Monday, September 26, 2011

My Togo Marathon

Sunday, September 25, 2011
I ran my first marathon in May.  It went horribly.  I followed a detailed training plan which included specific speed intervals, tempo runs, and two months worth of long runs on the weekends.  I was all about the training, I didn’t miss a workout and actually enjoyed the early mornings and strategizing which way the wind was out of for the 15+ milers.  I was on track to make my goal of a sub-4 hour marathon.  I did everything right – followed every nutrition, rest, recovery rule.  I was ready; a bit nervous and intimidated by the feat, but I knew I had put the work in and was trusting it would pay off. Race day came and with less than ideal conditions (warm with humidity) and I chatted with an older woman while we waited for the gun to go off.  Not only had this 70+ woman run a marathon in almost every state, but I learned her daughter had done the Peace Corps in South America.  It was a sign  and I tried to calm my nerves.


The next 4+ hours were some of the hardest I’ve endured, right up there with climbing Mt. Fuji one summer in the middle of the night. I never felt like myself; never found my ‘groove’ and I felt like I was dragging a wagon behind me. By mile 8 I was telling myself to just make it to the halfway point.  Soaked in sweat and dreading the next thirteen miles, I struggled to just make it one mile at a time. I wanted to quit. I thought about pulling over and asking to use someone’s cellphone to call my mom. Lame, I know, but when you’ve been hurting for 3 hours and you can’t see the end, your mind does crazy things.  It was terrible and not what I wanted in my first marathon.  Somehow, I finished.  I missed my goal by a long shot – something I’m still trying to get over, but I finished.  “Was it a good experience,” Bek asked me today. “No,” I replied, I didn’t enjoy it.  But it was an experience; an experience I needed so I will know what to expect for next time. An experience that I wanted, worked for.  An experience all my own and one that few people share.


Saturday will be October 1st and mile 5 of this new marathon I’m running.  That’s what it feels like today at least. As Bek and I sat in her living room discussing the struggles, frustrations, and sacrifices of this Peace Corps service, I realized there are 26 months to this journey, ironically similar to the 26-ish miles I ran in May.  Huh. As we talked more I pointed out how I really enjoyed training for the race and then race day was a disappointment.  Similarly, I tried to mentally prepare for this PC race this past year: telling myself there would be lonely, hot, uncomfortable, and down-right hard days. But hey- it’s an adventure, an experience I so wanted.  It would be tough, but I would get through it. I would cross that finish line. Today it felt different. Today, I had to ask myself how many miles I’m willing to suffer/struggle through.  Today I had to ask myself if the daily struggle worth being able to say in two years that I had this experience, that I finished, that I endured. Today I wondered; for the first time I really wondered if I could do this; if it was worth it.  I knew these thoughts and feelings were right around the corner as Bek and I made our way back to Sokode today.  We traveled south, visiting and watching other volunteers in action last week then onto Lome where we stuffed ourselves with the amazing food the city has to offer before heading back north.  But coming back on our 7 hour bus ride this morning, I knew today was going to be tough.  It’s like coming home from vacation; but hotter, dirtier, lonelier, and a bigger let down.  And as much as that sounds pretty simple and that I just wanted to be on vacation forever, it’s difficult to describe.  All of our senses,  emotions, feelings, thoughts are intensified – all the time- and that takes an emotional toll.  So you go from a week of delicious meals, beautiful scenery, and running water –even forgetting you’re in Togo for a few moments.  Then you get back, and it’s hard, you miss people, you don't know how to work here and there are still lots of questions about your purpose.  Life is hard and it wears on your emotional and mental health.  And today I asked why? Why the struggle? How long will it be hard? Big questions without answers…


But, I’m going to keep running. For today, I will keep running because I want to see what mile 5, 6, 7 and beyond look like. Just like in May, as exhausting as it is, I’m will keep putting one foot in front of the other, remembering to look up instead of down as I make it through another mile. 

Monday, September 19, 2011

Demi-September.

The first few weeks of September have been quite eventful.  My host mom is the secretary for a one of six women’s groups who meet weekly to save money—sort of like a credit union.  She not only took me to her Monday morning meeting but also had my host brother bring a special chair for me to sit on in the middle the group while the rest of the women sit around in the circle on the little wooden stools they carried on their heads.  I felt like a princess as my mom translated everything that was going on into French (as of course they were speaking local language) and I watched as the woman took turns depositing money and repaying loans they had taken out.  More blogs to come on these groupements and the work I hope to do with them.


