SOS

I ate a big plate of SOS last night.  With fresh green beans.  I closed my eyes and saw my family sitting at our kitchen table on the farm, eating the very same helpings of mashed potatoes and dried beef gravy.  Thank you Linda White for the latest package including dried beef that made this meal possible.

This is a big deal; I’ve been dreaming – in detail – about food for the past few weeks.  One morning this week I woke up after a dream meal of a bologna sandwich.  You know it’s bad when you’re dreaming about cold-deli sandwiches- especially bologna. The meal also had sides of Baked Lays potato chips, strawberry yogurt and sugar cookies. YES I DREAMT ALL OF THESE DETAILS! A few mornings later I woke up only wanting a hot dog (with ketchup), chips and an apple. And a Coke. What?! I don’t drink straight pop, let alone COKE! But oh man, does it taste oh.so.good. And the other day walking down the street in village I was craving my mom’s tortilla pinwheels. I can’t even read about characters in books sharing a meal. The story won’t even be about the meal, but the fact that they’re at a pizza place just unnerves me.

Last night, after arriving in Atakpame (with a store that sells all of the above and a house for PCV’s equipped with a refrigerator and toaster oven) this dream became reality. And let me just tell you how my knees about gave in tasting those Pringles as soon as I had paid for them. Wow.

This morning I had cold milk and cereal. Again, a-may-zing. Indulging  on tasty treats when in Atakpame (Snickers, Swiss cheese, apples- imported from South Africa) is nothing new and I look forward to each upcoming trip; in fact, Vanessa and I will text each other what our ‘priorities’ are for Atakpame. It’s like we just get by in village and then have this weird food binge the minute we get to Atakpame. But this trip I felt more called – more crazy – for good, tasty food. And to this end I must eat my words- (if only they tasted like my Grandma’s rhubarb cobbler) pun intended. It’s not uncommon for volunteers to go off about a food their craving, something they’re missing, or how much they would give/do for a certain meal.  In fact, this is probably one of our most conversation popular topics; food. But, for a long time I just saw food as fuel here. I was getting by on cabbage and lentils for dinner with the occasional treat of popcorn for something crunch and salty. Lately, this hasn’t been doing the trick and I’ve forgone healthier alternatives for straight up Nutella sandwiches. My body wants something indulgent; something it knows.

 We try here. Ness and I attempt pizza or pasta dishes but nothing is quite the same. Take my dear friend Connor, who loves to cook and will be a great chef someday.  My hang-up is the kid loves to turn a simple meal into a 2-3..4 hour ordeal; adding random things, sautéing, roasting… and all of it just takes too much time for this girl.  I realized cooking with Connor is like Thanksgiving; you wait around all day, anticipating the deliciousness but you have to eat something throughout the day, so you graze and snack and when the meal finally comes, you’re not hungry enough to enjoy it to its fullest. I just want some simple home fries; no I don’t need any fresh chopped garlic and onions sautéed first, thank you!  Just give me the Beach Club from Jimmy John’s…or simple slice of Casey’s taco pizza.  I don’t need anything fancy! In fact, I vaguely remember saying to someone last week how I’d be willing to personally dismember my pinky for a meal of JJ’s…

Today is Vanessa’s birthday.  This is where Connor comes in handy as he is determined to make something define. And I’m making him start early so we can hopefully eat before 10pm. Meat (fresh from the scary meat market next to the rail road tracks) is already marinating for a Sheppard’s pie and just whipped up some peanut butter cookies. So, we’re going all out..while we can J  

I Didn't Know

One year ago, I didn’t know how to take a bucket shower, fix a flat bike tire, or eat around and through ants. I didn’t know how to catch, barter a price or deal with bush taxi’s. A year ago, I didn’t speak French (or understand it at least) or know the foreign sounds that make up local, ethnic languages in Africa.  I didn’t know this journey would draw me so much closer to my Creator and show me the intense love and need I have to be close to my family.  I didn’t know how strong a relationship based on love and friendship could become when you date someone who truly has your best interest at heart- even from an ocean away. 

