9 October 9 2008
Remember when I said I would write more frequent updates? I’ve done really well so far on that promise, no?
I’ve just finished another vacation (I plan to return to village soon). My parents arrived in Ghana on September 25th and leave from Accra tomorrow. During their time here, I ran the marathon, then we went to the beach for five days, and then we spent a few brief days in Togo.
The marathon was basically what one would expect in West Africa. I spent the night with the three other Togo PCVs running the full marathon. Garth and Maureen, a couple who work in Ghana, both former PCVs, opened their house to us, which was super generous and very helpful. We woke up at 3 a.m. for our supposed 5:30 start in Pram-Pram. A van full of other PCVs picked us up on the side of the road around 3:30 and drove us to the village. Except we weren’t starting in the village, but at the Ghana Man Center. We eventually found that and at 4:30 were the first people there. No race officials. No one else.
Eventually more people showed up, but by 6 we started walking back in the direction we came. A bus pulled up, and a man leaned out and yelled, “You have gone too far! Did you see the white line? The starting line?”
We turned around and walked back, to find the white line that the guy drew about 10 minutes after asking us about it (the starting point had been marked by a pile of leaves and rocks). Once everyone else arrived by bus and van, we started – at seven, an hour and a half late.
Things went well for the first 10 miles or so. I stuck to my very slow pace and took advantage of the infrequent water stops. Fortunately, my parents and another couple, the Iwans, drove the course and gave everyone water when there were no stations. Without their help and cheering, those 26.2 miles would have been a lot more difficult and lonely. Except for that part where we ran through a market, along a traffic-clogged, two lane road. That wasn’t lonely, just extra challenging, especially since by then, everything hurt and I wanted to cry.
Anyway, we all finished and then ate lots of food that evening. I had a falafel, and about an hour later, when everyone else arrived, I had my margarita and nachos. And a brownie with ice cream. There were also chocolate bars in there somewhere.
The next morning, my parents and I drove five hours west to the Green Turtle Lodge, an eco-friendly paradise, basically. IT WAS SO NICE! They operate on solar-energy, have self-composting toilets (glorified latrines), hire local people in all kinds of capacities, and lead canoe trips, hikes and tours around the area. We went on the mangrove swamp tour, and I saw a monkey and a very large reptile (mom and dad were looking in the wrong direction both times). I went swimming every day, ate excellent food, wrote letters and read. I’m going back for Christmas.
We only spent a few days in Togo – went up on the “Lomé Limo” on Monday, spent a day in village, then came back to Lomé yesterday. My parents really liked my village, and a guy I work with treated them to guinea fowl and beers (I got beer, but no guinea fowl – even though it looked delicious. Still a strictly seafood “vegetarian”). The middle school president gave them a school tour, which means they visited all five classrooms and saw all 500 or so students. I think one day in Sagbiebou was exactly enough time.
Yesterday, a driver from Lomé picked us up to drive us back. Not 50 kilometers from my village, he hit a pothole and got two flat tires. I don’t think he knew how to change his tires – he didn’t know where to find any of the tire-changing tools in the car – because Dad and a guy on a bike did most of the work. Then Francis the Driver disappeared for an hour looking for a second tire, or getting it fixed, I don’t know. We made it to Lomé around 5 p.m., so it all worked out. Mom and Dad left for Accra around noon, and it’s back to normal life in Togo for me. So write me a letter, cause you know I get lonely.
Pictures from marathon are at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031439&l=10944&id=66700997 and pictures from Green Turtle are at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031442&l=e6f54&id=66700997. I hope those work for you.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Two for One
8 September
I’ve decided to start writing more updates. This means writing more frequently at home than only on the night before I leave for an internet-equipped destination. The updates won’t be more frequent, just longer. Skimming is totally acceptable. I never read those long, chunky emails from my overseas friends, either.
I’m very slowly getting back into work. A week after leaving the States, I got back to village. The ride from Lomé took two days, in a Peace Corps car. As we fishtailed through stretches of mud on the Kpalimé road, I was genuinely nervous, especially since there was an overturned truck in the middle of one stretch.
