11/13/08 through 11/17/08

11/13/08 through 11/17/08; Highlights =0)

The past four days of my life, from Thursday through Sunday, were spent cleaning my house from top to bottom. Sometimes I think small houses are harder to keep clean than big houses because one often has just as much STUFF and so floor space inevitably becomes storage space making it hard to walk much less sweep or mop. And who wants to dust when cleaning one thing means dirtying another? It is just starting to be Harmattan, so I barely hit the end of my cleaning window; for the next couple of months, as clouds of dust roll in and over, cleaning won’t be worth the effort. Even now, dust already coats my shelves.

One of the great things about visitors is how they force you to clean your house. I probably never would have gathered the momentum to engage in battle with the spiders if it hadn’t been for the impending visit of a close college friend. The excitement of the visit dulls the pain of cleaning and provides an objective above and beyond just having a clean house (which sometimes isn’t enough to get one out of the hammock).

Breaking the monotony of my cleaning was a visit from one of my neighbor’s, Tseviato’s older sister. She asked me for some band-aids. When I asked if she was hurt, she pulled her pagne down, revealing her breasts and told me that she wanted to put band-aids over her nipples in an a attempt to trick Parfait (her two year old) into not breast feeding. I guess she wants to wean him and he is fighting it. It was hilarious. She put the band-aids over her nipples then and there and pretended that they hurt, but she wasn’t very convincing because she couldn’t stop laughing. Parfait crossed his little arms over his chest and pouted, not knowing what to make of it all. In the end, it wasn’t very effective because I saw him hanging off her breast later in the day.

The only other thing worth recounting was a conversation that I had with Jerome today during my Ewe lesson (by the way, I forgot to mention that he has started holding Ewe literacy classes for three village women before my Ewe class. We are only in the third week, but it is exciting to watch women who have never been to school begin to read and write). The women were still under my paillote after their literacy class when Jerome and I sat down to eat. After praying, he stood up and said that he forgot to “dire aux femmes qu’on a gagne un peu” (tell the women that we had “won” a bit to eat). He went to the door and called out to them to come and eat and they responded “nezo,” as expected. This exchange initiated a conversation on the very peculiar Togolese habit of always inviting people to share in your meal if you happen to be eating (anything from peanuts to a full meal) in the presence of others. As Jerome explained, it is customary always to invite others to join you (“mangions” – “let’s eat”). For the most part, however, the offer is an empty one. People don’t expect you to accept. This makes it particularly confusing for an outsider to know when an offer to partake in a meal is genuine. I was once criticized, after refusing such a call to eat, for never wanting to eat “their” food, but according to Jerome, I was right to refuse. A good rule of thumb, he says, is that if someone goes out of their way to make you aware of the fact that they are going to be eating and to invite you to join, then you know the invitation is sincere and that you should accept (for example, when Tsevi, Lili, or Effoh came to my house to call me to their homes to eat). If you happen upon people eating, however, it is obvious that your presence was not taken into consideration when the calculations of how much to prepare were made and you should refuse. If you were to happen upon someone eating and accept their invitation, even if you only took a few bites, the symbolic gesture of desiring to share a meal with someone means that you hold that person particularly dear. The logic is that you must really cherish the person to stop whatever you were doing and accompany the person during a meal however meager it may be. Jerome advised me not to accept casual invitations, however, because if I accept from one person and refuse another people will think I am playing favorites (so complicated!). After Jerome explained the custom, I explained my inability to invite people to eat unless the offer is genuine. I know it is the culturally correct thing to do, but I can’t get the words out of my mouth unless I really want the person to share my food. Mostly, if I have only prepared enough for myself, I don’t feel it is right to offer what I don’t have. What if they accept? I know it is unlikely, but when one invites someone to eat, from my point of view, one should have prepared enough so that the guest can eat his or her fill. I would find it terribly embarrassing to invite someone to eat, have them unexpectedly accept, and then not have enough food to share. In my head, I wouldn’t be able to help chastising myself: “why on earth did you offer if you didn’t have enough?” But, for a Togolese person, there is always enough to share – Tsevi once told me that if I shared a meal with him, he could eat more (that goes directly against an American, mathematical sense of logic, but makes total sense if you think about how sharing a meal with someone increases the enjoyment and makes eating more of a social event than just a means of satiating a basic bodily need).

You might commend the Togolese behavior as remarkable hospitality (and I wouldn’t completely throw that thought out the window), but when Jerome elaborated on the “why?” behind the practice of always inviting others to share your food, he likened it to the practice of greeting people you pass on the street. He said, if something happens to you while you are eating and you didn’t offer to share your food with the people around you, would they help you? Or, if you have an accident on the road and you didn’t greet the person you most recently passed, would he help you? And so, the way in which he explained it betrays an essentially selfish motive and harks back to a discussion I was having with another volunteer a couple of weeks ago in which we were debating the question: Are any human actions truly altruistic or does everything ultimately boil down to self interest?

9/30/08 through 11/11/08

Um . . . so . . . October, eh? Usually it is one of my favorite months, the trees are changing colors, it’s my birthday, Halloween, lots of candy . . . the only constant this year was my birthday, but even though my friends tried to make it special, it didn’t really feel like my birthday.

This year October was hijacked pretty much entirely by AIDS Ride. In the beginning of the month, Ashley and I took motos and rode (as passengers) the entire 170 kilometers of our route in two days, stopping at all the CEGs (middle schools) along the way to remind directors of our impending arrival a week later. I thought I’d be really sore from the moto (before that, the farthest I had moto-ed was six kilometers and even that left me feeling beaten-up), but the moto driver put my bag in front of him and I managed, at times, to loosen my grip enough to even enjoy the ride. We spent the first night at the volunteer’s house in Tohoun and the second night at the transit house in Atakpame.

Just after spending 15,000 cFA a piece (≈$37.50) to moto our route in final preparation we learned from one of our national AIDS Ride coordinators that the budget had been cut and that PSI was cracking down on spending and legitimacy of receipts because last year they were audited. In hashing it out with an ONG that PSI hired to make sure the AIDS Ride budget reports were audit-proof this year, we discovered that the problem wasn’t budget cuts, but rather imprecise and completely lacking line items. Last years coordinators assured us that the budged was adequate and so this year’s national coordinators submitted and identical budget. Last year, however, regional coordinators had the freedom to move money around to accommodate gaps and deficits, but this year PSI wasn’t tolerating sloppiness. They demanded legitimate receipts (meaning with the name, address and phone number of the retailer printed at the top and with the retailer’s personalized stamp) or money back. For certain purchases, like the 30,000 500mL bags of pure water and the gas for the chase car, that wasn’t a problem, but for most of our food it was impossible. The women selling peanut butter in the market don’t have a receipt book at all, much less one with a proper heading and a stamp. We were lucky if they even knew how to sign their own name and had some women just scribble in the signature box, make an “x” or a funny squiggle and we had to present those receipts to the ONG guy working with us. He would just shake his head and repeat over and over “ce n’est pas bon” (it’s no good). For transportation, they wanted us to go to the syndicates and get officially stamped receipts; in our better moments Ashley and I joked that next year they need to include a budget line for getting receipts because when you need a receipt and have to go through the most official channels, everything costs more. In our worse moments, we stressed that we were going to lose large quantities of money to AIDS Ride and end up giving money back to PSI that we had spent but didn’t have “legitimate” receipts for. What you will learn, however, when working in a country like Togo, and what these big auditing organizations perhaps don’t understand or would prefer not to acknowledge, is that there is no such thing as a legitimate receipt in Togo. Echoing my frustrations, my Dad summed up twenty years of experience in the statement: “the paper trail in Africa is worthless.” For 500 hundred cFA here and there receipts can easily be fabricated. Luckily, the ONG we were working with is well versed in the Togolese reality and tried to find creative solutions to our binds. They made spreadsheets for transportation and food that allowed taxi drivers and market/village women to sign, eliminating the need for a receipt.

It was extremely frustrating and stressful at times, but in the end a great learning experience. I have never received any formal instruction on how to prepare a budget and report on expenditures and I learned what constitutes a legitimate receipt, what can cause problems in activity reports (for example participants initialing instead of signing), and how to bend the rules just a little bit. I spent the morning of my birthday nervously fidgeting in the office of the ONG’s financial expert as he reviewed our receipts and reports, but it all worked out and Ashley and I were reimbursed for the thousands of francs we had fronted for the project.

Amid all the budget concerns, Ashley and I had to organize for a chase car, buy mats for sleeping, arrange for food (in some villages no food was available on the streets and so we asked a woman to prepare us beans and rice), stock up on water for 18 people over five days and make last minute homologue substitutions. We were particularly stressed by the condition of the roads as we moto-ed them – after two months of rains and traffic they were gutted with ruts that in some places were several feet deep. We bought a shovel in anticipation of having to dig the car out of the mud on more than one occasion, and discussed the possibility of having to cancel our AIDS Ride half way through because of impassible roads (that would have been catastrophic for our budget report, not to mention all the people we would disappoint).

