Saying Goodbye

Apres, tout a l'heure, au revoir, blatasie.
My life is now filled with daily tests on the proper way to say goodbye. The only english most of the kids in my village know is "bye bye." Grandma Pat passed away this week. The glue that held together the Dilgers.
It's hard enough to imagine going back to life in the States. But now I'll be going back to holidays and family gatherings without the one constant the family has always relied on. The grandkids always knew where she hid the candy. And everyone could bet on the mashed potatoes being both runny and lumpy at the same time. I don't know if any of us will forget her dancing to Souja Boy at Tricia and Steve's wedding. She took her role as Grandma very seriously- always the loyal babysitter and spoiling us at every chance she had. I was a lucky one- I had her in my life for 22 years. And as the first granddaughter I was always showered with her affection. She taught me the importance of family. Even during my horrible teenage phase when I wanted nothing to do with my family. I could always rely on her for a hug good-bye. And as I grew-up and she shrunk, it was difficult not to leave without a smile on my face because of how funny we looked.
The Togolese save up for months in order to have the proper funeral. Their funerals are a true celebration of the person's life; filled with music, dancing, and food. Although I may not have the Dilgers around for hugs; I am saying goodbye with nothing but happy memories.

Le Fete de Couteau

A few weeks ago I went to the knife festival in Sokode. It was one of the coolest things I have done in Togo. The tradition goes, the men (and women and children) wash their bodies with a special soap that prevents knifes from penatrating their skin. African Voodoo. Saturday the entire city of Sokode got together to watch people perform. It was wild to watch. Outside of the main event, there were hundreds of men who would run up to us asking for money in exchange for their new talents. I even saw a man eat glass.







Gender Equality



Age Equality

6ish Month Mark

I've been in Togo for 6 months now. I've learned so much about myself, the people here, and living abroad. I wanted to write something really insightful, but I'm not feeling very deep right now. I've been busy lately. I went to in-service training last week. All the volunteers brought their homologues and we discussed potential projects at post. Right now I'm in Lome enjoying cheese and ice cream. Next week I leave to visit the Tedders in Cape Town. I can't wait to see how much Gen and Viv have grown!
I have updated my picasa page with some pictures, so be sure to check that out.

http://picasaweb.google.com/nicoletevans/Togo#

Cheers and be sure to leave me some love on here.

Working 2/15/2009

It seems that the wonderful days of napping and reading all day are behind me. I've been keeping busy lately. I've started an after-school club/tutoring the one thing I am very knowledgeable with- English. I struggled through years of learning French from non-native speakers, so, I'm happy to help the kids. And even now; learning French in West Africa is like going to the deep South to learn English. I teach the kids a lot of slang we use in America. But my favorite thing- something I planned while I was still in the States- is to talk about rap and hip-hop. It's a geography lesson really. West Coast v. East Coast. Chicago is heavily represented. Biggie Smalls watches us from above and Tupac lingers somewhere in between.
I've also started working with Club Espoir. It's a monthly meeting for kids infected or affected by HIV/AIDS. We play a lot of games, perform skits, watch films, eat, and just give the kids a break from their everyday lives. I go to the club meetings in Kara- which is also a thinly disguised way to enjoy a draft beer after the meeting- but they are in most major cities. During the summer each region has a week of camp with the kids. Where I am told I will learn every Togolese children's song there is.

Soul Food 2/6/2009

I lucked out with Togo. Naturally, my day revolves around it (food). And I think it's what I am going to miss the most when I leave. The fruit alone is reason is come. I have at least 28 coconut trees right outside my house. I can have freshly squeezed orange or grapefruit juice whenever I'm not feeling lazy. Pineapple, plantains, bananas, avocadoes, and papaya are all growing around me. And the mangoes tress! I'm counting down the days until mango season!
I eat more protein here than I ever did in the states. They make an unbelievable tofu here - which I crave all the time. It's made fresh the same day and seasoned. I think the soy ladies in village are my favorite people. Aside from the girl who does my laundry. I eat fresh eggs from the hens that I share the village with.
When I cook for myself, it's often American meals adapted for life in Togo. Salad, stir-fry, spaghetti, sandwiches, omelettes; the list goes on. But sometimes, I want to immerse myself in culture and maybe not eat alone all the time. And sometimes I just crave fufu and want to eat with my hands- but just the right one! So I usually wander over to my homologue's house around meal time and an invitation is extended to stay. I eat very differently from everyone else in village. Usually a protein source for them only shows up for a holiday. The kids have long limber arms with no fat on them. When they're a little older muscle appears from pulling water from the well, working in the fields, and pounding fufu. Often their bellies are swollen from the lack of good nutrition. But it's hard to ignore the big smiles on their faces.
Although drink is ignored in my little Muslim village, it lives on in my heart. Tchouk is a fermented millet drink which is consumed by the calabash. When I go to the marche in the next biggest village, I can find tchouk stands and easily lose track of time and forget to buy my food for the week. In the south the preferred drink is sodabi. It is a hard liquor and burns on the way down. There's also palm wine which is produced more in the soth from palm trees. For the kids, Togo offers delicious citron-lemonade. And bishap juice which is made from the hibiscus flower.

Inauguration Day

I was gently rocking in my hammock trying to find a clear signal on BBC when history was made this week. It feels so weird being so far away from all the action. Although, Barack's popularity has even reached my little corner of the world. And I take great pride in telling people Barack and I are from "le meme village."
I still remember first hearing about Barack. It was early in the 2004 Democratic Senate primaries. The family had been out very late and I wanted to make sure my Dad didn't fall asleep at the wheel. So I engaged him in a conversation neither of us would tire of - politics. I was probably ranting about Oberwies. But I remember my Dad saying "You know who you have to look out for? Who's going to be a real force on the political scene? Barack Obama." "Who?" "Ba-rack O-ba-ma." "Oh."
Eyeroll.
But a couple of months later I was registering people to vote on behalf of Barack (and myself, I was only 17). It's bittersweet for me not being in Chicago right now. But I'll get to watch all the speeches in 2 years. And I get to do something I'm really proud of; represent Barack, the US Government, and, of course, change.

Whacking Day

or at least that's what I've decided to name it. I don't know the actual name of the fete I attended this weekend. I've learned not to expect what will happen in any given day here. On Friday, family from all over Togo started arriving- sons and daughters who have moved to the big cities. Which is why I heard more 'anasara' whispers than usual. Saturday the village gathered in the usual spot under the big mango tree and next to the Mosque. These fetes are always akward for me because I have to sit with all the village elders. A young white woman with all the old men who can't communicate with each other beyond salutations. The teenage guys came out in pairs and taunted each other with sticks. They made extravagent gestures and swung at the air. From what I can gather, they went around all night threatening each other- African Ghost in the Graveyard! Saturday night was 'la danse da les femmes.' Two guys drumming on some overturned metal bowls while women moved their feet just as fast, kicking up the dust. I just laughed at how I could find the same beat on a corner in Chicago. But even I can admit I can't dance like that. Sunday morning was the climax of the fete - when the village gathered again to watch the guys beat each other with sticks. No joke. They always stopped before someone got hurt. But it was still hard to watch. And yet part of me wanted to drag Mr. Creepy McBecome-my-second-wife-even-though-I'm-43 into the circle and beat him, gaurdian angel style. There was no clear winner and it just ended abruptly and everyone left. This is why I'm still so confused about what happened this weekend: there were noticably more elders at the fete, but I didn't have to wear my complet. And there was electricity! For two glorious nights! I didn't sleep because I was too excited I had the opportunity to watch all the DVDs I got for Christmas. And Colbert Christmas was absolutely worth the wait.