Ca Va Aller!

            So I must apologize for long gaps between my blogs, but with my second computer in its coffin, finding a time and place to write has become a bit more complicated. Wow, it’s been 6 months since my last post… where to even begin!? I have been here nearly 10 months now and I can hardly believe it. My life is like nothing I could have ever imagined- for instance, the other day I was walking around the fields near my house, metal bucket in one hand, the other equipped with a gardening glove ready to grab any and all cow dung I came across. The first hour or so of this work I didn't think much of it, just another day in the life, but then I took a minute to think about what was happening. I found myself laughing alone out in the middle of a field, with only the goats to share the moment with- who would ever thought I would be taking hours out of my day to search for the fecal matter of a cow, had to get that much needed ingredient for my compost pile. As you can tell I have settled in and am comfortable here, it no longer feels foreign, unbearably difficult or lonely- often it feels like I have been living like this my entire life. Since Christmas things have really fallen into place, my house is finally in living order, I have a brand new latrine and the old one is in the process of being converted into a chicken coop, I have wonderful relationships in my village and I have had success and failures with projects.

In February I started to work with the Red Cross mother's club in my village- we have had some triumphs and well… our fair share of difficulties. At our first formation I demonstrated how to make and use liquid soap as an income generating activity, and introduced the wonders of an amazing tree called Moringa. All was going smoothly, the women were excited, asking questions, and lending their hands in any way they could. We mixed, tested, and bottled the soap  only to move on to our next task, tree planting! Each women had collected 5 pure water saches  (little plastic clear bags of water, when the water is down they get thrown all over the place.) As the women were stuffing their saches with a mixture of dirt, sand, and manure- all felt blissful. I took a few steps back to watch what was being accomplished- I was so proud and sneering at horror stories of my fellow volunteers about their failed formations, meetings, and projects. My first attempt- it was all too easy. My sneering came back to bite me right in the ass, I was not exempt to those horrors. Suddenly all hell broke loose and I found myself in the middle of a fist fight, screaming stop in all the languages I know, finally retreating to my house; I wasn’t about to put up with such nonsense from a bunch of grown women. When Alice (the young mom I live with) came to get me, I was dumbfounded by the reasoning they gave for the boxing match. Apparently, once the mix of manure and dirt ran out the women were afraid they weren't going to get a sache to plant their tree (because we all know there aren't enough animals defecating in this village and dirt to go around.) Taking 5 minutes to gather more dirt and manure never crossed their minds- so it was a free for all, the women grabbing full saches and trying to steal them from one another,CHAOS. Alas, my first formation began beautifully and ended terribly- but not to worry the next few meetings went marvelously before failing again.

A few weeks after the “incident” and after the women proved they could be adults and successfully grow a tree on their own we began our Moringa pépinière (nursery). Before I continue, let me tell you a little more about this special tree. Moringa Oleifera is a native tree of India and is now widespread throughout Africa. It has multiple benefits and uses, but most importantly it is a nutritional goddess of a tree. The leaves are packed with vitamins and nutrients including protein, calcium, vitamin C, vitamin A, iron and more.

What were we going to do with it? Our plans; once the trees were large and strong enough we would plant them in the ground near the local health clinic- in hopes that people would inquire and subsequently be informed about it nutritional benefits. Once the trees gave leaves our plan was to harvest them, dry them, and pound them into a powder that could be added to their local food/sauces. The women would provide the hospital with free powder that would be given out to malnourished children and pregnant women, and sell sacs full to the general public on market days. I was thrilled with how motivated the women were-they gathered their own money to pay for the fencing and collectively decided to place the nursery next to our furthest pump to keep them away from children. We spent 6 hours in the sun cutting open saches, searching for dirt, sand, and manure, filling the saches and planting the trees. At the end of the day we had planted over 700 trees, all that was left was to give them water daily and wait for them to be big enough to plant in the ground. Four months later, June 1^st, Togo's national tree planting day; our trees were ready. I thought I had worked out all the logistics with the Major (head nurse) of the clinic, I spoke with him about 7 different times discussing where we would plant the trees and how we would protect them from the hungry goats and cows. We agreed to put the trees in a space on the right side of the clinic and close them in with local fencing material, but on planting day he changed his mind and wanted to put them around the perimeter of the hospital and save the other space for bigger wind breaking trees. I started firing questions; how would we protect them from the animals? From the bush fires? From the pesticides that they spray everywhere? All I received in return were a slurry of vague responses such as "ca va aller" (it will happen), “pas de problem” (no problem) and guarantee that nothing would happen to our trees. So together the women and children from my environmental club worked for hours planting the trees around the perimeter of the clinic, at the end of the day things felt like a success. I left for PDM (a training with other volunteers and our village work partners) returning less than a week later only to have my fears validated.  All 500 trees (200 never germinated) had been eaten by goats- as the people of Takpapieni say “Ca va aller!”