The night before biking out, a torrential downpour left me sleepless with nervousness about the condition of the roads, but in the end AIDS Ride went more smoothly than we could have hoped. It didn’t rain all week and the car only got stuck once (that mishap was the driver’s fault for recklessly and forcefully reversing the car to scatter school children). All of our sensibilizations took place more or less on time and with a significant audience. No one greeted us with blank stares that soundlessly inquired “what are you doing here?” Everyone was prepared to receive us, in some places with music, food, and dance, and listen to our message. Our sensibilizations, even our first, went really well. The volunteers and homologues took the task at hand seriously and made an effort to make every sensibilization a good one. Each sensibilization lasted about two hours and included lots of questions, games, skits and demonstrations. We began with basic questions to test the knowledge of our audience and then explained the difference between HIV and AIDS. That was followed by a game – in which the body is compared to a chick, the immune system to mother hens, HIV to a snake, and opportunistic infections to hawks – to illustrate how HIV attacks a persons immune system making him/her particularly vulnerable to common diseases. We continued with the modes of transmission and sketches to illustrate the ABCDE’s (Abstinence, Bonne Fidelite (faithful), Condom, Depistage (HIV test), Education) – modes of prevention. Then my infirmier (one of our homologues) explained how multiple concurrent sexual partners facilitate the spread of AIDS. New studies show that having more than one partner at a time (as opposed to many consecutive partners over the course of a lifetime) greatly increases the spread of AIDS because directly after infection a person is more infectious. If that person is having sex with five people at that time, he/she will likely transmit the virus to all five people before he knows he is infected. After “multipartenariat,” we did condom demonstrations, calling both girls and boys out to help us put banana flavored PSI condoms on wooden penises, stressing the need for girls to take responsibility for their own health and future by knowing how to use a condom and by bringing condoms to sexual encounters. Finally, we wrapped up with a sketch and discussion on the effects of discrimination and stigmatization and the answering of questions from the audience. Before leaving we sang a song that evoked, once again, the ABCDE’s (modes of prevention).

It was divided (albeit unintentionally) so that Ashley’s group got most of the village sensibilizations (which tend to be smaller and somewhat simplified due to the lower previous knowledge about HIV/AIDS (in comparison to middle and high school students) and the need to translate into local language) and my group got most of the CEG sensibilizations (from 200 to 500 students at a time). The students were for the most part well behaved, although we had a couple of schools in which the students mocked the volunteers’ French, which was unfortunate, but in general, our sensiblizations were relatively orderly. At two schools we had to stop handing out condoms as rewards for correct answers to questions and active participation during the sensibilization because the students would go wild yelling and laughing each and every time. But we avoided getting mobbed at the end of the sensibilization by giving boxes of condoms to the directors of the schools and instructing them to divide the condoms among their students. In doing it that way, we run the risk that the directors will “bouf” the condoms (keep them all for themselves, sell them, etc.), but we tried to minimize that risk by announcing how many boxes of condoms we were leaving with the director at the end of the sensibilization and threatening that we would send a volunteer (we have three volunteers on our route) to ask CEG students if they received condoms. It worked better than trying to hand out condoms to 500 yelling, pushing, shoving students and I am pretty confident that they will have all received at least one or two. You do what you can.

In my group I had a bit of an issue with a homologue (not my infirmier, but another homologue) who repeatedly went against my instructions not to hand out condoms at the end of a sensibilization. The first time I asked him about it, he lied and said he hadn’t handed out condoms. Then one of my volunteers said they had seen him handing out condoms and then I myself saw him handing out condoms and called him out on it. He acted all remorseful, insisting that he would go to a boutique and buy condoms to replace the ones he handed out. I retorted that it wasn’t a question of condoms (PSI had given us more than a million condoms), it was a question of following instructions and of how one person’s actions affect the whole group. When one of the members of the team hands out condoms after a sensibilization, the students inevitably swarm the other volunteers begging for condoms. Of course everyone has a sob story about how they don’t have the money to buy condoms, but at one point or another each person has to decide that their life is worth 25cFA for a condom because we can’t provide a lifetime supply. What angered me most is that I know he wasn’t handing out condoms because the students’ plea touched his heart, but rather because of the “big man on campus” syndrome. Here, as in many other cultures, important people prove their greatness by redistributing resources, and this homologue enjoyed having controlling the distribution of commodity that other people coveted; it made him feel important, special, powerful.

That wasn’t the only issue that I had with this homologue. He came with high recommendations, but I had never met him before AIDS Ride and wouldn’t recommend him again. While very animated and energetic, he butted in during volunteers’ parts of the sensibilization (I wanted everyone to have a chance to participate – AIDS Ride is a great chance for new volunteers to gain confidence – and I wanted my new volunteers to have the same opportunity to participate that I had last year). His attitude worsened over the course of the week and he started biking off ahead or leaving the sensibilization half-way through so that we had to sub-in for his parts, etc. We also had a transportation reimbursement issue. He and another homologue came from the same town but he asked for almost double reimbursement. I told him that I would only reimburse him the official tariff and that if he did, indeed, spend that much getting to and from AIDS Ride, it was his own fault for taking a more expensive route. Needless to say he was not happy. Oh well, you can’t win them all.

Our other homologues were relatively cooperative. I was really happy with my infirmier for the whole of AIDS Ride. He didn’t complain when the other homologues were complaining about the food (apparently bread and rice and beans is not adequate nourishment) or the sleeping arrangements. I wanted to admonish some of the homologues for complaining for going a week without eating pâte when we leave our homes for two years and come to a country where we can’t get any of the foods we are accustomed to. They even had one “free” meal a day that we had given them 500cFA for so they could go find whatever food they liked, but still they complained.

In terms of food and lodging, everything went more or less smoothly. We had a place to stay, a roof over our heads , and showering accommodations every evening. The first night, was the nicest – a new dispensaire. The next two nights were in CEGs and the last night, the worst – a primary school with a dirt floor, a makeshift shower and slimy pond water. The volunteers were really good sports about showering and bathroom arrangements (or lack thereof). No one complained, for which I was thankful. We also had very good luck with our rice and beans. In each of the four places we asked for someone to prepare us rice and beans (no small feat for 18 people) we were met with well prepared and sufficient food. Again, even though the homologues complained, volunteers agreed that rice and beans was probably the most economic and nutritious option. We had a little bit of a problem with breakfast; we had bought one loaf of bread per person per day and twice we ran out because people were consuming more than their allotted amount of bread, but I found bouillie (porridge) ladies to supplement our fare so that no one would go hungry.

We only had one serious accident, a volunteer who on the second day of biking fell off her bike, hitting her head, and momentarily losing consciousness. She wasn’t in my group and I didn’t witness the event, but the MedUnit wanted her in Lome as soon as possible so they could monitor her injuries and recovery and we had no way of getting her there. Besides our chase car, there were no cars on these roads and sending her on a moto was out of the question. There was a bit of discussion as to why our chase car couldn’t take her to Atakpame, but if that had been necessary, we would have had to call off AIDS Ride as our chase car had all our water and supplies and we had other volunteers in delicate states. She stuck it out with us until the second to last day when we finally found a car, but the MedUnit was not pleased and partially because of our AIDS Ride I think, we have been directed to suspend all organized rides until Peace Corps can look into the safety and security issues. What I don’t understand is why Peace Corps didn’t send one of their cars to come pick her up if it was that urgent.

Ashley flipped over her handlebars as well, but in true Ashley style, just got up and continued biking. She had some impressive bruises to show for her fall.

Lastly, we biked with a really great group of volunteers. Although it sometimes felt like I had just adopted ten children (“Danielle, where do I go to the bathroom? Danielle, where’s the toilet paper? Danielle, when will dinner be ready? Danielle, where are the matches, the spoons, etc?”), everyone was a great sport, working together as a team to make things go as smoothly as possible. When you’re trying to organize so many people, everyone’s individual efforts make a huge difference and I am happy to say that all of our volunteers contributed to the success of our AIDS Ride. The volunteers were also vey appreciative of our organizational efforts and as anyone who has ever tried to coordinate anything knows, a little bit of appreciation goes a long way and makes all the headaches worthwhile. And finally, it was a great opportunity to get to know some of the new volunteers (and get to know old volunteers better) that I wouldn’t have had otherwise (because I avoid big social gatherings like the plague). All in all, I am very pleased by how AIDS Ride turned out, but happy that it is over.

After AIDS Ride, I contracted a terrible cough that I am still recovering from. Ashley and I have decided that her weakest link is her digestive system and mine is my respiratory system.

Other than AIDS Ride, what stands out about this October is death and birthdays. I’ll go for birthdays first. One of my stagemate’s (a small enterprise development volunteer) birthday was on the 16^th and we gathered in Atakpame to celebrate. It was a nice small gathering that provided a brief respite during the hectic AIDS Ride planning phase. And then, of course, my own birthday – a quarter of a century, yikes. I feel like 25 is really old. Closer to 30 than to 20. I feel like at some point I need to get serious, get a job, make money, get married, start a family, but then another part of me just wants to let it all happen in its own good time and I don’t see a real job or children in my near future. I would like to go to grad school, so . . .

On the Friday after AIDS Ride, Alicia made me (and another volunteer who shares my birthday) a surprise birthday cake and we celebrated with s’mores – it was a really sweet gesture. On my birthday itself, Ashley made me chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast (we were still hanging out in Atakpame due to AIDS Ride budget work) and took me out to dinner, so that was also really nice. I also got a chance to talk with my parents, with Jorge, and with Jorge’s mom – phone calls make any day special – and that was my birthday.

