because the hospital was built and is funded by a world Muslim association; not the Togolese government. Learning/understanding more things all the time.

Tuesday’s moment came in the afternoon when we were visiting the village to the south, Yao Kope. Set back in the woods, there is a beautiful rehabilitation center for people coming out of prison, run by nuns. That sounds scary/not exactly a friendly place to hang out, put the center was virtually empty and Nima and I wandered around the large summer camp like facilities. They have real trades like chicken and pig raising, and two giant gardens with and one dark room growing mushrooms for the people to learn and use to readjust back to civilan life. To appreciate this beauty, you have to know its rarity in Togo. First, the rehabilitation aspect in itself is pretty unusual here. Second, the place was so incredibly peaceful; no churches or mosques ringing at all hours, no hoards of animals or children running around, no loud trucks and cars zooming by. Third, real programs, real trades- properly raising animals instead of letting them wander wherever- and large, organized gardens are really really impressive. I was so happy; so excited to have discovered this place!

So there were special moments sprinkled throughout my week. I realize this may sound ‘cool’ and it is and I have to remind myself of it- just hard sometimes when that moment is 20-60 minutes and leaves you trying to fill the rest of the day! Reminding myself this is Africa, you’re in the Peace Corps Taylor. No, this isn’t a 9-5 desk job. No, no two days are alike and no there is no predictability. This is what you wanted. Yes, I know I sound like a broken record; believe me I’m just as frustrated with constantly telling myself this as you probably are reading if for the tenth time. Perhaps this will be/is my biggest vice; the battle I fight throughout my service. “Never easy; always important…”

The joy of work

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Martin's Office

2012-05-20 08:48:57

So I wrote this post last month and when I was frustrated with work here. I’m cool now and guess what, Chelsea won the Champions League last night! Drogba saved them at the end of the second half then again with … Continue reading →

What I've been up to in 2012

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Tales of Togo

2012-05-19 22:38:00

Hi people. It’s been a while since a substantial update on my life- apologies; however, I’m sure you’re surviving just fine without them ;) [Except for maybe my mother… hi mom! Love you!]

So I guess I’ll start with the biggest news before I get into work/projects/village life… I’m staying in Togo for a third year. It was actually quite a simple decision; I’m just not done here yet, I’m not ready to leave. I have big dreams and big plans but I’ll spare you my rambling and update you on them later once they’re a reality I’ve accomplished. I will be moving to Gléi, a bigger “city” that is about 14 kilometers away from my current village. I will have electricity! I’ve also purchased unlimited internet. Life is going to be really different. Kpategan, my current village, is going to be replaced too. I’m really excited.

Life here is full of ups and downs. Extreme ups and downs. Check out this volunteer’s blog for a pretty accurate description of your average Peace Corps Volunteer: http://waidsworld.wordpress.com/2011/08/07/the-real-peace-corps/

So aside from planning for the future (some things never change- even though I have NO IDEA what I will do once I’m done in Togo… and I like it that way), what have I been up to?

In early January, I co-planned a training with Lisa, a health volunteer. She’s super creative and works in a totally different manner than me and it was awesome seeing the success we were able to pump out together. We invited 26 girls from 6 different villages to Mamakopé (Lisa’s village) to do a leadership and health training. We also invited 6 “jeune leaders” (young leaders) and 10 trainers. With our support, every session was run by a Togolese trainer along with a jeune leader. The jeune leaders we chose are past Peace Corps training participants who have excelled and proven to be awesome role models for their peers. The trainings/camps that Peace Corps does go above and beyond; but the kids are rarely given a chance to teach others what they learned… well we wanted to give that to them.

Here’s the schedule:

Le Programme de Formation sur la Santé et Leadership

	Vendredi
	6 Janvier 2012
07h00 - 08h00	Arrival of trainers and jeune leaders
08h00 - 09h00	(07h00 - 09h00)
09h00 - 10h00	Training of trainers
10h00 - 11h00	Planning of sessions
11h00 - 12h00	(10h00 - 12h00)
12h00 - 13h00	Lunch / Rest
13h00 - 14h00	Arrival of girls
14h00 - 15h00	Welcome
15h00 - 16h00	Icebreaker
16h00 - 17h00	Bridge Model
17h00 - 18h00	Self-confidence
18h00 - 19h00	Dinner
19h00 - ?	Amusement

	Samedi
	7 Janvier 2012
07h00 - 08h00	Breakfast
08h00 - 08h30	Icebreaker
08h30 - 09h30	Gender Equality OR Influence of friends, relationships, sex and abstinence
09h30-10h00	Rest
10h00-11h00	Gender Equality OR Influence of friends, relationships, sex and abstinence
11h00 - 12h00	HIV/AIDS OR Sexual harassment
12h00 - 13h00	Lunch / Rest
13h00 - 13h30	Icebreaker
13h30-16h00	Female role model panel
16h00 - 17h00	HIV/AIDS OR Sexual harassment
17h00 - 18h00	Preparation for the talent show
18h00-19h00	Dinner
19h00 - ?	«Talent Show»

	Dimanche
	8 Janvier 2012
07h00 - 08h00	Breakfast
08h00 - 09h00
09h00 - 10h00	Child-trafficking/Girls’ rights OR Income generating activities
10h00 - 11h30	Becoming a leader and creating an action plan
11h30 – 12h00	Lunch
12h00	Certificates / Départ

It had its challenges, especially when the car that was supposed to transport all the girls was 2 hours behind schedule for their arrival. I thought it’d be confusing to have two rotation groups at all times, but it worked out nicely and the overlap/liaison of the sessions between trainers went smoothly. Lisa and I were beyond impressed. The trainers even sang in harmony during the talent show, while girls chose to dance and sing… one even recited a poem. I read the first poem I ever wrote in French, titled “La Valeur” and Lisa played her banjo.

