Health update: no more fevers, but now I have an infected cut by my 2004 shin puncture scar (some will remember that incident). That's what I get for tyring to shave my legs in village. Idiot.
Food update: I just had the most delicious yogurt at this little restaurant in Dapaong. I brought my own chocolate granola, and it was heaven. They even had a tv with French news.
In the last two weeks, I’ve taken tiny steps in the direction of what can be called work. I mean work beyond cooking for one every day, baking brownies, burning my trash and chasing out the continually growing spectrum of wildlife encroaching on my personal space. The crickets and spiders have given way to salamanders, wasps, one very large roach (insecticided), two small frogs (one disappeared and one died) and an annoying and ever-changing collection of insects that only come out at night to dance and commit suicide in the light of my candles and lantern.
Wednesdays are still my busiest days, although we went from about 170 women and babies last week to maybe 50 this week. 50 is comfortable. On Monday, with the clinic staff, we decided to focus on two themes for talks on pre-natal consultation (CPN) and vaccination days. For CPN, the talks will be on the consequences of giving birth at home and on Wednesdays, nutrition. I did the first talk on Tuesday, and the birthing assistant translated.
As a result of the Dapaong malnutrition conference, the Sagbiebou clinic now “takes charge” of moderately malnourished children. This means that if I notice an underweight baby on Wednesdays, we compare its height and weight to a number on a chart. If the baby is less than 80% of its body mass index, we send the mother home with enriched porridge for two weeks. Last Friday, one of the medical assistants, Kokue, and I biked to five of the families’ homes. All the mothers said they prepared the porridge properly (one measure of porridge, two measures of boiled water) and that the children ate well. I believe each child stays in the program for three months, so we’ll see how many gain weight.
On Tuesday morning, I biked over to the chief’s house to ask for his assistance in finding a language tutor. Hopefully something comes from that, as I’m getting tired of saying the same 10 things I know in Tchokossi to everyone.
I’ve discovered that going to the market is a great way to increase my vocabulary (and amuse everyone else), meet people and take care of business, all in one trip. Right now, in addition to the usual okra, tomatoes, onions and garlic, I can get oranges, bananas and watermelon at the Sagbiebou market on Thursdays. Last week I followed a little girl around who said she knew where I could get peanut butter. She took me to her mother, who was chatting with friends and not selling peanut butter, or anything else, for that matter. Later, I found a woman (she acted like we’d met and talked before, but apparently, I dropped my talent for remembering names and faces in the Atlantic) who took me to a lady with delicious peanut butter. And she taught me how to say peanut butter in Tchokossi.
Two weeks ago, I biked to Mango (about 30k/16 miles) to check out their market. Less exciting than Sagbiebou, but Mango has shops with toilet paper – I had a lesson-teaching experience of leaving my last roll on the latrine floor before a downpour... paper bags hurt – and a volunteer with a lovely house containing a flush toilet and refrigerator. AND they have a community center with a bar that has nearly frozen drinks. Cold drinks have become a source of great happiness.
Last Saturday, I biked to Gando (15k/8 miles) for their market, by far the most lively in my prefecture. If you come to Togo, we’ll go to Gando’s market. They have a huge pagne (cloth) selection, a Fanmilk (ice cream approximation) guy on a bike and more stores with toilet paper. I ordered a lit picot (plastic-woven metal-framed bed) from the picot guy and a food cabinet from the carpenter. Then I had a cold drink before biking the 8 miles back on the dirt road to Sagbiebou.
The market was probably more lively last week due to elections campaigning. Parliamentary elections take place October 14th. We go on “standfast” this Monday until the 22nd. That means no leaving village during those weeks. It also means pack a bag and be ready to evacuate if necessary. I was unconcerned about this until I came to Dapaong and other volunteers partially convinced me that there is a slight chance of unrest. So I’ll pack my bag when I get home, but will continue to believe that the election will go smoothly and all will be well, minus a potential loss of phone reception and maybe a toilet paper crisis (I’ll have to stock up while in Dapaong).