I spent a good chunk of last week working on my house.  Continuing to unpack random bags from Lorena, dusting off  and arranging furniture.  I had bought paint in Sokode over the weekend and was ready to paint my two rooms but quickly realized primer is a must for cement walls as one wall sucked up almost an entire can of paint.  Sorry Grandma Pat, I let you down.  Later in the week I locked myself out of my house; luckily I had changed out of my pajamas already and had my purse so at the last minute changed my plans for the day (working w/ Aposto) and caught a car to Sokode to retrieve a spare key from Rebekah and ended up  buying more paint.  Such a treat to get to see Bek (unplanned) and she treated us to instant mashed potatoes and brown gravy = AMAZING! Those of you who know me, know I don’t eat many ‘instant things’ –things taste better in Togo I guess.



Wednesday was painting day thanks to my sweet friend, Hortance – my Togolese friend who is a machine! We worked all day to prime and paint both rooms—wow.  Lots of times I would stand back to take in our progress while Hortance just plugged away- more like scrubbing the paint into the wall rather than painting. A lesson in painting and appreciation for Hortance’s can-do attitude and work ethic.


I spent Thursday shadowing one of the woman who works for the NGO in LT.  She is in charge of training and supervising local outreach workers who educate their respective small villages on malaria and TB.  One meeting was at the hospital in LT (more like an empty building with a blue ‘H’ on the outside—they have a few beds and even fewer supplies) and it was that morning that I witnessed my first truly malnourished baby.  Wow.  Earlier that morning I had been playing with a happy, chubby baby and then the hospital director showed me this mom and her alien-looking baby.  Small head (not enough blood), huge eyes and tiny, nimble arms and legs. So sad. And there I stood – the one mom trying to coax her baby to eat this peanutey-goo, while the other woman stood to my right with her chubby little guy strapped on her back and giggling. A moment I won’t ever forget and one that has motivated and excited me to hopefully have the chance to work with the hospital in the future.



Peace Corps volunteers are organizing the second annual tradeshow in November that Aposto and I will be attending down in Lome.  Friday, we went through his inventory of batiked items, natural dyed fabrics, and brainstormed new ideas.  I felt like it was my first ‘official’ work and I felt very needed and useful.


That day was made even better when Conner and Vanessa arrived in LT around noon. I literally went running out to the road –smiling the whole way.  Wow is it good to see friends. I’ve learned the incredible value of just being- just sitting- with people you care about.  We had an amazing night – Connor showing off his cooking skills, making pizza and enjoying some boxed Sangria. It rained all night and the next morning I emptied my water container (filled with brown-ish well water) and filled it with fresh, clean, rainwater. So nice!


Saturday we headed to Sokode to meet up with Rebekah and catch the bus that the post office runs to get to Kara to meet up with the rest of our training group to celebrate one of our friends’ birthdays.  Even though we bought tickets in advance, expecting to leave on time and hoping for a nicer charter bus, it still arrived two hours late and ended up breaking down right outside Kara when they informed us that the accelerator and brakes had stopped working. Yep, both. Fortunately, the company and the scenery were worth the wait. I sat next to a really nice older man who had worked with the PC in the past and the landscape was beautiful as we climbed further north and there were quite breathtaking views of mountains and valleys as the national road twisted and turned.   


And then- then we got to Hotel Kara and before I could wipe the drool from my mouth over the beautiful, large, clean swimming pool I jumped in and proceeded to splash around for a while --- like a pig in poop, as my friends later said.  I donned my cap and goggles and enjoyed a half our of laps—floating on my back, looking up at the blue sky and palm trees, I didn’t feel like I was in Togo anymore—I was on a vacation and it was so lovely.   I shall be making this 90 minute trip more often!


After two hours in the pool we go out and headed for an amazing dinner of hamburgers and banana splits. Again, not in Togo- I’m on vacation! We saved money on the lodging as a bunch of us stayed in a hostel like room that night. Not vacation, but cheap  it was clean and I’d slept in worse in places in Europe! Of course, the next day when we had nowhere to be- no pool to get to- the post bus – the very same one from the day before (with the man still under it fixing something) ran perfectly back to Sokode, even getting us there early. Togo Togo.


Have a feeling the next 6 weeks are going to fly: headed south to Kpalime with Bek for the week to shadow a volunteer. A few weeks in LT when I hope to conduct some community activities and another trip south for shadowing another volunteer.  It was so great to be with our group again and we are all looking forward to being together for a whole week at the end of October for more training.






Friday, September 9, 2011

August in review

I was planning to never have to write month-long recaps again after I finally got my Internet key, but then Togo taught me (another) lesson.  Four days after my key came in, I rode my bike with my computer and bag strapped to the back and the roads of a developing country are not meant for electronics, ugh. Thankfully, my sweet friend Rebekah is letting me borrow her computer for now.