Outcome: Project #1- Fail But we still have hopes that the trees will grow back and by the time animals are let loose again they will be tall and out of the reach of the pesky goats!
As for the liquid soap, 3 women including Alice are making the soap and selling it the Marché (market)- and they are all thrilled with the extra income they are earning! Every week Alice and I make the soap together and it is one of my favorite days of the week, at the end of soap making we are both laughing so hard it hurts. She has truly become one of my best friends in village, I constantly hear and observe the difficulties many volunteers have making real relationships, and I feel very fortunate to have her in my life. Without Alice, the rest of my host family, and a few other friends I can honestly say I would have ended my service a long time ago!
That was my February and some of my June! I have so much more to write; March, April, May!  But I will keep it short for now…

I just had an amazing week with Katy, and now I have an exciting month to look forward to- the biggest excitement- I will be an Aunt in the next week or so!!!!!!!!!! Can't wait to meet baby Parker!  Miss you all and hope you are enjoying Oregon summer!

Cluster whhhaaat!?

Bon Annee! A year ago I could have never imagined my life this way, and I still feel like I am in a giant dream or nightmare. My first few months at post in Togo have pretty much been well… interesting, to say the least. One sickness after another, 4 days in the med unit, lack of adequate living conditions and more illness as a consequence, pick pocketing, thieving masons, bug and bat infestations, bike crashes, puppy seizures, doorstep marriage proposals, curtain fires, fishy flavored everything, bush rat and frog meat, I could go on and on. Yes, doesn’t sound all that romantic eh? I can say without a doubt, I am learning more about patience, resilience, coping, and forgiveness then I ever imagined, and I have high hopes for the next two years. Definitely wouldn’t have made it without the support of my fellow volunteers here in country, and my wonderful friends, family, and boyfriend back at home. No, I haven’t forgotten all of you, your letters, care packages, and warm thoughts have pushed me through the times that I thought I would break. Nothing like eating an entire care package or two of food, while painting with water colors sent for children, and reading letters from home to get you through the tough times. So thanks everyone. I am a little behind on posting so a little about life before Christmas…..

After being stolen from by my Mason and by someone in my own Marche, I was beginning to get a bit discouraged, Pollyanna be gone... Alas, I have hit my 4 month mark here in Togo! In one sense that feels like an accomplishment only 23 more months to go, although I sometimes kid myself thinking I have been here for 6 months and wondering how will I ever make it to the end. Not to fear, with my new sidekick Danfo (puppy), a kick ass host family, an amazing group volunteers, and a pretty great village… two years may not be enough. As far as the work aspect of being a volunteer, when you have to spend the first few months setting up your house with cement flooring and walls, pulling teeth to get a latrine, and ridding yourself of all ailments it’s a little difficult to do much else. But so it begins…

Wednesday December 21st, under the shade of a Neem Tree I held my first real meeting. After about two hours of waiting for everyone to arrive, I finally had to convince them we should and needed to start, even if the 8th son of the chief (who actually really isn’t his son at all) hadn’t shown up yet. Frightfully, I started the meeting by attempting the some fifty different ways to greet in Gam Gam only to resort back to broken French when no one understood or chose to respond, didn’t get much further with the French. The meeting was held to explain the women’s conference happening here in Togo in March, to nominate a woman, and to talk about my work/project plans for the next two years. I began by first explaining that I don’t actually know everything about… well… everything. I had to tell them that I don’t know how to build a dam, help them with their legal problems, or find a cure for malaria. From the grunts, groans, and sighs I was slightly worried that the rest of the meeting was going to go downhill from there, but I was pleasantly surprised. Because of things I have seen and experienced throughout my first few months I was beginning to think there was a lack of motivation, innovation, and creativity in this country, oh did my village show me. When I shot down the idea of building a dam, they remained insistent. The access to water her is shameful; there exists only four pumps of which three are in working order. Three pumps for a village of over 1,500 people, the women have to walk long distances and wait in long lines to get enough water. I tried to explain that a dam project was too large, too expensive, and too far out of my skill set (which for now ceases to exist altogether.) I brought the question of what would happen if a dam was built and it broke, who would maintain it, who would fix it? They responded by first telling me they already have 200 dollars saved up for a water project, and that they could create a committee to address problems and repairs, also they wondered if one could be trained to assess damages if they were to occur. Why not right? When I shot down their public latrine for the marche idea, because latrine projects are notorious for failure (they fill up, and become unsanitary) they suggested having people pay a small fee to use the latrine, using that fee to employee someone to maintain them. They also suggested composting latrines. Say what? Do I have the perfect village? These are ideas that I was supposed to propose, ideas that only other volunteers or educated people know, or so I thought. That’ll teach me to be paternalistic again. They tossed around so many ideas, that it all became a bit overwhelming… there is so much potential, so much motivation, but lack of resources and money, most things would require external or foreign aid of some sort. That brings up another whole subject- which I struggle to decide if I agree with or not. All of the sudden felt a weight of pressure to succeed in doing one or more of these projects, a pressure I wasn’t ready for, for I still haven’t figured out what my role or responsibility as a volunteer, community member, or simply a human is at this point. Another topic I will probably write more about it later for now I’ll spare you the craziness of complications of my mind.

After the meeting, my homologue and major invited me for what I thought was just a drink. Despite my constant insistence that I am a vegetarian, I am constantly told “little by little” I will habituate and become a meat eater. Thus, a not so little smorgasbord of meat was purchased, to you know- snack on during our drink, a three platter snack to be exact. . So what types of meat you ask? To my delight: beef, goat, and mystery meat. After exhausting my meat French vocabulary, trying to get to the bottom of what the mystery meat was and refusing to eat it, in fear that I would be consuming dog (yes they eat dog) my major finally says in overly pronounced English “It’s from the bush, like a raaaat.”

