thanks

Thank you to everyone who pledged for the Girls' Education Bike Tour. I may have asked prematurely, as I may not be able to go (and won't know until Thursday, the day before I have to return to Dapaong for the tour). In any case, I'm planning on going on it, but if things change, I will let everyone know. Your money, of course, would still be welcome, but I understand if you prefer to donate on the condition that I actually bike.

As for AIDS ride this week, it went wonderfully until Wednesday night when I lost my lunch (several times) in a field next to the school where we were sleeping. I spent Thursday sleeping in the chase car, on school benches and on a mat on the ground. Peace Corps would be significantly easier without all the illness.

So I spent the week riding 127k on my bike and doing condom demonstrations for crowds of all ages. There was more to the presentations than that, but condoms got by far the most reactions all week long. Here are some pictures.














Helen on the road from Nano to Malagou, Day 3.














Amanda and Helen pushing bikes up the mountain on AIDS Walk (Wednesday was a tough day).














Showing my appreciation for the awesome baobab tree outside Bagou (or Bogou, we went to both).















Naki-Ouest's elementary school students mobbing to check out the new arrivals (Day 1).

the begging begins

Hello again friends. The disadvantage to my being in Dapaong is I start clogging your inboxes with my incessant rambling. However, I'll try to keep this short and toss in some photos for your enjoyment.

Next week, I'm participating in AIDS ride, in which volunteers spend the week biking
around region doing presentations on AIDS in different villages. About two weeks later, with more volunteers, I will bike the length of Togo, from Cinkasse to Lome to raise funds for the Karren Waid Foundation, a Peace Corps fund that supports girls' education. All participating volunteers find sponsors for the ride (it's like those walks where you pay five cents for every mile I walk). My target is a total of $100 for the whole ride (school fees for a year of middle school are about 5,000 CFA, which is roughly $10, not including books and uniforms). So basically, if five people want to give $20, I would reach my goal. Or 20 people could give $5.00 and fund about six girls' scholarships (each scholarship is around 15,000 CFA).

Please email me at ljgolden@gmail.com if you're interested. At this point, I just need you to pledge - the details of how we will actually get this money will come later. I think what will happen is when the tour organizer, Dun Grover, goes home for Christmas, he will collect checks, so you would mail them to him. Again, more details to come.

Thanks ahead of time, and enjoy the photos (if I succeed in uploading them).










The Oti River and oncoming storm (which totally soaked me). Now that rainy season is over, this river is significantly smaller.














The women's side of the Ramadan prayer service at the elementary school.



















My wonderful neighbor girls, Izafot (4) and Hanatou (2). They're fun, but a little too much at times (the baby hasn't quite learned how to share yet).

some events of the last month

After 19 days in Sagbiebou and 26 days withough internet (that’s alot for someone whose job used to essentially be responding to emails), I’m happy to report I’m still alive.

The highlight of those 19 days was spending five of them sweating in my bed and on my floor, temporarily out of order with what I’ll call a bacterial sinus infection (who cares about technicalities – what it was was unpleasant). The highlight of that experience was walking ino my kitchen one night to discover maybe 100 tiny spiders converting everything in my cooking area – dirty dishes, sponges, stove, med kit – into their new home.

So I killed them.

Before disappearing into my house for a week, I celebrated the end of Ramadan with my neighbors and landlord. This means I went to a huge service at the elementary school with them, then greeted the village chief and other important community figures. In the evening, I visited my landlord and spent the most awkward hour and a half sitting at a table with him, a lady with a baby (a wife?) and my neighbor Alima, with an audience of 20 children. We listened to his stereo, drank Fanta and he and I ate. I shared with Alima, i.e., tried to get her to eat the meat while I ate the cous-cous around it. Like I said, awkward, and very anti-climactic, as the way people talked up this celebration, I was expecting music and dancing in the street. I suppose that comes from living in New Orleans.

I spent several weeks half-heartedly searching for the middle school director. We finally met the day before school started. He told me I could start a health club and I told him I could help teach English. I always told myself I would never teach, but I’m excited to start. I observed one of the classes this week and just being at the school is 100 times more interesting than sitting at the clinic.

This Wednesday, 31 students attended the first health club meeting. I think it was forced attendance; before my counterpart, the science teacher, arrived, only one kid said he was there for the meeting. Anyway, I introduced myself, we played a name-game (or tried) and I asked what they wanted to do with the club (get soccer balls and jerseys). Then I gave them an anonymous health questionnaire to see what they know. More than half of them think malaria comes from the sun and that condoms are 100% effective in preventing pregnancy and STIs. Considering the number who also said they have sex, this demands attention. Hopefully, they come back next time.

I’m still far from fluent in Tchokossi, but can now greet (or at least respond to greetings) in Gan-Gan and Mossi (Burkina language). One of the Mossi yam and melon vendors forced a language lesson on me two weeks ago. Then she decided she wanted to pay someone to paint (henna) my feet. So last Sunday afternoon, I sat in the market and let a woman put henna and ash on my feet and left hand (I tried to discourage the whole event by saying I have dirty, stinky feet, but they insisted). The ash turns the designs black, so basically, I look like I walked through coal. Everyone else loves it, and my friend was so happy she air-kissed me. I gave them brownies to say thanks.

And as always, thanks to everyone who’s been writing. Mail is almost better than chocolate – chocolate makes me fat, and letters make me happy (but if you want to send both, I'll just be fat and happy). So thanks, and eventually, you will receive a response.

Work, markets and elections

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.