Where to begin? August was our first official month as PCV’s and at post.  Overall (hindsight is always 20/20) it was a good month, definitely filled with some tough days (kept track on the calendar again) but, I survived and that’s saying a lot at this point!  My goal for August was to observer, observe, observer; taking in as many details and aspects of the day-to-day activities in LT.  I spent a lot of time at Aposto’s gallery, helping with batiking but also sitting under the paillote (Togo version of a gazebo) reading various PC training manuals and the NGO’s information.  On Saturdays, LT swells to three times its size as people from the surrounding villages convene to sell the products from their fields and gardens and other miscellaneous things.  The overflowing market area with lots of new faces and cars, the rows and rows of shacks filled with ‘marche mamas’ in their nicest pagna (local, crazy fabric) outfits and carefully placed piles of produce, me being the only white person these people have seen in a while (maybe ever) is all quite entertaining and interesting to take in.  My host mom sells various cosmetics at one stand and she loves to parade me around when I come to say hello. Of course, this is also the hot spot for Tchouk drinking on Saturdays as the back of the market is lined with straw shacks and benches.


Halfway through the month people celebrate the beginning of the yam harvest (this is yam country) and Aposto and some other members of the NGO and I headed south about 20 minutes to Adjengre where we partook in a local ‘yam fete.’ This was basically a day for drinking Tchouk, eating lots of fried bean cakes, and then pounding the boiled yams and gorging ourselves on fufu.  I really love fufu.  Really though, it depends on which sauce you eat it with as  boiled yams have little flavor themselves. (I prefer peanut or pumpkin sauce). Similar in consistency to thick mashed potatoes, its served cold and you eat with your fingers. Messy goodness!


Ryan, a PCV in Sokode and I also ventured to Sotobough for a few days to observe “Take Our Daughters To Work” camp  being put on by local PCV’s. The point of the week is for girls from smaller villages to spend a week learning about other careers and job possibilities that they may not otherwise see in their respective villages.  They went on field trips to visit successful business women and had sessions on self-esteem, sexual and reproductive health (most likely the first time they had been exposed to such information), and income generating activities all led by PCV’s. It was really inspiring to watch the PCV’s in action and knowing there were two girls from LT in the crowd. 


My world was rocked when I returned from that trip to compound filled with Muslim women all very quiet (a rare thing for Togolese people).  After asking what was going on my host mother came over and very solemnly told me that little Adenan, her only child had died that morning.  She had tears in her eyes but was quiet.  I looked around in shock, disbelief and confusion and just lost it.  Luckily Michael happened to call who quickly alerted my mom who was on the phone with me soon after.  Adenan, this sweet 3-year-old (or around there) and I had forged quite the bond in those first few weeks.  We played each time I left and returned to my house, he was just beginning to say my name, we shared food with each other.  I had taught him to blow bubbles only a few nights before in his ‘medicine’ bath.  I had started to consider him mine.  He brought me so much joy and now he was gone.  I sobbed on my porch for two hours, surrounded by wide-eyed staring women while my host mother sat with me and wiped my tears trying to soothe me. It was terrible.  They had said he was sick, but he seemed to be getting better as we had been playing a lot lately.  Frustration built as I seemed to be the only one upset over this loss.  There are such cultural differences with grieving, knowing how and why someone dies, and the attitude towards death in general here.  Here I was sobbing at the loss of this little boy – who brought me so much joy and laughter – while the people around me were silent, sad yes, but silent.  Death is common here, especially for children.  The tipping point was when I learned there would be no service, no funeral, nothing to recognize Adenan’s life and I had to get out of there.  After a two hour  bike ride back to LT I got back on my bike and went to Sokode to collapse and cry and vent at Rebekah’s.  It was a very challenging  and exhausting weekend and needless to say I think about and miss Adenan every day. 





August was also the month of Ramadan for the predominantly Muslim community in this area, LT included.  After fasting for a month, my host family was ready to celebrate and I was lucky enough to be included in the party where we ate Thanksgiving-style for two days.  Several servings of fufu and rice and I was carbed-out! Was fun to just ‘hang’ with my family for those couple of days when all we did was eat and prepare to eat again!


