October 22, 2009
I foolishly tried to start-up a diet today. I wish I could credit the lethargic attitude to too many carbs and too much traveling. But deep down I know the cause of my recent decline in energy- too much beer. That’s certainly something I’m not willing to give up. That’s not part of my Midwest up-brining. And I want to make my parents proud.
I wasn’t asking for anyhitng too drastic. Less carbs. Watch the sweets. More fruit- grapefruit, oranges, bananas, coconuts, and avocados are all in season. Then I discovered what’s my true downfall- the West African custom of always offering your guests food. And as a guest, always accepting. I was offered two meals today. And I really didn’t want to say no. I like fufu. You gotta love a food so easy to eat you don’t even need to chew. And the cultural exchange that comes with eating with people is technically 2/3 of my job. So it’s on to plan B- contracting giardia and/or amoebas again.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Fufu: Pure Carb Deliciousness
Fufu is one of the staple meals in Togo. I had a very difficult time describing (and eating it) when I first got to country. Like most things here, I've learned to embrace it. I even crave it now. I always eat fufu with someone in my village so not only is it a good meal, but it's also good company.
One night I asked to help prepare it with my homologue's daughter, Amdiah. I thought you'd all like to know how yams are turned into a huge gelatin-like mound.
Step One: Peel the yams. Yams are much different here. They can be the size of your arm and are white.
Step Two: Cut the yams into chunks.
Step Three: Boil the chunks until tender.
Step Four (My favorite): Pound the cooked pieces into a glob. They add water to help solidify it. This is also way they have crazy biceps here.
Step Five: Add sauce and mangeons!
One night I asked to help prepare it with my homologue's daughter, Amdiah. I thought you'd all like to know how yams are turned into a huge gelatin-like mound.
Step One: Peel the yams. Yams are much different here. They can be the size of your arm and are white.
Step Two: Cut the yams into chunks.
Step Three: Boil the chunks until tender.
Step Four (My favorite): Pound the cooked pieces into a glob. They add water to help solidify it. This is also way they have crazy biceps here.
Step Five: Add sauce and mangeons!
Friday, October 9, 2009
October 4, 2009
My best friend in village is a 5 year old. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. At family functions I routinely gravitate towards my cousins 10-15 years my junior. My last year of college; socializing with the kids I nannyed for was often easier than with my roommates. Maybe it’s my unwillingness to grow-up; as running away to Africa is proof of that.
Afisou holds a special place in my heart, above the other kids in Kéméni. When I go next door- where he lives- his Mom and the other women there immediately assume I’m only there to find him. They are constantly joking about how he’s going to come to America with me. I choose to think they’re joking- they’re probably serious.
Afisou comes to my porch every morning to say hello. This is difficult considering neither of us knows beyond a few words of our common languages. The verbal exchange usually goes something like this:
Afisou- “What’s up homes?” (I taught him some English)
Nima- “What’s up dawg?”
Afisou- “Nima! Niiiimma! Nima! Bonbon! (Sometimes this can be replaced with “ballon!”)
Nima- Grr. You only love me for my candy/soccer ball.
Afisou- “Merci! Bila bitasi!”
Last week I was in Lomé to welcome the new volunteers with lots of Awooyo (beer of choice) and sodabi (locally-made liquor). It was a fun time and made me realize how far I’ve come this past year. The ever-important obligation of introducing the newbies to their new Togolese life of drinking at 9am on the beach kept me from the first week of school in village. It was also Afisou’s first day of school. I didn’t put two and two together and was crushed when I got back to village and he came running over to my house with his new backpack. “Nima! Mendée sukuli!” And he excitedly showed off his new school supplies. I’m overprotective of all the kids in my village and want nothing more than to see them all succeed in school. But Afisou is going to have to work really hard to learn English by the time I leave if he wants to come with. At least he has me to teach him slang so he’ll run with the cool second-grade crowd in America.
My best friend in village is a 5 year old. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. At family functions I routinely gravitate towards my cousins 10-15 years my junior. My last year of college; socializing with the kids I nannyed for was often easier than with my roommates. Maybe it’s my unwillingness to grow-up; as running away to Africa is proof of that.
Afisou holds a special place in my heart, above the other kids in Kéméni. When I go next door- where he lives- his Mom and the other women there immediately assume I’m only there to find him. They are constantly joking about how he’s going to come to America with me. I choose to think they’re joking- they’re probably serious.
Afisou comes to my porch every morning to say hello. This is difficult considering neither of us knows beyond a few words of our common languages. The verbal exchange usually goes something like this:
Afisou- “What’s up homes?” (I taught him some English)
Nima- “What’s up dawg?”
Afisou- “Nima! Niiiimma! Nima! Bonbon! (Sometimes this can be replaced with “ballon!”)
Nima- Grr. You only love me for my candy/soccer ball.
Afisou- “Merci! Bila bitasi!”
Last week I was in Lomé to welcome the new volunteers with lots of Awooyo (beer of choice) and sodabi (locally-made liquor). It was a fun time and made me realize how far I’ve come this past year. The ever-important obligation of introducing the newbies to their new Togolese life of drinking at 9am on the beach kept me from the first week of school in village. It was also Afisou’s first day of school. I didn’t put two and two together and was crushed when I got back to village and he came running over to my house with his new backpack. “Nima! Mendée sukuli!” And he excitedly showed off his new school supplies. I’m overprotective of all the kids in my village and want nothing more than to see them all succeed in school. But Afisou is going to have to work really hard to learn English by the time I leave if he wants to come with. At least he has me to teach him slang so he’ll run with the cool second-grade crowd in America.
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