Rainy Season August 12, 2009

August 12, 2009
You don't live in the Pacific Northwest without learning to embrace the rain. In Africa-I've realized, rain has a different meaning.
Foremost, it brings much needed relief from the heat. I can now cook inside and simply sit and read a book without sweating. Everything's green now and planting season is in full swing. Every extra plot of land in my village is now occupied by stalks of corn. It's difficult to walk through Kéméni without wanting to have a Pocahontas moment and run between the rows. My days are filled with the sound of rain falling on my tin roof and the waterfall that is now in full force cascading down the mountain.
The rains also mean everyone is out working the fields - all the time. And my little 2 plot garden just doesn't fill-up my days. So rainy season has challenged my mental state above everything else.
I have also learned a valuable lesson I probably would have been blissfully ignorant of in America; There is no produce during rainy season. I haven't seen a decent tomato in weeks. Some relief came this week while I was at the marché and I heard that familiar pounding of fufu. I have been going through fufu withdrawal lately and I can't wait to have my 'fufu baby' stomach again.
Just another example of Togo teaching me about the bigger things. How important the season is when your livelihood rests on growing your own food. I think Mufasa taught Simba something like that.

Summertime in Africa

How to Make a Togolese Kid Love You
July 6, 2009

Thank you so much for everyone who helped donate soccer balls. The Hoffman Estates United Soccer Club donated about 50 soccer balls that my Dad sent to me. My mom held a small fundraiser at the school where she works, Link School in Elk Grove Village, to pay for shipping them to Africa. I have since distributed them to about 25 Peace Corps volunteers in Togo. The volunteers are now planning various activities and making lots of new friends. The CEG girls soccer team I play with in my village now has a new ball and doesn’t have to play with an old volleyball anymore. Thanks again!

Soyez les Bienvenue au Togo!
July 26, 2009 (Happy Birthday Dad!)

Calling home once a week always leaves me feeling frustrated. Besides the French that is now sprinkled into my everyday vocabulary making English difficult for me, I get the feeling that the family may never really understand what my life is like here. The third goal of Peace Corps is the cultural exchange between volunteers and the family and friends they leave behind in the states. So I was ecstatic when a friend decided to embrace the challenge and come visit.

I spent the weeks prior to her arrival telling everyone in my village about how my “sister” was coming all the way from America. I worked hard to get my garden and compost looking good. After a long awaited reunion, we spent a few days catching up and enjoying beers on the beach in Lomé.

I was most excited to show her village life. Which she embraced fully; we even found ways to combat the lack of alcohol. I was nervous to have someone outside of Peace Corps see what kind of work I’m doing here. Mostly because some days my days are filled with reading, napping, and cooking. But I kept her busy. She met all my friends in village, learned a little kotokoli, played with the kids- including the 4 year old I plan on bringing home. We went to the Community Clinic and helped the Midwife conduct exams on expectant mothers. We dressed in my best complets and walked the 7km to my market. We hiked the mountain next to my house. We ate with my neighbors and enjoyed traditional Togolese dishes. But by far the coolest thing we were able to do was participate in a soccer game with the CEG girls. All 30 girls showed up the played and we had over 75 people cheering us on from the sidelines. It was really empowering to know that before I came these girls didn’t have the opportunity to play because no one was encouraging them to do so. I was so glad my friend was there to witness it with me. She even scored a penalty shot.

We spent the end of her trip traveling a bit around Togo. We went to the Tatas, the tourist destination in Togo. They are primitive 2-story mud huts and we got to sleep on the roof. Then we visited my host mom and gifted her a guinea fowl that I brought 150km because no trip to Africa would be complete without traveling over 2 days with livestock.
Thanks again for coming to visit girl. Having you here really validated the work I am doing. I hope you had as much fun as I did.



