Here are some photos from the trip.


I made a kid cry at the clinic.


This is Alex, the birth assistant's nephew. I used to make him cry, but we're friends now.


From (l-r): Zaratou's husband, Maliki and some guy I don't know.


Zaratou lounging in the family courtyard.


Zaratou's courtyard with sheep.


With Maïmouna.


Maïmouna said, "This is Aziz's (her son's) future wife. Take her photo."


It's funny when the kids ride donkeys, except for when they beat them.


Izaïfot and Hanatou on their way to get their hair done.


Standing outside Dapaong feels like being in the middle of nowhere.

Quiktrip to Savanes

Isn’t it funny that when my access to technology increased, my updates decreased?

Last weekend, I went back to Savanes – two days of traveling, two of visiting. Actually, there was traveling involved every day. On Saturday, I took the Lomé Limo, a 15-place van hired by Peace Corps to go round-trip from Lomé to Dapaong twice a month. I got off in Mango, spent the night, then went to Sagbiebou for a short Sunday visit.

When I walked into my compound, Hanatou, the younger of the neighbor girls, ran up to me, completely naked as usual, and hugged me. I almost started to cry, it was so cute. I didn’t even care that she had food on her, as usual. People all seemed happy to see me again, although I guess I did a poor job of explaining where I went. A third of the people I talked to thought I’d gone on vacation to the States and others thought I’d left for good.

On the trip up, I’d bought bananas and bread to give to people, because when you travel, you’re supposed to bring something back – bread is very popular. But in Mango, Laura’s cat attacked my bread bag, and even after we put it in the pantry, it managed to crack open the door and remove a noticeable chunk from one of the loaves. So I had one less bread to give.

I toured the village, distributing my bread – my house, the clinic and finally, Maïmouna’s house. Together, we went to Zaratou’s, where we stayed for about an hour, chatting in the courtyard and eating soy. I met Maïmouna and Zaratou by the roadside where they sell yams, watermelons and mangos (seasonally, not usually all at once). Maïmouna is the one who hennaed my feet in September 2007 and Zaratou paid for it. They were my favorite women in village.

While sitting around at Zaratou’s house, a woman I know from the market came over, shouting about something. She ranted for a long time and eventually sat down on the porch with us. Zaratou’s husband explained that their sheep had wandered over to her house, where she was drying millet. The sheep, spying a tasty snack, ate the millet. Zaratou gave her a bucket of millet to replace what the sheep ate, but the whole scenario was so typical – why leave your millet out when you know that animals roam the village and will eat anything?

Maïmouna and I went to the market around 11, where I bought small, sad, pre-mango season mangos. Then we went to my house, which was all locked up, and took naps on my landlord’s porch. She passed out – she’s about seven months pregnant – but I couldn’t sleep in that heat. The whole day, I kept thinking, “HOW did I do this last year? It’s so hot!” My water bottle was empty by noon, and all I could think of while trying to sleep was cold water, swimming pools, juice and glass bottles of icy Sprite. I got a tan from walking around for a few hours in Sagbiebou.

Eventually, I gave up and went to the market to buy juice. The women make lime juice and juice from hibiscus, which they sell in bags. I bought some to share, went back to the house and sat with the neighbors until Maïmouna woke up. Then I went to Dapaong.

I had no real purpose in going to Dapaong, beyond seeing my volunteer friends and picking up the last thing I’d ordered from the tailor there. I wanted to be back in Lomé by Tuesday night, so I decided to leave Monday, go to Kara, and take the Kara-Lomé bus on Tuesday, which is more reliable than bush taxis. Forgetting what a trial it is to get from Dapaong to Kara, I only left around 4 p.m.

I’m not sure if I’ve described enough in my updates just how frustrating bush taxi travel is. The drivers stuff passengers in the cars – there are ALWAYS more people than seats – and then they let you sit there until they’re ready to go. They make frequent stops for no clear reason and leave you steaming and squashed in the car. If you get out and dilly-dally, they yell at you. Taxi drivers are some of my least favorite people in Togo.

