Trip Awesome

So it turns out that traveling from Cinkassé (on the border of Togo and Burkina) to Niamey (the capital of Niger) is not really possible in one day - at least not if you take a bush taxi, which we thought would be a good idea.

Amanda and I took a bus to Koupela, which is half way between Cinkassé and Ouagaudougou. We got out here to take a bush taxi to Niamey. Had the taxi gone straight there, we could have arrived around 8 p.m. Instead, the first car dropped us off aboout two hours later in a place called Fada N'Guorma (maybe). Then we had to wait about two hours for the next car to leave. This car's driver was a wonderful man, who thought nothing of cramming about 25 people in his 15-seat car. Amanda and I were on the bench closest to the front, and I was pushed against the door. I spent a good part of the ride hanging out the window, because that was comfortable. Then, at one of our unexplained stops (where the driver picked up MORE people to shove in), the door fell off.

Because we stopped about three times along the way, we didn't even make it to the last town before the Niger border. There, the driver left us to sit while he unloaded all the yams we'd had underfoot before picking us up to take us to the station. I was hoping we could just spend the night in a cheap hostel or something, which another passenger assured me was possible. We got to the station, where someone told us we were going to continue (we had all already paid the full fare to Niamey). We got in another car - also overcrowded - and chugged along in the dark, all the way to the border. The guards collected our passports and identity cards, we pooled money so that they would let us go through with all the baggage on top of the car... and then the border closed. And Amanda and I spent the night at the border. In the parking lot. On a mat that someone lent us. I slept well until 2 or 3 a.m. when a semi pulled through and I decided it must be time to wake up. But no... it was not close to dawn and there were still several hours of tossing and turning and hugging my camera bag to my body left.

So! Lessons learned: if you don't want to go to Ouaga from Cinkassé to travel to Niamey, the Koupela bus leaves on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday at 8 a.m. To get this bus, you'd have to spend the night in Koupela, because I don't think the Burkina border opens before six. Bush taxis are a really rotten idea and bush taxi drivers are the same, it seems, in all francophone West African countries (in Ghana, everyone gets their own seat in the bush taxis). Finally, there is no where to sleep at the border of Burkina and Niger except the ground.

But when we finally arrived, we had showers, some beers, lunch, naps and then more beers at a bar overlooking the Niger River. Today we paid about $80 to drive out to see the last herd of giraffes in West Africa - very touristy, but very cool AND there was a baby AND two of them were fighting. Then we went to a mosque whose building was funded by the Libyan government and next we're going on canoe rides on the river.

We leave for Ouaga tomorrow morning on a bus. No more bush taxis for this trip.

Candles and Trees

Last weekend, I attended two large events, one for PSI and one for Peace Corps.

On Friday, PSI held its annual Candlelight Memorial ceremony, honoring those who have died of HIV/AIDS. Candlelight is an international event that has apparently been happening since 1983, on the third Sunday of May (visit the International AIDS Candlelight Memorial page for more information). We were a little late, with ours happening the last Friday of May at the Congressional Palace. PSI invited the organizations we work with to invite people to the event, which started with a march that I missed, because my duty was handing out condoms inside the venue.

As we've learned from previous events, freebies draw crowds (all invited participants received tshirts) and mobs. Condom distribution went fine until everyone arrived at once, pushed through the two entrances and decided they really wanted to get to their seats but also really wanted condoms. Security decided they should help me distribute from the middle of the stairs rather than at the bottom of the stairs, where I was getting smushed. Then a PSI employee started yelling at them, which started a shouting match with me still trying to hand out condoms between the two shouting parties. I hope this is the last time I ever get mobbed for free stuff in Togo.

I'd never been to an event like this in Togo (except for maybe that cryfest at camp last year), but as an American, "Candlelight Mermorial for Victims of HIV/AIDS" led me to expect a somber evening, despite the two musical guests. But people talked and cheered throughout the speeches and the moment of silence, and I felt it was all kind of a joke. Co-workers said it was an improvement from last year and generally thought it went well, though, so I guess I can only blame my Western expectations.

On Saturday, I went to Notsé, a town in the Plateaux region, to attend Moringa Fest. Two volunteers from my training group, Ashley and Danielle (remember Danielle from the last post, when she got married?) have worked with the moringa tree for most of their service. Moringa Fest was the culminating event of two years' of moringa-educating and promoting. Volunteers and Togolese counterparts ran stations that explained different benefits of the moringa tree: nutritional information, how to plant and care for the tree, how to dry the leaves and make powder, how to cook with the leaves, and how to use the seeds to purify water and make oil. There was a rowdy kids' section where volunteers (including roommate JT) tried to corral 50 children and keep them out of the adults' way. Throughout the day, on the main stage, volunteers presented their stations' lessons, and during breaks, people could visit the stations and get more information. There were also games like musical chairs and a moringa-themed song and poem competition to keep the mood festive. The moringa tree is called the "miracle tree" for all its uses and its leaves' high nutritional value. If Ashley and Danielle could just reproduce their event all over Togo, malnutrition might drop immensely.

Next Wednesday, I start my West Africa tour: Niger, Burkina Faso (we're really just crossing it) and Ghana. It's impossible to just get the Niger visa in Togo and you can't buy it at the Burkina-Niger border, so I bought the Visa Entente. This gets you a one-time entry visa for Benin, Niger, Burkina Faso, Togo and Côte d'Ivoire, which is valid for two months. Obviously, I don't need Togo, I already have a five-year Burkina visa, I don't really plan on going to Benin and U.S. citizens don't need a visa for Côte d'Ivoire. So I spent $50 for Niger, mainly because I want to see giraffes. But if anyone ever plans to travel to those countries, keep the Visa Entente in mind.

