the big one!

December 18, 2010
Three months in Togo today! Adjusting to village life has been challenging in ways I never imagined. For the first three weeks I could not use my bike because of a flat tire, so I walked 30 minutes to and from school five days a week.  Being white, being foreign, I felt like everyones new plaything.  Children and adults alike would yell "yovo," the word for white in Ewe, and giggle profusely when I would respond that my name is not whitey, it is Afi.  That is my village name, meaning I was born on Friday.  People here have names of Monday through Sunday, although those who have been baptized often go by a christian name.  The walk would some times feel torturously long, like submitting myself to harassment for other peoples entertainment.  The reality is that I have no idea what people mean by it.  Sometimes I feel like they are just trying to say hi, other times I feel like they are making fun of me.  I understand them about as well as they understand me, and how harshly I take it is a result of how stressful any day has been in other terms of work or cultural integration.  Are they laughing at me or with me?  Maybe it is up to me to decide.  I don't need to tolerate being called Yovo, but maybe I shouldn't take myself so seriously.

Going to the market has been one of my biggest stresses.  There is a little market everyday and big market every Thursday.  The last two weeks that I have been to the big market have felt like a complete disaster.  Last week I was so stressed out by the yovoing and the attention that I ended up leaving without buying anything.  This past week I decided to give it a try again.  I wandered through the stalls with fabric, not finding anything I liked and feeling like I had pissed off the people selling stuff by coming to look and not buying anything.  Maybe window shopping doesn't exist here?  Then I decided to buy some fruit.  I asked for a quantity of oranges that turned out to be double what I wanted.  Lost in the miscommunication I decided to just take the whole lot and will not need to buy oranges again for some time.  I know that given time my interactions will cease to feel so foreign, but right now it is pretty frustrating.

Now I'm back on the bike.  It has felt extremely liberating to be able to fly by the attention and go about my merry way without having to think about it.  Sometimes, for my own sanity, its just easier to put on my headphones and get to where I'm going without being harassed.  It has also given me the opportunity to explore my area a bit more.  Every day this week I have gone a bicycle adventure to find out what lies at the end of a new road.  Tuesday I biked 6 km South to the market in Ahepe. Wednesday I headed towards the fields behind my house to the North. I rode downhill about 5-6 km.  People kept asking me where I was going, perplexed by my destinationless journey.  There are only a handful of people who understand the concept of exercising for the sake of exercising. Turns out that there is not much more than fields of yams and manioc and corn before it eventually turns into the "forrest," so I after a while I  turned around and headed home. Thursday i biked 8 km East to the village of Gboto.  Friday was my favorite trip yet.  I believe I was headed North West and ended up biking up and down hills past a village called Live (no idea how it is pronounced).  The road is by far the best one out of my village, the only one that is not riddled with pot holes the size of VW beetles. As I travelled I saw hills and valleys and enormous Boabab trees.  My area is really quite beautiful.  As I continue to get into better biking shape, I hope to be able to conquer further distances and see more of my neighboring villages. 

My most ridiculous adventure happened last Sunday.  After many text messages trying to arrange a surf day with a frenchman living in Togo, we set a time and place to meet.  I spent Saturday night watching a surf film, Dear and Yonder, with some of the members of my new host family while my "sister" Esse helped me wax my board.  She didn't really understand where the wax went and why and everyone thought that I was one of the women in the film.  I guess my haircut does give me a fair resemblance to Belinda Bags. 

The following morning around 6 AM I hopped onto a motorcycle with my surfboard and headed for Ahepe where I transferred to a bush taxi, a van meant to fit 12 that might get in as many as 20 if people don't mind sitting on eachothers laps.  Some men quickly took my board and strapped it onto the bush taxi and then proceeded to drive away with out me.  While I was fairy certain they were just going to go up and down the road looking for passengers, there was a part of me that was terrified that I just lost my board, or that I would find it returned to be broken in half.  A man near me could see the anxiety written on my face and tried to assure me that the car was coming back and not to worry, I had no idea that he was actually the driver who would take us to Lome and it was his apprentice who went joy riding for passengers.  15 minutes later, the bush taxi rolled back to us and much relieved I was on my way.  After an hour and a half of being crammed in the back of this van I arrived in Lome.  I then walked for about 20 minuts with my board to the beach road, where I was picked up by my new friends (until this point still virtual strangers) and wisked off to the beach.  In that car was the surfing frenchman and his wife and another american from Manhattan Beach whose wife is teaching at the American school in Lome. When I informed my mother that I intended to embark on this adventure, she was terrified of me going off anywhere with people I don't know, but really I found the idea far less terrifying than hopping onto a motorcycle or into a bush taxi with a total stranger.  Its all relative, and everything is relatively dangerous here.  I find myself having to keep a constant balance between supreme vigilance and blind faith in strangers.