Oh joy.

The delicacy of Bush Rat… who would have thought that a rat could have such succulent meat? Of course I hesitated momentarily, I thought to myself for a second, whispered “you only live once right,” grabbed a piece of the moist, sauce covered meat and ate it. Three generous servings later I finally decided I had enough for the day, politely thanked them for the snack and drink and left the bar feeling slightly nauseous. Making my way home to nap away the nausea and reflect on my 23 years of being a non-adventurous meat eater, I am stopped by the very intoxicated Chef de Village who insists on buying me a calabash of Tchakpa, the perfect addition to a belly full of dead animals. I go through the motions; pour a small splash on the ground for the ancestors, sip it down, offer some to the old ladies, finish it off leaving another small bit to splash on the ground again, and pretend to misunderstand when they try to fill my calabash again, thanked the Chief and dodge away before I found myself stuck… drinking forever. On my walk back home the sun was more unforgiving than ever- sweating, sick, slightly tipsy, sleepy- the animals inside me decide to retreat as if they were still alive… I find myself puking behind the primary school, rat definitely tastes better going down. Luckily for me, it’s Wednesday, the day of the week my host family prepares my meals… not going hungry that’s for sure- give me some fish, frogs, or corn mush- anything but BUSH RAT!



5 am Thursday morning, I crawl out from beneath my mosquito net, wrap my pagne around my waist, pick up Danfo and open my four foot tall door to a bustling compound. I sigh with relief, for today I get to escape to the city. As I pack up my last items, strap them to my bike for my 170 k ride up North- I stop for a second to observe what is happening around me, trying to appreciate the chaos for what it is, and slap myself for sighing at my ache to escape- for this is my new life and I better get used to it. I then remember the presents I gathered and wrapped in make-shift Christmas paper for my host family, I dash back inside my hut in hopes of distributing them before everyone goes their separate ways. As I hand each person their gift they look at me not really sure what to do. I tried to explain the American tradition of gift giving and wrapping paper (thinking how silly it actually is to spend money on paper only to rip it up), still nothing. So I take 2 year old Kossi’s present and start un-wrapping it to show them, next thing I know they are tearing into their gifts faster than I could blink. What came next was a series of rejoicing… they all screamed, laughed, and danced! The little ones were smiling ear to ear, and I stood back and observed as they inspected each other’s gifts and exchanged excitement for one another. I’ll never forget that moment when Kossi’s mom grabbed him, kissed his face and hugged him with such excitement before showing him how to push his new matchbox car. They didn’t even need to thank me, their appreciation was loud and clear, and at that moment I no longer ached to leave village, nor ached to be spending the holidays in America. If only that same appreciation existed for the ridiculous number of gifts we receive every holiday. Alas, I had already made the commitment to ride up to Dapoang with two other volunteers. I was ready to go and was worried about being late to meet the others, but my host family kept insisting I wait until a villager came to see me off. Not thinking much of it, I began to get irritated as they blocked my departure. Finally the villager showed up, handing me two bills and a handful of change equaling about the equivalent of 10 dollars. My community had spent all morning gathering money for me, for all my money was stolen in the market the day before. I felt my eyes begin to well with tears; I knew this was a special gift and probably wasn’t easy to come up with especially during the holidays. Once again people who have so little are able to give so much. To put icing on top the cake I had a pretty bad crash on my way to meet my friends, not surprising right? As I bleed all over the place trying to pick myself, my bags, and my bike up a man raced over to help me. He strapped everything to my bike for me, dusted me off, and said sorry, sorry over and over again, proceeded to ride slowly behind me- just close enough to keep me in sight, but not too close to bother me. As we hit the mark where we were to go our separate ways he wished me good health, a good Christmas, and good voyage. Despite everything that may have gone wrong in the days, weeks, months leading up to this one, it is moments like those that make being here worth it, simple signs of gratitude, giving nature, and compassion.
I met Alisha and Sky on the main route and we made our way North. The pain from my crash persisted through most of the trip and by the time we made it to Mango I was dead tired, over sunned, and accomplished. The next leg of the trip would be easy, so I thought. Don’t think I could I have been more wrong. The next day we battled relentless savanna winds, blistering heat, a climb that went up but never came down, and semis that raced at on head on nearly knocking us off our bikes. My body was aching and I couldn’t replenish the salt that was dripping from my body, I fell behind the other two about halfway to Dapaong cursing so much you would think I was a sailor. The Togolese on their shitty bikes loaded with yams and God knows what raced past me, surely wondering why the crazy white girl was talking to herself, yelling in a language they couldn’t understand. Alas, we made it to our destination where for days on end we stuffed way too many volunteers into one place and over indulged on food, alcohol, and Christmas movies. Although I missed you all at home terribly, I must say I had a pretty amazing Christmas. As for what came next…. To be continued