This Dapaong-Kara ride was no different. I waited for maybe half an hour outside Dapaong (I like to wait by a technical school outside the city so I don’t have to deal with the men at the taxi station). Finally, a decrepit nine-placer heading to Kara rolled up, and I climbed in, sharing the back seat with two women and a baby. We drove four kilometers out of Dapaong, where the driver left us on the side of the road while he went back to Dapaong. He returned about 20 minutes later with more junk and more passengers in the car. I almost refused to go, thinking I’d just put myself through a Dapaong-Lomé ride the next day, but I really wanted to catch that bus. So I squeezed in, this time on the front bench, with the mom and baby and two guys. I got the pleasure of riding on the edge of the bench, perched right on the exposed metal hinge of the seat and seat back. For three hours, from Dapaong to Kanté, I sat with this metal bar tattooing my tailbone. I even got out my towel and used it as padding, but it still hurt. In Kanté, the woman got out, and I switched to her window seat next to a pane-less window (ok, that was not meant to be a pun. The window had no glass! But it was also less painful than the metal bar).

I spent the night in Kara and got up early to pay for my bus ticket. While waiting to check my bag, Fortune smiled on me and the head of PSI’s military outreach program sidled up to me.

“Hi! I have to stay in Kara today, but the PSI car is going to Lomé. Do you want a ride?”

And that’s how I got a free, air-conditioned ride back to Lomé.

I have some interesting work coming up in the next few weeks, both in Lomé and back in Savanes, if all goes as planned. I expect that will give me something to write about; I’ll aim for more than a monthly update.

Finally, and this is very late, but for all those who helped Liz McCartney of the St. Bernard Project win CNN Heroes 2008, here is a Thank You letter from Liz.

Happy St. Patty’s – we don’t celebrate that here, but I fully expect any able bodies to have a beer in my name, or at least catch a cabbage.

a fruitless quest

15 February 2009

A month and ten days after starting at PSI, work is still painfully slow. Before I started, I was sent a letter that outlined the work I would be doing. Last week, I finally took the list around to the people responsible for the different tasks.

First I talked to Charifat, who is in charge of the program for sex workers. My list says I’m supposed to “help with presentations during film projections for sex workers”. I went to one session with Charifat, and while it was interesting, it was all in Ewe. I asked her how I could help, despite the language, and she said she didn’t know. She didn’t express any other needs for the program, so I moved on to Valentin, one of the guys who runs the youth program.

For the youth, my work list says I’m supposed to help with supervision, especially with the supervision of the girls’ program. The youth program, 100% Jeune, consists of PSI-trained peer educators in schools across the country, who are required to do a certain amount of presentations a month. I’ve attended two supervisions with Valentin, showing up at the school unannounced when the P.E.s had a talk scheduled. Valentin gave tips at the end of the talk; I watched.

When I asked how I could help, Valentin asked if I would be interested in going on supervision trips in the “interior” (what Lomé people call the rest of the country) with him and the co-coordinator. I said I would love to, but what would I do? Because if I’m just going to watch, sending me would be a waste of PSI’s money. Then he said I might be able to organize an International Women’s Day event at one of the schools, if they decide to do it. I have a feeling this won’t happen (which is ok, because I’m supposed to go on vacation that week). On to the next task.

Ephraim, who edits the youth magazine, which I’m supposed to help with, gave me a list of the topics for the next issue, which will focus on promoting the HIV/AIDS test. When I suggested we include a testimonial from someone who’s taken the test on the page where a “specialist” will explain the test’s importance and how it works, my idea was rejected. Ephraim said the information had to come from a specialist. Later, I decided he misunderstood my suggestion and wrote him a note. I’m waiting for a response.

Finally, I reported to John, the head of communications, and told him about my unsuccessful quest for work. I suggested he give me the publicity materials to develop or revise (first task on the list) so I could start on that. He told me I wouldn’t really be able to do that until after everyone in communications (except JT and I, we weren’t invited) got back from this training they went to on Thursday and Friday. K, thanks, John! And back to trawling the internet for future job and graduate school possibilities.