One year ago, I didn’t understand the power of electricity or a cold shower; or a shower in general for that matter. I’d never thought so much or spent so much time on greetings and asking about people’s families and work.   I didn’t have any idea how hard a girl’s life was in a developing country, how childhood is in a way nonexistent and how hope for a better life somehow always remains. I didn’t know how cruel the school system was or how sad the health care.  I’d never eaten or heard of pate or fufu one year ago.  I didn’t have any idea how important and meaningful it is to share a meal or calabash of local beer with someone, or that it’s all about the sauce when I landed here last June.  I didn’t know I could tolerate a 15 hour trip with 4 vehicle changes just to go a hundred miles or so.  A year ago, I didn’t know that I had the ability, knowledge and influence to inspire girls, teach them to believe in themselves and their dreams.  I didn’t know what an African ‘hot season’ felt like or believe I could survive such a thing. I didn’t know how much comfort can come from hours of reading a good book.  Or that I would become a regular member of Sunday Mass at the local Catholic Church out of the comfort of a routine and order.  A year ago I’d never been in the delivery room to watch a baby being born up-close-and-personal.  I didn’t know I would be able to teach grown women the power of saving and budgeting or how to set goals.  

A year ago I didn’t realize every Togolese person had a farm- even if it’s a few rows of corn in the ditch- as a means to survive.  I had never thought so much about the value of hand washing a year ago, and I had no idea how to wash my clothes without a machine.  I didn’t know how much joy and comfort rain would bring me or how real the need becomes for water when the sun blazes for months on end. I had no idea how to drink water or eat lunch out of little plastic bags. I didn’t know I would think about stomach bugs so much or about the issues that come with open water sources. I didn’t know what it felt like to sit with a girl and her parents in their rural village after giving her a loan to run a small business during the summer in an effort to save and pay for her school fees.  I didn’t know school fees for girls were often times the last priority for families.  I’d never been so outspoken and defensive for girls; demanding they give an equal chance and the respect each of us deserves. I didn’t realize how behavior change and development go hand-in-hand.  I had never really thought about behavior change; that it’s more about convincing people to make the desired change than distributing the information. I’d never rationed my fruit and vegetable supply before. Or been so acutely aware of my body; hunger, temperature, emotions and attitudes. I had no idea how passionate I would become about nutrition, family planning, and the health of the kids and families around me. And I didn’t realize that these passions could spark an idea to become a teacher.  

One year ago, I didn’t know how much joy a group of twelve-year-olds trying to speak English could bring me.   I’d never spoke ‘Fran-Glais’- mixing French with English but still struggling to put correct sentences together and get my point across in a foreign language. A year ago, I didn’t loathe the sun and constantly seek shade. I’d never counted the hours in the day, days in the week, weeks in the month, months in the year so much as I have in this year. One year ago from this day, I had no idea I would make such great friendships; friends with Togolese that I can call my family here and in a diverse group of Americans who can only truly feel the words I’m writing.

One year ago I didn’t know how to live in Africa. Despite many moments of heart ache and struggle, now, I know. 

Little Moments

Since I last wrote I’ve had a handful of special little moments.  Little things from each day that I’m grateful for as there has also been a lot of downtime and something I’m struggling with a bit lately. 

Little moments like this morning when the choir broke out with a couple new songs that had the most beautiful harmony I’ve ever heard from a choir. Strong, bold, beautiful.  The Catholic church I attend here celebrated the confirmation of about a dozen people.  The church was packed and I had to share half a seat with my nurse friend from the Hospital.  I tried to not let the moment be ruined by the swarms of children at my feet in the packed, three hour service.