And now for death. I don’t know why, but October was a month for accidents. Jerome told me of a young man who died in a motorcycle accident – he was decapitated as he hit the curb. And then, right before AIDS Ride, Effoh texted me to tell me that two teenagers from my village died in a motorcycle accident. That one really upset me because I knew the boys. I didn’t get the details until much later, but apparently it was their fault because they were driving fast on the route nationale after dark without a headlight. An oncoming car forced them to the side of the road where, for lack of a headlight, they didn’t see a parked truck and ram-ed into it. And yet I still see twelve and thirteen year olds driving their fathers’ motos around village. It drives me crazy. Then, my Ewe lesson two weeks ago was based on another accident in which a young person from Jerome’s village was crushed by a huge teak tree that he was helping to transport. So many needless deaths.

On a different note, a longstanding mystery was resolved during another Ewe lesson. When I make my early morning rounds greeting my neighbors, I use the greeting “etsobedo” meaning that the last time we greeted each other was yesterday. But then, if and when they came by my house later in the morning, they too would greet me with “estobedo” and I couldn’t help but wonder if they had forgotten that we had already greeted each other once that day. Then I witnessed the same exchange one day with Jerome. He went to greet DaJulie and then she came by the house to greet him and when I asked him about it he said that it is a two way street, that if the person really likes and respects you, it is not enough for you to go to their house to greet them, but they should return the gesture and come to your house to greet you. Interesting.

Between AIDS Rides plans, I was also brainstorming an income-generating activity with Effoh. The idea was that I would lend him money to buy some animals (sheep, pigs and chickens) so that he could get into the animal raising business. I made him come up with a project plan and a projected budget with expenditures and conservative estimates of projected revenues. We figured that with a substantial initial investment, if all went well, he could make enough to pay me back in about a year an a half. If I didn’t extend, or if some disease ravished his animals, that would present a problem. (I later learned from Jerome, who’s help I had enlisted in the planning phase because he is someone I trust and an experienced livestock raiser, that one way for people who don’t have money to get into the livestock raising business is to ask a friend or acquaintance who does have animals to give him one to raise. The person is then in charge of feeding and taking care of the animal and the offspring are split between the owner and the person who is raising the animal. It is kind of like the “sharecropping” of animal husbandry except that in this situation, at least when it is Jerome doing the lending, it seems like a pretty advantageous deal for the borrower).

In the end, I was freed from having to make the decision “to lend or not to lend,” because Effoh decided to go to University in Lome. As all the students left the village to start school again he got more and more restless and irritated by people asking him why he was still there. We joked that if everyone who asked him why he was still in village gave him 1000cFA to continue his studies, he would be long gone. Luckily he had several connected people supporting him (the pastor (who is from Lome), the secretary of the church, and an old teacher who promised to find him a place to stay in Lome, not to mention his family). While on AIDS Ride he texted me and told me that if I agreed to push back the date that his family was expected to pay back the money I leant them, that he would use that money to enroll in university. I’m not in a rush and don’t need the money right now so I agreed. By the time I got back to village he had already enrolled and was just waiting for the teacher to find him a room as promised. The day of the U.S. election he left for Lome, but didn’t find an acceptable lodging until last Sunday. The housing that the teacher found for him was with a fetisher, meaning that all the food he prepared (particularly any meat) had been used for ceremonies and is taboo for a Christian. Luckily he ran into a cousin whose husband agreed to allow Effoh to stay with them (after his brother went all the way down to Lome on Sunday to talk with the man on his behalf – it is so strange how things have to be done here. Effoh is 24 years old and yet he can’t speak for himself but needs his resource-strapped older brother to spend 5,000cFA to come down to Lome to speak for him. It is all about protocol and ways of doing things that are so hard for an outsider to understand. For example, the priest of the Catholic church wanted to see me, but instead of calling me, he asked Jerome to come see him so that he could ask Jerome to ask me to come see him. It seems so round-about to us, but has everything to do with respect, hierarchy and proper channels and ways of doing things). Anyway, Effoh is now adequately (I think) lodged in Lome and should have started classes yesterday. I can’t help but wonder if he was more motivated by “peer pressure” or by a real desire to continue his studies, but after the initial struggle (and the fact that he will still be dependant on his family for several years), I think it will be beneficial to him to have gone to University and hope he will get a well paying job in Lome that will make all his family’s sacrifices worthwhile.

On an entirely different front, the drama with Jorge’s visa to Italy continues to unfold. The first time he tried to present his visa papers (he had already bought an airplane ticket and made some hotel reservations) they sent him away with instructions to make more hotel reservations, to buy a Eurail pass and to get medical insurance. About two weeks ago he finally succeeded in submitting the papers. I was hoping we would find out yesterday about the visa, but Jorge is in Bolivia visiting his family and couldn’t get ahold of the Italian consulate in Uruguay. I am on pins and needles about the whole thing and just want something to be set in stone. I am tired of everything being up in the air. If the visa is granted, I still have to buy airplane tickets between Togo and Italy for the both of us and if the visa isn’t granted, then I have to find some way to get him to Togo. It will be devastating, though, if the visa is not granted. His mom has already spent upwards of two thousand unrefundable dollars to make it possible . . . I am just trying not to think about it too much because there is nothing I can do about it one way or another. I am still hoping that we will have an answer this afternoon. I can’t even really start imagining our reunion because I don’t know for sure where or when it will take place.

Changing topics to a more hopeful subject – how about that election? It still fills me with a giddy glow when I think about it. A group of girls got together at a volunteer’s house in Atakpame to watch the election unfold on CNN. It was so exciting and I felt so lucky to have the opportunity to participate in this historic process even from Togo. We had made all sorts of food (chicken wings, pigs in a blanket, cheese and crackers, cookies, etc) and spent the entire night eating until Obama finally earned enough electoral college votes at 4:00 in the morning to win the presidency. When that number changed on the bottom right hand corner of the screen, the girls let out a rousing yell of joy. After the speeches, by both McCain and Obama, I was too emotionally riled up to even think about sleeping. I couldn’t help the tears during Obama’s speech. I am not naïve in thinking that his election will change everything or anything really (he has a really tough situation to work with), but I am moved by the fact that he was elected and that, in and of itself, says an awful lot. I think of it more as a positive barometer of attitudes in the U.S. than as a positive change (although it is definitely, in my opinion, a positive change). It is the first time in years that I have felt proud to be an American and proud of my country. It is also the first time I have really felt excited about politics and the potential of politics. The high from it still hasn’t gone away.

It is interesting experiencing the election in Africa (Togo particularly, but also comparing feelings here to feelings of other Africans as expressed on the BBC). In my village, no one is really informed or excited, but in larger towns people express the feeling that now that a black man, a son of Africa, is president of the United States of America, Africa will really get a hefty chunk of the pie. I think they are mistaken in attributing their patronage politics to our political system and Obama’s presidency. Here, when someone from your village makes his way to a position of power, your family, your village, and your ethnic group benefit, but if people think Obama is going to favor Africa, I think they are mistaken. In fact, I think unfortunately Obama’s policies towards Africa might be under even higher scrutiny than his other foreign policies and he will have to be quite moderate so as not to be criticized for playing favorites. Finally, as President of the U.S., what people here forget, is that his ultimate allegiance is to the U.S. Sadly, I am afraid people here will be disappointed because what they expect are material returns as opposed to appreciating the symbolic value of his election.

My high from the election was temporarily extinguished by a mishap on the way home from Atakpame. I had brought Giz to Atakpame to get him (FINALLY) vaccinated against rabies. The vaccination itself went well, the vet knew how to hold him and administered the shot successfully on the first try. It was such a relief after the Lome fiasco. On the way home, though, I had him in a cardboard box that I had punched holes in so that he’d have a little bit of air circulation. Ashley thought he needed more air and so widened the holes, but then he started tearing at them himself. As fast as I could duct-tape a hole closed, he would rip another. When I got to Agbatit, I loaded him on my bike, went to speak briefly with the Director of the CEG and joked that I had to get home quickly because Gizmo was tired of being cooped up in a box. I made some (not funny) joke about him not being able to survive in the wild if he escaped because he is too pampered. I biked home and thought that he had settled down until I lifted the carton off the back of my bike and felt how light it was. No Gizmo. I panicked. He could have gotten out anywhere in the 6 kilometers between Agbatit and Avassikpe and surely would be so scared by the moto traffic on the road that he would venture into the bush. I called Ashley, started to cry hysterically (when any living thing accompanies you in your day to day life and is the only present object on which you have to lavish your love and affection, its loss affects you deeply) and got back on my bike to return to Agbatit. I biked slowly, calling him, looking for a streak of white in the brush, and trying to hold back the tears and not dwell on how unlikely, if not impossible it would be to find him. I returned to the CEG. As the words, “I lost Gizmo,” escaped my mouth, so did an uncontrollable sob. How embarrassing. Here I am, proud of the fact that I can count the number of times I have broke down in tears since being in Togo on one hand, standing in the middle of a CEG, hysterical at the loss of my cat. The Director refrained from laughing at me and at least pretended to be sympathetic (I think his concern was sincere, even though he probably privately thought I was over-reacting). He immediately went to each of the classrooms and informed the students that I was in mourning. “ Who died?” “No, no one, she lost her cat.” The response, I am sure, was uncontrollable laughter. Luckily, I wasn’t there to hear the laughter or the student who said that if she found my cat she would eat it; I was already wheeling my bike towards Avassikpe calling out Gizmo’s name. By some amazing stroke of luck or God taking pity on my affection (however misplaced) towards my cat, I hadn’t gone far when I heard a meow in response to my half-hearted “Gizmo, Gizmo.” I had to climb through thorn bushes before I could get him to come to me, but eventually I had him in my hands and in my backpack, just his little head sticking out between the zippers that I had tied together.