I stayed in village three days, long enough to give out gifts. Then I went to Kara for our one-year party and to Dapaong for a goodbye party. Then I came back and did some work.
Work means I had a peer educator meeting, where we decided we should have a second meeting the following week. Meetings would be so much more interesting if anyone else SPOKE. I was nervous about having two grown men (my male “apprentices,” a tailor and an elementary school teacher) in a group of teenagers. Now I’m relieved they’re there, because they are the only contributors. This must be payback for all the staring I did at my teachers when they asked us questions in class.
To get me through my first month back, I’m looking forward to the marathon and my parents’ visit. More accurately, I’m looking forward to my parents’ visit and dreading the marathon. Sixteen miles was challenging, but I felt good about it (maybe because I ran it in the States). I finished 18 miles, but I walked. On Sunday, I ran to Mango, hoping to do at least 18 again, maybe even 20. Right… I walked early on and maybe covered 16 miles, mostly trudging. There are three of us in the north running the full marathon, and we’ve all acknowledged that it’s going to destroy us, but we’re not backing out now. I’m going to run – or trudge, walk and crawl – this thing and then never run more than 13 miles again.
11 September
Now let’s talk about street food.
Everyone has been to a fair – state fairs, renaissance festivals, international festivals, street fairs – whatever, you’ve been to one. And every one of those fairs has food booths. After an hour of looking at livestock or crafts or riding rides, you take your tickets to a booth and make the exchange. Tickets for corn on the cob, corn dogs, popcorn, or non-corn delectables: turkey legs, funnel cake, Lemon Chills, cotton candy. Then it’s back to the rides.
Life in Togo is like the fair, minus the midway (bush taxi rides do not count), quilts and butter sculptures. That leave the food booths, or what we call street food. Food you buy – with money, not tickets – on the side of the road or in the market. It’s cheap and easy and when it’s finished, because this is Togo, you can throw the corncob on the ground.
You can easily make a meal of street food. For instance, today for lunch I had 100 CFA (about 25 cents, which is enough) of rice and sauce. In Sagbiebou, there’s always a woman selling rice with tomato or peanut sauce. Sometimes it’s rice pâte, which is rice reshaped into balls. Soja, fried pieces of tofu in tomato sauce, is also readily available year-round. Now there’s also fufu.
None of this food is that interesting, and after three fufu dinners in a week, I’m already sick of it. The street food I dream about is in Lomé. In the Kodjoviakope neighborhood, by the Texaco station, the avocado-bean sandwich lady serves a delicious breakfast. Little white beans in sauce, avocado mashed with onions, oil and salt, spread on a piece of baguette, all for less than a dollar. I can also usually find fried plantains in Lomé. If you mix those with black-eyed peas and sauce, you get another bizarrely tasty meal. And you always have the option of eating at the stand, or taking it to go in a black plastic bag.
The real beauty of street food, however, is snacking. From Lomé to Cinkassé, you can buy food along the highway, although it’s a good idea to also bring your own snacks. The bush taxi driver only stops briefly when you want to buy bread. But when he stops, even briefly, vendors ambush the car. People of all shapes, sizes and ages shout into the car window, selling their food. Fried plantain chips, kebabs, hard-boiled eggs, peanuts, bread, lime or hibiscus juice. I know I can always get dates in Mango and fried bean cakes at the Atakpamé stop. With luck, a Fan Milk man will cycle by, selling ice cream that you suck out of a plastic package. With even more luck, my vanilla Fan Ice will still be frozen. When I feel like indulging in village, I buy beignets made from corn flour. Then I take them home, dip them in sugar and pretend I’m in New Orleans.
Then there is seasonal street food. Right now we’re in corn season, and I can have corn on the cob, grilled or boiled, every day (both are extra chewy, sometimes so much so that I have to give my jaw a break). Starting in late November, it’s watermelon season in Sagbiebou, available whole or by the slice. There are carrots, which only qualify as street food if you’re willing to eat them unwashed off the street. Same for mangoes.