In March, I attended the 3 Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conferences (WWEC). It’s so hard to put down in words what this conference means to me and to the women of Togo. I hesitate to even write about it because it’s so special to me and I know I can’t properly convey it via this blog. In Kara (the first conference), my best friend from village was chosen as a formatrice (trainer) because as a 2011 participant, she put into practice what she learned last year. She does yoga every morning. She eats moringa in her meals and produces the powder. She made container gardens. She improved her relationship with her husband because she found her voice. Watching her in Kara brought tears to my eyes. She danced. She laughed. The other women looked up to her as a role model. She led yoga every morning and her name became “Professeur Yoga”. At night, in her room with the other participant from last year, they laughed until midnight… dancing, acting out skits, etc. I have never seen her smile so much. In village, she’s stuck cooking, doing household chores, etc. As a traditional Muslim family, she’s rarely allowed to leave her house. She is what WWEC is about for me. I can talk about the dozens of sessions we did from yoga to nutritional meals to animal husbandry to managing stress, but I just come back to how proud I am of her.

Continuing with her (Maman Akpo), we celebrated Mothers’ Day together. (It’s not celebrated in Togo) Basically, I gave her 5 little Lipton juice packet things and she made me a meal because I hadn’t eaten all day. I explained to her the idea of a “sleepover” that American girls (and boys) have for birthday parties or whatever… the idea blew her mind. I’m determined to have a girls’ night sleepover with her and her friend who shared that room with her in Kara, Madame Anonene.

At the second WWEC conference on the night of the dance party, we had a “beauty night”. It took the women a minute to realize that yes; these American ladies are going to pamper us. Once they realized it was for real, they got so into it. Facials, manicures… even full on feet-scrubbing pedicures from 2 courageous volunteers. These women have tough, huge, dirty feet that go into the fields everyday… all I could personally say was “du courage”.

At the third WWEC conference, I had three women from my village in attendance so it was extra special. We also nominated the woman who cleans our transit house, Felicity. During the session I presented on self-confidence, she talked about divorcing her husband. WOW. This was the first session and she opened up right away. Divorce here is not common and not talked about. I knew right away that they were going to blow my expectations out of the water. Just like the second conference, we got to talking about orgasms and the benefit of sex for women- also something seriously taboo to talk about in Togo. I could go on and on about WWEC and probably will when you ask me about Togo (beware) so I’ll stop here.

What else? So the formation that I did in Mamakopé… I had 3 girls go as participants and 2 as jeune leaders. One of the participants was a really young girl in the class of 6eme (~6^th grade). She’s really tiny and one of the youngest kids in school but she participates all the time and generally impresses me- so I asked the principal if I can choose her… and I let him choose the other 2 spots. Well, this girl is so appreciative that she started bringing me bouillie (it’s like oatmeal). One night she brought me some while I was washing off and she left me 100 francs, telling my host sister “tell her I couldn’t find any bread to go with it”. She wanted me to have bread with it so she gave me her own money… It’s nice to know you’re appreciated, that’s all.

So I’m currently in Atakpamé working on preparing my training of trainers for my Vacation Enterprise (VE) project. I have 5 trainers (2 teachers, the principal, a friend who I have worked with a lot and the PTA president). It’s the same thing I did last year- choose girls and teach them money management skills before giving them a small loan to do a small enterprise during summer vacation in order to pay their school fees.

I’m also working on data to send to some Chicago/Indiana Rotary Clubs who have generously decided to purchase school books for my middle school and two other schools I collaborate with.

I’m super pumped for this year’s VE so I’m gonna share an article that one of last year’s girls wrote about her bouillie enterprise. (Bouillie sells for 25 francs a bowl) Practice your French or wait for the translation afterwards….

Je veux parler de l’entreprise des vacances

De toutes les vacances que je passe dans ma vie scolaire, les vacances 2011 restent pour moi un souvenir. Pourquoi? Notre sœur, notre volontaire du Corps de la Paix, joyeusement appelée Da Yawa Aboèno, en plus de beaucoup de choses qu’elle nous fait, elle nous a aussi créé une rubrique « Entreprise pendant la vacance ». Et j’ai eu la chance d’en bénéficier. Nous sommes trois filles. Elle nous a remis, sous forme de prêt, une somme de 5000F chacune. Pour ma part, j’ai choisi vendre la bouillie de maïs chaque matin avant d’accompagner mes parents au champ. Cela a été une réussite totale pour moi. En l’espace d’un mois et demi (Août en Septembre) j’ai réalisé une vente de 20300F.

A la rentrée, j’ai remboursé les 5000F à Da Yawa et mon bénéfice qui dépasse le capital (5000F) est de 15300F. J’ai doublement réussi. Avant de commencer la vente, notre bienveillante volontaire nous a formées sur la gestion d’une petite entreprise comme celle-là et la formation m’a aidée et je vais l’utiliser toujours dans ma vie. En plus j’ai gagné de l’argent pour préparer facilement la rentrée scolaire qui constituait un problème pour me pauvres parentes et moi-même.

Cette année encore, elle a promis continuer cette noble œuvre. A mes camarades qui auront la chance de rentrer dans cette entreprise, je leur demande de saisir à deux mains cette initiative. Qui peut penser qu’avec 5000F je peux gagner 15.300F? C’est une réalité si l’on applique bien la formation reçue. Cette entreprise met à l’aise les élèves filles qui sont entourées de beaucoup de problèmes : harcèlement sexuel, grossesses non désirées, prostitution et même VIH/SIDA, etc…

Je remercie le Corps de la Paix et surtout ma chère Da Yawa Aboèno Jessica.

I suppose you want a translation?