And on that note, I’m going to go withdraw most of my money from my bank account and buy some tp. Just in case.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Too much time in Dapaong
I just got over my first illness in Africa, which is the sickest I’ve been since April 2003. On Monday, I went to the morning session of the conference, skipped the afternoon half, and then attended all of Tuesday. On Tuesday night, I started feeling chilly. But I was also really warm. And things just went downhill from there.
Now, 10 liters of water and about 20 Ibuprofen later, I think I’m mostly back to normal. Minus a really ugly cough, but I get one of those every year. And urgent trips to the bathroom, but that too, will pass. Needless to say, I missed most of the conference.
Before I became immobile for three days (except I wasn’t, and I nearly passed out twice after going into town to get food, bad idea), I visited Cinkasse, the northern most town in Togo. Nothing too exciting there, except Helen screaming at the 15 moto and taxi drivers who mobbed us when we arrived.
On Friday (last Friday, yesterday I didn’t leave the maison), I rode to another volunteer’s village and helped out with a day camp. We played HIV/AIDS education games. I’m looking forward to [hopefully] working at the schools in my area, but the beginning of school has been delayed by a month because there are elections in October. So... I guess I’ll have to wait.
This evening we’re having a COS (close of service) party for a volunteer who’s leaving in about a week. Then I’m going back to village. Unless my fever comes back. Nothing makes you want your mom like being sick in Africa. Except all the news I’m getting from my mom is about fabulous travels, which is not what one wants to hear when she’s sick in Africa (but write me about your travels anyway, I like updates).
Now I’m going to disappear for an indefinite amount of time again.
Now, 10 liters of water and about 20 Ibuprofen later, I think I’m mostly back to normal. Minus a really ugly cough, but I get one of those every year. And urgent trips to the bathroom, but that too, will pass. Needless to say, I missed most of the conference.
Before I became immobile for three days (except I wasn’t, and I nearly passed out twice after going into town to get food, bad idea), I visited Cinkasse, the northern most town in Togo. Nothing too exciting there, except Helen screaming at the 15 moto and taxi drivers who mobbed us when we arrived.
On Friday (last Friday, yesterday I didn’t leave the maison), I rode to another volunteer’s village and helped out with a day camp. We played HIV/AIDS education games. I’m looking forward to [hopefully] working at the schools in my area, but the beginning of school has been delayed by a month because there are elections in October. So... I guess I’ll have to wait.
This evening we’re having a COS (close of service) party for a volunteer who’s leaving in about a week. Then I’m going back to village. Unless my fever comes back. Nothing makes you want your mom like being sick in Africa. Except all the news I’m getting from my mom is about fabulous travels, which is not what one wants to hear when she’s sick in Africa (but write me about your travels anyway, I like updates).
Now I’m going to disappear for an indefinite amount of time again.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Welcome to Sagbiebou
My arrival in Sagbiebou (Aug. 27) stressed me out considerably more than the post visit wedding-style welcome. Within moments of pulling to the highway shoulder, a small crowd gathered to help carry my possessions into my house. I know I should be grateful, but I don’t like people touching my stuff. I’m not usually overly-possessive or even neat, but when I move, I just want to put things down where I want them and at my own pace.
When I got into the house, the “bedroom” was locked and “Where’s the key?” got no satisfactory answers. In my absence, someone moved the bedroom stuff, including the clothes and books I’d left, into my “kitchen”. The kitchen stuff was in the living room. Once everyone left, I discovered that the clothes, which were left under the window, were all a little damp and moldy. Gross. So I had a wet mattress (it rained on the way up from Lome), no bedroom and one pair of extremely moldy pants.
After the initial desire to sit in a corner and cry, I unpacked what I could, ate something and got over it. The next day, I got my bed, table and two of the four chairs I ordered, and we got someone to break into my room. I have different locks on all three doors in my house, and the locksmith locked the bedroom keys inside the bedroom. That’s where the keys were.
The first three months at post are meant for figuring things out: get to know the community, identify potential work partners and projects, improve local language. At the moment, my goal is to leave my house at least once a day to do something besides run or ride my bike. I’ve succeeded so far, although I can entertain myself for hours in my house, cooking, baking, sweeping, reading, writing letters and checking how much water my filter’s filtered.
Sadly, every small task I complete is a big deal.
“I hung TWO laundry lines! I’m fabulous,” and “I burned my trash. Good day, good day.”