And all of it’s cheap. Even if your corn isn’t sweet, it only cost about five cents, not five tickets (you know that fair food is overpriced. The tickets are supposed to make you forget). I still miss pizza, but I’ll also miss the acceptability of walking around eating beans out of a plastic bag by hand.
I’ve decided to start writing more updates. This means writing more frequently at home than only on the night before I leave for an internet-equipped destination. The updates won’t be more frequent, just longer. Skimming is totally acceptable. I never read those long, chunky emails from my overseas friends, either.
I’m very slowly getting back into work. A week after leaving the States, I got back to village. The ride from Lomé took two days, in a Peace Corps car. As we fishtailed through stretches of mud on the Kpalimé road, I was genuinely nervous, especially since there was an overturned truck in the middle of one stretch.
I stayed in village three days, long enough to give out gifts. Then I went to Kara for our one-year party and to Dapaong for a goodbye party. Then I came back and did some work.
Work means I had a peer educator meeting, where we decided we should have a second meeting the following week. Meetings would be so much more interesting if anyone else SPOKE. I was nervous about having two grown men (my male “apprentices,” a tailor and an elementary school teacher) in a group of teenagers. Now I’m relieved they’re there, because they are the only contributors. This must be payback for all the staring I did at my teachers when they asked us questions in class.
To get me through my first month back, I’m looking forward to the marathon and my parents’ visit. More accurately, I’m looking forward to my parents’ visit and dreading the marathon. Sixteen miles was challenging, but I felt good about it (maybe because I ran it in the States). I finished 18 miles, but I walked. On Sunday, I ran to Mango, hoping to do at least 18 again, maybe even 20. Right… I walked early on and maybe covered 16 miles, mostly trudging. There are three of us in the north running the full marathon, and we’ve all acknowledged that it’s going to destroy us, but we’re not backing out now. I’m going to run – or trudge, walk and crawl – this thing and then never run more than 13 miles again.
11 September
Now let’s talk about street food.
Everyone has been to a fair – state fairs, renaissance festivals, international festivals, street fairs – whatever, you’ve been to one. And every one of those fairs has food booths. After an hour of looking at livestock or crafts or riding rides, you take your tickets to a booth and make the exchange. Tickets for corn on the cob, corn dogs, popcorn, or non-corn delectables: turkey legs, funnel cake, Lemon Chills, cotton candy. Then it’s back to the rides.
Life in Togo is like the fair, minus the midway (bush taxi rides do not count), quilts and butter sculptures. That leave the food booths, or what we call street food. Food you buy – with money, not tickets – on the side of the road or in the market. It’s cheap and easy and when it’s finished, because this is Togo, you can throw the corncob on the ground.
You can easily make a meal of street food. For instance, today for lunch I had 100 CFA (about 25 cents, which is enough) of rice and sauce. In Sagbiebou, there’s always a woman selling rice with tomato or peanut sauce. Sometimes it’s rice pâte, which is rice reshaped into balls. Soja, fried pieces of tofu in tomato sauce, is also readily available year-round. Now there’s also fufu.
None of this food is that interesting, and after three fufu dinners in a week, I’m already sick of it. The street food I dream about is in Lomé. In the Kodjoviakope neighborhood, by the Texaco station, the avocado-bean sandwich lady serves a delicious breakfast. Little white beans in sauce, avocado mashed with onions, oil and salt, spread on a piece of baguette, all for less than a dollar. I can also usually find fried plantains in Lomé. If you mix those with black-eyed peas and sauce, you get another bizarrely tasty meal. And you always have the option of eating at the stand, or taking it to go in a black plastic bag.
The real beauty of street food, however, is snacking. From Lomé to Cinkassé, you can buy food along the highway, although it’s a good idea to also bring your own snacks. The bush taxi driver only stops briefly when you want to buy bread. But when he stops, even briefly, vendors ambush the car. People of all shapes, sizes and ages shout into the car window, selling their food. Fried plantain chips, kebabs, hard-boiled eggs, peanuts, bread, lime or hibiscus juice. I know I can always get dates in Mango and fried bean cakes at the Atakpamé stop. With luck, a Fan Milk man will cycle by, selling ice cream that you suck out of a plastic package. With even more luck, my vanilla Fan Ice will still be frozen. When I feel like indulging in village, I buy beignets made from corn flour. Then I take them home, dip them in sugar and pretend I’m in New Orleans.