Most of my work has been coming from Peace Corps. Last week, I went to the training for new CHAP volunteers in Pagala to talk about PSI’s family planning program. I got a ride Wednesday afternoon with the PC country director, thinking my presentation was on Thursday evening. Oops, no – no one bothered to call to tell me it had been moved to Friday morning. So I stayed in Pagala for three nights to give a 20-minute presentation. It’s ok, though – I saw friends and got free meals.

On Wednesday afternoons, I’m working at the PC office, helping with Friends of Togo (FoT) requests. FoT is exactly that – ex-volunteers, their friends and families, raising money for small Peace Corps projects in Togo (if you’d like to become a member, more information is available here, I think). My new job is to keep track of how much money we have, send volunteers the application, answer questions, call them if their projects are approved and keep a database of current, pending and completed projects. It also seems that if I don’t have any FoT work, I’ll be doing other busy work, like updating bulletin boards. We’ll see about that – I agreed to help with FoT, not busy work.

So that’s work. Yesterday, JT and I did photo and video for a PSI presentation for women at a factory. It was the usual HIV/AIDS prevention presentation – test promotion, male and female condom presentations. There was also a quick word from HIV-positive woman. I took photos, and with any luck, I’ll be able to do the same at Monday’s event at the port.

Last night, I went to another work-related event. PSI has different target groups – youth, sex workers, religious groups, truck drivers, the workplace and Men who have Sex with Men (MSM). Worldwide, PSI uses marketing and sales to tackle health problems. They sell products, from condoms and lube to multi-vitamins and mosquito nets. Peer educators for each target group educate the population on health issues and promote these products. The idea behind selling products is that if people buy them, rather than receive them for free, they are more likely to use them instead of resell them. Ok, that was a very long tangent.

Anyway, so I went to an MSM event, a Valentine’s Day party at a night club near my house (unfortunately, globalization has brought Valentine’s Day to Togo, to a certain extent. I’m sure it has yet to reach small villages). When you go out at night here, you don’t go out until about 11. We left for the club around 10, and because it rained, out of nowhere (it’s dry season), JT’s friend came and picked us up in his car. The rain delayed the start of the party, but by midnight or so, the club was very full. It was fun to see all the boys, a few girls, and a few boys-as-girls, all decked out in red and white (as a straight, white woman wearing purple and brown, I was the epitome of out-of-place). But by 2:30, I was all danced out and was falling asleep. Rather than risk getting mugged on the eight-minute walk home, I climbed into the back seat of the car and slept until 5:30, when the party ended and it was safe to go home on foot. I’m embarrassed that at 25, I can’t even make it through a whole night without dozing in the corner.

I have goals to strive for before I leave – one all-night party and finding some work.

photos of my new home

Here are the photos I meant to post with the last entry. I hate the way this thing does photos and can't figure out how to make it look better. From now on, I'll be posting in Facebook and providing the link.







JT makes pizza and rarely wears a shirt; and our awesome porch.



(from top to bottom) My bedroom, the guest room and the living room.

Expat Life and Office Hours

Life in village seems so very long ago and far away.

Last week, JT and I got monthly passes to the outdoor pool at the British School of Lomé. We went twice last week, and this week, we got up early on Monday, Wednesday and Friday to swim before work. JT swam on swim teams and can give me tips, which is very helpful. Beyond the breaststroke, I feel like a drowning person, but my freestyle is already getting better. I swim now to get my exercise, since biking around Lomé is stressful and I’m still giving my knee a break from running. I think another three months should do it.

Despite the traffic, I have been riding my bike, mostly to the pool and work. Sometimes I’ll ride it to the Peace Corps office. Traffic is scary and is a huge change from the two-lane, empty national highway up north. I’m getting used to it and just have to remember to pay attention.

Last night, we saw Thierry Nkéli Faha in concert at the French Cultural Center (FCC or CCF, in French). He’s Togolese and sings in local languages and French. He’s been on tour around Asia and will go to Europe after he finishes his Africa tour. I haven’t been to a concert in I-can’t-remember-how-long, so I was excited about this opportunity. The FCC is a like an entertainment goldmine. They do movies, concerts and lectures, and they also have a library.