I want to talk about vacation enterprise

Of all the school vacations I’ve had in my life, 2011 was a something to remember (a souvenir) for me. Why? Our sister, our Peace Corps Volunteer, joyously called Da Yawa Aboèno, plus a lot of other things she’s done for us, she also created a program “Enterprise during the vacation”. And I had the change to profit. We are 3 girls. She gave us a type of loan, a sum of 5000 francs each. For my part, I chose to sell corn bouillie every morning before accompanying my parents to the field. [this means she got up at like 4 or 5am to work BEFORE work] This was a total success for me. In the space of one and a half months (August and September) I made 20,300 francs.

At the beginning of the school year, I reimbursed Da Yawa her 5000 francs loan and my profit is 15,300 francs. I doubly succeeded. Before beginning my enterprise, our benevolent volunteer taught us how to manage a small enterprise and this helped me and I will always use it in my life. Plus, I made money to easily prepare me for the next school year which is usually a problem for my poor parents and myself.

DON’T YOU LOVE HER? She’s great. She’s my allstar. I brag about her all the time. She did Camp UNITE 2010, Camp ScientiFille 2011, was a jeune leader at the Mamakopé camp, attended Take our ScientiFille to Work in Atakpamé, is a Pathways scholar, etc. Not to mention, she’s an orphan. She lives with her uncle (which is who she refers to as “mes parents”) in a tiny tiny village outside of my village.

Alright… I’m done rambling. I’d love it if you guys asked questions… this blog is for you and I’d like to write about what you’re interested in/what you want to know.

Reverse culture shock

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo TalesFromTogo

2012-05-19 21:17:29

So it’s been a long time since I last posted anything, but as many of you probably know, I just got back from a trip home to the States. Along with that came quite a few entertaining instances of reverse … Continue reading →

Grab the Cooking Pot Too!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-05-19 12:56:00

It rained this morning, no, it poured. Usually the rain seems to calm everything down as everyone runs to seek shelter, but not my compound, not today.

Our pump is broken and we have been living without water for just about a week. Some of my Peace Corps friends may give me a, “boohoo, you poor thing.” As they live without running water everyday, but being used to running water and being unprepared to not have running water can be somewhat more of a hassle. Now I am not completely unprepared; my water situation has been notoriously finicky and after a few times of wanting to cook or take a shower and having no water I have started keeping a large plastic trash can filled with water. But that water store is not meant to last for weeks at a time and my water supply is becoming perilously low. Do not worry that when my water runs out it perilously means death—there is another pump a few hundred meters away—it just means a little more lugging of water.

Other than our privately owned pump we do not have any other super conveniently close water source. So when it rained we all jumped into a flurry of action. Unlike my host family who had cisterns to collect rainwater our compound is hopelessly pump-bound, but that didn’t stop us from making the most of heavy rains.

At the inside corners of the U that is our building, where the roof comes together, there is an amazing spigot of water when it rains and we all took advantage of it. Grabbing our buckets, bowls, and as my neighbor shouted, “Grab the cooking pot too!” we filled up as much as we could with water. I hastily washed some dishes and did some laundry so that I could run out and collect more water. Only the littlest ones sat back dry and laughing as everyone else dashed around filling one container then the next. I managed to finish with three large buckets of water after doing a load of laundry and my stack of dishes. I am so glad for that rain. Though I’m still hoping my pump will be fixed soon, it is a relief to know that I have a few more days’ worth of water.

Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-05-18 20:27:00

There is a young girl about the age of three in my compound. She lives with her two grandmothers and a teenage relative. As you may or may not know about me I am not a big kid person. We get along fine, but I tire quickly and really could do without. This little girl though is quite adorable. She directs all visitors—even those not here to see me—to my door, and shouts my name and runs over to pet me every time I catch her eye. For all this cuteness, though, she is one of the most annoying and temper-tantrum prone children I have ever dealt with.

Within seconds her laughter turns to rage if things don’t go her way. If it is meal time and her grandmother comes over to collect her she quickly throws herself against the wall beating her little fists and screaming. Sometimes she screams and cries for hours on end. If you’ve talked to me on the phone you’ve probably heard her, she is by no means quiet. I feel for the women who care for her, who must be at least well into their seventies.

A few weeks ago when I returned home from traveling she seemed worse than ever. I heard louder and more frequent tantrums; I hadn’t thought she could or would get worse. For near a week I went about my evenings thinking this little girl had amplified her screaming, until I ventured over to share a snack of fruit and a woman emerged from the house leading a boy of about eight years. The boy, Kossi, and his mother had been living in the house for the past week, I had never seen them, but boy had I heard them. It had been the young boy’s screams I had contributed my little girl.

Upon seeing Kossi I felt a profound sadness and sympathy for his mother; he was visibly mentally handicapped. While a handicapped child anywhere can be a great hardship for a parent, here there is nothing for these children. Unlike in the U.S. there are absolutely no resources for families with handicapped children. With no counselors or teachers specializing in mental disabilities and no state funded support, families are left to fend for themselves. Without a halfway house or a way to earn money, as they get older and their families can no longer care for them, many of these mentally handicapped individuals are left on their own; becoming a town fou, living in rags, and begging around town.

As an outsider and childless I cannot imagine the strain this boy’s mother is under. I don’t even take care of him and I have already grown weary of my 4:45am wake-up call as Kossi pounds on our metal gate screaming to be let out of the compound. I flinch as he hits the other children or naively steals things from their hands, leaving them in tears. I got annoyed at a little girl’s relatively normal tantrums and his were so much worse. To feel that desperation that you cannot take care of you little boy forever and that he will never be able to take care of himself, I can hardly imagine.

