To Ghana and back

After a fantastic vacation in Accra, Ghana, I’m back to village.  Some of my best friends in country and I spent 4 days in the capital of Ghana and were quite delighted with the cities advanced development.  We ate sushi one night, and had fresh fruit smoothies, croissants and real coffee every morning for breakfast.  Delicious pasta and salads, and ice cream was a priority too!  It was so nice. I didn’t feel as if I were in Africa.  Spending an afternoon at the mall for the first time in almost a year didn’t hurt either.  We even went to a movie—in a theatre!

On Sunday, Sept 30, the reason for our visit arrived as we rose early- around 4 am- to head to the marathon/half marathon course.  After hearing race horror stories from PCV’s the year before, our small but mighty team of 3 was well prepared for difficult conditions.  Thankfully, the race only started 15 minutes late and thus we escaped the worse of the day’s heat.  Running west along the coast for part of the time, the sun was at our back with the ocean breeze in our face.  The challenge was the lack of mile or route markers as we ran a lot through random traffic and neighborhoods, trying to keep the next race participant in front of you. I was expecting worse- at least the half marathon didn’t run out of water!  No designed as a loop course, so we were bused out to the starting line. We only had a few minutes to use the bathroom before we started and I chose to follow some women into an off the path park to make things quicker.  Unfortunately, I was walking back to the road alone, holding my friends Ipod, and was disturbed by a Rasta guy.  Thankfully, he was a crappy thief and only broke the headphones cord.  What an adrenaline rush to get a race started! I finished in one of my slowest times, but I felt strong the entire way, so I was happy just to not be overheated or dying of thirst! 

The race ended at a beautiful 5 star (at least that’s what I would consider it!) hotel right on the beach.  While they wouldn’t let us on the beach because we weren’t staying there, we did make friends with a woman on the bus who was and she invited us to cool down in the gorgeous pool anyway. It was lovely!

On our way out of Accra we had amazing gelato for lunch… you could say it was tough returning to Togo.

In the next few weeks I’ll be preparing for the new school year that is just now starting due to a two week delay. Planning my girls club with a couple of the girls I sponsored for the Vacation Enterprise program and who attended a PCV camp “Take Our Daughters To Work” this summer. They will be my left and right hands; trying to slowly turn the club over to them. In addition, I’m going to try to get a MAP (men as partners—gender equality) club for the top boys in each middle school class, off the ground. Finally, a new trash collection project at the schools within LT will hopefully get going soon with local volunteers and my English Club. Lots to do… we’ll see how it goes! 

Thoughts on Togo -by Mike Wilmoth

Hello, everyone… This week Tay asked me to write her blog for you guys to get my Togo experience since my twelve days of being here.  Well like three days into it I started this blog, and had a lot of it written, and it felt like I was writing about some neat and nifty summer camp experience, with exclamation marks and quips, the whole nine yards….but after being here, going back and reading it….it just didn’t reflect my trip, and my feelings towards it. 

You know when you go to do something that you know will be hard, but you have never done it, you have this ignorance about you, which for the most part isn’t all that bad, because how could you ever do something if you really knew what you were doing.  That’s how I felt before I left- people kept asking me “What are you going to do?”….I replied “Survive, I guess…” I didn’t’ actually believe that really, but to be honest, that was a big part of it, sometimes just getting to the next day.

Africa is huge, and it would seem that it would eat you up quick and spit you out even faster, but here, it’s a small and slow grinding process that is the thing that makes it hardest.  Me and Tay sometimes would say….”Togo won today….” And on my trip, we won most the days, but even as a team, Togo had some victories.

In general, the idea of planning in this country is just more of a calculated hope. Which couldn’t be more evident than in the start of my trip, when I found myself stuck in DC for two days due to a weather delay. It’s just how you can adapt and roll with it that makes or breaks the day.  We had things we wanted to do that we couldn’t; the one I most remember was the waterfalls in Badou.  It is the rainy season, and it had turned streams to raging rivers, making the journey impassable.  But the way we adapted, and rolled with the circumstance made that day the best, playing cards in some small village in the middle of the jungle hills, then finding out our hotel had hamburgers….rolling with the punches and making it your day. That, to me is how trips are made, with some “planning” mixed in there for good measure.

I have some thoughts that I had wrote down since being here, so I think just listing them will be the way to do it. Here we go:

Lome, the capital city is not segregated at all in the class of people.  There are awesome eateries and hotels, and most will be right next to dumps.