When I do leave my house to stroll around Sagbiebou, I get a taste of what life as a celebrity must be like. Everyone in village knows my name and they yell, “Madame Awa!” from distances so great I’m unsure who’s calling me. I just walk around waving at everyone and telling them, “Ca va.”
The only day I really do anything that can pass as work are Wednesdays, when we weigh and vaccinate babies at the dispensaire. I mark the babies’ weights on their growth chart and mark what vaccinations we give them on another chart. Ideally, we would take time to ask each mother if she’s exclusively breast-feeding or advise her on how she can help her baby gain weight (most of them are underweight). However, it’s extremely chaotic with 25 screaming children, and I can hardly ask a mother her child’s age, much less what she’s feeding it. Also, I ask the age in Tchokossi, and of course, the mother only speaks Gam-Gam or Peul or some other local language.
I hoped to find a language tutor immediately, but the tutor seems to be in the same place as my house-assistant girl, and I don’t know where that place is. So I walk around and try to pick up little phrases and words from strangers (okra, eat, I already ate, bon appetit). I also try to learn kids’ names, but I ask a child his or her name and the responses sound like the kid just made a noise.
“Nzda? Really? Your name is Nzda? Oh, NzDAN! Of course.” So I still have to work on wrapping my brain around the vowelly names. I’ll get there (I hope).
After 10 days of hanging out in Sagbiebou, I hopped in a bush taxi (that broke down) to Dapaong, where I’m staying for another 10 days. I only planned to stay the weekend, but my counterpart asked if I could attend a nutrition conference here this week, so I said yes. I don’t plan on dividing my time equally between village and capital, but I call this gradually settling in to life in the bush.
I do have a new address, although the old one also works. Please send mail to
Linda Golden
B.P. 102
Mango, Togo
(West Africa – if you feel this will confuse your postal workers, leave it off).
Finally, on a subject mostly unrelated to life in Togo, I found out (two weeks after the fact) that St. Bernard Project, the organization I worked with in New Orleans, was on Oprah on August 29th, the two year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. For an organization that started small and is barely a year old, that is amazing progress. You can check them out at www.stbernardproject.org. I'm so proud.
When I got into the house, the “bedroom” was locked and “Where’s the key?” got no satisfactory answers. In my absence, someone moved the bedroom stuff, including the clothes and books I’d left, into my “kitchen”. The kitchen stuff was in the living room. Once everyone left, I discovered that the clothes, which were left under the window, were all a little damp and moldy. Gross. So I had a wet mattress (it rained on the way up from Lome), no bedroom and one pair of extremely moldy pants.
After the initial desire to sit in a corner and cry, I unpacked what I could, ate something and got over it. The next day, I got my bed, table and two of the four chairs I ordered, and we got someone to break into my room. I have different locks on all three doors in my house, and the locksmith locked the bedroom keys inside the bedroom. That’s where the keys were.
The first three months at post are meant for figuring things out: get to know the community, identify potential work partners and projects, improve local language. At the moment, my goal is to leave my house at least once a day to do something besides run or ride my bike. I’ve succeeded so far, although I can entertain myself for hours in my house, cooking, baking, sweeping, reading, writing letters and checking how much water my filter’s filtered.
Sadly, every small task I complete is a big deal.
“I hung TWO laundry lines! I’m fabulous,” and “I burned my trash. Good day, good day.”
When I do leave my house to stroll around Sagbiebou, I get a taste of what life as a celebrity must be like. Everyone in village knows my name and they yell, “Madame Awa!” from distances so great I’m unsure who’s calling me. I just walk around waving at everyone and telling them, “Ca va.”
The only day I really do anything that can pass as work are Wednesdays, when we weigh and vaccinate babies at the dispensaire. I mark the babies’ weights on their growth chart and mark what vaccinations we give them on another chart. Ideally, we would take time to ask each mother if she’s exclusively breast-feeding or advise her on how she can help her baby gain weight (most of them are underweight). However, it’s extremely chaotic with 25 screaming children, and I can hardly ask a mother her child’s age, much less what she’s feeding it. Also, I ask the age in Tchokossi, and of course, the mother only speaks Gam-Gam or Peul or some other local language.