The next day (and for the next several months I am sure), I had to laugh at myself for crying over my cat (even though I am sure I would cry again were it to happen again) as the Director recounted the incident with all the theatrics typical of a Togolese story-teller to a teacher and the priest. To boot, all the 500+ students at the CEG now call “Gizmo” at me when I pass or ask, in mock concern, “ou est Gizmo?” (where is Gizmo?). Whatever, I am just glad to have him back.

As for what I have going on in village, not much. I am distressed by the fact that the now eleven month old little girl I have been giving Moringa powder to has not gained so much as 100 grams in the past month. So now she is an eleven month old that weighs 4.7 kilos. She will be a year old in December and is only starting to be able to hold herself up in a sitting position. It is scary. I think maybe something is wrong with her ability to swallow. When breast feeding, she takes a mouthful, and then takes her face away from the breast, takes a couple seconds to swallow with difficulty and then goes back to the breast. No wonder she can’t get enough food in her if she can’t even breastfeed without interruption. I need to advise her mother to take her to the hospital in Notse.

Other than that, I will be starting Peer Educator classes tomorrow in conjunction with the woman professor at the CEG in Agbatit. We will be sharing the task so that she can take over the classes when I am no longer present. I hope it will be less of a burden on me and my time this year and, unfortunately, am not particularly excited about it. It is good that I am doing it with someone, though, because she will sub in when I am not present and will allow the class to progress more smoothly.

I hope to start health classes at the primary school in Avassikpe soon. I have 21 health related drawings that a Sunday School at home might help me photocopy so that each student can have a drawing to take home and ideally share the message with their family.

I have been emailing back and forth with a man I met at the Household Water Treatment and Storage Conference in Accra. He works for an ONG – International AID - affiliated with the Carter Foundation in Ghana and has been working hard to make good on a promise to bring me ten Biosand Filters. Just yesterday I received an email informing me that the filters and sand are ready in Accra and that what remains is transport. I will speak with my APCD to see if Peace Corps can help me transport the filters. I was hoping that Effoh would be in village to help me with the management of the project (the idea was to hold a brief formation and then place filters with mill operators, store owners, gas vendors etc., so that they would be accessible to the whole population for a small fee), but I will have to find someone else to help me.

I spoke at church on Sunday about starting a workshop for married couples; we will see if there is enough interest to actually go through with it.

I am feeling a bit unmotivated and at loose ends. Because AIDS Ride occupied so much of my time in the past couple of months, I didn’t start any new projects in village and now don’t feel as though I have much going on. At least not much that excites me. I might try to organize a HEARTH workshop (ten day long workshop for mothers of under nourished children) in one or two of the villages around Avassikpe, but that will take several months to realize. Ashley and I are also planning a sensibilization campaign for Moringa (using the radio and billboards and a Moringa “festival” or “fair”), but she is busy currently with a different project and isn’t free to work on it yet. Right now I feel as though much of my energy is being drained in missing Jorge and worrying about how and when we will be together again, and I am hoping that his arrival in Togo and sharing in his “discovery” of Togo will re-energize and re-excite me about this experience/opportunity that I am living.

I feel like I am just trying to get through the next couple of months (weeks now?) until Jorge gets here and then I will start living again. Is that sad?

To end on a happy note, I have a college friend coming to visit for a week on the 18^th of November. It is almost unbelievable that she is coming all the way out here to visit me and I am really touched by the gesture. She will provide a much needed distraction. After her visit and after Thanksgiving, I will hopefully only have three more weeks (if we get visa and airline issues figured out) of suffering left before Jorge and I will be reunited. If the visa to Italy is granted and we are going to spend Christmas and New Years with his mom in Italy, then I will have to spend those last three weeks figuring out what, on earth I am going to wear. I have no long pants, only two long sleeve shirts and one sweatshirt to weather the Italian winter. Yikes.

That’s it for now. Maybe I will be better about writing in the coming weeks, but somehow I doubt it. Later gaters.

9/9/08 through 9/29/08

9/9/08

I don’t feel like writing. Lately, I never feel like writing. Maybe I am finally boring myself.

Upon my arrival in village yesterday, I was please to see that the chickens had not completely destroyed my garden. This morning early I watered it and was getting ready to go to the field with Tseviato to harvest corn when Effoh returned with the tip of the pointer finger on his left hand sliced through to the nail. I brought him disinfectant to clean it, but when I saw that the tip of his finger was barely still attached, I suggested that he go to the dispensaire and get it sewn back together. We went, but he balked at the cost (a total of 2,000cFA = $5.00) and decided to take care of it at home. I am worried the tip of his finger is going to fall off. Yucky. Looking at it makes me sick to my stomach.

I picked corn all day. It wasn’t too bad. Easier, I’d say, than beans or cotton because you don’t have to bend down as often. I was wearing long sleeves and gloves which made it even easier. Otherwise the corn leaves and husks are rough on the skin. You just go down the row twisting the ears off and throwing them in a pile.

It would have been entirely pleasant had I not stubbed my toe on the way out to the field – I think the nail is going to fall off. Eve so, though, it was fine. We were all women – Tseviato, DaJulie, Mama, Tseviato’s older sister – it was nice working together in silence, or listening to their chit-chat, or joking around with Tseviato. We got home at dusk and I showered and am now going to go look for Giz who has begun bolting out the door every chance he gets. So far he has always returned (but not until he jolly well feels like it).

9/10/08 and 9/11/08

I ate my weight twice over in pasta primavera today. I was so excited when I saw the green beans in my garden that I went overboard: carrots and cabbage (from the market), green beans, yellow squash, zucchini, and moringa from my garden. It was delicious, but made enough to feed a family. I turned more than half of it into couscous to give away, but I am unfortunately not sure how it will be appreciated. So far, my prized vegetables: green beans, squash and zucchini, haven’t received very good marks in the Togolese taste index. DaJulie actually spit the green bean out.

Highlights. Hmm.

I think I am in the process of finally succeeding in drying moringa leaves; this time out in the sun but protected by a sheet (I hope that counts as “shaded”).

Tseviato’s sister said she would die (of sadness) when I leave and Tseviato said she will fall sick (nice to know I will be missed).

Yesterday I made another delicious moringa sauce for pâte for Jerome’s visit. I gave some to DaJulie and Tseviato’s older sister and they loved it. This morning I convinced Tseviato’s older sister to add Moringa leaves to her sauce.

This morning I went to see the field that Midojicope has chosen for their moringa trees. Hopefully it will rain tonight (a storm is menacing) and we can plant tomorrow. I am worried that it won’t be a community (but rather a family) affair in Midojicope, but, of course, they reassure me that everyone is welcome to participate (yes, but are they informed?).

Effoh’s finger seems to be healing. I was honestly worried that the tip was going to turn black and fall off (ironically, it turned white, but didn’t fall off). But it seems to be reattaching itself. Last night he cleaned it and this morning we bandaged and splinted it. I suggested a splint of sorts because he re-injures it every time he bumps it while working in the field.

I am working on a formation for young couples. Looks like I might be organizing classes ate the EPP, the CEG and for young couples. My “vacation” seems to be coming to an end.

I don’t know how to ask people to stop taking water from the cistern in my garden because I invited them to help themselves during the rainy season. Now I want to save my water to irrigate my plants when it doesn’t rain. Tsevi’s wife is currently taking water. Usually she asks first . . .

9/12/08 and 9/13/08

Yesterday I spent the whole morning making koliko (fried ignam) with an audience of a good ten children. That is the way it is lately; I can’t cook anything without an audience because I have to do it all outside over charbon (by the way, Dad, the lining in the bottom of my stove, that catches the cinders and ashes fell out). I used to try to get the charcoal to light without cheating (requires patience, a lot of matches and a lot of fanning), but I have discovered that a capful of kerosene makes the whole experience less frustrating and time-consuming. Now that I am cooking outside, my eating habits have become sporadic. Some days I don’t cook at all and revert to scavenger mode, and other days I cook as if for a Togolese family and inevitably share what I have made wit hmy neighbors. I feel badly cooking anything other than pâte (and even my pâte is better than theirs because it has fish, big fish, in it) and then hoarding it all to myself.

I shared my pâte sauce, shared my vegetable couscous and shared my koliko. I spent a good part of my afternoon sitting sullenly at the dispensaire. DaMarie had asked me to accompany her “younger sister” to a prenatal consultation so she wouldn’t be “scared.” Of course, I couldn’t refuse, but the woman has had 4 children, I don’t know what she could have to be afraid of. Had it been her first child, my compliance would have been a bit more willing. It took forever and a half because there were a lot of patients: a child wit ha severe case of malaria, three kids (all under 13) who go it an accident while driving their father’s moto and other pregnant women.

Other than that, my day was largely uninteresting.

Today I filmed another episode of my cooking show; this time corn bouillie for breakfast and beans and rice to eat with leftover sauce from my koliko. The in-studio audience was awed by my efforts.

I had a bit of a misunderstanding with DaMarie and thought she had canceled our plans to go to the filed and was surprised (unpleasantly) when she came to my door and said she was ready to go. Evidently my Ewe is far from flawless. I trudged behind her to the field, but it turned out to be a good day. I learned how to stack corn on the grenier (storage paillote for corn; what I have been previously spelling something like grenouille (frog) is actually grenier (grainery). I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that out). We made a four-sided corn wall twenty rows high all around the grenier and then through the rest of the corn inside. The huge mound of corn is covered with woven strips of paille – they shove sticks through the weave and into the corn rows to keep it in place. Once several layers of paille are in place, they pack more corn in from the top, dup water mixed with insecticide on it, and seal it up. Apparently water helps the ears (still in their husks) to stick to each other better when you’re stacking. Luckily for us, it had rained lightly, otherwise we would have had to manually sprinkle it with water before stacking.