Little moments like yesterday at the weekly market when Aposto and I hung my mosquito in an empty stall and talked to the crowd about sleeping under their mosquito net.  Yes, this sounds like an easy concept, but when it’s too hot, people sleep outside and leave their net inside.  Our point was that you can hang your net outside too as I demonstrated by laying on a mat under the net. We made signs in the two local languages and in French.  Some people asked questions, some people gave their testimonies of how their net had kept them healthy, and lots of people wanted to buy a net.  The other cool moment was walking to a little store in town with my little friend Wren and her brother Abadu Baba.  Wren is 7 or so and we joke that she is my Togolese daughter. These two live in the same compound as Aposto and I as I was waiting to go to the market I asked Wren if she wanted to walk to the store with me. Abadu, who likes me on some days and other days just screams when I appear, decided he wanted to join us and so it was quite the site to so many people from out of town who don’t know me.  It felt like they were my kids as we held hands and sang Abadu’s favorite song and I bought them a treat on the way back.

Friday the little moment was in the hour I got spend helping weigh and give the Polio vaccination drops to the dozen or so new babies who were there for their ‘check-up.’  I’m so thankful for such a capable nurse at our hospital.  She is smart, confident and speaks very clear French – and she trusts me and gives me stuff to do!  Later, I checked my email and had some very sweet messages from a couple of mentors back home.  One reminding me that, “not many people would give up two years of their life to help kids half a world away have a better life,” and “your work is never easy, but always important.” So encouraging, so uplifting. Thank you to those special people!

Thursday the moment was at the last girls club of the year as I taught the girls some American relay games (wow, they’re competitive!) and then enjoyed some candy from America as we talked about what we had learned throughout the club.  Returning home, exhausted from the heat of the day, I had some quiet time with the new baby (still not sure of his name) as the evening cooled down and then sat with him and my host mom as she gave him his nightly bath.

Wednesday morning the moment came when I was at the monthly meeting with Lama-Tessi’s local health agents.  One of the more capable group I’ve met with, I really felt like these were my people; my team. I told them about my goal of spending time with each of them when they have their meetings in their neighborhoods and do their home visits.  Not only as a way to keep them accountable to their action plans, encourage them in their efforts, but also to support the discussing of Family Planning at their various events.

Another cool moment came as I watched my English Club kids head home with armloads of books for the summer.  Being the last session for the year, I wanted them to be able to use the books that we have throughout the summer, so they each checked out (all on their own!) a handful.  It hit me that while it doesn’t seem like much, it’s pretty neat that these 15 kids have something from the generosity of my hometown and what’s more, something to read this summer. I was watching and thinking this as we were walking back to my house (they love to carry my things and walk me the 2 minutes to my house) and I let them come in and look around for the first time. (Something in the culture here; people don’t go into people’s houses much, everything is done/discussed outside).  They were funny; staring at new things in wonder: rice in a box? A giant ball that you can’t kick or throw but you use to ‘work out’ with? And trying to identify me in the many pictures I have decorating the walls.  It was funny; they make me smile.

Tuesday I attended the other local health agent meetings in the small villages north and south of LT.  The village to the south where we met in the morning has a really nice hospital. Why, I asked, is there electricity, a real table for women to give birth on, a full pharmacy (things the LT facility lacks)? Why? Because the hospital was built and is funded by a world Muslim association; not the Togolese government. Learning/understanding more things all the time.

Tuesday’s moment came in the afternoon when we were visiting the village to the south, Yao Kope.  Set back in the woods, there is a beautiful rehabilitation center for people coming out of prison, run by nuns.  That sounds scary/not exactly a friendly place to hang out, put the center was virtually empty and Nima and I wandered around the large summer camp like facilities.  They have real trades like chicken and pig raising, and two giant gardens with and one dark room growing mushrooms for the people to learn and use to readjust back to civilan life.  To appreciate this beauty, you have to know its rarity in Togo. First, the rehabilitation aspect in itself is pretty unusual here. Second, the place was so incredibly peaceful; no churches or mosques ringing at all hours, no hoards of animals or children running around, no loud trucks and cars zooming by. Third, real programs, real trades- properly raising animals instead of letting them wander wherever- and large, organized gardens are really really impressive. I was so happy; so excited to have discovered this place!