 Cristal Plage is a beach break, and it was about as good as high tide, head high and closing out can be anywhere.  However, after three months of no surfing, I'm not going to be picky.  I was just happy to get in the water.  The two men, Stephane and John, went to surf inside the jetty at the port and left Aurelie and I at the beach break.  I spent about two hours being sent through the washing machine before calling it a day, salty and satisfied that I had already managed to get to the beach in my first month at post.  There is talk to beach day in Anecho next month to surf the point break at the river mouth.  I have driven past it twice, and it looks like with any kind of size, it would be pretty fun.  However I have only seen it about knee high and it doesn't look powerful enough to surf at that height. 

While I'm working towards community integration in my village, it is nice to feel like I have other communities to be part of as well.  I have the community of volunteers in general, the community of my cluster mates, and now the community of my fellow surfers.  What is even better is that I didn't expect that I would have women to surf with in Togo.  Aurelie was a huge surprise, and though I didn't meet her, I have now been in contact with a german girl named Danika working in Lome who is starting to surf as well.  It is nice to feel grounded in activities which are familiar when the rest of your world feels as if you have just walked through the looking glass.

December 18, 2010
Sickness

Just when you think you are adjusting to life, that a cold bucket shower isn't that bad, and that a hot one is pretty fantastic, you get food poisoning.  I ate beans and rice for lunch yesterday and two hours later, in the middle of basketball practice, I start throwing it up.  I had to bike home, worried the whole time I would puke on the ride and then laid down and did not get up again except for intermittent vomiting until the this afternoon.  I fraught over the idea of sleeping on my clean sheets covered in sweat and dirt from basketball, but I just did not have the energy to shower, and by shower I mean continuously pour water over my head.  All I wanted in the world was to be able to sit in a bathtub under running water and not move for at least 20 minutes. 

Now all food that I have been eating here sounds repulsive and I would give my left arm to be able to go into an american grocery store or restaurant and pick out what ever I would like to eat.  It reminds me a bit of after my tonsillectomy when I kept seeing ads on television for fast food or I would drive by KFC and begin salivating over the idea of fried chicken.  When I finally started to eat solid food again, I never did end up going and eating that crap.  It was probably more a frustration over not having a choice in the matter.  I do currently find myself salivating daily over the idea of real ice cream or smoothies and every time I read a mention of food in any of the novels I'm reading I stop and repeat it with a sigh, just trying to imagine what eating it would be like now. Hot dogs.  Deli sandwhiches. Filet-o-Fish…  The list goes on.  The funny thing is that I have had no serious problem cooking very delicious things for myself here.  I make a delicious Alfredo sauce,  curry several times a week and have even learned how to make Thai peanut sauce.  All thanks to the PC issued cookbook "Where There is No Whopper," a joke in reference to the old medical guide volunteers received titled "Where There is No Doctor."

However, being sick was the first time since I arrived three months ago that I began to feel like I was missing the conveniences of home.  The physical labor of everything we do here really started to feel laborious. On the bright side, my host family was charmingly worried about me and one of my basketball players even stopped by to see if I was doing any better than yesterday.  I spent the entire day in bed, so I must have looked a hot mess when he showed up at my door.  Then the girl who "cleans" my house, although I'm not really sure what she does beyond sweep and mop, showed up to work, but it was too much of a disaster here for her to clean anything. I asked her to come back next week. Funny how you have to clean before your house keeper comes. Thank god I don't have to do my laundry before my laundry girl comes!

December 22, 2010
In some ways I'm pretty bored, and in others this past week and a half has been the best vacation I could ask for.  Before coming to Togo I was working 6-7 days a week, and often had mentoring commitments on my only days off.  I loved both of my jobs and mentoring, but it had really begun to wear me down months before it ended.  Then I got here and was thrown into 6 days a week of training and the never ending excitement and drain of meeting new people and trying to navigate my way in a new culture.  This is the first time in over a year that I feel like I have had time to breath.  I have read six books, taken numerous lengthy bike rides and have played basketball several times.  Once I start teaching in January and figure out what the hell else I am supposed to be working on, all my free time may come to an end, but for now I am just going to soak it up and appreciate every carefree minute I have. 