The other day as I sat on my porch and Kossi played in the courtyard, he picked up a stick and began to practice his Kung-Fu. It was such a normal and endearing thing for an eight year old boy to be doing I had to smile and when I looked over I saw Kossi’s mother leaning in the doorway eyes content on her son and a soft smile on her lips. I was wrong when I said there was nothing here in Togo for the mentally handicapped, through it all there is still the patience and love of their families. For all the screaming, hardships, and such uncertain future, you could still see how much Kossi’s mother loved him. We can all hope that as things develop more options, support, and resources will become available to families such as his, but for now there is always his mother’s embrace and of course a little Kung-Fu fighting.

Independence and the fete

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo V(ie) au Togo

2012-05-18 14:41:00

Hiya,

I returned to a Badou that was preparing for a couple of national celebrations: le Jour d’Independence et Le Premiere Mai (or Labor Day as it’s known to us across the sea).

I spent that week loitering around town – mostly shooting the non-existent breeze with Bide and Ourkoabe at the former’s boutique. I shared in on some Tupperware gossip – who, what, when, with whom. We were also getting ready to host Kat’s mom who would be paying us a visit in a few days. The ladies were really sweet and anxious about preparing an appropriate welcoming for her.

But before this meal arrived Independence Day on April 27th and Badou went balls to the wall. The schools, social groups, citizen clubs (political parties, farming groups, karate club, and all other sorts) filed out to march in front of their local and regional political leaders and an anticipatory Badou crowd. The schools had been practicing for a week. I was pumped, naturally; I had enjoyed the exhilaration of parades in my day – proudly donning my D.A.R.E. t-shirt in 5^th grade for Danbury’s Memorial Day Parade. And so I was ready to see a raucous mass of people drifting from the Mayor’s office to the Lycee across the market to the Catholic Church. At this time, I was talking to my friend about how much it might suck to march in the noon sun, a comment that seemed lost on him. ‘We’re only walking across that patch of route in front of the lycee so that the Prefet can see us.’ Ah… The morning arrived and I sat with Kat and her mom behind the village chiefs, the Prefet, the mayor, and some other honored guests. For the Independence celebration, we received some friends from across the border. The Ghanaian Prefet and his accompaniments were celebrating with us – so, naturally, we looked xxtra chic. The groups were beautiful and the event allowed me to pull out my dormant camera. The most memorable moments include: a women who was carrying a basket full of Badou produce – bananas, avocadoes, mangoes –on her head that she deposited at the Prefet’s feet; the breakdancers and karate club that put on two-minute full-out demonstrations for us, including head tilts and 360 kicks on uneven pavement; the girl scouts that were carrying the flag and the twin boys that were leading the boy scouts with the most serious facial expressions I’ve seen on a pair of 8-year-olds; and, always the show stoppers, the Zedmen (moto drivers), who poured out from the four corners of Badou to show off their pink and yellow Aviators, fur trimmed windbreakers, and their ability to drive sidesaddle on their bikes. Here’s to you.

That afternoon, we joined the Kabiye party. The Kabiye are an immigrant, but large, ethnic group in Badou originally from Kara, a northern region. Bide’s husband is the Kabiye chief and an invitation was extended to their fave estrangers in town, wink-a-dink. The traditional dance is called ‘Kamu’ and depending on whom you ask this either happens only once a year during a very special occasion or whenever the hell you want to have a good time. According to an unknown informant, it’s a celebration of the earth, which might explain why everyone – from grandmammas to 4-year-olds – wave branches around and some are draped in animal skins. Every Kudjo, Koffi, and Adjo was under the deeeep influence of Tchouk; covered in Talcum powder; and getting us to dance. There was a crowd of kids hovering around our chairs in hopes of being captured in a picture. One man asked that I give him my watch as a cadeau. I gave him my quizzical-eye-brow-raised face and asked when-EVER did he wonder what time it was?? and then I returned to my calabash. The two less inhibited souls – Kat and her mom – joined the dancing. Are you surprised? I didn’t dance? I know, I love to shake like a child spazzing out but I am still incredibly self-conscience at these parties. Mais, ca va aller. Give me a little more time and pass me the tchouk calabash more frequently – I’ll be covered in Talcum, with branches in my hair like the best of them. Plus, I reeeeallllyy need to show this town that I can, in fact, shake, cumbia, merengue, Poulet, etc. etc. like it is nobody’s business. And with the sounds of these drums and stamping feet ended le Jour d’Independence. Happy Birthday to you Togo J

That weekend, a number of women from our VSLA prepared a meal of sauce arachide(peanut), rice, and fish for Kat, her mom, and I. It was wonderful – we ate well, drank well, and relaxed in the honest-to-goodness best sort of company.

What makes me smile in Togo?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Une Aventure Africaine

2012-05-16 19:21:00

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

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

So what makes me smile?

The sound of my neighbor’s wife sweeping the compound outside my house early in the morning
The scenery

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

Waking up to “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” from the street, which is simply women and men greeting one another quickly on their way to work
Biking around the city—working in a sense—and someone yells, “Yendoutien!” I turn my head and slow down to see who has called my name and realize a friend wants me to sit and drink tchakpa. The best is when this happens before noon
Togolese fashion sense and older women

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

Passing donkeys on the street while biking
Taxi-motorcycle drivers sleeping horizontally on their bikes (anytime of the day)
Truck drivers taking naps under semis on the highway because it is the only place with shade
Eating spicy spaghetti at 8am
Taking naps on the floor

Having conversations with people while biking on the street
An older woman at the market who sells only grapefruit and limes—we greet one another with the standard greeting but she is so kindhearted and she gives me great deals on grapefruit
Achu, my site mate’s dog, is very strange (but cute) and whines every time I see him even if it’s only been 24 hours since I last saw him.
Women offering their sons to me for marriage
Passed out PCVs from either too much sun, too much work or too much…

People telling me I am too old (at 25) not be married
Seeing all the items motorcycle drivers attach to their motorcycles

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

Needless to say these are not the only tidbits of Togo that make me grin from ear to ear…just happens often enough to make me remember.