So there were special moments sprinkled throughout my week.  I realize this may sound ‘cool’ and it is and I have to remind myself of it- just hard sometimes when that moment is 20-60 minutes and leaves you trying to fill the rest of the day! Reminding myself this is Africa, you’re in the Peace Corps Taylor.  No, this isn’t a 9-5 desk job.  No, no two days are alike and no there is no predictability. This is what you wanted. Yes, I know I sound like a broken record; believe me I’m just as frustrated with constantly telling myself this as you probably are reading if for the tenth time.  Perhaps this will be/is my biggest vice; the battle I fight throughout my service.  “Never easy; always important…”

We Have Arrived!

This may be the end.  For my blog posts complaining about the terrible heat that is.  After a sweltering day Thursday – the first night I slept on my cot in a wet cloth – a big storm rolled in the wee hours of the morning and the rain poured for hours.  I awoke to put out my buckets and when I woke up Friday morning, it was chilly- yes-that’s the right word- and I had fresh, cold water! And we’ve had five- count them- FIVE- days of rain and cloudy, cooler weather. Amazing how much easier life is when you’re not constantly sweating!

Unfortunately, Friday morning I also woke up with a nasty cold.  This wouldn’t be a big deal because I had nothing going on and could rest at home all day, except that my house was a ruckus because…. I have a new baby brother!  Yes, my host mother gave birth Thursday morning to a baby boy.  I made it there about 20 minutes after she delivered and got to swaddle the little guy and show him off to all the neighbor ladies waiting in the hall, who went wild.  I sat with my mom and urged her to drink and eat as she acted like it was nothing and soon was carrying on with the ladies about the latest market prices.  After two hours, she paid the hospital fees (about $6) and we found moto-taxi’s and she took the baby and went home. Amazing.  Then our house was packed with excited Muslim women and their arm loads of half-naked, noisy, dirty little rascals.  So I spent a lot of time with my Ipod Friday.  I couldn’t complain too much either because my gas finally ran out and my family kept me stocked with hot water for tea all day as they had a pot over the fire to bathe the baby. 

Thursday was also exciting as the follow-up session of self confidence with my girls club went really well.  I concentrated and prayed all week on taking the pressure off myself- just focusing on being with the girls and seeing my role and time with them as a positive part of their week—not a life saving/changing couple of hours that had to be perfect in order to be effective.  I did this without knowing it for myself my English club and it’s amazing how much more joy and satisfaction that was bringing me! The few girls who had really gotten it the week before helped me re-explain it and we did some easy activities of giving each other compliments and drawing pictures of ourselves with positive phrases about what they can do and what they love about themselves.   

After a yucky day Friday I had a great weekend with Melissa in Sotoboua the larger town about 20 miles south.  I really like Sotoboua; less of the city feel of Sokode but with nice amenities (nicer post office, a couple cafes, a library/community center and a PARK –with benches and lots of trees and everything!). The PCV’s before us have established a deal with the radio station and every Saturday afternoon there is a 30 minute American music radio show called “Tune in Togo.”  Melissa chose 7 songs about rain and we dedicated the time to discussing rain and its impact in here versus in the States.  All in English, to music we know and love.. it was so much fun.  It’s our way of “bringing America” to Togo- ha!  Of course it’s likely only PCV’s with that radio station understand anything we say –but still it’s a cool cross culture activity.  And, I think I may have found my new calling…. J

Sunday morning we helped at the monthly Club Espoir.  An offshoot of Camp Espoir this summer, the organizations who work with HIV/AIDS impacted kids year round, hold monthly mini-camps throughout Togo.  Fun was mixed with learning as we sang and danced for the first half and talked about malaria in the second.  Finally, we made popcorn to show the kids a way to earn some extra money during the vacation time.  For lunch we went to the café that makes fufu with great peanut sauce and fried chees, and enjoyed the park afterwards- such a nice ‘en ville’ day!