If I lived here I would need:

1.       Dehumidifier

2.       Something like a cat litter box to dust the sand off my feet

3.       A make shift urinal in my house, so I wouldn’t have to walk outside to go to the bathroom.

4.       A refrigerator, for sure.

5.       AC is too unrealistic

6.       4 burners instead of standard 2, I would plan my day around cooking to pass time

Being n Tay’s house I was trying to hang something in her concrete wall, and it kept chipping.  I felt like Andy Dufrian in Shawshank Redemption: all the time in the world, concrete walls with bars, and all alone in your thoughts.

We visited the hospital in her village.  I don’t’ know how they could call it that, it’s just a building with beds.  I saw a couple of charts, and some forceps, that’s about it.  Note to self, DO NOT GET SICK! AH!

Probably the scariest thing in this country is traveling the road.  With no traffic laws, it’s a rhythmic insanity.  At first I was about ready to freak out and called riding in a my first bush taxi “ A hot day in hell”, but by the end I wasn’t noticing the chaos as much. However, the road to Badou can absolutely drive a man insane.  Imagine, well honestly there isn’t the right imagery bad enough for you to imagine it.  Let’s just say livestock on a country road in the States, travel better than we did that day. PCV’s here have a tough choice, be alone in village, or face the chaos to get to social settings.  So, if the road doesn’t kill you, the loneliness might….I would need a dog.

I was grabbed a couple times by the “crazy” people here, don’t know what it is about me, but I attracted ‘em. Taylor smacked the first one, and we just walked really fast around the others.

Tay’s local contact, Aposto, that guy is awesome. He is a genuine soul, who looks out for her, and is a true friend of hers and now of mine.  I had such a great time with him and his wife, Nima.  I truly hope I get to see them sometime in the future….bless you Aposto!

I want to reiterate again the grinding process of Togo: every single meeting or event we went to was late to start. You think you would get over this after a few times, but our culture has engrained punctuality in so much that I don’t know if it is possible, especially for type A personalities like me.

It was really tough for me not to speak French on this trip. I thrive on being able to communicate, and to not do that was taking away a huge ability for me, and honestly, that just plain sucked.

I  almost got robbed in the grand market in Lome. Two guys tried to get my cash but I figured it out quick enough, thank goodness, but really ruined that afternoon.

I was really interested in how things were made in this country.  All legit buildings are concrete, I think because of the humidity.  I watched a kid spread concrete one morning, it was interesting and I thought about what it would take to build this country, the infrastructure.  The thought itself is exhausting, let alone actually orchestrating it!

The landscape is a lot like Florida, low land shrubs, swampy…and hotter and more humid than anything right now with rainy season.

This place is simple and complex at the same time. I am ready to get back to America, but some of me wouldn’t mind being here either. I know I will be thinking about Togo long after I get back to the States, and hopefully bringing some of it back to Iowa with me.

Well, finally I just want to say to Taylor, I’m so proud of you. You have made the days yours and have accomplished things of true value to this country. I can’t say it enough, I’m proud of you. 

Rain running under rainbows

Say that three times fast. Lately, that’s been the story here; nearly all of my runs have been accompanied by at least some form of precipitation. But is this girl complaining? NO WAY! The harder it pours, the happier I am.  In training for the upcoming half marathon in Accra, Ghana at the end of September, and I did my first ten-miler in Togo last week in Pagala after my final week of Camp Espoir.  It poured all day and drizzled throughout the whole run but I was pleasantly greeted by a full rainbow as I turned around and made my way back. I ran backwards for a while to take in the awesome golden and fuchsia sunset. I literally ran under the rainbow and back to the center. 

Enough about weather and exercise.  I spent the last three weeks in Pagala, again, as we finished up the last weeks of Camp Espoir and I helped out as a counselor for another camp Peace Corps sponsors.  A camp based on creating young leaders for Togo, Camp UNITE brings some of Togo’s top students to the center in Pagala and loads them up with information and enthusiasm to take back to their communities.  It was a moving week for me as well as I had the chance to lead sessions on the importance of girls education and time management.  It was really neat to watch the participants realize that their entire future will be better if their sisters, wives, and daughters are educated right alongside them.  And teaching about planning – if you know me at all, you know I can get pretty fired up about this one!  Even more, I had the chance to be with three boys from Lama-Tessi who were invited to participate. To be able to watch them experience something so new and exciting was really cool. What’s more, they’re fired up and ready to spread the knowledge here in LT.