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

Until next time…

Women's Wellness and Empowerment Conference

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Getting off the Grid

2012-05-16 08:53:00

My idea of a marriage is a partnership between two people who love each other . I grew up watching my dad cook dinner for my family, my mom doing laundry, and both of them sharing bed time story duties for my brother and I. They had a partnership that arguably split duties of the family 50/50. When my mom suddenly became a single mother, I watched how hard she worked and try to manage the job by herself; arguably the hardest job on the planet.

In Togo, more often than not a marriage is not a partnership, but rather a man enlisting a woman to take care of him and provide a family for him. Being a wife is a full-time job here! Imagine being a woman here, with very little education, married to a guy after courting for a few months, maybe one of many wives, and you have to take care of your many children, the goats and chickens, the house, the fields, the laundry, your husband, the food, and maybe even sell some stuff on the side to make money. All of this without any electricity or running water and without a husband who is your partner, but rather another person to take care of. All of these women shoulder these enormous burdens and do so without complaining. They are so strong and joyful, despite their 'status' as a woman, and inspire me in innumerable ways.

In March (when I intended to post this), I participated in the Women's Wellness and Empowerment Conference (WWEC) as sector head for Environmental Action and Food Security (EAFS) in the Plateaux/Maritime region. There were three conferences in total so that we could reach women from all over Togo. Volunteers would nominate a woman in their post and from there, women were selected for the conferences. Ours was in Hiheatro, in the Plateaux region of Togo, and was held in a nice hotel with air conditioning, running water, toilets, showers, electricity…it had the works! Many of our 24 women had never experienced such luxuries or even traveled that far from their villages in their entire lives. During the conference, we taught them all sorts of things from stress management, to communication skills, to women's rights, to preventative health, to self confidence, to name a few. As an EAFS volunteer, I taught food security, container gardening, and moringa (a super tree) alongside another EAFS PCV.

There were two sessions that stood out as the favorites of the women: morning yoga and our beauty night. The women looovvveeed yoga and were in stitches the entire time since they were all falling over and trying out poses and feeling silly. They kept on asking for us to do more yoga and by the end they were taking it very seriously! The beauty night also produced a lot of giggles as we showed the ladies how to make beauty products at home with what they would normally have around. We made an exfoliant, a moisturizing mask, and an astringent, and the ladies kept on putting the masks on over and over. They absolutely loved pampering themselves and spending time with each other. This weekend away from their families, duties, and back breaking daily lives was a once in a lifetime event for many of the women, and they lived it up!

After the conference and getting to know the many strong women who participated, I felt empowered and ready to bash some gender barriers in my village. I have found it very much more difficult to do, but I am working to have any sort of impact on these women. If I can give them just a night to pamper themselves and let loose, I'll consider that a success. The conference gave me an insight into the determination and dedication many women across the nation have to improve their situation and live in a world that is gender equal.

Like I said, the work is on-going and hard since gender inequality is so ingrained into the Togolese culture. It's truly the women who are the life and blood of this little country and they deserve to be treated as the intelligent, lively, hard workers that they are! My freedom as a female in the United States was something I took for granted and I certainly can't imagine growing up without it now. People here think it's strange that I have goals and aspirations that aren't #1 find husband #2 have babies, and that it's even possible for me to achieve such things as getting my BA, wanting to go to grad school, working and living on my own. All because of my gender! It's hard to be around at all times and I am very grateful for my little area of my village that is very culturally sensitive to my behavior and expectations.

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Sorry for my lack of posts lately! I'm definitely going to get on it. In being here for a while now, it's hard to articulate what all is going on, but I will continue to try! I am getting ready for a busy summer, which means more activities to post about! In my village, I'm currently working on a reforestation campaign, that will probably be on going throughout my entire service, my environmental club is alive and kicking, I'm going to be a camp counselor this summer, and I'm planning a lot of work with my neighbor of 20k, Sarah Beth, so that we can reach a larger group of people with our projects. I'm also trying to work with the clinic to increase maternal health, which is proving to test my patience so far. It's hard having to maneuver the culture and learn about communication techniques Togolese style, but it's coming along. My counterpart, Paul, has to translate my French into Togo French because no one understands my accent! For a while I thought my French was getting really horrible, but I guess I just talk funny ;)

We Have Arrived!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-05-14 17:27:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another goodbye

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-05-14 15:41:00

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

Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

Mother's Day 2012!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Reporting Life

2012-05-14 03:52:00

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

Latrines and other things

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Kate Travels the World

2012-05-12 12:50:36

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

Talking Trash

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-05-11 12:56:00

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

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

Felicity and Delphine with an example bin.

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

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

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

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

On the moto again: A saga of traveling in west Kara

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo The Rocky Road through Togo

2012-05-10 12:40:00

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

So, Monday morning I called my regular zed-man from Kouka, Richard, to come get me. Richard and I are good friends, so I call him whenever I can. Anyway, later on, D and I decided to walk the 4k into Bassar from Bina to meet up with Saye. I texted Richard to just pick me up in Bassar. He called me about an hour later, said that his moto was broken, so he'd sent another guy who did not have a cellphone, so I needed to go back to Bina to meet him. Back in Bina, the zedman showed up at like 1330, no problem, and we left.
The road from Bassar to Kabou is new and paved. I was spacing out on the moto, listening to music and watching mountains and brooding thunderstorms pass when the back end of the moto started wobbling. Flat tire. The zedman looked at it, and saw that the valve stem had blown off the inner tube. He left me along the road while he went back to Bassar to fix it. I sat there and watched thunderheads build over the mountains to the south. Then I went and kicked a termite mound for fun. It hurt my foot.