Marche

After a day at Takpapieni Marche one can very special but at the same time feel so strange. Every Tuesday is market day in my village and after trying to explore it on my own a few weeks ago only to retreat to my home with tear filled eyes I couldn't imagine how I would ever muster up the confidence to go again. Being the sole foreigner in a busy market, with aggressive pagne venders, overly friendly and slightly sloppy villagers- thanks to one too many calabashes of Tchakpa, and collections of people stopping to stare- can be, to say the least, slightly intimidating. But alas, I found the courage to go again, for it is practically a sin to not show your face during market day. As usual nine am rolls around and I found myself drinking a calabash with the other morning drinkers including two year old twins who were happily switching from their mother's exposed breasts and their fathers full calabash. C'est normale here, where apparently when a baby reaches for a drink it signifies the thirst of the ancestors, thus denying their child a drink would by denying their ancestors, which of course you would never want to do. From the look in their eye,s I can tell that my baby drinking partners and I are observing the chaos and commotion of the Marche and Togoloese life in the same way, all three not having the capacity to fully absorb or understand what is going around us, or able to articulate other than in blubbers and broken language or feelings, thoughts, wants and needs. Noon rolls around and hunger aches at my stomach as if the morning three meals and calabash weren't enough to subside hunger pains.
Even with my insisting and preparation of my own meals my host family continues to prepare meals for me and never let up when saying "Ill faut manager" *(you must eat). As I sit under the shade of a paillote, eating Fou Fou with my hands while sauce drips down my arm and face, I realize that my “dreams” of somehow coming back from Africa slightly thinner and comme African are quickly diminishing. Despite my constant holding my arms out and filling my cheeks full of air (you can imagine how ridiculous I look) to try to explain that I will be massive by the end of the two years if they keep forcing me to eat so much. The enormous portions of food haven't let up- and they are so delicious, that well, I can't help but eat every morsel.... I mean I wouldn't want to offend them so naturally, I make sure to clean my plate chaque fois. After I wipe up every trace of peanut sauce with my last piece of mashed yams I can hear that the market is now bustling. I retreat from under the pailloite and people from all corners yell my name, "Conna, Conna!" everyone knows who I am and yet, I recognize few faces and know no names. People twenty to thirty years my senior greet me with the upmost respect, which include a bowing kneel used normally only for functionaires , chiefs, and respected elders. In French I am addressed with the vous (Formal) form of you rather than Tu. In Gam Gam I am giving the slu of greetings to confirm that my morning, my health, my husband, my family, and my courage are all doing well. People stop and stare, whisper, and laugh in my direction, and then there are those who are classified as a village fou (Crazies) or others who see my skin as money, thus plea for money and follow me as they place one hand to their mouth and tap the back of their hand on the palm of other to signify that are hungry and need money. Then let’s not forget the entourage of children who follow just enough at a distance to watch my next move but far enough away that they won’t be whipped by a shop keeper for bugging me. While most of these things make me feel welcomed and special, the bring me to the realization that no matter how hard I try to integrate or live amongst this village I will always be set apart. I will always be the American, the foreigner, la blanche (The white), and thus treated differently, often with more respect and kindness I deserve, but often not like a human being but instead either a walking dollar sign or a super human that can solve and fix all problems and bring prosperity.
The image of what most people believe to be the life of Peace Corps volunteers- that we go to a country and live in the same way as locals doesn't entirely hold true. No matter how much we as Americans, who grew up in a developed world want to one hundred percent become bien integre, I don't believe we can. We will always require certain things, certain amenities, we will always have our past, will cannot refuse some of the things we grew with and learned throughout our entire lives no matter where we are. We need somewhere other than the bush to defecate, we can't drink pump, well, or river water without first filtering and bleaching because it would wreak havoc on our bodies, we don't know how to prepare local foods and will never be as good as them at doing so if we learn, we will never master the local language in two years no matter how much effort we put into it, we don't hold the skills or strength to carry heavy basins of water on our head for miles, most of us we will never fully understand what it is like to be a third wife or a father of eight, and no matter how hard we as volunteers try there will always be people in this country that see us for something we are not and see that as an opportunity to profit or take advantage of us. This is something that I have learned you can't blame people for, there are so many other factors some which include; our past history with colonialism, decades of poorly allocated aid money, dependencies that have been created due to un-sustainable and top-down development ideas, and also because people are compassionate and often give handouts because they don't know what else to do. There is really no one to blame, it just simply is what it is, and one can only hope that throughout the years the gap can be diminished in some way and all people will see one another for being a fellow human- with their faults, attributes, ugliness and beauty- nothing more or nothing less. Walking around my marche I realize it is nearly impossible, or at least that is my view point to be entirely integrated to a culture, a life, a country, that I am not rooted from, that did not form or shape the majority of my life. I am a foreigner. I am not saying that this is a bad thing, or any less of a reason to be here. I am simply acknowledging it for what it is, addressing the stereotype I believe to be false, not exhausting myself trying to be like Togolese, or feeling guilty for needing certain things, and most importantly for not becoming vain and bitter towards my community, towards this country, for things are how they are, we are who we are, they are who they are, nothing more, or less, just different. All eyes on me, my every move monitored, the relentless begging for food or change, the respect and disrespect beyond what I do or don't deserve, the smells of frying dough and dried fish, the reverberations of salutations and discutering all around, the hugs of adorable children, the boob touching and suckling gestures of old women-the bustling marche that will be part of my life for the next 80 or so Tuesdays.