I hoped to find a language tutor immediately, but the tutor seems to be in the same place as my house-assistant girl, and I don’t know where that place is. So I walk around and try to pick up little phrases and words from strangers (okra, eat, I already ate, bon appetit). I also try to learn kids’ names, but I ask a child his or her name and the responses sound like the kid just made a noise.
“Nzda? Really? Your name is Nzda? Oh, NzDAN! Of course.” So I still have to work on wrapping my brain around the vowelly names. I’ll get there (I hope).
After 10 days of hanging out in Sagbiebou, I hopped in a bush taxi (that broke down) to Dapaong, where I’m staying for another 10 days. I only planned to stay the weekend, but my counterpart asked if I could attend a nutrition conference here this week, so I said yes. I don’t plan on dividing my time equally between village and capital, but I call this gradually settling in to life in the bush.
I do have a new address, although the old one also works. Please send mail to
Linda Golden
B.P. 102
Mango, Togo
(West Africa – if you feel this will confuse your postal workers, leave it off).
Finally, on a subject mostly unrelated to life in Togo, I found out (two weeks after the fact) that St. Bernard Project, the organization I worked with in New Orleans, was on Oprah on August 29th, the two year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. For an organization that started small and is barely a year old, that is amazing progress. You can check them out at www.stbernardproject.org. I'm so proud.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
off to post
I've been an official Peace Corps volunteer for three days, but the fun really begins Tuesday, when I arrive in village. We're leaving tomorrow morning, but since we have a long way to go, the Savannes volunteers will probably spend the night somewhere so we don't have to move into our electricity-less homes in the dark. This is good, as I still have some shopping to do. Apparently, five days in Lome aren't enough for me to buy everything I need. Shopping in the market takes alot out of you, though.
Yesterday we went to a beach party organized by the Gender and Development committee to raise money for girls' scholarships. It was at a private beach and therefore like leaving the real world - manicured lawns, super clean bathrooms with hand towels, a pool... I swam in the ocean with the black plastic bags and other random pieces of trash. There was a wall further out that broke the big waves, therefore making it somewhat safer to swim. The undertow was still strong.
The whole time in Lome has been kind of surreal. I've been to four different "yovo" stores (yovo = stranger, foreigner, white person), which are like supermarkets at home, or maybe in Europe. The first visit, at "Le Champion" I was overwhelmed. The second visit, at Super Ramco, I just popped in to buy spices. The third store, Citimart, broke the bank. I lost it and just bought things somewhat indiscriminately. I don't REALLY need insecticide, but it might come in handy in my latrine. And raisins... I might use for baking. And cashews are just good.
Now I'm going to try to post pictures. I don't know when I'll have internet access again, since I'm going to Sagbiebou, so the weekly updates may become bi- or tri-weekly updates. We'll see. So wish me well, send mail (letters, not packages) and hopefully I can write in a few weeks.
Yesterday we went to a beach party organized by the Gender and Development committee to raise money for girls' scholarships. It was at a private beach and therefore like leaving the real world - manicured lawns, super clean bathrooms with hand towels, a pool... I swam in the ocean with the black plastic bags and other random pieces of trash. There was a wall further out that broke the big waves, therefore making it somewhat safer to swim. The undertow was still strong.
The whole time in Lome has been kind of surreal. I've been to four different "yovo" stores (yovo = stranger, foreigner, white person), which are like supermarkets at home, or maybe in Europe. The first visit, at "Le Champion" I was overwhelmed. The second visit, at Super Ramco, I just popped in to buy spices. The third store, Citimart, broke the bank. I lost it and just bought things somewhat indiscriminately. I don't REALLY need insecticide, but it might come in handy in my latrine. And raisins... I might use for baking. And cashews are just good.
Now I'm going to try to post pictures. I don't know when I'll have internet access again, since I'm going to Sagbiebou, so the weekly updates may become bi- or tri-weekly updates. We'll see. So wish me well, send mail (letters, not packages) and hopefully I can write in a few weeks.
My house in Sagbiebou
The road to the Tech House in Agou Nyogbo
With family members and compound residents. I've got my arm around my little brother George.
Pounding fufu (really just for the picture - it's hard work).
George is a supermodel and I'm shiny.