In addition to enjoying the nightly storms that cooled everything down (literally squealing in delight), we made some delicious treats (brownies and pineapple upside down cake) in Melissa’s dutch oven, and watched some movies.  Not exactly chicken noodle soup, but still a great cure for my cold!

Still Hot

I just shredded a chicken.  I’ve watched mom do this a few times after she would buy a ‘wonder chicken’ from the grocery store. Oh what I would do for a bowl of her chicken and noodles right now.  Rice and cabbage will have to do. Labor Day (May 1) is a big celebration here. In my more pessimistic moods I made a general and slightly cruel but true statement about the event, “they save what little money they have from what little work they have just to party for one day; to buy new outfits and meat.”  They literally work to live. And maybe there’s something to be said for that, but sometimes it’s frustrating- especially when they go for weeks without protein and filling meals only to stuff themselves with carbs and meat for one full day.  It’s a cultural thing I realize and I’ve got to accept and respect their way.  

Aposto and the gang from the NGO and the local micro finance ‘feted’ together on Sunday as they wanted to save their party for the weekend instead of during the week.  They eagerly invited me to join and I paid in for the meal and new pagna.  (I guess I can’t comment on the tradition when I want to take part!) When we realized I had to go to Atakpame (3 hours south) last weekend for a quarterly MAC (malaria action committee) and couldn’t be there for the celebration, Nima and Aposto volunteered to save the meat I paid for and continue the party with me when I returned. So, last night the three of us made a giant meal of fufu and tomatoe sauce with LOTS of chicken. Oh I was so full.  Aposto insisted we enjoy a cold drink at the bar after and then Nima left me with ‘my chicken.’  Knowing my lack of cooking enthusiasm/knowledge she me clear instructions of how to store the roasted bird overnight and insisted that I must cook it this morning.  So that’s what I did.  I’ve never felt more like an animal (well, this place has brought out a lot of animalistic characteristics but still) than when I was tearing into that scrawny chicken this morning; my excitement when I got to a decent size piece of meat! Protein for a week I thought!

 Anyway, the weekend in Atakpame was nice.  After another frustrating girls club Thursday evening (explaining self-confidence proved more difficult than I originally thought-easily the most frustrating session yet- but I’ll spare you the details) I headed south Friday morning.  The trip was smooth and the highlight was definitely seeing and being with Vanessa for the first time since February. That girl is so awesome- my total opposite and I think we complement each other so well.  With another PC committee in town along with the group of us MAC leaders (2 PCV’s per region) it was a full house- literally. PC has a house where volunteers can stay (8 beds) and work with a computer, a kitchen and living space and lots of books.  So, Ness and I retreated to the quiet little hotel run by nuns at the edge of town.  I took advantage of the beautiful mountainous scenery in Atakpame and went running each morning.  Saturday and Sunday were filled with MAC work; defining our goals, brainstorming ways to motivate and inspire other PCV’s to do malaria related work in their villages.  It’s tough- creating a program from nothing and trying to get others on board.  Add in the difficulty of doing work here in general, and the natural communication frustrations and you’ve got quite the challenge.  I’m enjoying being a member and not leader on this one J.