Oh Togo

Journal entry from end of November

I woke up this morning chilled by the brisk Harmatan winds, so much so that it prompted me to dig into the suitcase I had stored away under my cot of the long sleeve shirts and sweaters that I brought and have yet to find a use for since the heat has been unbearable. The best part of pulling out the sweater to throw over my head in the early hours of the morning wasn’t that it was actually cool enough to wear it; it was the feeling that rushed through my body when I got a whiff of the clean fresh scent of my home back in Oregon. I can’t quite describe the rush of feeling I got, but it brought an immediate sense of comfort in a place where I have yet to find comfortable. I only allowed myself ten minutes in the sweater for the fear I would induce homesickness. Alas, I packed away the sweater rolled the suitcase back under my cot and stepped back into the reality of my life in Togo.

Now as I am sweating on the very paper I write, I realize, despite my ache for home and comfort I am really happy. I mention that because any sane person who lived ten minutes in my life today would mostly likely have packed up their suitcases and ran, or maybe I am just reflecting on how many times I myself considered doing so. Yet, somehow as I listen to the distant mumbles of a language I can’t even begin to understand, the obnoxious scream of a pentad, all while swatting flies from my face, I know there is no place I would rather be, despite all of the hardships , and let me tell you life here is full of hardships. I will begin with the events of yesterday, I was in Mogou a village about 35 kilometers outside of Takpapeni visiting Ellen a Girls Education and Empowerment volunteer and my closest neighbor. Tuesday happens to be Marche day in Mogou, so just from that I knew it would be an eventful day. We started our day with a visit to the local clinic where Ellen and one awesome lady from Mogou were conducting interviews about the health of young girls in the village. The interview questions were an attempt to get some sort of statistics or even perspective on health issues such as forced marriage (during adolescence) , adolescent pregnancy, and young girls who come into the clinic due to complications from attempts at home abortions. The nurse seemed slightly reluctant to acknowledge the last question. By the end of the interview the two ladies were gossiping partially in French and partially in Kabye (a local language), from what Ellen and I were able to make out they were saying something along the lines of “ Now what boy thinks he can come along and tell my daughter that she needs to quit school to be with him and work at home.” So refreshing to hear that from two women in a small village where in the last class of MIDDLE School only four girls remain, the rest lost to various occurrences such as pregnancy, marriage, inability to pay school fees, or because they are needed at home or in the fields. The later part being that sad part of the story, the refreshing part that there are a handful of women, including Ellen who are willing to advocate for the rights of girls.

After the interview we decided to take a short walk. As we walked down the dirt road through endless miles of fields and Baobab tress, passing beautiful Fulani people, attempting to saluat in a language we didn’t know- I could hardly believe that this is my life. As we approached the end of our walk, the Chiefs house, we decided to go in and Saluat (very important part of Togolese culture.) Her chief turned out to be this awesome respected member of the village. We sat for a while listening to him ramble about someone in the village who stole money from some important fund, and then we were on our way. By this time it was around 10:30 in the morning so naturally we stop at the bar to enjoy a drink, I tried to stick to my golden rule in this country if never drinking before 5- not working out to well in my favor. Tried to order a non-alcoholic drink only to be joined by the Chief who bought us a round of beers, so no big deal, right, one bee? O no, the beers here are massive, one being the equivalent of 2.5 American sized brews. So I forcefully gulped down the Lager and was relieved when he left only offering one beer each. Yet, shortly before he left- pranced in his beautiful daughter and Ellen’s best friend in the village who is ready to start the market with some Chook (a traditional millet beer made in massive quantities and sold by the calabash. So we make our way to the chook stand where I naively thought I could sit while Ellen and her friend enjoyed some, wrong. It is tradition at every stand you go to gout (taste) the chook before you pay the whole ten cents for your drink. As I struggled through drinking the gout I could feel my stomach expanding, only to have Ellen’s friends buys us a round. As I am sitting starring at a calabash full to the rim, I think in my head about how I could strategically place it where it could get spilled- ooops right? But then I figured the plan would backfire only to have the entire stand of people buy me a calabash. I think and think and no prevail, I gulp down the rest of my Chook. It’s noon, my belly protrudes and my balance is off- Ellen and I try to make our way through the market to buy things, but hot and boozed we realize it’s a bad idea and head back to her house.

Its 2 pm I rub my eyes waking up from our afternoon nap, thirsty as ever with a massive headache, time to make my way back to Takpapeni. I hop on the back of a moto and start my hour journey back to village, hitting pot holes, nearly bouncing off the back, and only breaking down once- that’s what I call a successful ride. I make it back to village to find I still don’t have a latrine or windows in my house. I love my village for their hospitality, giving nature, and excitement to have me, but their ability to work quickly and efficiently is another story. The county Director and my program director visited my site recently, I had mentioned that things were slow moving but hadn’t really complain because it had yet to bother me enough. I was trying to be “patient and flexible” the two words that are drilled into our minds during training. Apparently my conditions were worse than I thought. The CD was upset with how I was living, no latrine and a house not really ready to live in. They gathered all of the important people in my village and threatened to move me if they didn’t get things done quickly or at least provide me with the basic living requirements. I know it is what they needed to motivate them but I couldn’t help but feel guilty and horrible about the entire situation. I recognize that it is difficult for them to understand why I require more amenities then they do, after all they have been living this way for years- but alas I need somewhere other than the bush to do my business, I need a shower where my naked body won’t be revealed to the entire village, and windows to provide light and air in my house.