CHAP trainees minutes before swearing-in as official volunteers. Top row (L-R): Nori, Lauren, Ashley, Aimee, Kate, moi, Becka, Alicia, Tig, Danielle. Bottom row - Natasha, Helen and Stephanie
With my host mom at swear-in. She's wearing an outfit made from cloth I gave her as a thank you gift.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
last week in Agou
We started last week with a crêpe night on Sunday, grace à Linda and Lauren. The crêpes turned out well, but it didn’t come close to a Geneva crêpe night. That might have something to do with location.
We did group presentations on Monday and Tuesday, which included a health carnival for kids, a skit and discussion on HIV/AIDS, and a session on making enriched porridge. All the presentations had great attendance, and aside from some rain, things went well.
Training is basically over. On Thursday, we had our final oral French exam. We’ve had three exams – one as a placement for the classes, one mid-way exam, and this final one to see if we’ve attained an intermediate-mid level. The test administrator asks you questions and they tape record your answers. Now, after eight years of French, I do ok. At the mid exam, I was at the intermediate high level. I will NEVER get anywhere, though, because when I have to speak French under pressure, my level, whatever it really is, drops to dummy. My French teachers can attest to this. I did manage to quite eloquently yell at a taxi driver who tried to overcharge us last week, but I did rotten in that testing room. In any case, it wasn’t so bad that they’ll keep me an extra week. My French is definitely good enough to manage in Africa, and I’m practicing by reading French fashion magazines. That should be very useful in learning how to say, «It’s very important for babies to breast-feed exclusively during their first six months.»
We leave Agou Nyogbo on Wednesday morning for Lome. Swear-in is on Thursday evening, so if you write me, you can start addressing it to PCV Linda Golden, since I’ll finally be an official volunteer. Hopefully I can post some pictures next week. I have lots.
And in other news, I’m thinking about getting a dog to keep me company at post. I’m hesitant, because then I have to find someone to take care of it every time I want to bike to Mango or wherever, so I’ve decided not to actively search for one, but to be open to the possibility of one finding me. So if anyone has dog-training tips to send me (just in case) I might need them.
Next week, updating from Lome... and hopefully the beach.
We did group presentations on Monday and Tuesday, which included a health carnival for kids, a skit and discussion on HIV/AIDS, and a session on making enriched porridge. All the presentations had great attendance, and aside from some rain, things went well.
Training is basically over. On Thursday, we had our final oral French exam. We’ve had three exams – one as a placement for the classes, one mid-way exam, and this final one to see if we’ve attained an intermediate-mid level. The test administrator asks you questions and they tape record your answers. Now, after eight years of French, I do ok. At the mid exam, I was at the intermediate high level. I will NEVER get anywhere, though, because when I have to speak French under pressure, my level, whatever it really is, drops to dummy. My French teachers can attest to this. I did manage to quite eloquently yell at a taxi driver who tried to overcharge us last week, but I did rotten in that testing room. In any case, it wasn’t so bad that they’ll keep me an extra week. My French is definitely good enough to manage in Africa, and I’m practicing by reading French fashion magazines. That should be very useful in learning how to say, «It’s very important for babies to breast-feed exclusively during their first six months.»
We leave Agou Nyogbo on Wednesday morning for Lome. Swear-in is on Thursday evening, so if you write me, you can start addressing it to PCV Linda Golden, since I’ll finally be an official volunteer. Hopefully I can post some pictures next week. I have lots.
And in other news, I’m thinking about getting a dog to keep me company at post. I’m hesitant, because then I have to find someone to take care of it every time I want to bike to Mango or wherever, so I’ve decided not to actively search for one, but to be open to the possibility of one finding me. So if anyone has dog-training tips to send me (just in case) I might need them.
Next week, updating from Lome... and hopefully the beach.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
worms, candy and rats
Another week down, less than two to go. While classes were a little more interesting this week; certain events also added excitement, or at least created extra fodder for the Peace Corps rumor mill.
Mid-week, my Tchokossi teacher and I arrived at our class and learned that I am now the only Tchokossi student. The business trainee headed to Mango switched posts, which means I no longer have a neighbor 30k away from Sagbiebou. It also means I get private language classes to learn whatever health-related vocabulary I want. For instance, the Tchokossi word for malaria, pongombie, is a combination of “horse” (pongo) and “urine” (mbie). Evidently, malarial urine resembles that of a horse.