Saturday was rough for me.  I realized what day it was mid-morning sitting in the MAC meeting; YESS Duck Derby day.  An exciting day I had been anticipating; even received a sweet ‘duck filled’ package from the YESS crew who had included me in the pre-event excitement.  The Duck Derby-the event that had been a giant part of my life the past two years in Des Moines, was happening.  I knew the day was coming and had been generally very excited for it, but at that moment the sadness and missing the rush of the day just ran me over. Add to that, my mom graduated with her masters Friday night from my school – UNI- and it killed me to see pictures of my family at the ceremony on the campus and in CF where I have so many memories.  So proud of you mama. Finally, one of my dear friends, Sky, got married on Saturday in sunny Texas.  These three combined for a deep longing for home.  Thankfully, Michael listened as I whined from the pity pool later that afternoon and Ness and my other friends were very understanding and comforting.  Don’t get me wrong- I know I’m meant to be here in Togo.  I know that if I was home (having never left) I wouldn’t be happy with myself.  But, there are moments when home is all I want.  Again, fighting the grass-is-always-greener mentality.  Later over a avocado and banana smoothie (the PC house has a blender- and there’s a store in Atakpame with REAL MILK) I thought and talked over the excitement of this PC adventure; the good work I’m doing here and the opportunity I’ve taken advantage of and will one day look back on with irreplaceable memories.

Then God reminded me He was there. I had returned from a nice run Monday morning as it was cooler and the sky was overcast, protecting me from the early morning sun.  I was stretching at the hotel, watching the sky rapidly change as the clouds moved over the mountains and a new song by Britt Nicole came on my Ipod.

“You never said the road would be easy, but You said that you would never leave.  You never promised that this life wasn’t hard, but You promised You’d take care of me. So I’ll stop searching for the answer, I’ll stop praying for an escape and I’ll trust you God with where I am and believe that you will have your way. Just have your way.”

As the cool winds surrounded me and the words filled my head and heart, I was so comforted in God’s presence and peace.  Something I try to focus on and seek daily, I’ve realized it’s much easier to hear God’s voice and see His blessings when you’re in solitude in village.  After struggling to find it with being surrounded by lots of others the past few days, this was a welcomed and wonderful moment and I walked through yesterday with a renewed spirit.

It’s still scary hot here; the locals say the rain will start this month. The PCV’s (who are more specific and realistic) say it won’t be until June that rain and cooler temps will arrive.  On attend. We wait.  In the meantime I’m trying to figure out a way to make a kiddie pool out of a plastic tub, (not really but that would be great if the water supply wasn’t so low) covering myself in mentholated powder and praying the electricity/my fan works. 

Red Sky

There was a saying we used to use on the farm growing up: red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.  A dusk sky lit up in red would mean a beautiful tomorrow; red in the morning meant rain and less desirable weather.  Lately, it seems my life revolves around surviving the heat, watching the skies to predict and estimate when the rain may come and relieve us, and praying for lots of red sky mornings.

Last night I went for a long run; a necessity after my weekly girls club.  I love these girls but have noticed my frustration level after each session concludes, hence the run.  After talking with Michael I realized how responsible I feel for these 25-30 girls middle school-aged girls. As if their lives, their futures depend on me and my ability to reach them with valuable information.  Information and time focused just for them that I don’t know if they will get anywhere else. I feel so strongly because often I feel like I’m the only one in their corner; their biggest supporter and advocate for a successful life.   Almost like their savior.  As foolish as that sounds- and believe me I don’t believe that or want to be their savior, I just so badly want them to have more self confidence, stay away from sex and pregnancy, finish their education, go on to university and be successful, strong women! Combine this with my inability to effectively communicate in French and you’ve got the recipe for a long run – no matter how hot it is. However, like Michael pointed out, it’s impossible to reach everyone, no matter where you are or who you’re working with.  He gave a great fishing analogy that helped me gain some perspective. So, I’ve accepted that fact that all work I do in LT will require a counterpart- a local Togolese who can translate my broken, not-with-the-right accent of French into what the audience (most often kids) can understand.  This is a humbling realization but perhaps a way to make my work more sustainable.  I can look at it this way; when I leave, the kids will have a connection to an adult from LT who they can go to for information or advice.  In that way, I can only the hope the learning won’t end for this community when my service does.

Every day that it’s really hot I honestly think, ‘this has to be the hottest yet.’  But I know yesterday was different as it was the first time I had no appetite when I arrived home at noon.  As I sucked down a cold plastic bag of citrus juice I just sat on my porch staring off. No energy to move or eat. No attention span to read.  It. Was. Hot. Finally, I made myself eat before it was time for girls club, as I knew a run would be in store afterwards.