Once the grenier was finished, the men left. I was going to stay and pick corn with DaMarie, but was thankful when rain bailed me out. The remains of their field is a mess – all toppled over – it would have been a pain in the butt to harvest.

9/14/08 and 9/15/08

I am so mad at Gizmo I could wring his scrawny little kitty neck. I’m not going to feed him for 24 hours. Maybe that will teach him not to pee on the moringa leaves I have spent four days carefully and painstakingly drying. They hadn’t been in the house more than a minute before he was peeing all over them. It was a lot of pee too – as though he had held it all day for just such an opportunity. Evil. Pure evil. And his litter box is perfectly clean so he has absolutely no excuse. I’m so angry. He has ruined so many leaves and I thought for sure this time I’d get to the powder making stage. =0( Grr.

Yesterday, at church, I felt so claustrophobic that I thought I was going to pass out, scream, vomit or all three. I have a bit of a head cold and that compounded with the heat, the proximity of bodies, the lack of air circulation and the pastor bellowing into a megaphone a few feet away made me feel positively ill. I escaped at the earliest opportunity (not early enough) and went home to drink lemonade and lie in my hammock reading Newsweek.

In the afternoon Effoh charged my cell phone with a gadget he has rigged up to charge phones with 7 D batteries. Whatever. It works. I just hope it isn’t bad for my phone. And then he made pâte with moringa sauce. I had told him that I wouldn’t cook for him again until he cooked for me, so he did. They crushed the moringa leaves on a stone which brings out the flavor more than with the whole leaves, but it might be somewhat of an acquired taste. It was good though.

Yesterday afternoon Ash texted me to let me know that our Country Director would be accompanying our APCD on his visit.

After bringing moringa seeds to Midojicope so they could plant, I spent the whole morning preparing for their visit: making pâte and moringa sauce, cleaning my house, doing laundry. The visit was fine. IT went more or less well, although I kind of felt like I’m not doing enough here, like I should be more active at the dispensaire, with the ASCs (community health agents), with women’s groupements, etc. And yet, somehow, I manage to fill the time.

Today Jorge has his thesis defense. I hope it goes well. I am sure it will. How I wish I could be there! At least I was able to get through with a phone call to wish him good luck.

9/16/08 through 9/29/08: The Highlights

(This is me indulging my laziness and trying to spin it as something positive). For the past two weeks I haven’t been writing on a daily basis, rather I have been jotting down the highlights in hopes of remembering them when I finally get around to writing. For some, this turn of events may be long overdue (you’re thinking: finally she stops writing about her bowl movements and what she eats!), but really, it is out of no consideration for the reader, just plain old laziness on my part.

9/16/08

Apparently on the 16^th I lay in my hammock and read “Helping Healthworkers Learn” a didactic accompaniment to “Where There is no Doctor.” And that’s it.

9/17/08

On the 17^th, Alicia’s birthday, I left my bike at the Director’s house in Agbatit and hopped in a car to Atakpame. Upon arrival I busied myself making a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Happily it turned out well. It was a nice day and I was glad to see many of my friends and have a chance to chat with Jorge (although I missed the water balloon fight ‘cuz I was ate the internet café).

9/18/08

On Thursday the 18^th, Tig, Regina, Ashley and her visiting friend, Meg, and I took a bush taxi to Badou, arguably one of the prettiest regions of Togo. However, Ashley and I were glad we wimped out of biking the Atakpame-Badou road (at one point we had been considering including it on our AIDS Ride); it is constant ups and downs and hairpin turns on a narrow, pothole filled road. Although it would have been a beautiful ride, I think we would have been too tired to notice.

We checked into a hotel in Badou , after grabbing lunch, set out to hike up the mountain to the waterfall. We were accompanied by two teenage guides and had to ford rushing waters (Ashley almost took one of the guides down with her) and climb countless rocky steps. It definitely provoked heavy breathing, but it wasn’t killer. It was only about a 45 minute hike and worth every step. The waterfall was beautiful – bigger than I expected – and the best part was getting in the water at the base and experiencing the power of the falling water up close and personal. The water was only about waist high, but the water was pouring down off the mountain with such force (it is a vertical waterfall) that two meters was about the closest I could get due to the wind, spray and water that created an invisible, impenetrable force field around the bottom of the cascade. It was exhilarating and I would go back in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, the day was marred by a conflict of personality. When I am on a trip (we were only going to be in Badou for an afternoon and a night) I like to go, go, go, see everything, do everything, take advantage of every second and I think, in groups in which not everyone is that sort of traveler, I can rub people the wrong way and come off as pushy and inconsiderate. And so I will have to try to be more aware in the future of other people’s needs and desires.

9/19/08

We left Badou early Friday morning and returned to Atakpame in a torturemobile. The van was smaller than average and falling apart, and still we managed to fit fifteen people in it even though both Ashley and Tig had hard metal objects jabbing into their a**es.

In Atakpame I did some shopping and some internetting and was debating going back to village but succumbed to the temptation of watching a movie instead.

9/20/08

Saturday, Ashley and her friend, Meg, came to visit me in village, so that was fun. At my request, Meg had brought supplies for s’mores. The children were making all sorts of conjectures as to what this strange white thing on the end of the stick was actually made of. Some of them called it sweetbread and others candy. I told them that children under the age of 20 will die if they eat it and perhaps they believed me, but they still sat around hoping for the taste that never came (I know, I am selfish).