I also learned the word for guinea worm, which coincided with the previous day’s technical session on said worm. A word of advice before today’s health session: don’t drink untreated water, because that’s how you get guinea worm – and you don’t want it. The worm injects its eggs into water. If consumed at the correct stage in its wormy life, the worm can live in one’s body from nine to 12 months before announcing its presence. It usually migrates to the feet, arms, or hands and moves to the skin’s surface, forming a painful blister. When the person submerges the infected area in water, the worm pops out to inject its eggs into the water and start the cycle again. The only way to remove the worm is to pull it out by slowly wrapping it around a thin stick. If it breaks, you’ve got a new permanent, but dead, friend.
The good news is that guinea worm has almost been completely eradicated in Togo. The two cases recorded this year came from Ghana. Nonetheless, I hold to my original plan: if I get guinea worm, I’m going home. I probably wouldn’t know I had it until I got home anyway, so it works out.
This week another CHAP trainee left for the US, bringing our training group down to 13 (one girl left after two days in Nyogbo). After the goodbyes, I went home and cheered myself up with my newly arrived dark chocolate M&Ms (thanks, mom! Mail was fabulous this week – Katie and Lori, two thumbs up… still contemplating on whether to share). I also went on a run, joined by my host mom (she lasted five minutes), Felicia/Felicité, my 15 year-old neighbor (she almost made it the whole way) and Koku, another young neighbor (he lasted the entire run and picked up a friend). This gives me hope for a future Sagbiebou running club.
Finally, we did a second home visit this week. My group’s visits were standard – families with no mosquito nets, no latrines, frequent malaria cases. However, one group visited a woman busy grilling mystery meat. In New Orleans, we used to joke about the ratburgers, the mystery meat they served as employee meals at the restaurant. That woman was actually grilling rat for dinner, and there was a second one hanging out in a cage. And people ask why I’m vegetarian.
So those are the week’s best, worst and strangest parts. Thanks, as always, for the emails and letters. If you’re thinking about writing, think about including some pictures. I only brought about 10, and I’m moving to a very empty house very soon and need something to put on the walls.
Oh. And if the postal workers at your post office return three letters you’ve tried to send me with the reason, “West Africa’s not a country”, slap their fingers with a ruler. Then find a different post office.
Mid-week, my Tchokossi teacher and I arrived at our class and learned that I am now the only Tchokossi student. The business trainee headed to Mango switched posts, which means I no longer have a neighbor 30k away from Sagbiebou. It also means I get private language classes to learn whatever health-related vocabulary I want. For instance, the Tchokossi word for malaria, pongombie, is a combination of “horse” (pongo) and “urine” (mbie). Evidently, malarial urine resembles that of a horse.
I also learned the word for guinea worm, which coincided with the previous day’s technical session on said worm. A word of advice before today’s health session: don’t drink untreated water, because that’s how you get guinea worm – and you don’t want it. The worm injects its eggs into water. If consumed at the correct stage in its wormy life, the worm can live in one’s body from nine to 12 months before announcing its presence. It usually migrates to the feet, arms, or hands and moves to the skin’s surface, forming a painful blister. When the person submerges the infected area in water, the worm pops out to inject its eggs into the water and start the cycle again. The only way to remove the worm is to pull it out by slowly wrapping it around a thin stick. If it breaks, you’ve got a new permanent, but dead, friend.
The good news is that guinea worm has almost been completely eradicated in Togo. The two cases recorded this year came from Ghana. Nonetheless, I hold to my original plan: if I get guinea worm, I’m going home. I probably wouldn’t know I had it until I got home anyway, so it works out.
This week another CHAP trainee left for the US, bringing our training group down to 13 (one girl left after two days in Nyogbo). After the goodbyes, I went home and cheered myself up with my newly arrived dark chocolate M&Ms (thanks, mom! Mail was fabulous this week – Katie and Lori, two thumbs up… still contemplating on whether to share). I also went on a run, joined by my host mom (she lasted five minutes), Felicia/Felicité, my 15 year-old neighbor (she almost made it the whole way) and Koku, another young neighbor (he lasted the entire run and picked up a friend). This gives me hope for a future Sagbiebou running club.
