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.

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.

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.

Things Fall Apart, Part I

I’ve been traveling since Saturday and I have yet to board a plane.

On Friday my dad called to tell me Togo made international news because of flooding down south. I knew a bridge was out on the country’s only national highway, but he got me worried. So instead of leaving Dapaong on Sunday, I went up Saturday morning and got a ride with a friend to Kara that evening. I thought I might be able to get on the bus to Lomé the next morning without a reservation. They were backed up for three days.

Fortunately, another volunteer was going down Sunday morning and we caught a bush taxi together. Everyone was in the car by 6:45 a.m. We didn’t leave Kara until 7:45. We arrived at the station in Lomé at 7:30 p.m. Twelve hours for a trip that usually takes five hours. The detour on the Kpalimé road alone took nearly five hours. We would have arrived earlier if the driver hadn’t made 53 unnecessary stops – we did a lot of screaming at him. In the end, he gave us money for our taxi ride to the Peace Corps office, but probably only because he wanted us to shut up. 

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 Africa. Now every bus, bush taxi and 18-wheeler has to take it to get to and from Lomé. Volunteers are already speculating about evacuation. The government deregulates gas prices at the end of the month and soon travel will be next to impossible. I’m skeptical about evacuation, but everything just needs to hold on until I get back. Don’t want to miss the fun. 

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.

I spent July 4^th and too many days after in Kpalime with volunteer friends who pampered me (and their three to five other guests) so much that I extended my stay by a day. I saw my host family, and yes, Esse is pregnant. She said the baby is due around December, so maybe I’ll have to plan a visit around then.

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.

On Thursday night, we had a candlelight vigil. I think the point is to give kids a chance to share their stories. I heard that last year, only one girl spoke, so I expected a repeat. Instead we had lots of sharing and LOTS of crying. I didn’t fully understand a single story, but it still made me cry because a roomful of nine-to-15-year olds were talking about their dead parents and AIDS. Besides making everyone cry, I fail to see the point of this activity, but the associations insist we do it. The next night we had a dance party, so that ended things on a happier note.

The biggest news back in village is that I got wired! My landlord plans to move into the compound soon, maybe with his family, but definitely with his generator. The electrician came Wednesday, knocked holes into my walls and now I have light bulbs and outlets. Very exciting.

One more week in village and then I begin my long voyage to America. Where I will post pictures of cute children at camp.

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.

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.

I Like Fufu

When I got here, I never thought the words, “I really want some fufu” would ever pass from my lips, but… it’s true. I now like fufu (for those unversed in West African cuisine, it’s pounded yam. Not sweet potato, although that would be delicious, just a big, white yam).

Now that I’ve made that confession, we can move on. My peer educator training is this weekend, and I can’t help feeling anxious. Here are some of the challenges I’ve encountered during the planning process.

1. After announcing the students selected to attend training I heard that one girl was upset because she wasn’t chosen. We based selection on their quizzes and input from guy I’m working with, Mr. Tairoo. So this girl had let her friend copy her quiz, and the friend was picked (not by me. Tairoo suggested her). Girl One came to see me, so we decided she could attend. Everyone has to pass the exam at the end of the weekend, without cheating, to officially become a peer educator. Except I have a hard time saying, “No,” so I hope they all pass.

2. Last Friday, Mr. Tairoo told me he was going to be in Dapaong for exam corrections Wednesday through Friday. He might be back on Saturday. The training is from Friday until Sunday. I need a new counterpart for student-related activities. He always does this! He would never tell me when he had to leave town on a Wednesday afternoon, so I would wait around for him to start health club. I don’t know how to replace him without offending him, though.

3. Yesterday, a student told me she was going to Mango until Sunday. I told her she couldn’t become a peer educator if she missed training. I really want her to attend - she’s the girl who brings my water, and I’m sending her to camp. I told Tairoo and he talked to her. Now she says she’s coming back Thursday morning.

That’s a glimpse of the frustrating planning process. I should also add to the list my own procrastination. Apparently I intend to plan my sessions in the two days before the training begins.

I spent the weekend in Mango. We had a goodbye party for Cliff, which gave us one last chance to enjoy his delicious curry pasta. On Sunday, Amanda and I did our nine-mile run. We ran out to the hippo reservoir, and this time we got a great look at the hippos. They were already in the water but very close to our path (not dangerously so. No worries, I’m not going to provoke hippo rage). As we ran past, they yawned and gnawed on each others’ heads. Looking at hippos took up about two minutes, at most, of a 90 minute run. I hope the marathon route includes distracting scenery, because if it’s 26.2 miles or rice fields, I’ll just quit.