Lomé also has other great things, like cheese. The supermarkets here are expensive for Peace Corps volunteers, and so is cheese, but I bought some last week. JT made quiche and pizza. I cook, too, but less ambitiously (think pasta salad and pancakes).

Work is still pretty slow, and I’m still working on that pamphlet. It’s in its final stages, though. I wrote three summaries for it, and when I gave it to a co-worker, the paper came back bleeding blue. It wasn’t even French corrections, just the way I’d written it. She told me we needed more active verbs and journalistic style, which was all true. I haven’t written much in French since college, so now, I can’t even write a sentence without looking up a word. I wanted to say, “I’m a good writer! Just not in French.” Next time I’ll pay more attention to my active voice.

I’ve run into a few Togolese-style incidents in the last few weeks. At work, our hours are 8 to 12:30, then 2:30 to 6. One would think that if someone worked through their two hour lunch break, she could come in an hour late and leave an hour early. Our Peace Corps predecessors warned us that this creates office tension. Apparently, our co-workers don’t like people leaving early, which I can understand but not completely, since you’re working the same hours. I noticed the time thing the very first day, when I packed my computer up at 5:45, forgetting that quitting time is six, not 5:30.

“You’re going home already? It’s not six yet,” the guy who shares my office said.

“Oh,” I replied, looking at my empty desk and saying in English, “but I don’t have anything to do.”

So, despite his permission to go home early that day, since it was my first, I restarted my computer and chatted online for 15 more minutes.

Today at the bank, I thought the bankers would withhold my money because my withdrawal slip signature didn’t match my ID signature. On the ID, I signed on one line. On the front and back of the withdrawal slip, I signed my last name under my first. Don’t ask why, I just did. They asked why. Then they compared the signatures long enough for me to worry about whether I would get money today.

It’s good to have these run-ins to remind me that despite cheese and concerts, I’m still in Togo. Because the unpaved streets and cries of “Yovo, yovo!” are sometimes just not enough.

Thanks to everyone who’s been sending mail, especially all the Christmas cards from the Anadarko folks! Merci beaucoup.

...I was going to upload photos, but it doesn't look like it's in the cards today. Maybe next time.

There's No Escaping the Gloom and Doom

My first week at work was uneventful. I got two tours of the office, went to two four-hour meetings in the same day, halved the amount of email in my inbox and on Friday, actually got some work to do (designing a pamphlet about PSI’s World AIDS Day activities). It was depressing and made me wonder if I didn’t make a mistake leaving village. Once things pick up, I think I’ll be fine.

Since we’re on depressing topics, let’s talk about the cloud over the week. On Tuesday morning, my host father from training, Daniel, called to tell me that Esse, my host mom, died. They anesthetized her for a Caesarean last Saturday, and she never woke up. The baby, a girl, is fine.

So yesterday, I went to my first Togolese funeral. Except I didn’t really go. I left Lomé in the morning with Trace, the Savarys’ other trainee, and his wife (they were in the training group after me). When we arrived in Agou Nygobo around 10:30, the ceremony was just ending. It was in this huge, unfinished church, with woven palm-leaf shelters providing shade (it’s really just a shell of a church – no roof, no walls). Two other people died in the village that week, so they combined the three ceremonies. I saw the three caskets come out, and then Daniel found us and we went back to the house with him.

I thought it was bizarre that we didn’t go to the internment, but he told us that it would be too difficult for him. Everyone we talked to seemed disappointed that we hadn’t arrived earlier to see the open casket. Apparently Esse was dressed in her best pagne. But she also died a week ago, and this is Africa, so I’m glad we missed the viewing. I would have liked to go the burial, though.