8/30/08 through 9/8/08

Lately, I have absolutely no desire to chronicle. It isn't that I am particularly busy, just that when the time comes to sit down and write, I feel a complete lack of motivation. In the last week I only wrote one day, but today I am in Notse and have an opportunity to use internet and so I ought to catch myself up so that I have something to show for the last week of living.
8/30/08
We checked ourselves into the Hotel Kara around 3:00 in the afternoon. The Hotel offers a special discount for Peace Corps volunteers and so we stayed, four to a room, for only 3,500 cFA and got full use of the pool and hotel disco. We spent the afternoon swimming and then went out to dinner. Tig, Nacho and Alicia had gotten me a small bottle of amarulla while in Ghana because it is one of the only types of alcohol that I will drink and so I had some with dinner: pizza and pasta that I split with Helen. After dinner we went back to the hotel, swam, went to the disco to do 80s power hour and dance, and then swam again. 80s power hour is a sort of drinking game or activity, excerpts of songs from the 80s that change every minute. You are supposed to take a swig of alcohol with every beep that signals a change in song. I didn't play; I lay on the couch in the disco (which was empty except for us) and played with the glow sticks Lauren had provided and watched Ashley and Tig burn up the dance floor. I couldn't help but envy their capacity to dance and have a blast while doing it; to completely let go and just have fun; neither was at all inebriated. I wish I liked to dance and didn't feel so self conscious doing it, because it the girls looked like they were having so much fun. Unfortunately, dancing isn't fun for me.
The party was fun, but a little bittersweet because we were missing Nacho – she got sick on her way up to Kara and had to go back to Lome – and because on the back of everyone's mind was the knowledge that Lauren planned to ET in the week following our party.
Sleeping four to a bed was a little crowded. We did a four way spoon and practiced rotating sides of our body all at the same time like rotisserie chickens on a stick.
8/31/08
After getting a lazy start, we went in search of breakfast, went swimming, and took group pictures with our Stage T-Shirts on - they are green with yellow writing: BAMAZE on the front (our APCD's last name), CHAP 07-09 on the back and "suck it like a FanMilk" on the sleeve.
At noon (funny how we always choose the hottest part of the day to be out and about) we walked back to the maison, tracked down street food for lunch and, while the bulk of the girls sat down to watch Sweeny Todd (some sort of murder musical), I went to the internet. I chatted with Jorge which was lovely because I got the play-by-play of his last hours as prisoner to his thesis and, after about a month of not talking about much in the way of future plans besides his thesis, we were able to discuss our plan to meet in Italy for Christmas and how we are going to realize it: (timing, visas, money, etc). It seems like every time one obstacle is overcome (thesis down) another obstacle takes its place and makes me wary of getting too excited about a December reunion in Italy. Jorge still has 300 hours of internship to complete, his last requirement before he will be entitled to his degree in International Studies and he also needs a visa to Italy which has become more difficult since his last trip to visit his mother in 2005.
Just as I was leaving the internet café, I got a call from my parents – that was a particularly special treat; it had been a while since I had spoken with them on the phone and as great as email is, it doesn't come close to actually having a conversation with a loved one.
The rest of the day was spent hanging out; nothing too exciting.
9/1/08
Monday we endured a seemingly endless ride to Atakpame where we had decided to spend the night in response to the news that another of our friends from the SED Stage that arrived in Togo with us was planning to "abandon ship." The ride was bad because the driver kept stopping, but fortunately we weren't squished in the car like we usually are. For a while there I even had a whole seat to myself.
In Atakpame we just watched movies, hung out, baked a cake, and used internet.
Ashley Tig and I left early Tuesday morning for Notse. It was one of the fastest rides to Notse ever – under an hour.
9/2/08
After a trip to the market in Notse to stock up on certain supplies, we ate a lunch of Doritos and Oreos (from a care package from the States) and watched The Little Mermaid (yay! That movie makes me so happy!) before I loaded up my bike and, after picking up Jerome's money from Western Union (a RPCV – Returned Peace Corps Volunteer – in the States sent him money to help with his childrens' school fees), biked home to Avassikpe.
Gizmo was happy to see me and I him, but I wasn't happy to note that the chickens have destroyed my garden by digging in it for worms.
I spent the evening pushing dried corn off the cob with Tseviato at her older sisters' house until my thumbs hurt and then I tried pâte made with red (as opposed to white) corn. It was good. I had started by helping the little boys push red kernels of corn off the cob, but then Tseviato arrived with a big basin full of white corn. Apparently when you go pick corn at someone else's field, all the corn that is not fit to be stored in a grenouille (one of those platform paillote structures for storing dried corn) because it is not fully sealed, is yours to keep. So Tseviato came home with a whole basin of corn, the profits of which were hers. I bought the corn from her – 3 bowls for 1050 cFA; not too shabby a profit for a day's work for a twelve year old.
9/3/08
It has been so long since I have been in village, followed my normal routine and written regularly that I almost forgot that that is what I do every night.
I ate the first fruits of my garden tonight with the exception of Moringa. It was a huge yellow squash that I doused with Italian salad dressing – delicious. Who knew vegetables could be such a treat. I don't think Togolese people – I tried it out on Patrovi – will like my squash, so . . . more for me.
The chickens have really done a number on my garden and so I am going to try to re-do it, make the beds lower to the ground and replant. I also spoke to DaMarie this morning and she said she will shut the chickens in their cages at night. I think most of the damage is done during the day, but we will see how it goes. If that doesn't work, maybe Jerome can speak to her on Friday about clipping their wings.
This morning I made pâte rouge and roasted soy beans to take to the Moulin. I was just finishing the soy beans when Jerome arrived around 9:30. Our lesson was unremarkable.
The rest of my day was spent dealing with my garden. I flattened one bed and transplanted tomato plants, one head of lettuce, one basil plant and my marigolds. I did such a good job turning over the soil the first time that it is still pretty easy to work, so that is nice. Tomorrow I will do the second bed and maybe try replanting some things.
I am writing by candlelight because something is wrong with both my lamps.
Effoh took my bike to Notse.
I brought some pants that I got from the grab bin to Mana to take in. She wanted to give me 1000 cFA from the money for the stage pagnes (in thanks, I guess, for helping so much), but I asked her to fix my pants for me instead.
Having to stay awake until a decent hour (or indecent – when I can no longer expect visitors) is annoying. I just want to go to bed, read and go to sleep, but I am afraid someone will come knocking.
9/4/08
Thursday I worked all day in my garden, transplanting tomato plants, ademan, gboma and okra to the first bed that I had flattened out the day before and flattening the other beds in preparation for reseeding. I think I killed some of the plants, especially the tomato plants in the process, but luckily tomato plants are one thing I don't have trouble getting to grow. I just have to throw the seeds on the ground and little tomato plants will sprout.
I weeded the rows of squash and piment with Tseviato's help and then cut three Moringa trees to start drying the leaves and to use their lovely straight stalks as supports for my sweet peas.
In the evening, I replanted the whole garden, placing a small Moringa twig to mark each spot that I planted a seed. That way I will know exactly where to look for sprouts and I will know if and where the chickens have been digging because the sticks will be displaced. I really hope my garden succeeds this time. Is it the second or third time that is the charm? Second I hope, because I don't have enough seeds for a third time.
9/5/08
Friday morning I spent doing laundry. I was going to cook, but decided against it and instead went to the market to see what sort of food was available. I bought some soja and bean beignets. Not the healthiest lunch in the world, but that is part of the problem of not having gas; you have to take what you can get.
Jerome and a man from an NGO in Notse that works with handicapped people, "Belle Porte," were supposed to arrive at 2:00 to do a sensiblization in my market on how to treat (both socially and medically) handicapped people. They arrived, drenched from a sudden rainstorm, around 2:30. The next couple of hours were stressful because I was paying 5,000 cFA for this dude to do a sensibilization and couldn't afford to reschedule, but the rain refused to let up. Finally, the rain let up enough for us to do the sensibilization and I think it was a success (we had a good audience of children and adults – perhaps forty to sixty people, which, for Avassikpe, is a huge crowd), but the timing was such that, by the time we were finished, it was already getting dark and there was no way I could bike to Notse before being blinded by darkness. To Ashley's disappointment (an my own – we had been planning a dinner of pasta primavera with squash from my garden), I decided to stay the night in Avassikpe and bike into Notse early the next morning.
In the end, I was glad I stayed because I got a surprise phone call from Jorge and that made me especially happy and then I went to bed early and hardly noticed the booming music of the "balle" that continued 'til dawn.
9/6/08
Saturday was Agbobozan, the traditional fête of the Ewe people and a sort of ignam fest. From what I understand, some of the ceremonies surrounding Agbobozan include offering the first ignams to the fetish. Before these ceremonies, animists won't eat the ignams from their fields for fear of angering their fetishes.
Apparently the ceremonies started on Thursday in Notse, but I didn't really notice anything special in Avassikpe. In Notse, on the days leading up to Agbobozan, people have to keep their animals carefully guarded because packs of men apparently run around killing any stray animals and carting them off to the ceremonial grounds as offerings to the fetishes. Normally Agbobozan is a huge fête. Last year the president and many ministers came and there were speeches and dancing at the Cultural Center. This year, because of the broken bridges and the corresponding expenditures (although the bridges aren't getting fixed very quickly so I'm not sure what real expenditures are being made) the bigwigs from Lome can't afford to support Agbobozan. When we went in search of a party Saturday morning, we found the Cultural Center empty; the only noticeable celebration was taking place at the king's house where many chiefs and a dance troupe of women painted white were in attendance. We stopped by briefly, feeling like intruders in a private fête, to greet the King and the chiefs.
The rest of the day was spent making a delicious pasta primavera for lunch, watching movies and sleeping. I was a little bummed that the fête hadn't been more interesting, but ultimately my goal had been to escape my village. Fête days in village inevitably translate into me spending a lot of money on food, a lot of energy on preparing and serving that food to people who feel that it is their right to come eat at my home, and the resulting feeling of frustration that something I do because I want to is turned sour by people who feel entitled to my generosity. My village was distressed to learn that I planned to fête in Notse. I told several people that if the village men promised to prepare the meals (fêtes are days of constant preparing and eating) that I would stay in village. They laughed and said that if the men prepared the food the women would be "gêne-ed" because men don't know how to prepare. Then the men should learn how to cook so that they can relieve the women of their duties the day of the fête. I think I will refuse to spend any more fêtes in village until the men agree to cook and, as that will never happen, it will get me out of village fêtes.
9/7/08
Sunday felt more like a fête than Saturday. Jerome had invited Ashley and I to his village and, as usual, had rolled out the red carpet of hospitality. We enjoyed delicious fufu and sauce and later rice and sauce (Jerome had killed a chicken for us), toured the village, visited the sodabe distillery and drank fresh palm juice, and enjoyed good conversation. It was a nice day and I was glad that Ashley finally got a chance to really meet Jerome, spend some time with him, and realize what a cool guy he is. She wants to bring her friend (who is arriving in a week from the States for a visit) to his village, so we will have another Zitsou experience in a couple of weeks. Jerome is a born host. He loves hosting people and is wonderful at it. You can also ask him anything and everything and he is accustomed enough to Americans never to be offended by our questions.
9/8/08
Today I plan to go to internet, do some work on my section of the Moringa manual, stock up on food and bike back to Avassikpe in the evening. I was going to go to Lome next weekend with Ashley to pick up her friend, but have decided to stay in village instead. It will be my longest stay (a week!) in village in recent months (maybe just the last month, when I was in and out of village every couple of days).

8/4/08 through 8/8/08

8/4/08 through 8/8/08

The traditional healers conference was a total bust.

Before leaving Notse to meet Midojicope’s traditional healer’s brother in Agbatit, I biked around in search of powdered milk and a baby bottle for the couple that I want to send to a couples formation in Atakpame (so that they can leave their two year old daughter with her grandmother for the week).

The traditional healer’s brother, henceforth referred to as Kodjotse (‘cuz that’s his name) was very punctual, but what with the 9 bridges that have collapsed all over Togo, travel is even more difficult than it was before and cars heading to Atakpame from Notse are no longer easy to find (because everyone coming from Lome has to bypass Notse and go through Kpalime instead, directly to Atakpame). A side note on the bridges: Togo’s economy can do nothing but plummet with these disasters. The whole country relies on Lome and the port as the basis for the economy, markets are already suffering, boutiques aren’t fully stocked, and the villagers have no one to buy up and transport their crops and charbon for Lome’s grand marche. With the rain refusing to let up, the government is having a hard time fixing the bridges. No one knows when life will go back to “normal,” but don’t worry we just got a memo from our Country Director saying “Peace Corps Togo is not – repeat NOT – evacuating.”

Our ride to Atakpame and then to Langabou and Pagala was uneventful except for the fact that I was squished up in the front seat with three other people. It was a fast, if uncomfortable, ride. The only interesting thing about it was that Kodjotse told me that the traditional religion (I’m not really sure how to denominate it) doesn’t have a central god, but that it has several powerful and universal spirits like the spirit of the earth, the spirit of thunder and the spirit of snakes. If you sacrifice to one of them (I forget which) they will help you find it and if you sacrifice to the spirit of thunder it will strike a thief (or anyone?) down for you with a bolt of lightning.