Then there is seasonal street food. Right now we’re in corn season, and I can have corn on the cob, grilled or boiled, every day (both are extra chewy, sometimes so much so that I have to give my jaw a break). Starting in late November, it’s watermelon season in Sagbiebou, available whole or by the slice. There are carrots, which only qualify as street food if you’re willing to eat them unwashed off the street. Same for mangoes.
And all of it’s cheap. Even if your corn isn’t sweet, it only cost about five cents, not five tickets (you know that fair food is overpriced. The tickets are supposed to make you forget). I still miss pizza, but I’ll also miss the acceptability of walking around eating beans out of a plastic bag by hand.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Mostly "home" again
In the future, I think I'll try to avoid flying to Dubai unless my final destination is east of it. Emirates is very nice, but I left Louisville at 2:30 p.m. on Tuesday and got to Togo at 6 p.m. Thursday. And I still have to traverse most of Togo before I'm really home.
I did spend the night in Dubai, which I can only describe as surreal. I slept on the plane, so I wasn't completely exhausted, but I went to a mall at 10 o'clock at night. A mall with lots of jewelry, clothes and carpet shops, but no bookstores. A Cinnabon and a Starbucks, but again, no bookstores. So I just wandered around and spent some time taking pictures of the Burj Al-Arab hotel:
Then I explored more than necessary and ended up walking around the parking garage and loading bays of the mall. They looked much like parking garages and loading bays in the States. I got back into the mall through the prep area of one of its restaurants, then got a cab home. The ride took me across the city. I got to see all the tall buildings, including the Burj Dubai, which will be the tallest structure in the world when completed. I also saw every chain restaurant an American needs: Fuddruckers, Applebee's, Chili's and TGIFriday's. And the Mall of the Emirates, where I probably should have gone. It's the one with the indoor skiing.
I'm sure Dubai has much to offer besides American restaurants and malls, but when it's night and you're alone, the mall will have to do. And there are zero malls in Togo, so now I've had my fill.
I did spend the night in Dubai, which I can only describe as surreal. I slept on the plane, so I wasn't completely exhausted, but I went to a mall at 10 o'clock at night. A mall with lots of jewelry, clothes and carpet shops, but no bookstores. A Cinnabon and a Starbucks, but again, no bookstores. So I just wandered around and spent some time taking pictures of the Burj Al-Arab hotel:
Then I explored more than necessary and ended up walking around the parking garage and loading bays of the mall. They looked much like parking garages and loading bays in the States. I got back into the mall through the prep area of one of its restaurants, then got a cab home. The ride took me across the city. I got to see all the tall buildings, including the Burj Dubai, which will be the tallest structure in the world when completed. I also saw every chain restaurant an American needs: Fuddruckers, Applebee's, Chili's and TGIFriday's. And the Mall of the Emirates, where I probably should have gone. It's the one with the indoor skiing.
I'm sure Dubai has much to offer besides American restaurants and malls, but when it's night and you're alone, the mall will have to do. And there are zero malls in Togo, so now I've had my fill.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
From the United States of America
There's nothing like 15 months in West Africa (not Ghana) to make you appreciate America. Parks with drinking fountains and bathrooms, coffee shops, wheat beer, bookstores, movie theaters showing new releases, cheese on everything, convenience stores, Target, pizza... last night I ate an entire pizza and a plate of cheese fries. I love visiting.
And now the camp pictures I promised:
All the campers had challenges they had to complete. This one involved getting a bucket full of water out of the circle without the use of a rope and without entering the circle... full of fire ants.
Another method.
The Butterflies getting ready for the relay race and scavenger hunt, which they won.
The Butterflies posing at their market table with the bracelets and toffee.
All the beaded jewelry.
Check out his shirt.
Co-counselor Amy and I with our Papillons on the last day of camp. I might have shed a little tear. But only because kids started first.