Finally, we did a second home visit this week. My group’s visits were standard – families with no mosquito nets, no latrines, frequent malaria cases. However, one group visited a woman busy grilling mystery meat. In New Orleans, we used to joke about the ratburgers, the mystery meat they served as employee meals at the restaurant. That woman was actually grilling rat for dinner, and there was a second one hanging out in a cage. And people ask why I’m vegetarian.
So those are the week’s best, worst and strangest parts. Thanks, as always, for the emails and letters. If you’re thinking about writing, think about including some pictures. I only brought about 10, and I’m moving to a very empty house very soon and need something to put on the walls.
Oh. And if the postal workers at your post office return three letters you’ve tried to send me with the reason, “West Africa’s not a country”, slap their fingers with a ruler. Then find a different post office.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
a short update for a dull week
All I can say about this week is that it passed quickly, but each day felt like an eternity. Two more weeks of training… Technically, i should be in class right now, but someone cleverly negotiated for the whole Saturday off. Since no one fought to have class, we’re actually having a proper weekend.
So in addition to two mind-numbingly dull lectures on health education in the Togolese school system, I had two Tchokossi classes this week. We learned how to count! That sound simple enough; however, there are different ways for counting things and money (and possibly a third way of counting ages, but we haven’t gotten that far yet). I’ve got the basic 1-100 down, but when it comes to franc CFA… we’re talking more math than the French “four-twenty-ten” (that’s 90 for the non-French speakers). In Tchokossi, you count money in units of five, so one is “biye”, which actually means 5 CFA. The number 20 is “dara aburayno,” which means 100 CFA. So if you have a certain amount of money, you divide by five and say that number. Confused? The trouble will start when the bean vendor tells me the price for a bag of black-eyed peas and my notebook’s at my house.
And on a different note, I’m starting a new Google group for friends and family of trainees. I’m giving administrative powers to others, as limited internet access makes monitoring a group extra challenging. To join, visit http://groups.google.com/group/pctogo0709 … someone will eventually add you. The hope with this is to put our training group’s families in touch so they can exchange info on calling cards, travel plans, mailing and whatever other fascinating topics emerge from having a kid in Peace Corps (“So what diseases has Mary had?”).
Finally, on my way to the internet cafe this morning, I bought myself a little snack. The package had a picture of little crackers that you dip in chocolate, so I thought I’d try it. The chocolate was dry and crusty, so I just ate the cracker sticks. Next time when the package says, “Quality Food You Never Taste!” I’ll pay closer attention.
Happy August, folks.
So in addition to two mind-numbingly dull lectures on health education in the Togolese school system, I had two Tchokossi classes this week. We learned how to count! That sound simple enough; however, there are different ways for counting things and money (and possibly a third way of counting ages, but we haven’t gotten that far yet). I’ve got the basic 1-100 down, but when it comes to franc CFA… we’re talking more math than the French “four-twenty-ten” (that’s 90 for the non-French speakers). In Tchokossi, you count money in units of five, so one is “biye”, which actually means 5 CFA. The number 20 is “dara aburayno,” which means 100 CFA. So if you have a certain amount of money, you divide by five and say that number. Confused? The trouble will start when the bean vendor tells me the price for a bag of black-eyed peas and my notebook’s at my house.
And on a different note, I’m starting a new Google group for friends and family of trainees. I’m giving administrative powers to others, as limited internet access makes monitoring a group extra challenging. To join, visit http://groups.google.com/group/pctogo0709 … someone will eventually add you. The hope with this is to put our training group’s families in touch so they can exchange info on calling cards, travel plans, mailing and whatever other fascinating topics emerge from having a kid in Peace Corps (“So what diseases has Mary had?”).
Finally, on my way to the internet cafe this morning, I bought myself a little snack. The package had a picture of little crackers that you dip in chocolate, so I thought I’d try it. The chocolate was dry and crusty, so I just ate the cracker sticks. Next time when the package says, “Quality Food You Never Taste!” I’ll pay closer attention.
Happy August, folks.
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