I was the first volunteer to arrive in Pagala and so I showered and sat down to read about Morocco in a Lonely Planet guidebook until Tig showed up.

Like I said before, the conference, workshop, formation (whatever you want to call it) was a bust, a total waste of time. The only thing I got out of it was a new contact in village (perhaps an “in” into the traditional healers’ circle and the fetish circle) and quality time with Tig. I also planned our (Jorge and me) trip to Morocco (I am so glad I brought the book or I might have died of boredom during the sessions!).

In theory, the workshop should have been interesting. In reality, however, it was badly organized and based on a superficial (funding forced) connection between traditional healing and HIV/AIDS. Traditional healers should be warned not to claim to have a cure for AIDS and taught when to send AIDS patients to the hospital, but the connection was a little artificial.

Other than that, there was some antagonism between the traditional healers and the agents of modern medicine which made things a little more exciting at times, but the biggest problem was that we had no idea what they were talking about when they’d rattle off that - - - - (substitute the name for a plant in any of ten local languages) treats infertility. The bulk of the time was spent reviewing HIV/AIDS basics, Moringa basics, and identifying the scientific names and local names of trees. We went on a field trip in search of trees. I learned that if a bat eats the fruit of a certain plant and then vomits it back up, you can mix the fiber of its vomit with yesterday’s leftover pâte and give it to a woman who is having trouble having a baby and she will get pregnant. A branch of the same plant can be hung over your door to prevent would-be evil do-ers from entering. Other than that it was boring as all get out – either information we already knew, or information that was meaningless to us. At least the Togolese counterparts made contacts and networked between themselves, so at least they benefited from the workshop.

The food was good. I ate chicken at lunch and dinner – more meat than I have eaten in the whole last month and being with Tig for three days was fabulous. I also got to know some of the volunteers from the stage after mine a little better and that was fun.

My other big news is that yesterday, Thursday, the results of the BAC were announced. I was nervous about it because I really wanted Effoh to recieve his BAC (high school diploma), had no idea how I would respond to him if he had failed, and knew that if he had, it would be horribly depressing in village for the next few weeks. He beeped me after getting the results and he passed. I was so relieved (but not as relieved as he). Today, back in Notse, I learned that not only did he pass (you can pass with the “admisible,” meaning that you have to take an oral exam the following day, with “passable” meaning that you don’t have to take the oral exam, with “assez bien” meaning better than average, and with “bien” meaning practically impossible to achieve. Only four students, including Effoh, received the “assez bien” qualification and only one the “bien” qualification. Understandably, Effoh is on cloud nine. He is the first person from Avassikpe to get their BAC. He is practically going to be a village hero. We decided that we are going to celebrate on Sunday. I am going to make the sauce for a ton of fufu and he is going to get the manioc from their fields. (He also told me that they celebrate every August 10^th, which happens to be this Sunday as well, because two years ago they got in a serious accident while driving to a soccer match, but everyone came out more or less unharmed and they went on to win all their matches afterwards and the tournament “cup”).

7/29/08 through 8/3/08

7/29/08 through 7/31/08

Ashley and I biked out of Notse at 6 :00. The ride wasn’t terrible. I felt a little low on energy, but the hills were only rolling and in most places it wasn’t too sandy. We had been told that we would have to ford a stream that had overflowed its banks, but luckily for us, the water had receded enough for us to pass; it was level with the road, but not covering it. We could see however, the damage done by the water. On the route national between Lome and Notse a bridge collapsed because of the rain, making getting in and out of Lome challenging. There are alternate routes, from Lome, Notse and Atakpame to Kpalime, but those roads were not in the best condition to begin with and also ravaged by very heavy rainfall.

We had four stops to make during the ride at four CEGs. We didn’t find any of the school Directors, but we managed to get their contact numbers anyway. We took a little detour to hit a CEG 3 km off the road – it was a rough 3 km, but it is important to sensibilize populations off the beaten track as well. I almost got into an argument with an elder because as we biked towards the village he yelled at me to stop. So many people yell at us to stop and then ask us for money or to give them a “cadeau” that I just pedaled on. A few cycles later and we stopped to ask someone for information about the Director of the CEG. The elder (not that old, or wise, or probably respected of an elder) came running after and started yelling, “See? See? You should have stopped! I am an elder! You should have stopped!” I told him that perhaps if he had asked “Est-ce que je peux vous aider?” (can I help you?) rather than ordering us to stop, than we would have stopped to ask him about the Director of the CEG. The other three stops were less of a hassle.

We ate beans and rice at a village called Kati, about 10 kilometers before Tig’s village and then pushed on, arriving at Tig’s village around noon. We had biked around 60 kilometers. Tig wasn’t in village, so we rested and ate more beans and rice on her porch and then we locked our bikes together and to a post and walked the 3K to the hard road. If we had had our helmets we could have taken motos because the new moto policy allows for motos on all low traffic routes where it is difficult to find a car, but we didn’t and so we walked. At Notse-Mono, where the Notse-Kpalime road connects with the Lome-Kpalime road, we got a taxi to the Prefet. The Prefet was welcoming and accommodating and didn’t even make me apologize too much for having picked the wrong letter out of my folder (it was the letter for the prefecture Wawa and this was the prefecture of Agou – I just crossed out Wawa and wrote Agou on the envelope and the letter heading, but he didn’t seem to mind). He, of course, authorized us to sensiblize in his prefecture and it was probably the fastest, most painless, prefet-visit I’ve ever experienced. We hopped in another taxi to Kpalime, did some errands, and then hiked out of town to Nadia and Tristan’s house (a married couple who arrived with our stage).

There were a lot of people at the house (including Nadia and Tristan) that I haven’t seen for a while and it was really nice to reconnect. It is a sad time in our Peace Corps service though. As we near our one year mark, many of the volunteers who arrived in my stage and vowed to stick it out at least a year are throwing their hats in. Their reasons vary from family problems back home, to not feeling productive, to wanting to get on with their lives, to hating Togo, but we lost a volunteer a couple of weeks ago and I know of six more who are definitely or most likely leaving. That discounts all the volunteers from the stage after us who have left for various reasons and the fact that all the second year volunteers who stuck out the two years are COS-ing. It feels like a mass exodus of volunteers from Togo, breaking down volunteer support networks, and destabilizing volunteers who already feel like they are teetering on the edge. I am lucky, because Ashley is my closest neighbor, friend and support and she isn’t going anywhere, but Tig might lose three of her closest neighbors. Not great for moral.

We chatted, made dinner, and played a game called Apples to Apples before going to bed.

On Wednesday, after a lazy morning, we walked into town, bought ingredients for lunch and then took a taxi to Notse-Mono. We tried to get a car to take us all the way to Tig’s village, but they wanted too much money. Tig had her helmet, so she moto-ed and Ashley and I walked. Unfortunately, it was noon and I was hot, hungry and sweaty and the walk felt never-ending.

It was so great to be with Tig again. She just got back from a month-long vacation visiting family in Greece and we missed her. We just got caught up on each others lives and talked about the difficulties of maintaining friendships after Peace Corps. I am a pessimist in that respect because I haven’t had great luck with friends from high school, friends from Bolivia, friends from college. . . I find people’s lives and immediate surroundings get in the way of maintaining multiple long-distance relationships. Here, we form hard and fast friendships because other volunteers are the only people who can really relate to our experience, but once at home, everyone will fall back into their old support systems (family and friends) and won’t need the Peace Corps support network as much. We will see. I certainly hope certain friendships survive.

Aside for a visit from a young Togolese rapper from Lome (dressed in baggy jeans, a baggy shirt, big white shoes, gold chain, bracelet and ring, with corn spirals (as opposed to corn rows) in his hair – he stuck out like an alien from another planet), we just chatted until bedtime. The rapper wants Tig to help him get a CD out and wanted, like everyone else, to know how we could help him get to the United States. Unfortunately, a torrential downpour extended his visit longer than necessary; we were trapped on Tig’s porch.

On Thursday, after a more than twelve hours of rain, Ashley and I biked out of Agou Avedje towards Notse. The road was terrible. It was coated with a layer of slippery mud that sprayed up as we pedaled making artful designs on the backs of our shirts and was gutted by the combination of rain mud, and the spinning wheels of tractor trailers stuck in the mud. Normally, tractor trailers never go down the Notse-Mono road. On a normal day, you would be lucky to see a car, but because of the bridge that collapsed between Notse and Lome, the Notse-Mono road has turned into a principal thorough way for cargo destined for Lome. The mud, traffic, and people along the route made the ride somewhat unpleasant. All along the route, people were trying to fix the roads by filling pot-holes and muddy tracks with brush and logs, anything to allow for a bit of traction. They tried to extort money out of us, the whities, for their efforts when the people who should be tipping them are the drivers of the huge cargo trucks that are tearing up the road. We refused to pay mostly because the men asking for payment were belligerent (one even grabbed Ashley’s butt – I don’t know why she always gets her butt grabbed, Togolese men must like it). We saw two tractor trailers stuck in the mud and two that had toppled over, not to mention the long traffic jams of tractor trailers lined up behind the ones that were stuck and consequently blocking the route.

Even so, we made good time and were in Notse by around 10:00. We ate, showered (but not before taking pictures of our mud covered bodies – I even had mud in my hair!) and sat down to finalize our AIDS Ride route, and participants list. It is a bit of a pain to organize a huge event like this. I much prefer to participate than to organize, but someone has to organize . . . So . . .