The zedman came back and we continued. We were about 8k out of Kabou, going through the new road construction, when the back of the moto wobbled again. Same thing. Only in the middle of nowhere between Kabou and Manga. The only things in sight were a bridge construction crew and this line of dark clouds. I had just been ruminating on how it looked like we could outrun this storm to Kouka . . .
I was all for finding the nearest tree and waiting out the storm, but the zedman was like, "we gotta walk to Manga to find a mechanic." Ok. Then the rain hit. I, for once, was really glad I had my Peace Corps-issued moto helmet. Cause the rain was coming sideways. Then I realized that rain shouldn't be making a "tink" sound when it bounced off my helmet. This was just after the back of my neck really started stinging. Pea-sized hail. As shitty as I felt, I was glad I wasn't my zedman-- I at least had a helmet and a huge pack to protect part of me. He had nothing.

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

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

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

I slept all day the next day.

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

Flies bite. They are more annoying than mosquitoes.

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

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

Still Hot

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-05-09 18:38:00

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

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

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

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

Then God reminded me He was there. I had returned from a nice run Monday morning as it was cooler and the sky was overcast, protecting me from the early morning sun. I was stretching at the hotel, watching the sky rapidly change as the clouds moved over the mountains and a new song by Britt Nicole came on my Ipod.

“You never said the road would be easy, but You said that you would never leave. You never promised that this life wasn’t hard, but You promised You’d take care of me. So I’ll stop searching for the answer, I’ll stop praying for an escape and I’ll trust you God with where I am and believe that you will have your way. Just have your way.”

As the cool winds surrounded me and the words filled my head and heart, I was so comforted in God’s presence and peace. Something I try to focus on and seek daily, I’ve realized it’s much easier to hear God’s voice and see His blessings when you’re in solitude in village. After struggling to find it with being surrounded by lots of others the past few days, this was a welcomed and wonderful moment and I walked through yesterday with a renewed spirit.

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

Bike Accident in Togo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Une Aventure Africaine

2012-05-08 21:44:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What did I learn?

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

Want to see the battle scars?? Continue below.

The Tchekpo Assocation for People With Disabilities

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Imagine!

2012-05-08 17:27:00

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

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

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

Members performing a sketch on self-esteem

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

The Officers

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

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

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

Meredith

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

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

The World’s Most Unhappy Country

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Ma Vie Togolaise

2012-05-08 08:01:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Majoring in Life

2012-05-06 22:06:00

Hello, all! Long time no post... and sorry, this one is kind of a teaser. I promise more to come very soon (right after I finish my Men As Partners training conference this week).
In the meantime, Camp Etoiles du Nord is back again this year! Like last summer, we're bringing 30 top female students from villages all over our prefecture into Mango for a week of fun! The girls will meet professional women from the area, tour workplaces and learn about different careers, and gain life skills through sessions on self-confidence, contraceptive use, time-management, setting objectives, etc. This is a really great project and one of the best things I've done during my service; last year's participants still talk about their time at camp, and I have seen such a difference in their confidence, leadership, and schoolwork. Check out the link for more info (and to donate!): https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projdetail&projdesc=693-401

Grand merci! : )

RANDOM Thoughts

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo From My Vantage Point

2012-05-06 11:14:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time...xoxo

Men as Partners

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo A Little Bit of Togo, To-Go

2012-05-06 10:42:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talking about the difference between sex and gender.

Discussing gender stereotypes in Togo.

Yay! At the end of the day, everyone got their certificate. (If you don't give a certificate here, it's like the workshop wasn't official)

Me with the trainers that led the sessions during the workshop! (People were so surprised I opted out of printing a certificate for myself...)

24 years old..

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo A Little Bit of Togo, To-Go

2012-05-06 08:36:00

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

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

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

Some of the kiddos in the neighborhood.

Lyle and Christa happened to be swinging through Tchamba on their way back from Benin so we all got to party together!

The closest people I have in village to a host mom and dad (since I don't live with a host family).

The chicken was in a seperate bowl from the couscous. I kept wondering when Angel was going to pass it out, but she never did. Finally we sang happy birthday and cut the cake. After everyone got their cakes, Angel passed out the chicken (the real dessert). Everyone eats meat last here, even when there is cake.

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

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

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

Reverse parade.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo From Texas to Togo

2012-05-05 15:21:00

This Tuesday, Togo celebrated their annual labor day, a derivative of the French holiday "Première May," also known as "May day." It was a spectacular event talked up by everyone all over town (the ladies at the post, the fruit vendors, the man who owns the boutique by my house, and even the annoying moto taxi drivers), and everyone asked me almost the same question "Tu vas fêter bien?" (Translation: Are you going to party well?) The day started off with what I can only describe as the one of the few well organized large scale event I've ever seen in Togo (even though it started 2 hours late…); a parade through the town center all the way to the outskirts of the city to the Mayor's office. My trusty companion/side-kick/site-mate Rebekah and I made our way out early to our usual hang out spot, a café right by the main road that runs through town to await the much-anticipated parade. After a while of waiting, we started to doubt what everyone was telling us and scoffed at the idea of an actual organized parade. But then, in the distance I heard the unmistakable noise of brass instruments, being badly played I might add, and then saw the first group of Togoelse to walk by. We jumped up, threw a wad of cash at the waitress to cover the cost of our morning breakfast, and ran out to the main road to get a good view. In retrospect, we didn't really need to hurry, the parade was inching along at a glacial pace and we were the only real spectators. As is customary for our lives here in Togo, we were much more the focus of the parades' participants attention than they were for us. People were shouting and waving at us standing on the side of the road and taking pictures of us with their camera phones. I quickly coined the term "reverse parade" as it was most obviously an inverse of what an actual parade is. In many ways, I feel that everyday is a reverse parade, but that's a different qualm I have with living here – and not one I really care to discuss at length. Even still, it was quite an event as probably over a thousand people walked past carrying the banners of their respective organizations/companies. My favorite "float" was the water company who what cleverly created a closed loop water pump in the bed of the truck and had someone standing continuously pumping water into a cistern – it was pretty neat, I gotta say. Afterwards, we went back to my house, made some banana bread, and hung out. All in all, a pretty good "fête."