Now I have a few more days in the States and then it's back for lap two. But first I will eat five more pizzas.
And now the camp pictures I promised:
All the campers had challenges they had to complete. This one involved getting a bucket full of water out of the circle without the use of a rope and without entering the circle... full of fire ants.
Another method.
The Butterflies getting ready for the relay race and scavenger hunt, which they won.
The Butterflies posing at their market table with the bracelets and toffee.
All the beaded jewelry.
Check out his shirt.
Co-counselor Amy and I with our Papillons on the last day of camp. I might have shed a little tear. But only because kids started first.
Now I have a few more days in the States and then it's back for lap two. But first I will eat five more pizzas.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Things Fall Apart, Part I
I’ve been traveling since Saturday and I have yet to board a plane.
It turns out nine bridges are out on the national highway, not one or two. I’m waiting for the Kpalimé road to go. It already had as many holes as a Peace Corps volunteer’s underwear after a year in
Friday, July 25, 2008
Camp and home improvements
Even though I spent an hour and a half online last Sunday, I failed to post an update. Here’s a summary of what happened after Lomé.
From Kpalime I went to Tchifama, a village just outside Pagala, where we do our in-service trainings and camps. I spent the night with another friend, who shares the village chief’s compound with 20-something people. Very noisy. It was great just for a night – we had burritos and carrot cake for dinner. The next morning we went to Pagala for camp training.
I loved and loathed camp but overall had a positive experience (so much so that I’m trying to establish a once-a-month volunteer-kid get-together with the association in Dapaong). Amy and I were Butterflies with the oldest girls. This meant we could leave them for five minutes and not worry that anyone would lock herself in her room at night and pee on the floor. They still managed to drive me crazy half the time, especially when it was time to go anywhere. But they eventually cut down their prep time, their table manners improved quickly and they got all the activities we did with them.
During the week, all the cabins learned income-generating activities like making popcorn or juice. Then we had a little market at the end of the week with bottle cap money. The Butterflies made beaded bracelets and toffee. I thought we were just going to make single-strand bracelets, but the woman who taught our session had everyone do a really complicated four-strand method. Turns out she thought we were making beaded AIDS ribbons. We managed to make enough bracelets by Friday and the kids purchased them all with their bottle caps.
One more week in village and then I begin my long voyage to
Friday, July 4, 2008
Workin' hard in West Africa
I just worked more in the last week than I have since I got to post (unless you count biking as work).
My peer educators are trained! I don't know how well I trained them - most of them missed some, if not half, of the questions on the final exam - but training ended Sunday and everyone survived. Over the three days, I rollercoastered from extreme satisfaction and joy to impatience, frustration and near tears. I considered firing (not possible) Azembe, an instigating 10th-grade student. He had a comment on everything the women's rights speakers said and tried to argue both that things were better when women had to beg their husbands to travel and that we should isolate HIV positive people. I get fired up about both those subjects. Instead of grabbing him by the neck and shaking him, I babbled on in my best angry French about tolerance and gender equality. Then my counterpart translated.
A quick tangent on that – I’m learning, a little belatedly, that if I want to increase comprehension during activities, I need a counterpart to translate. I mean translate from Linda’s Non-African French to African French, not translate into local language. Fortunately, for most of the weekend, I had a great counterpart, Karim, who is the president of the moto syndicate. I think that means he’s the boss of Sagbiebou’s moto drivers.
After we finished training on Sunday, Saibou (nurse counterpart) and Mr. Tairou (teacher counterpart) told me we needed to motivate the kids with Cokes. I’d offered to take those two, Karim and another teacher who helped me out for beers, but it ended up being the whole group – you can’t expect people to participate in anything if they’re not going to get anything out of it (no, certificates and homemade sugar-cookies are not enough). It was fun, and we split the bill three ways. The kids did a “banc” (a cheer) for me, and when they left, I engaged in two beers and lively conversation with the counterparts and one of the girls’ fathers. Beers in Africa are twice the size of American beer. I slept very well.