We did as much as we could and then called it quits and went out for an early dinner with Heather (the other volunteer in Notse) to a fufu bar. In the evening I continued studying to become a certified lesbian (meaning I watched more episodes of the L word). I finished the third season, my junior year, so after one more year (season) I will get my certificate. Yay! The third season was a downer, though, very depressing; I hope the fourth season is a little happier. I need happy not depressing.

Today, Friday, I am biking back to village for an Ewe lesson and a soccer match. I just decided to go to a workshop with traditional healers Monday through Friday of next week in Pagala and so I have to try to find a community health worker and/or a traditional healer to accompany me. One that speaks French – that is the clincher – and I only have two or three days. We will see. If I have to go alone I have to go alone. The reason it is sloppy and last minute like this is that my APCD didn’t want to ask me to go because I have gotten to go to every other special workshop and he doesn’t want other volunteers to complain, but when he invited some of my peers to this workshop, all but Tig said they were unavailable, so I’m going. I hope it is interesting. At least a little.

8/1/08 and 8/2/08

Biking home from Notse yesterday I stopped briefly to see the Director of the CEG in Agbatit. First think upon arriving in village I tracked down Tsevi and asked him about traditional healers that speak French. I am attending a workshop in Pagala next week and ought to bring two homologues: a traditional healer and a community health agent. Tsevi said he knew of one and would speak with him. I then went home. Gizmo wasn’t in the house. I couldn’t help but imagine the worst: he died and they had removed his body. I tried not to panic and went to look for Effoh who had Gizmo in his house with him. I sat for a little bit, but had to go prepare lunch for Jerome. Gizmo was mad at me and it made me really sad. Evidently he was well-cared for in my absence because he ignored my arrival and presence, reusing to stay in my arms and be cuddled. I can’t help but wonder how much it must hurt when your child rejects you if it hurts when your kitten rejects you. Everyone wants to feel needed and loved.

Jerome arrived before I was able to finish preparing rice and beans for lunch. We had our lesson and then he helped me with lunch by crushing the onions, garlic, piment and little fish on the stone in my garden. I was thankful for the help because I hate how my hands burn after crushing piment. Jerome suggested soaking the piment for an hour beforehand and adding rock salt when crushing to expedite the task and rubbing palm oil on my hands afterwards to ease the burning.

While I was preparing lunch, the catechist from Komlacope arrived with a father and daughter to see Jerome. The young girl (12? 13?) apparently had an infected cut on her leg. The father tried to “dig” out the infection (?!?!), whatever that means, and it only got worse. He took her to a traditional healer who said the wound would heal by itself and advised against taking the girl to the hospital. The infection spread and her leg fell off right below the knee without her ever being treated by a trained professional. Now she hops around on one foot doing her best to get by, but she is severely handicapped. Jerome works with some Catholic nuns who help handicapped children find treatment, but they usually require some sort of family contribution be it 20,000 cFA, a goat or a sack of corn – whatever the family has to offer. Unfortunately, her father stubbornly insisted that he has absolutely nothing. Everyone has something. Palm fronds, a chicken, something.

The children were supposed to have a soccer match, but the team from Avovocope never showed. I think they don’t want to conform to a height regulation. That is unfortunate because if the two teams don’t play against each other, I don’t know how they will paly. They had practice anyway. I watched for a bit, played with the younger children and then went home to shower.

In the evening I had perhaps the longest (an hour!) purely Ewe conversation I have ever had. I was sitting with DaJulie and her mom and even Tseviato wasn’t around to translate, so I was on my own. We talked about Mama’s lack of condiments to make pâte sauce and about her accompanying me to the States when I leave and how long I have left in Togo and how men chez moi help with the household and how chores whereas men here don’t and how female praying mantis eat the male after he has fertilized her eggs. Effoh arrived just in time to help me out with the last topic which is good because I wasn’t successfully getting my point across.

I don’t know what Effoh and I were talking about when one of his married friends walked by and commented that he was going to visit a girl launching me into a lively argument about faithfulness, polygamy, religion and sex. The young man argued that men in the Bible had multiple wives, why shouldn’t he? That he needs more than one woman to satisfy his desires, that there are more women than men in Avassikpe and Togo in general (I need some statistics) and that it is practically his duty to take a second wife so that women won’t be left husbandless. He also said sex with his wife who has had a baby isn’t as gratifying as sex with a younger, childless girl who has tighter breasts, stomach and vagina. Great. I fought the urge to plug my ears. HE couldn’t seem to recognize how disgusting and hypocritical his behavior is: to reject his wife because she bore him a child? I didn’t roundly win the argument even though I held my own and was frustrated by having failed to make him understand that everything he can do with a random woman he can do with his wife if only he would take the time to cultivate the sexual side of their relationship.

People here could use some serious sex counseling/education. They lack basic knowledge on foreplay and men and women’s centers of pleasure, how to please the respective sexes, varying sexual positions, everything really. Sex here is pretty much limited to missionary position, man on top doing his thing, women lying there like a lifeless receptacle for the man’s pleasure. When I suggested trying sex with the woman on top, the young man actually voiced the fear that his penis would break off (jokingly I think/hope) and then said that the woman would refuse. Women here are shackled by the idea that during sex it is the man who works (sex is referred to as “travail,” work). No wonder they are bored with their sex lives. They don’t know what they are missing by stifling the sexual expression of women. I tried to explain that if they show themselves willing to try new things and eager to please their wives, that, once they have gained trust and confidence, their wives will open themselves up to experimenting and initiating. One of the big complaints they voiced was that women here never initiate and never respond to men’s sexual advances with caresses of their own. Maybe because society tells them that their sexual desires don’t count, that women are just there to satisfy the sexual drives of men. Therefore, of course they wouldn’t feel “brazen” enough to initiate a sexual encounter or suggest that things be done differently in the bedroom. Gender inequality permeates the whole society, but men don’t realize what they are missing by extending that inequality to the bedroom. I feel like the whole country could use some serious “marriage” counseling. Maybe the best approach to the new HIV/AIDS prevention strategy of limiting long-term concurrent sexual partnerships is to teach men and women how to enjoy each other sexually so they don’t feel a constant desire to go in search of something younger, better, more exciting. I foresee a book: A Sex Doctor for Togo. Is that presumptuous of me? It isn’t a society that shies away from sex, but from what I have heard, sex here isn’t very exciting or imaginative. They need some guidance in thinking outside the box. Restructuring family housing setups would help as well. Currently, the woman has a house where she sleeps with her children and the man a separate house where he sleeps. That doesn’t facilitate spontaneous sexual relations. I wonder how you could counsel a whole country, generation, society on sexual relations without being perceived as corrupting society and youth.

Today, Saturday, was a relatively uneventful day during which I did a ---- ton of laundry, tried to track down a tradition healer that speaks French (an elusive combination), studied Ewe, slept in my hammock and read my book on women and Islam.

I eventually found someone who speaks French who says he knows a little about traditional medicine (he is actually the brother of a traditional healer, but not really a healer himself). Whatever, it will help me get to know and work with more people in the community. He is from Midojicope, so that is also good . . . it widens my base.

8/3/08

Today, attending church was like reading the gossip column in your local newspaper. I learned that so and so is courting women even though he is married, that one of the diacres (leaders in the church) took a second wife and then shortly afterwards died in a car crash (deserved punishment?); his second wife took all his money and went back to her family in the north. I learned that a young girl, betrothed to someone in the village, had gone away for school and returned pregnant and that the choir was being punished for having gone to the marriage in Kpegbadja “behind the pastor’s back.” I don’t know how it could have been behind his back considering the fact that it was his wife who informed me of the marriage and invited me. The whole sermon centered on people’s sins and how it is not a joy but a duty for the pastor to punish them, to inform them of their wrong-doing so they can repent and be saved.

After church I went home to finish cooking my beans for lunch and make banana bread. The young man I chose to attend a couples’ formation in Atakpame with his wife came to see me. He said that their difficulty is that their daughter, who is almost two, still breastfeeds especially at night. I explained that children can’t go to the formation and tried to find a solution. After speaking with him, with his wife (separately) and then accompanying her to their house to speak with his mother (who will take care of the baby in their absence), we decided that I will buy a baby bottle and powdered milk and they will try to give her the bottle instead of the breast for a week before attending the conference to see if she will accept the substitution. I hope this doesn’t wean the baby off the breast entirely. Babies here need the nutritional boost of the mother’s milk as long as possible. I also can’t help but be afraid that the mother will stop producing milk after two weeks of not breast feeding. The purpose of this formation is to improve husband-wife relations and make couples better parents, not wean a child prematurely off breast milk.

After speaking with the couple and their mother, I went to track down my brother of a traditional healer. I spoke with his brother and would have preferred that he accompany me (he is both a traditional healer and a fetisher), but he said he wasn’t available to go to Pagala this week. The traditional healer/fetisher speaks French as well; I don’t know why people didn’t take me directly to him. Oh well . . .

After arranging to meet the brother, who is a primary school teacher, in Agbatitoe at 10:00, I decided to bike to Notse that afternoon so as to have time to find powdered milk and a baby bottle. The powdered milk will be easy, but the baby bottle is a different matter.

It took me a while to get everything in my house ready for a week-long absence and by the time I was ready, it was raining. I rain-proofed Gizmo’s carrier and biked out anyway. Luckily it wasn’t raining hard and stopped before I got to Agbatit. Nevertheless, I ended up biking the last kilometer or so in the dark. Not fun.