I can't remember what I've said about my house.  I live in a village of maybe 10-20,000 people.  I live in a concession of maybe 15, if not more.  My building is two stories, though in true third world fashion, the second story is a work in progress.  The floor plan of the second floor is a complete mystery to me.  I can't tell which rooms are meant for what, and what is ultimately intended to be a water closet or an actual closet.  As I have seen in Mexico and Costa Rica, Togo is littered with unfinished projects.  Someone gets enough money to start something, so they start it, but it may be several years if ever before they come up with the money to finish it.  When my predecessor moved in, the second story had walls but no roof so when it rained the water pooled on the second floor, seeped into the walls and leaked into the first floor everywhere.  It also caused the ceiling to sad which in turn caused all the closets to smoosh down enough that none of the doors close properly. The old volunteer insisted that the landlord put a roof on, and I am ever grateful to him that I will not have to deal with the leaks.  I am however inheriting a house full or water marked walls and what looks like mold in the bathroom.  I intend to have at least some of the rooms repainted, but for now am living with a pepto bismol pink livingroom and kitchen that reminds me of the color of my old carpet in my last apartment.  I mean this both in terms of the dusty rose color and the dirt.  Along with water marks on the walls, ants are a constant presence here.  The last volunteer thinks they have taken up residence in the walls where the cement may have degraded due to the constant moisture.  I have no idea, what I do know is that controlling them seems virtually impossible and eradicating the will probably never happen.  My mefliquin dreams haven't been too bad, but swarms of ants are a constant theme. 

Another interesting thing about my home is that even the first floor has the distinct air of not having all been constructed at the same time.  I don't know if they only decided to paint the terrace, or if my kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom where a later addition.  Based on the size of the rooms, my bedroom and living room would have been a respectable size for a volunteer or Togolese home all by itself.  Tthen there are the doors.  In what I suspect to be the older section of the home, the doors all match.  They are big and the one in the hallway doesn't open all the way. The rest of the doors are smaller and seem much cheaper.  I understand doors in the bedrooms and bathrooms, but why the hallway and kitchen need doors that have locks with keys is beyond me.  Maybe it is just how they do things here.

All in all it is a good house, especially since there is the roof!  I may not have running water, but I do have space. Once I get some fresh paint on the walls and some new fabric on the sofa and windows I think it will really feel all mine.  I certainly would never find an apartment in Los Angeles with two bedrooms and separate living room and kitchen for $40 a month!  That value is a lot more fun if you don't evaluate in terms of my monthly income living here compared to there.

January 11, 1011

What is work?

This past weekend I was invited by my proviseur to a village meeting to celebrate and announce the new members of canton development committees. I showed up 30 minutes late only to discover that next to no one had arrived.  Two hours later the representative of the chiefdom showed up and things got started.  First lesson learned, never show up that early.

I took a seat in the back as I watched people trickle in, not really sure what was going to happen at the meeting.  I said hi to the few people I know in village and then was hunted down by one of the committee members because they had a special seat for me on stage.  In this seat I was essentially stuck for the whole meeting.  Second lesson learned, a place d'honneur can be a cursed place to sit. 

I was at this event for over 6 hours, stuck on stage, lost as to what was going on, but i guess fulfilling my duty of being the token white person.  My biggest fear was that they would make me say something, but that fortunately didn't happen.  Since most of the meeting was conducted in Ewe, I really had no idea what was going on at any given time.  I did know that about 4 hours in I started to get hungry and thirsty and that made me pretty antsy for the last two hours.

Part of my job here in Togo is to be a representative of America.  I never would have thought about that before coming here.  I signed up for Peace Corps purely thinking about sharing technical knowledge and having an adventure.  Really it only makes sense that by coming here to do that, I am also shaping local opinions about what Americans are like.  Thus I am in fact working just by being here and being the American, and I will be successful at my job if they think that Americans are hard working, adaptable, helpful, respectful and openminded.  So by being patient enough to sit through this meeting, I was being a good volunteer.  Every time I leave my house to do anything is considered work. 

The following morning, celebrations continued with catholic mass.  I donned my most ridiculous pange and showed up at church, again too early, terrified at how long this one was going to last, but secure in a spot that I could get up and leave at any time.  I made it through about 3.5 hours before I had my fill of cultural exchanges for one weekend.  When you don't practice a religion, and you don't speak the language it is being conducted in, mass can be very very long.  And the benches are so amazingly uncomfortable!  I don't know how anyone manages to sit on those things for hours on end. 

The experience wasn't entirely without enjoyment.  I do enjoy getting up for the singing, even if I have no idea what is being said.  Best of all there was a point when girls wearing loin clothes of pange with traditional paint on their shoulders danced through with offerings of yams and pineapples.  It was the first time I had really seen the fusion of traditional customs with christianity and it certainly was interesting.  However, around noon, with a broken butt, I hit my fill and snuck out.  I went on a two hour bike ride to decompress and thanked god for exercise because endorphins really can make everything alright in my world. 

I have to say, and no dis to my catholic friends, but mass is just weird.  Maybe its just really hard to get into church after almost an entire life devoid of it.  They light stuff, burn stuff, eat stuff, drink stuff, it all seems like a lot of ceremonial nonsense to an outsider.  Next weekend, if I'm not in Lome I may go to Assembly of God.  I hear there is lots of singing, dancing, and talking to god.  I wouldn't expect a conversion any time soon, but it is pretty interesting to take it all in, and in the end I'm putting in hours at "my job."