The morning had been productive before the sun got to me; working with Aposto to plan a small workshop on basic business skills (accounting, marketing) for 5 local shop owners. We watched on their small TV later, as the Independence Day parade made its way through Lome.  Togo was 52 years old yesterday.  We talked about how there are Togolese around today to tell of how life was before their independence from France.  How crazy of a concept that was for me. As we watched the president shake hands and look very Western, I asked them if they think their president eats pate (their favorite meal of paste like corn mush).  They both laughed and said of course!  And Aposto went on to tell the story of how Togo’s president had brought in a family friend who could make his favorite sauce just the way he liked.  I realized then that Togolese truly love pate.  They don’t eat it because they have to, or because they’re so used to it, or have nothing else (as I had thought before), they genuinely love it and prefer it.  I thought how you might say the same thing of Americans and fast food.  How some might think of fast food as less than desirable, when actually a lot of us prefer it! *Usually I would add sadly to this sentence, but I would take any meal from a fast food restaurant at this moment!

I slowly made my way to my French tutor’s (Sinya) house in the near-noon sun, I wished him a happy independence day.  We talked about the crops as he pointed out the yam piles I had helped to built were beginning to sprout. He told me how people who grow corn would plant and harvest twice between now and the fall.   I told him of my dad’s planting season right now and how the corn would grow all summer and be harvested come fall.  “Yes,” he said, “but you have big machines that can work so much better. Here, we work for a few hours digging and planting by hand and we stop because we’re tired.”  These are always interesting comments to me because as much as my love for America has grown in my 11 months of service, I’ve also realized that more –or bigger- is not always better.  But how can you tell that to someone who thinks America is shiny and good and everything is wonderful?  Instead, I pointed out that Togo is young! And that maybe in another 50 years they will have more developed ways of doing things, like planting and harvesting the crops.  “We can hope,” I said. “Yes, yes,” he said, “there’s always hope!”

The sun was setting as I headed west and made my way down one of my favorite routes; a dirt road that goes and goes out of LT and into the bush, surrounded by yam fields and dotted with mud huts. While I analyzed the girls club session and took it out on the dirt below my feet, Togo reminded me of where I was and restored my perspective. I ran I passed men, old and young, riding in slowly from their fields on rickety bicycles.  Women and young girls (spending their Independence Day in the field) hauling in loads of timber all neatly perched on their heads, babies on their backs and basins filling their hands with the supplies they had taken for a long, hot day in the fields.  Right, I thought, this is Africa.  While I’m trying to burn calories so many people are just trying to survive. I run miles for stress relief and pleasure, they bike and walk long, but unmeasured distances out of necessity.

This morning after a hot, sticky, night of sleep, I rolled over, slightly dreading having to get up so early to go teach yoga with Catherine.  I chuckled a bit and smiled to myself as streams of the red dawn poured into my room; my first red sky morning in Togo. 

My Saturday - April 21, 2012

Saturday- April 21

Sitting in the dark of my house. Just returned from the market where I ate bean cakes, made an impulse buy of cloth that was purple and yellow (GO PANTHERS!).. and endured the ‘white person’ chant by each and every child I passed. and now I sit with sweat running off my face, the fan cutting in and out, but the internet connection is good so other discomforts are disregarded.  I prolonged getting up this morning to go to lead yoga for a friend and her kids.. she called me ten minutes before my alarm “We’re waiting for you.” Yes I thought- I will be there at the time we decided- 6- not 530..ugh. I tried to surpress the negative thoughts and have a decent session with her and the 5 middle school aged kids, once I got them calmed down enough to take my breathing commands seriously. I took a light ride on a back road for my morning workout; my legs were sore from yesterdays long run. 