All dressed up to go to the market

The Tatas

With Billie Jean

Hiking Mt Agou

Evela, a Togolese Wrestling Fête
July 29, 2009

The smaller the village, the bigger the fête. Or so the Peace Corps Togo saying goes. I love village fêtes, it is an opportunity to dance, eat, dress-up, and immerse myself in culture. And I really love fêtes that aren’t in my village because then I get to start drinking at 9am. So I jumped at the chance to go to Evela, a wrestling fête for the Kaybé ethnic group.

It’s a coming of age passage once a year when teenage boys eat dog for strength and wrestle eachother. There’s also a large sum of sodabé consumed. A few hours in the morning were dedicated to wrestling and declaring a winner. But after repos, it was time to get down and dance. What seemed like the entire village packed into a small compound and we moved to the beat of the tum-tum. To encourage good dancing, some women went around and shook baby powder onto certain people. I’m still trying to work that smell out of my clothes from that day.
No doubt about it, the Togolese may work hard, but they definitely party harder.

Camp Unite
August 8, 2009
It’s funded and run by Americans, but there were still times during Camp Unite when I thought “only in Togo.” I spent the last week as a camp counselor for the boys students camp. All of the campers were nominated by Peace Corps volunteers for their motivation and work in their respected communities.

The week was full of challenges, difficulties, and fun. My French was tested all week as this was the most language I’ve had in my service. I gave a presentation on HIV/AIDS to 50 adolescent boys. I stood up for all women when a Togolese counselor told the boys that if girls dress sexy they are asking to be sexually harassed and/or raped. (And I won). But many things came easily, playing basketball with the kids and getting in front of everyone and singing “Koffi Mapulo.” One night we had a talent show and my cabin performed 2 traditional dances and a song that one of the guys made up- a song about abstinence, only in Togo. We had seminar everyday in small groups to discuss the topics of the camp- self confidence, good communication, gender equality, and family planning. It was so amazing to work with these students who are such assets to their villages.

On the last day after our team challenge the boys all really came together and each one of them said how the camp has changed their lives and what they are going to bring back home. For most of these kids it’s the best week of their lives and not just because they eat so well. That afternoon we promenaded into town singing and dancing. After an award presentation and candle-lit ceremony, there was a bonfire. By Saturday morning everyone’s legs hurt from dancing and no one had a voice from singing too much.

The boys get a taste of pregnancy, for about 2 hours.

Working through a team challenge

obituary

On June 17th, something very close and dear to me died. My Chaco flip-flops. They didn’t die as much as they fell out of my bike bag. Although, I did have to bring them to the shoe repair guy at the marche on 4 separate occasions. I had worn these shoes almost everyday for the last year and they were with me as I grew-up from college graduate to globe-trotting adult. They were with me when I had my first glimpse of the big wide world; traveling to 8 countries and 3 continents. Now I’m left to wear the same tapettes every Togolese has, costing about sixty cents. I’m apprehensive as to whether they can provide the same support and grow with me. I’ll just have to suffer until the new pair my parents sent arrives.

Ouagadougou

June 18, 2009
A Peace Corps Volunteer on “vacation” is a peculiar thing. I learned a lot about my mental state on a recent vacation. A friend and I took a trip to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso last week. We were excited to leave village life behind for a few days. Our first night in Ouaga we met some travelers from Europe. They were desperately seeking culture in this large African city. One of them came back to the bar with a bottle of tchouk stating, “I went out for cigarettes and asked for the local spirits.” Chrissy and I look at each other and say “Mmm, I could go for some tchouk right now.” But what’s tchouk with a thcouk Mama serving it to you out of a garbage can, drinking out of a calabash, and practicing local language? They asked us lots of questions about Peace Corps, Togo, our work, and what we were doing in Ouaga. They laughed at our answer to the latter; “The American Rec Center has a pool and serves milkshakes and bacon cheeseburgers.”
We didn’t try to escape all Burkinabe culture- we went to the Grand Marche where artesial men trying to sell their goods swarmed us. We discovered that the more prominence Islam has in a country, the worse the beer. Ouaga is the film capital of West Africa hosting a biannual festival. We tried unsuccessfully, because apparently no one goes to the cinema at 10:30 on a Thursday night, to see “Ouaga Battle”- which judging by the poster could have also been named “You Got Served 3: Africa.”
The last night in Ouaga we took our European friends out to a buvette; where Chrissy and I were comfortable with cheap beers and P Squared blasting form the speakers. In the early morning when we called it a night we left with this parting advice for those seeking West African culture: Try fufu! It’s delicious!