Things are going splendidly here in Togo and I must say that the past 3 months have been the most productive in terms of my work and integration. I attribute this to many things, but mainly a higher level of comfort I now have communicating in French. I've also been pushing a lot to get projects going and thanks to the relationships I've forged with my Togolese counterparts, I have had much success collaborating with some very capable people. In fact, I credit most of my success these past three months to them.

My first large project was the Men's Health and Wellness trainings that I organized throughout my city. The project was based on a philosophy called "Men as Partners" which focuses on educating men to see the inequalities between the genders and to empower them to make positive decisions to advance their well being and that of their communities. The program follows an "ecological model" which is really just a fancy way of saying that the activities encourages the participants to draw their own conclusions on different issues presented to them as problems in their society. Within the realm of gender equality/equity, sexual health/reproduction, violence, communication, and drug use, the 40 men that received the training were encouraged to re-examine the status quo and determine for themselves if their position in society as men could do anything to address the issues. In conjunction with the Red Cross, my two counterparts and I trained eight Red Cross volunteers in how to facilitate the MAP (Men as partners) sessions and over the course of two weeks we held four separate trainings, each within the communities lasting for 4 days each. I would say that I felt the project was most successful in that the participants seemed motivated to share the information with their communities, and to inform other men of their responsibilities in the Togolese patriarchal society to promote change. Participants at every training thanked me at the end for giving them a new way of looking at their lives and I was surprised by how strongly some men felt about the topics we discussed. One man at the end of the last training came up to me and told me that after the training, he felt that gender inequity in terms of access to education was the biggest obstacle to Togo's development. He said that because he loves his country he would send each of his 3 daughters to school and ensure that all of them finished high school. I was very taken aback by this statement mostly due to the fact that this same participant who indirectly supported the statement on the first day that "men are smarter than women." It was a fantastic first project and it gave me a lot of experience with working with HCNs (host country nationals), managing a budget (it was a USAID funded project), and working on developing capacities at the community level. Over the next three months, the men in each group (four total) will carry out activities within their community and in September I will be doing follow-up interviews to assess their progress and whether or not the MAP philosophy made any difference in their lives. In all honesty, I'm not sure if I'll see the tangible results of this project during my service, but when considering the steps of behavior change, and getting people to implement things they learn, I feel that almost all 40 men made remarkable strides.

Other fun work activities that I've been doing include working with 12 Togolese NGO representatives teaching them basic Microsoft Word during an 3 day NGO conference organized by fellow volunteers; sharing enriched porridge practices with the participants at a well-being fair organized by a fellow volunteer; continuing my work with a youth club and mothers club at an NGO that supports people living with/affected by HIV; and starting a moringa garden at the Red Cross office in my town. (Moringa is a tree known as the "miracle tree" all over Africa for having amazing properties such as a high protein/vitamin content in the leaves in addition to nearly 8 other uses. A big part of the Peace Corps does in Africa is teaching people how to grow and use this awesome plant.) Approaching the year mark in my service (I know, when did that happen?!) has been good for many reasons, but mainly because I feel that I have developed some solid relationships with Togoelse and Americans alike, pushed myself a little to do things I'm not 100% comfortable with, and because I've learned how to "live" here and make myself happy. The other day I made an amazing chicken pot pie and brownies using all local ingredients, and it was DELICIOUS. I am always missing my friends and family back home and sometimes I get down on myself for not communicating as much with them as I probably should, but I'm trying. I know these blogs don't come as regularly as they should, and I'm working on it.

I also wanted to give a quick shout-out to any incoming PCVs who may or may not be reading this blog since it's linked to the Peace Corps blog website (personally I couldn't get enough of volunteers' blogs before I came to country. I'm still awkwardly dropping facts that I read on peoples' blogs to them…it's a bit of awkward at times, ha ha!) This experience is an absolute roller coaster, so just be prepared for it to be awesome and ridiculously ridiculous (e.g. reverse parade, green oranges, etc.) all at the same time. Please don't worry about what to pack, just bring what will make you happy. With everything else, you can manage here. My prized possessions from home: non-stick saucepan and hair products. Eat a turkey sandwich for me before you come, please!

Love,

Ryan

The Simple Life

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

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

2012-05-05 09:23:00

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

I remember when...

· My brother and I would spend hours fishing in a little creek near our home.

· We also rode our bikes to a 7-eleven when a full-size candy bar was only 10 cents.

· Going to a drive-in theatre was so much fun.

· If I wanted to use the phone, I had to pick up the receiver to make sure there was no one else using the phone (yes, we actually had a party line in West Virginia). And yes, we could listen in on each others’ conversations.

· Someone would fill up my gas tank, check my oil, and wash my windows. For free.

· I’d dig up potatoes.

· I typed term papers on a typewriter and used things such as ribbon, carbon paper, white-out, and my pillow to scream into when I didn’t leave enough room at the bottom of the page for my footnotes.

· I sold the first IBM personal computer that had a 10 MG hard drive. “More storage than you’ll ever need,” was what I would tell my customers.

· I sold the first Mac personal computer in 1987. And I loved it then as much as I love it today.

· There was no such thing as the internet, cellphones, smartphones, and all that goes with it such as Yahoo!, email, or Facebook.

Ah, the good ‘ol days. Maybe it's just the memories of my childhood and young adulthood. I didn't have a mortgage, bills to pay, or so much responsibility?