Spent the morning sweating incessantly even after a very cold buck shower as it was hot by 7, without a cloud in the sky.  Stopped in at a local health agent training (after 20 minutes of trying to find the group at three different locations- disorder at its finest) and fought the urge of irritation; why do we speak to these grown adults like they are children? Because that’s how they’ve been trained, I realize.  The system, from the time they're little, beats into their head perfection; if you don’t answer 100% correctly, you’re wrong and may be shamed for it. Thus, in my opinion, it diminishes self confidence, creativity, and the nerve it takes to answer a question with self-assurance.  Frustration at its finest for me; not to mention the beads of sweat soaking my dress.  I looked through my planner and tried not to be annoyed as a simple exercise of how to use a thermometer (these are not NEW health agents!) takes over an hour.  Finally, a break and I bike 20 min home in the noon sun. Rinsing off with a few scoops of water, but the relief from the heat only lasts momentarily. I put on a light dress and enjoy a cold water I bought from the 2 stores in town that have refrigerators.  I read for a bit then laid down inside where it's cooler, wrapped in a wet cloth, closing my eyes, hoping for a breeze or for the power to return and my fan’s comfort.  Tried not to count the minutes until 4, when the daily heat torture subsides. Finally, rouse myself enough to prepare something for lunch; cucumbers, eggs, and some tasty pesto some thoughtful someone sent me.

Then it was off to the market; it’s Saturday and the day people wait for all week- when there’s actually something going on.  Some excitement to be a part of.  Nima (Aposto’s wife) helped me buy a basin for my new table I had made with a big hole in it to replicate a ‘sink’- sick of doing the dishes on the ground. We wind our way through the market; the sun is finally behind a cloud.  Nima buys things to make the sauce (broiled fish, sardines, tomato paste)- the item in the Togolese meals- it’s all about the sauce.  I don’t buy any of it because I don’t make sauce.  Instead I head to the stand where a girl sells delicious sweet, fried bread. It’s my treat to myself each Saturday afternoon.  We sit and drink tchouck- local fermented millet beer- at one of the stands that makes up the border of the market.  A woman passes by with cloth (pagna) one uses to make outfits here. I think of how I was no good at envisioning if a dress/shirt would look good on in the States. This is an even larger challenge. You have to be able to look at a piece of fabric and decide if it would make a pretty skirt or dress.  I’ve learned bright colors are great on dark skin; dark colors better on lighter skin. I’ve had my fair share of failed attempts.  But the excitement of the market has gotten to my logic a bit and I stop the woman, attracted by a blue and black style.  “It’s nylon,” she tells me. “Is that good?” I ask Nima, clueless. No, not like the cotton I’m wearing.  She returns with a cotton variety.  That’s how shopping works here. You sit and send small children after something you want (more bean cakes), or the people will bring things to you; everyone needs to make a few cents.  Her second selection doesn’t impress me but her attempt does and soon Nima and I are off to see her stand. Sure enough, the yellow and purple fabric catches my eye. So much for this week’s budget.

And now here I sit, waiting until the last possible moment to take a shower and cool off; in the attempt to not sweat when I get into bed. Alas, I need to cover up soon –this dress won’t cut it with the infringing mosquitoes (big, cool rainstorm Monday night- brought much relief and joy..and many biting annoyances). The mice are scrounging around above me; at least they’re not in my house—or at least that’s what I think.  And the ants.  We’ve come to learn to live with each other. Or more, I’ve given in to their tenacity.  We will live in harmony as I’m not willing to throw out MnM’s because they’ve conquered another ziplock bag.  So I’ll either eat them or smush them one at a time as they crawl over me at my desk and couch. Oh and the basin I bought at market; the one I’ve been waiting weeks to buy, it’s too small for the hole the carpenter made.  My fault, not his but cringing at the thought of the non existent ‘return policy’ here… will have to hope the market mama who sold it to me will remember my face (think I’ve got that one covered) and be kind enough to allow me to exchange for a bigger size. Oh this life. Is it too early to go to bed and start all over again tomorrow?