We sat inside the house with Daniel, making small talk and eating lunch. After lunch, we went outside to make room for others in the house. We sat under a mango tree and waited. George, my host brother, came back from wherever he was. Daniel said George understands what happened, but he seemed ok, still mischievous and spoiled as ever. I gave him my camera and let him run around taking pictures until the battery died. Then he refused to give it back, discovering that if he turned it off and on again, he could take at least one picture. I finally got it back and asked him to take us to see his new sister, Grace.

For now, she’s staying at a house just up the road from the Savarys’, with the woman who will nurse her for the next six months. When we arrived, she was sleeping alone in a full-sized bed, separated from the rest of the room by a hanging sheet. She looks just like Esse – same crinkly eyes, same flat face, same nose. We took turns holding her and told George that as a big brother, he had to take good care of her. It will be interesting to see where they are as a family in six months.

I left for Lomé shortly thereafter. I’m doing ok, but am still having a hard time, mainly when I think about it (so after writing this update, I don’t plan to think much about this again). It’s unreal. Esse was maybe 32 and healthy. She was my first Togolese friend, and after all she did for me, I wasn’t a very good friend to her. I hadn’t called them since October. I kept thinking that I should, to find out about the baby and tell them I moved to Lomé. And now it’s too late.

C’est la vie. And sometimes la vie is rotten.



With Esse at swear-in, August 2007.

Happy New Year

It’s very exciting to write “2009” because this is the year I finish my service and come back to the States, for however long. Happy 2009!

I moved to Lomé on December 22nd. Peace Corps paid for me to rent a car to move all my belongings, and I called the guys that drove the chase car during AIDS ride. The apprentice brought me a bag of carrots as a gift. The journey down was typical – we broke down for two hours before leaving the Savannah region, then ran out of gas in Lomé, about five kilometers from my house. All was well once we arrived, and I even did a happy dance after I got the house tour. Three bedrooms, two bath, kitchen, big living room, great porch – I’m in Posh Corps now.

I spent that night at the house, then left the next day for Ghana. I almost didn’t go, because we were only staying for about two days, and the trip to Green Turtle Lodge can take more than 10 hours. But the lure of Christmas on the beach, away from Togo, beat any financial concerns.

As expected, the trip was long, but travel in Ghana is so much easier than in Togo (unless you and the taxi driver misunderstand the agreed-upon price and get into a screaming match). We arrived on the 24th, spent a restless night in our tent, thanks to mosquitoes, then spent most of Christmas Day in the water, swimming and floating beyond the surf. We had to cut the stay short, due to elections in Ghana, so we left early the 26th.

Peace Corps staff told us the border would close at 6 p.m. on the 26th (the borders close for elections to prevent non-Ghanains hopping over to vote). At the lodge, someone told us they’d been closely following border activity and that it wouldn’t close until the 27th. We decided not to take any risks, but just outside Accra, my dad called to say the internet said the borders were closed. So we got out in Accra, called a bunch of people, ate lunch, called some more people, went to Peace Corps Ghana’s office, and ended up in a hotel for free (the same hotel where I stayed on my way back from South Africa. Except I didn’t know then to announce myself as Peace Corps and paid too much money for a room).

And thus began our vacation from our vacation. We were exhausted from all our Christmas fun and traveling. In Accra, we recovered by doing nothing but walking around looking for our next meal, eating too much (Indian food! Pizza! Smoothies! Soft-serve ice cream!) and watching movies in our room. When the borders reopened Monday, I was ready to go back to Togo. Ghana is expensive, even when your hotel is free.

Since then, I’ve been settling into my new home, and getting to know my new roommate, JT, and my new dog, Manu, short for Emmanuel (he loves JT more, which is ok, except for he won’t let me walk him unless JT’s there). JT’s been here for a month already, and he has Togolese friends. They cooked us a huge meal last night, and also took us dancing on New Year’s Eve. So all is well. Work starts Monday, and I’m ready. All this free time in the big city means I have no routine and end up with a very bizarre sleep schedule.

I want to wish you all a happy new year again, and thank everyone who keeps up and puts up with the blog and my rambling. Only eight months left - enjoy it while you can.

I believe you can see Ghana photos here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2034011&l=18adf&id=66700997.