Finishing up, Peace Corps Style

So, approximately three months before our official Close of Service date (August 22nd, calculated by Peace Corps from our swearing-in date), we have a Close of Service (COS) conference. This involves going to a hotel by the beach and learning about all the medical and administrative things we have to do before we can get on the plane.

When I heard about COS conference two years ago from the volunteers that were leaving around the time I arrived, my reaction was, "Hotel by the beach? Food? Pool? I'm totally staying for that!" I realize that's not really great motivation for two years' service, and had I been utterly miserable in Togo, the idea of Hotel Novella Star certainly wouldn't have kept me here. But, I made it. And so did all these people:

That's 14 less people than we started with (we lost 15 from the original group and gained one transfer from Kenya):

For more comparisons, here's the original group of health (CHAP) volunteers at our swearing-in:

And now:

I had a great time hanging out with everyone one last time. We ended the week by celebrating a fellow CHAP volunteer's wedding. Danielle and Jorge met in Bolivia about seven years ago and have been carrying on long-distance since then. He joined her here in Togo in January, they got officially married in Ghana, and we had a ceremony on the beach in Togo (the first of many ceremonies? I think they're planning more in the States and Bolivia). Anyway, I took most of the wedding photos and you can see them in all their un-Photoshopped glory on Facebook, here, here, and here. Yes, there are three albums, and about a hundred variations of the following photo (that I obviously didn't take).


And that's about all that's new. I have some West African travels planned for June and a ticket out of here for August 11th. So... see you soon.

What Happened in April

I know, I know - another month has passed with only one blog update. Here's a summary of April:

Easter weekend, I went to Agou Nyogbo for two volunteers' "fake wedding." They celebrated Togolese style, with heavy American influences (bridesmaids and groomsmen, shoving cake in each others' faces, etc.) Now they are recognized as married in the eyes of Agou Nyogbo, but nowhere else. You can see photos on Facebook .

That week, Togo made it into the international news (BBC) when Kpatcha Gnassingbe, the president's brother, became the victim of an assassination attempt. Actually, he was plotting a coup, and two days later, he ran to the US embassy, seeking refuge to avoid arrest. They got him anyway (read about it at the BBC ) and THEN found a bunch of weapons at his house ( article ). You would think this would all be very exciting or scary, but everyone carried on like nothing had happened. Just another day in Togo.

I finally, finally put out the second (and my last) issue of Perspectives. Here in Togo, we have many volunteer-published newsletters: Farm to Market for the Natural Resource Management and small business volunteers, the CHAP Newsletter for health volunteers, the the Griot an Onion-style satirical newsletter, and then, Perspectives. Perspectives prints volunteers' essays, poems, recipes - basically, whatever they want to submit. I became editor of the gender and development newsletter last March, and the Perspectives editor and I decided to combine our publications because neither ever had many contributions. We put out one issue in July, then procrastinated, and then she got medically separated right around the time we planned to work on the next issue (late October). Then it took me another four months to put the newsletter together, but it's finally out and it looks quite nice. If you'd like to see a copy, I'd love to send it to you, but I've had no success emailing it, because the file's too big. I'll take suggestions on what to do about that.

This week is our COS conference (Close of Service). It's from Tuesday afternoon to Friday at the Hotel Novella Star, which is outside of Lomé towards Benin. For three days, Peace Corps will tell us all about the things we have to do so we can leave Togo. This is the last time that everyone who's left from my training group will be together in one place. I think we're all having some issues realizing that our two years are almost over. I'll try to be better blogger and at least send some pictures out next week.

Finally, news from Sagbiebou: Zaratou's husband (I don't know husbands' names - my male neighbor is STILL "Alima's husband") called me on Friday to tell me that my friend Maïmouna had her baby. It's a boy, and since I've had no news since Friday, I guess everyone's still healthy.

I apologize for the lack of news and will try to do better in my last three months. I have an official COS date - August 10th. Now I just need a plane ticket.

A Morning around Nano

A few weeks ago in Dapaong, I was finally able to check something off my To Do in Togo list. Near Nano, a village southwest of Dapaong, there are cliffs that shelter caves. The Moba, the dominant ethnic majority in northern Togo, hid in these caves during tribal warfare. Today, it is one of the few tourist sites that I'm aware of in the Savannah region.

Normally, getting to the caves involves a hike, but I got very lucky. A group of Rotary Club International/Public Health International members from Oregon were in Dapaong that week, doing lots of good work in Nano. I caught a ride with them and Will, the Nano volunteer, right up to the caves' gates.



I don't know what I was expecting, but I was surprised to see this elaborate ladder leading down to the caves.

Tom the Rotarian about to descend the ladder.

Our $4 guide led us to the cave and showed us where camp fires blackened the ceilings. We saw the food storage containers, and at Will's suggestion, I crawled through the claustrophobia-inducing tunnel used for sleeping. Turns out, I'm not claustrophobic, but I'm glad I'm not a Moba during tribal wars.


With Will at the caves.

After the caves, the Rotary folks visited a church and Will gave me a tour of Nano's market. He bought me some bean beignets and got himself pig's blood sausage. Ew.

He also shared all the excellent contents of his mom's packages with me. Thanks, Mrs. Vu! I think this is only the volunteer treatment, so don't expect candy on your tour. There are semi-cold drinks available in Nano, though. And blood sausage.

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.