After being offered other villages to move to and long conversations with the CD, I decided to stick it out in Takapapeni for I am already attached and I feel like it is where I am supposed to be. I just hope that this isn’t my warning sign to how they will approach projects. Somehow the people in my village got wind that the CD was offering other villages to me and all hell broke loose. People gathered franticly screaming and demanding pardon, almost in tears. I had to convince an ancient lady that she didn’t need to pump water for me to finish molding together the walls of my latrine. A few days later, things have progressed; I almost have a finished latrine and windows in my house. Between that and stepping on a sharp rock in my room only to fall and spill my chamber pot full of urine all over myself, my floor mat, and my backpack all I can say Is C’est la vie!.

It’s Like This World Never Sleeps

To begin, I know I am way past due on my blog writing… but in my defense I did begin writing only to lose my computer to a tragic accident on my way up to Northern Togo. So, I will try to remember and reflect back on everything that has happened in the last ten weeks. Wow and saying that… “Ten weeks,” I can hardly believe I have been here for that long, at the same time somehow ten weeks has felt like ten months. The sense of time here is really bizarre and I haven’t quite adjusted to it yet, days go by really slowly but months seem to pass quickly. It scares me in a sense because I have yet to be able to wrap my mind around living here for two years; it still seems daunting in a way. I wonder how I am going to find projects and things to do in my village for two years, at the same time I can see two years slipping by before I am able to accomplish enough, whether it be relationships, personal growth, or the impact I am supposed to make in my community. But, before I get into all of that I will try to re-cap the last few months of my life here for you.
Where to start, the first few weeks seem like a blur (something out of a movie). Being shuttled around in out private Peace Corps land rovers and having our every move planned and monitored. Sitting in a circle the first night at an “upscale” hotel, being handed a pill, told to take it without any questions asked or explanations given seems... so well for lack of better words government oriented (Don’t worry it was only our first dose of anti-malarials.) Going straight from little America (Peace Corps Bureau) to living with my host family in Gbatope was quite the transition; battling cultural barriers, struggling to perfect my French, trying to grasp basic greetings in three local languages, learning how to squat over a latrine when business calls, rejecting marriage proposals, combating illness and heat rash; a while trying to maintain some sense of sanity and normalcy… all seems like a part of life now (C’est la vie). At first I couldn’t understand why I was putting myself through some of these things, but little by little I came to realize that the good outweighs the bad… by nearly 100 lbs!
I am not going to lie, life here is tough, more than I ever could have imagined. Togo in one of two Peace Corps hardship countries remaining, we even get paid a little extra because of it. When walking and driving around the country it becomes very apparent why it is in fact a “hardship post.” Despite my past experiences in Africa, I am shocked here about how different life can be in each place. I am so taken back at times thinking about how two countries in the same world can have such immense levels of development (again for lack of a better term.) It makes it really difficult to believe that we are actually one world… yet at other times when you get down to the concept of humanity I am reminded how we are part of the same world. I could go off on a rant about that concept itself, but I’ll spare you all for now. So like I said life here is tough, but I never thought it was going to be easy, and what would the experience be if it was? Yet, when you break everything down piece by piece and really reflect on it, it is not that difficult at all (for Peace Corps volunteers) I have all my basic needs here met; food, water, roof over my head, enough money live more comfortably than the majority of Togolese people, I have excellent access to health care, a cell phone, a work station to retreat to whenever I need a mental health day, invaluable language lessons, technical training on subjects I could have only dreamed about learning before-all while getting to live this exciting and new life. I mean what more could I ask for, especially with the state of things in the rest of the world right now? So ten weeks in- I couldn’t be happier with my decision to be here.
The last nine weeks at my training site in Gbatope have been amazing, emotional, informative, frustrating, exhilarating, and HOT- definitely one of the hardest things about being here, my intolerance for heat and humidity. The persistent wetness you feel from sweat pouring out of every gland is not the most pleasant experience. I am so happy that I am posted up North where humidity doesn’t exist, let’s see how I feel in a few months when hot season hits and it gets up to one hundred and twenty degrees in the shade! So if anybody wants to come rescue me in the middle of February thru May, or somehow send me care packages full of snow, ice, and popsicles it would be greatly appreciated!!! Hopefully I won’t be too hot, laying spread eagle while fanning myself and crying that I won’t be able to put some of my new skills to use. Speaking of skills, wow, thinking of everything I have learned so far blows my mind! My official title here is… Environmental Action and Food Security volunteer (EAFS). Our goals in a nutshell; are to promote environmental awareness with a focus on women and youth, enhance sustainable agricultural production, and increase the amount and quality of food for all people at all times. As a program we define food security, ideally,” as a basic human right that guarantees equal access to nutritious and safe food while promoting cultural, environmental, and economic sustainability.” Thus, during training we focused on learning new skills, concepts, and techniques which can be put into practice to help these goals on a small scale. Some of my favorites classes were; mushroom cultivation, improved cook stoves, animal husbandry, container gardening, companion planting, and Moringa (an amazing tree that gives nitrogen to the soil (Nitrogen fixing tree), and also has amazing nutritional benefits. I think back to a few months ago sitting in my room in Eugene researching classes on such subjects, considering paying thousands of dollars for courses, weighing the pros and cons of the Peace Corps and being very reluctant to join- and here I am now having learned all of these things in only nine weeks and being the one who was paid to do so. How lucky am I? Not to mention all of the other skills I learned outside of technical class.