Cine Burkina

Watered-down Beer

Sacred Burkina Tortoise

OuagaBattle

I'm Not Just a Passerby - May 28, 2009

It started with a need to get out of the house. I’ve become bored with my 30g of music, there aren’t any books in my possession that are read or die right now. I was antsy. There’s only so much time I can spend planning my end-of-service trip.
This was the week I came to terms with the fact that I fit into the "cultural" aspect of Peace Corps much more than the "work" part. So maybe I won’t be able to bring solar energy to Kemeni- but I can tell everyone about Deep Dish Pizza.
I saluated my butt off. I "konkari"-ed and "mam-mam-mam"-ed everyone I walked by. I sat under the Neem tree with a group of women and helped with the mundane chores and listened to them chit-chat. I played a silent version of "Simon Says" with the kids. I put on my best "Mama Africa" face and did as the locals do.
When in Rome…
On Monday, I looked out my back window to see someone decapitate a sheep with a dull machete.
On Tuesday, I was invited to dinner at the CEG director’s house. And I was more than willing to help pound the fufu. With all the hard work that goes into preparing meals here, the level of appreciation for the food is justified.
On Wednesday, I got to watch the Manchester v. Barcelona soccer match. Someone in Kemeni has a generator and TV for occasions just that this. It was so crazy. Easily over 150 people crammed into a courtyard watching a 16" TV. Everyone going wild when a goal is scored. The teenage boys taking of their shirts and chanting. They has that same proud look in their eyes my brothers get when they watch the White Sox.
On Thursday, I had the village fou wander into my courtyard after a day in the fields. It took me about 5 seconds to spot the ankle bone sticking out from where he sliced himself with a hoe.
Dinner was another invitation for fufu accompanied by a lecture about "the sorcerers chez-vous build cars and machines. But in Africa they kill and eat people."
Friday started with a visit to the CEG to wish the 3eme students "bon chance" on their examinations next week. If they do well they are able to continue on to Lycee.
Then I was off for my African mani-pedi. There is a plant here the women use to stain their nails and feet. It’s traditionally worn for a wedding-, which was my first problem. Now I have people asking who my husband is and when I’m getting married. When I respond "maybe 10 years, maybe never" they laugh. The second problem is that while the stain looks good on the dark-espresso tone of African skin, it’s bright orange on my pasty white skin. It looks like I have some gnarly fungus on my feet.
In the afternoon as I walking home from my class at the CEG I was stressing about what I’d make for dinner, when I’d get to the post office next, when I’d next have to slave over laundry. And then it occurred to me- this is my life. I live here. In the African bush. How the ____ did that happen?

Camp Togo - May 21, 2009

I was daydreaming about a camping trip I took this past summer with my siblings. My thoughts quickly turned to what I often think about- the future. Specifically, what life is going to be like for me when I get back to the states. I think about all the silly things here that I can’t wait to bring to stateside. A specific way to light matches, giving someone my phone number by saying "nine-hundred eighty-six nineteen fifty-eight." Taking you all out for fufu and probably repeatedly saying "yeah, but imagine 2 years of this." Wowing you with my soccer skills and my less-impressive form of hillbilly French.
Mostly I’m excited for that first summer back in Chicago; the White Sox, Umphrey’s shows, and camping trips. That’s when the lightbulb went off. I’m camping now. That’s all my Peace Corps experience really is. Twenty-seven months of camping. No electricity. No running water.
Reading by candlelight. Sleeping on the hard ground. Napping in a hammock. Drinking 27oz beers. I’m going to be a pro at this by the time I get back. I can’t wait for those bacon s’mores again. Mom, next care package please send marshmallows.

Partyin Peeps