Lorena was the PCV before me in LT and I was lucky enough to have her with me for two weeks in August.  During that time I tried to pick her brain as much as possible about who she has worked with, projects she has done, people/places to avoid, just trying to soak up everything she had to offer.  Lorena is who I have to thank for my new house and amazing host family as she went out of her way to arrange that for me.  We also sat down with Aposto one day, transferring knowledge between the three of us on what they had done together with his business and the NGO and what the future looks like.  Thankful to have Lorena translate as my French is still quite shaky and catch roughly 50% of conversations.  At the end of the two hour conversation on the work to be done, Aposto said to me, “I hope you’re ready to dance with us!”  Lorena and Aposto built an incredible relationship and friendship and I am so thankful to  be able to pick up where she left off.  On her last night in LT we celebrated over some chicken stew with NGO staff and Aposto and Lorena ‘passed the torch’ (lighted candles) to me.  It was pretty cool (especially knowing how rare and special this PCV/counterpart relationship is) and I am looking forward to being busy with work.  Lorena if you’re reading this, thank you thank you thank you.  I can’t thank you enough for making my transition so smooth and seamless. 


I told my host dad I wanted to order a few things from the carpenter.  In good Togo fashion, the carpenter showed up randomly one night at 7 p.m. to discuss what I wanted.  So there we were, me, my host dad, and this carpenter sitting on my porch, the only light from the flashlights on our cellphones discussing what a dresser looks like.  I drew pictures, wrote dimensions, translated the words, and am still crossing my fingers that I get something that resembles what I had in mind, or is useful at least! And yes, you heard right, still waiting on those items.  PCV’s have been known to go and sit at their carpenters shop to make sure they make their items after they’ve tired of waiting months; I’m prepared to do so except because he came to me, I have no idea where his shop is! However, my desire to quit living off the floor and out of a suitcase will drive me to track him down!


My relationship with God is growing stronger each day as He is the one constant companion I have in each moment of this adventure.  Each morning I read from a devotional (thank you Linda) and have been more interested in reading the Bible than ever before.  Like Rev. Mike says, “God is with you at every turn, providing everything you need.” I’ve so thankfully found a few churches in LT who have welcomed me with open arms and who’s services (while I understand bits and pieces) I really enjoy.  Ironically, the very routine and order that drove me nuts in the Catholic church in the states, is now something I really appreciate as the Catholics start and end when they say they will! Other churches may last 90 minutes, two hours, you just never really know.  But the Catholics, they stick to the schedule and I love it!  Had to chuckle when I realized this sitting in church last Sunday!


I’ve kept a discoveries/lessons learned, things I’m thankful for list and it has helped me be present in each moment and see the blessings that I know are there each day.  As I head into September and start to strategize some community meetings and activities I’d like to do next month, waiting to find a French tutor (they have moved school back to now start in October and most of the teachers are still gone) I’m keeping a list of “Living out Goal 2 & 3”—sharing Togo with the US and vice versa.  This is in conversations with my host family, the NGO staff, kids, anyone I interact with.  From the discussions with my host brother about the importance of nutrition, to teaching my 13-year-old host sister the alphabet, to her standing over instructing me as to how to properly scrub  a mat on my hands and knees; that’s living out PC’s goal 2 &3. This is my attempt to feel useful; like I’m accomplishing something.


Having said that, September has brought its own challenges and rough days already.  I just had gotten used to sitting and reading on my porch for hours, just ‘being’, walking around and ‘hanging out’ and now I’ve got to start putting myself out there more, digging a little deeper with the people, and start doing and organizing things, brainstorming projects. Yes, it’s exactly what I want –work- and to be busy- but the challenge is steep and scary and unknown.  All things I wanted when I signed up for this – but now as it stares me in the face it feels like I’m being told to not only ‘do work’ with the people, but do it standing on your hands and walking backwards.  Live in their culture, survive the conditions, speak their language, and do meaningful, worthwhile and sustainable work.  I’m sure it will come, they all say it will, but right now that’s how I feel.  I’ve put it in God’s hands.  I believe He has laid these passions, dreams, and desires to be here, living among these people, and working alongside them on my heart and I must trust He will continue to show me the way. Patience.


Finally, running, once again is keeping me sane.  I feel empowered, rejuvenated, energized and have my  best ideas on my runs.  I’ll leave you with a few of them:


Togolese paradoxes:


The food is filling; but nutritionally empty.


The people don’t know me from the milkman; but welcome and love me as one of their own.


The landscape is beautiful; but the elements will destroy you.


The work is all around me; yet I have no idea where to begin.


Life is simple; yet each day is a struggle.


This is the choice I’ve made. The struggle I signed up for. Each day, (each day!) I must remind myself that while I am adapting and adjusting, learning and growing, it’s never, ever going to be easy. 
I welcome ANY and ALL mail!
Here is my address:

Taylor Schaa 
Corps de la Paix
B.P.224
Sokode, Togo
West Africa