I now know how to repair almost every part on a bike, how to carry things on my head, how to silent scream at small children/ adults who yell Yovo at me (Yovo:white person/cunning dog), how to make tofu and soy milk and various other food items, how to do laundry by hand, how to filter water through many different methods, how to sit for hours on end starring out random animals, objects, and children all while still be entertained and let’s not forget the most important skill- how to live for seven weeks with a bacterial intestinal infection (with only a very smelly latrine to run to). I pretty much feel like superman after these last ten weeks and am pretty sure I could do most anything! But to be a bit more serious I have learned so many invaluable things from my host family in Gbatope. I have been exposed to what is a beautiful culture in one sense and a sad one in another. The way that Togolese foster relationships with everyone in a community, and everyone is considered part of each other’s families is something we greatly lack in our culture, additionally the ability for a culture to be so giving while having so little has really opened my eyes up to the beauty of humanity at its roots. “If there is enough for one here there is enough for all,” what my host family told me every day, and I witnessed them feed strangers and even enemies when asked. At the same time I have been exposed to many things that break my heart, and I am trying to not become desensitized in a way where I become a harder person, but learn how to acknowledge that things are different and often there is nothing I can do to change them. My last few days at my host family’s house in Gbtaope were difficult, I got really close to my host sister, a fifteen year old girl who was actually my families niece. She had lost both of her own parents to illness and worked for my host family in exchange for living with them and getting her school fees paid for. I have never seen more of hard working child, who was also wise beyond her years. I don’t want to get to into the story to protect her privacy, but she ended up leaving a few days before I was about to move to post. I was unable to say goodbye, and find out where she was before I left. It was a difficult time for me because I wish I would have done more to be her friend, her ally, instead of being too consumed with my own life and too concerned about stepping on people’s feet or disrespecting the culture to be her advocate. I suppose you live and you learn and can only try harder and be better the next time around, and inevitably there will always be a next time around, especially in a country where women’s and children’s rights are almost non-existent in the majority of the country.
To wrap things up, I swore in a week ago and am now an official volunteer! I left for post the day after our swear-in party and got to Takpapeni (my village) and was left to fly with my own wings, only to discover that my latrine was not completed (aka- no bathroom), my shower was still at stomach height, thus the whole village can gawk while I take my bucket showers (in a shower that the children use as their bathroom), and my kitchen still has massive holes, a wasp nest, and one window the size of a small notebook. C’est la vie. Thus for the first few days at post it was like pulling teeth to try to get anything accomplished, and so far after a week the only thing done is half of my shower has been built higher….so it is a work in progress. Other then housing issues I spent the first four days at post reading, taking lots of naps, coloring with children, and trying to bleach the mud white washed walls of my hut (not a good idea, now it looks like someone shat all over the place…oh joy). Despite all of this, I love Takpapeni it is a wonderful and welcoming village, and I have the nicest host family. I live with the family of one of the village nurse (Michelle) and his wife, they have two or three kids haven’t quite figured it out yet… a baby girl about 9 months old named Vero who is terrified of me and screams every time she sees me, a four year old little girl name Christaian who is slowly warming up to me, and then an older girl about ten years old who works a lot not sure if she is their daughter. Also, Michelle’s sister lives in the compound. She has a two-year old boy named Kossi, who has the biggest belly and is always naked except for the occasional blue oversized soccer sock he wears on one foot. He refuses to look at me and when he catches me look at him he grins with a deadly adorable smile and hides his face. Then there Michelle’s mother, who is a phenomenal woman about 75 years old- the way this women can climb up a 15 foot grain storage container jump inside and disappear then crawl back out with a 20lb sac of grain is something out of this world. All and all minus all of the hut frustration I have a pretty amazing village, complete with an entourage of wonderful children that follow me around everywhere. I can’t wait to see what is to come, the work I will do with my homologue, the friendships I will make, the amount of books I will read, and how good I will get at combating boredom… so far my method is starring at burning candles from 6 pm when it gets dark (no electricity) to 8 pm when I climb under my mosquito net only to sweat myself to sleep. Although, I can’t complain because when I can handle the massive amounts of insects the stars in a village with no lights are something out of a dream!
Well, hope you all had an amazing Thanksgiving, I must admit mine was pretty bomb. We transported three live turkeys from Lome up north to Dapaong (my regional capital) and enjoyed the freshest most free range turkey I will ever have the opportunity to eat (although one flew off the roof on the way and died.. so that one was a little less fresh). Wonderful parents sent amazing care packages full of pumpkin pie cake mix, stuffing mix, cranberry sauce, cornbread and more! So I had a pretty American thanksgiving! Enjoy the rest of holiday season; I will try to be better about blog writing, but it is difficult without a personal computer. Miss you all and if you feel inclined to send care packages I will put some ideas below of things kids in my village, me, and other volunteers would enjoy!
My address:
PCV Manda Draper
Corps de la Paix
BP102
Mango, Togo West Africa
Small puzzles
Water color
pencils
Coloring books
paints/paint brushes
Stickers
Soccer balls
Fun games
Candy
Chocolate
Crackers/ goodies
Tuna packets (in water)
Nuts (unsalted)
Bars (cliif bars, power
bars, lara bars)
Anything that tastes good
Anything slightly ndulgent (things that we can’t get here)
Movies
Tv shows on thumb drives
Good music
Newspaper articles
Nat. geographic magazine
Batteries
Cool stickers for my moto helmet and bike
Calendars
World maps/ maps of anything
cool stuff to put on my walls
Bubbles
Any good books
Dog toys, dog treats,
Cleaning supplies
Wet ones
Seeds (vegetables, fruit, flower)
Candles
Tea
Good coffee/french press
Star chart
flax seeds
pretty earrings
head bands/hair things
peanut butter
almond butter (not in glass)
pictures of
things in America to show village
pictures of family and friends
any good articles on gardening/ tree planting/ agriculture/ chicken raising
Quinoa
FUN/YUMMY/COOl SURPRISES