On Monday, I headed south. I spent the night in Kara, then came down to Lome on the bus Tuesday morning. After two and a half days of editing, our Perspectives-GAD Newsletter combination issue is complete. I’ve forgotten how tedious producing a publication is. Still, it looks good (mostly thanks to Amanda) and come next Friday, volunteers will have something new to read.
On Wednesday night, the ambassador extended an open invitation to volunteers to attend a 232nd birthday reception for America, which took place in his very large backyard. We went, partook of the free drinks and finger foods, mingled, then moved on. Kind of fancy, except it was clear who the non-Lomé volunteers were (Amanda and I), based on our grungy attire. I don’t even own a nice pair of shoes anymore. Anyway, it was interesting to hang out with ex-pats and meet non-Peace Corps people.
Camp Espoir “Training of Trainers” starts next Friday. Rather than going back to village (an all day affair) and then repeating half the trip next Thursday, I’m going to visit friends in Kpalimé and outside Pagala. Hopefully I can see my host family. I heard rumors that my host mom, Esse, is pregnant or has already had the baby. So we’ll see.
Enjoy the photos.
My peer educators are trained! I don't know how well I trained them - most of them missed some, if not half, of the questions on the final exam - but training ended Sunday and everyone survived. Over the three days, I rollercoastered from extreme satisfaction and joy to impatience, frustration and near tears. I considered firing (not possible) Azembe, an instigating 10th-grade student. He had a comment on everything the women's rights speakers said and tried to argue both that things were better when women had to beg their husbands to travel and that we should isolate HIV positive people. I get fired up about both those subjects. Instead of grabbing him by the neck and shaking him, I babbled on in my best angry French about tolerance and gender equality. Then my counterpart translated.
A quick tangent on that – I’m learning, a little belatedly, that if I want to increase comprehension during activities, I need a counterpart to translate. I mean translate from Linda’s Non-African French to African French, not translate into local language. Fortunately, for most of the weekend, I had a great counterpart, Karim, who is the president of the moto syndicate. I think that means he’s the boss of Sagbiebou’s moto drivers.
After we finished training on Sunday, Saibou (nurse counterpart) and Mr. Tairou (teacher counterpart) told me we needed to motivate the kids with Cokes. I’d offered to take those two, Karim and another teacher who helped me out for beers, but it ended up being the whole group – you can’t expect people to participate in anything if they’re not going to get anything out of it (no, certificates and homemade sugar-cookies are not enough). It was fun, and we split the bill three ways. The kids did a “banc” (a cheer) for me, and when they left, I engaged in two beers and lively conversation with the counterparts and one of the girls’ fathers. Beers in Africa are twice the size of American beer. I slept very well.
On Monday, I headed south. I spent the night in Kara, then came down to Lome on the bus Tuesday morning. After two and a half days of editing, our Perspectives-GAD Newsletter combination issue is complete. I’ve forgotten how tedious producing a publication is. Still, it looks good (mostly thanks to Amanda) and come next Friday, volunteers will have something new to read.
On Wednesday night, the ambassador extended an open invitation to volunteers to attend a 232nd birthday reception for America, which took place in his very large backyard. We went, partook of the free drinks and finger foods, mingled, then moved on. Kind of fancy, except it was clear who the non-Lomé volunteers were (Amanda and I), based on our grungy attire. I don’t even own a nice pair of shoes anymore. Anyway, it was interesting to hang out with ex-pats and meet non-Peace Corps people.
Camp Espoir “Training of Trainers” starts next Friday. Rather than going back to village (an all day affair) and then repeating half the trip next Thursday, I’m going to visit friends in Kpalimé and outside Pagala. Hopefully I can see my host family. I heard rumors that my host mom, Esse, is pregnant or has already had the baby. So we’ll see.
Enjoy the photos.
In Benin. Awaiting your praise for this one.
This canoe trip (Benin) was much less harrowing than crossing the Komoungou with bike bags.
Sagbiebou: an antennae surrounded by mud huts.
The mosque. And a lizard.
(l-r) Mr. Tairou, peer educators with their certificates and Saibou.
Rachidatou's dad, Rachidatou and Mme Awa.
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