So, how do my fond memories of years ago relate to my life here in Togo? Well, there is something to be said about contentment. While complacency may be a side-effect, there really is a wonderful aspect to being content.

I watch kids play with rocks with quite some creativity, drag broken toy cars or an empty can tied to string, play with cards in some imaginary game, or play a fun hand-clap-feet-kick routine and laugh with such joy as they try to out-wit each other.

My point is, what I watch is very sweet and simple and wonderful. And how I live is also just, well, simple.

There are no grocery stores. There is one market. There are boutiques that sell a handful of specialty items, but no Target, Walmart, Costco, IKEA, or Staples. There is such simplicity to it all. I can’t be confused or frustrated in deciding which item to buy, because in all likelihood, there’s only one choice.

And when I find joy by having lots of time to read a book or to know that it will take me one hour just to make it from one part of town to the other because I have to stop to greet everyone I know, I think I’m pretty lucky to have that time to be present. I am not stressed. I don’t feel rushed. There’s no such thing as “being late”.

I wish you could be here to enjoy the simple life. And to be reminded of a time that was so easy, never rushed, and full of contentment.

Reverse parade (per Ryan)

May 1 was Togo’s Labor Day. Ryan and I heard about a parade and were determined to see it. Well, we saw it! About 12 – 14 organized groups walked or moto’d down the main rue.

Now normally in a parade, there are lots of people who stand along the streets to watch the parade’s procession. They will wave to the people in the parade, take their pictures, shout their names, etc.

Well, we had a “reverse parade”. All the people in the parade’s procession stared at me and Ryan (we were standing on the side of the road). They waved to us. They pointed at us. They took our picture. Some of the people recognized Ryan and some recognized me and so they naturally, shouted out our names to get our attention.

It was a reverse-parade with me and Ryan as its stars and I must say, it was spectacular. It really was our 15 minutes of fame (and literally, the parade was about 15 minutes.)

Premier Mai

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Une Aventure Africaine

2012-05-02 22:26:00

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

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

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

So what did we do? We accepted. Boom.

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

ROUND ONE:

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

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

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

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

ROUND TWO:

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROUND THREE:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time…J

Building Walls… and Breaking Them Down

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo A Change of Pace and Place: Going to Togo

2012-05-03 17:21:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My friend Francis chillin' on a mat

Hopes and Fears

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Wanderlust

2012-05-02 18:09:00

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

Become fluent in French (or a native language, or both)
Have a dream in said language
Learn to balance large objects on my head while I walk
Hone my letter writing/calligraphy skills
Spend time stargazing out in the middle of nowhere
Shake my booty like a real African woman
Master my bargaining skills
Kill my own meal (maybe...)
Find a nice Togolese boy (or maybe an expat, but no French boys, Grandma doesn't approve)
Dedicate more time to painting and drawing
Get better at photography
Travel around Africa
Ride a horse (doesn't really have anything to do with Togo, but I just want to)
Cultivate a detachment from all my stuff

Yup, seems do-able.
And then there are my fears:

That I start looking like a homeless person, which according to other volunteers is a real possibility
That I get lost in the jungle, in my mind another real possibility, considering how often I get lost driving here, with road signs, and a GPS
That I wont find anywhere to blow-dry my hair

And my sister's fear:

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

Let's hope not...

Let's Do a Little Planning

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Destination Togo: Liz's Adventures

2012-04-30 19:31:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopes and Fears

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Travels in Togo...

2012-04-29 21:07:06

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

Conference in Sagbiebou, Savanes

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Une Aventure Africaine

2012-04-29 17:53:00

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

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

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

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

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

This was when the fun began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What questions?

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

A DUCK! Boom. Any more animals?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything else??

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

I got a certificate. Yay!

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

Hope you enjoyed this story.

Until next time…J

Rollercoaster at Sunset

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo it's a lovely small world

2012-04-29 10:18:00

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

THE HIKE

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

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

EASTER

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

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

CLARISSE’S BABY

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

FIREBALL IN MY HOUSE

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

THE TUMOR

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

SCARS

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

PROMOHANDICAP

Things are picking up with PromoHandicap. The SPA aspect of the project (the hygiene stuff: water pump, latrines, shower area) has already begun because funds, provided by USAID, are already in-country. The other aspect of the project (school and dormitory buildings) is still waiting on donations. Please donate! And check out promohandicap.blogspot.com (a link to the Peace Corps donating site can be found there). It is so much work being involved in every single aspect of the project, but at the same time, it’s thrilling.
One day last week, our small team composed of Mensa, the blind man, Alphonse, the mason and teacher, Tcheou, the hard-working dedicated president, Alisha and I all gathered under some trees on the site of the future school to build the latrine. This latrine is different than normal latrines that are built here. This latrine is super cheap (less than $20.00), and is designed to be moved so that once the hole is full, a tree can be planted. Because latrines are usually viewed as a status symbol here (if you can afford a big pretty expensive latrine, you’re someone worth knowing), it was a little difficult selling this idea to the group, and it was even more difficult sitting down with the group to read the manual and figure out exactly how we would build it. After a series of meetings where we spent hours discussing the minute details of how to build the latrine, we gathered all the supplies and began construction. It was so exciting to see everyone involved and participating, Even Mensa, who’s blind, was able to help, and one of the students who are deaf showed up to help. Lots of women and men who were passing by stopped to help or bring us some food. The day was much longer than we expected, but at the end of the day, everyone was so happy to have actually started some type of building.

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

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

MEDICAL THING OF THE MONTH: ABSCESS

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

Shea Conference

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Ma Vie Togolaise

2012-04-28 20:04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Red Sky

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Taylor in Togo

2012-04-28 13:46:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Freshly Shaven Start

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Togo Finding Peace

2012-04-28 12:22:00

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

A few days after the shave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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