"I have been living in poverty because I couldn't see my wealth"

After waiting officially for over a year and in reality for most of my life…. the countdown to my departure begins. In less than one month I will leave everything I know: my friends, family, and comforts of the US to explore a new life for the next 27 months. As expected preparing for my departure comes with mixed emotions, and is in a sense bittersweet.

Those of you, who are closest to me, know that this decision was not an easy one to come to. I struggled for months deciding if this is the path I am meant to take in life and if I fully supported the Peace Corps and all it stands for. First of all, I want to thank you for being patient with me and dealing my rollercoaster of emotions. I also want to thank those of you who told me how it is, to cut the crap and my need to weigh every pro and con and well…just go. Honestly, without the push and support from you all, I wouldn’t be about to depart on what will inevitably be the most life-changing journey of my life. Now, this is not to say that I do completely agree with every aspect of the Peace Corps, but I know it is my intentions and those I am volunteering with that count, and at this point in my life this is something I need to do. Nonetheless, this is going to be the most difficult thing I have ever done, especially after a recent epiphany about life.

For a while here I forgot how to appreciate just how amazing my life here and now is. All I could think about was leaving and running away from a place that I didn’t feel I fit into at all. I took for granted the small things, but really the things that make my world turn. I ignored simple day-to-day interactions with my family, my friends, with strangers, with nature, and animals-all, which hold so much beauty. I felt lost for quite some time, but I have recently realized that we are never lost we are simply where we are, and we just need to be. I have processed a lot of emotions in the last few months, some I never expected, some that I resent, and some that I hope will never go away. I am so grateful that I realized these things before I left and spent the time with people that I needed instead of pushing people away because I felt a lack of connection. At the same time it makes leaving a little more difficult, but I know there are still so many reasons to why I need to do this.

I can't imagine and don't want to imagine what the next two years or the rest of my life will be like if I don't take this amazing opportunity that is here and now. I fear both leaving and staying. All I know is that in my current life I lack a strong sense of purpose... I know it exists and like I said I want to appreciate every moment for what it is, but I desire to be infused with a real sense of purpose one that is tangible that I can clearly see on a daily basis. Whether, that means lending a helping hand, or simply learning all I can from people that have a completely different perspective on life. I know that what I learn will be more meaningful then what I can offer, but I want to do all that I can.

I also know that if I were to stay that I would feel caught in this limbo of routine... Why live the same life day to day when there is so much more out there to be discovered, to be seen, to experience? I know for many of us, discoveries can come in our own backyard, with our daily interactions. I appreciate that there are moments when we meet someone who for one reason or another leaves an impact on our lives. But, I know from experience that I tend to get caught in routine and forget about the small things. I get absorbed with work that leaves me feeling meaningless and interactions that I often feel are phony.... and lose my excitement for life. I attempt to plan everything out and then fail to bring any plan to fruition… I try to predict what will happen from day to day and while doing so drive myself completely insane.

I want to be excited everyday; I don’t want to predict the future-I want to live everyday for what it is. I want to discover the unknown-reach beyond my comforts. I have seen and I crave to see the beauty in different cultures, religions, and ways of life. I want to listen to music I have never heard, see art that is unlike anything I have seen before and take photographs of a beautiful existence that I never knew.

With my past travels I experienced what I believe is true happiness, cultures where people live off their land by tending to it and cultivating it. A culture where everyone is your sister or brother, where happiness wasn’t measured by materialistic goods, but instead by relationships and by the hard work yet natural instinct to provide ones own sustenance to live. Traveling also reminded of the resilience of life. Nature’s ability to persevere after a storm, a countries ability to rebuild its self after a war, a mother’s ability to provide for her children despite her ailments and lack of resources and a child’s ability to continue to love, to laugh, and to simply smile after they have lost everything they have ever known. Although, I learned so much before and my eyes were opened to an entire new way of living, the short amount of time I spent in each place made my experience more superficial then I would have liked. I really crave an intense cultural experience, where I learn everything about a community, a culture, and a life completely different than my own. I feel like if I really want to attempt to do any good, or help create anything sustainable I need to commit my self first to learning the life, needs, and dreams of the people I am trying to help. That is one of the driving forces of choosing the Peace Corps because with two years I can learn and give so much more then with a year or six month commitment. I can hope that whatever I do or accomplish in Togo will change at least one person’s life, but I am not expecting to change anyone else’s life but my own.

All in all this still may not be the right decision and I will never really know if it was... but it is the decision I am going to live with for the rest of my life. I am confident with my choice and can’t wait to see what Togo has in store for me! Thank you again to everyone who has supported me, gave me a kick in the butt, or continues to support me through all of this- and to everyone and everything that helped me realize my wealth and just how amazing my own life here is.

"Help others achieve their dreams and you will achieve yours”- Les Brown.