The second week was a blur – what’s with this exhaustion? Not used to FULL days without long hours of reading at home, I struggled throughout my time at camp with questions like, “Why can’t I get through a day of camp without needing a nap, sugar, caffeine?” and “Will I be able to make it in America?” Scarfing down my lunch, I practically ran back to my bunk each afternoon, coveting every precious minute of rest hour.  By the end of the week I realized why my mom valued my nap time so much when I was little!

The third and final week in Pagala, was the last week of Camp Espoir and I had the pleasure of being a staff member (rather than an organizer as I was for the other 3 weeks) and be right among the little monsters for the week.  I was assigned to a ‘medium’ aged cabin of seven boys from the southern regions of Togo.  This means it was my turn to be energetic, silly and fun. Yes, I know some of you are thinking about how that must have been a stretch for me. However, my good (and smart) friend Connor kept the office stocked in sugar and caffeine and the week went really well and I found my laid-back camp mode and had a great time!

Some highlights: In the talent show the group of PCV’s on staff that week did a ‘circus’ act complete with a clown (Connor), a gymnast and ribbon dancer (Alex and Lauren), a peanut catching/animal caller (Ryan), and a bad mime (me).  I don’t think the kids got it at all. But we sure had fun! The next night the kids had time to share stories of the challenges they’ve experience in being infected or affected by HIV/AIDs. Almost all seven of my boys opened up about losing one or both parents and friends to AIDS.  It was an up close and personal reminder of why this week of fun and encouragement is so important. As we sent the boys home and began cleaning up the center, I stopped to read the some of the camper evaluations the PCV’s collected.  “Why do you like Camp Espoir,” we asked.  “I like camp because I don’t get hit and we get to eat lots of food,” one responded. Wow.  Sharing with the other volunteers we all realized how easy it is to forget that these kids are seen as outcasts- lepers to their friends and family members who have been obligated to take them in.

It was interesting to have the perspective on these different camps. UNITE gives hope for the future of Togo- empowering the country’s young people to stand up, take responsibility and make change for themselves. ESPOIR provides a safe environment where for one week vulnerable kids impacted by HIV aren’t seen as different but can play and have fun as well as enjoying some positive love and 

attention from PCV’s. Different, but both important for Togo.

Other exciting things from this week include the prospect of a new project with a Togolese volunteer (think AmeriCorps) here in Lama-Tessi who has his medical degree and would like to improve the hygiene situation. He drew up a plan to put in trash cans at each of the schools and we met with the chiefs this morning to win their support.  Also, I was encouraged yesterday with a trip to Yao Kope, the small village to the north of LT where there is a group building a new hog enclosure with the help from a grant from the US Embassy. I was impressed to see their progress and foresight for the project.  Always nice to be around motivated, hard working people!

Finally, four days. My sweet boyfriend will be landing in this hot little country in less than a handful of days. After absorbing lots of vaccinations and buying random things for my friends here he is taking the leap across the Atlantic to come sweat with me for ten days. I’m a lucky girl. 

Le Champ

I went to the champ (farm) this week.  Or rather, a few hours Wednesday morning.  My good friend here in LT, Hortense, was just given a small piece of land (about the size of a basketball court) and she needed help tilling the weeds so she could plant beans.  Sure, I’ll help, I said, disregarding the hour of pilates I had just done and was already beginning to feel in my shoulders and back.  I’ve helped dig yam piles, but I’ve never really ‘gone to the champ,’ as does every single person here this time of year.  I wanted to be like everyone else; I wanted to prove a white girl could work too. 

We marched off from my house around 8 that morning (Hortense let me sleep in) machete’s in hand.  

My pride was big enough to float us to the farm, wherever it was.  As we passed village people they not only gave Hortense a hard time for going to the farm (remember, everyone knows where everyone goes here – imagining telling all the neighbors on your street every time you leave to go somewhere, and then them asking how the store or wherever was, every.single.time.) as a girl but then they really had a laugh when they saw me trailing behind. A WHITE GIRL is going to work in the farm? Hortense laughs this off, she’s used to it.  I unfortunately was much more defensive. 

Hortense led the way through random yards and fields of corn a good two feet taller than me.  I called up to her that my dad always told us never to walk into a field of corn for fear of getting lost; she thought that was funny. (The corn doesn’t get as tall here, nor is it as compact). After twenty minutes we came to this overgrown chunk of land, filled with weeds and wild grasses.  Hortense took off with her machete, making it look so easy, swinging and clearing a path in a matter of minutes.  No problem I thought.  

Twenty minutes later I looked up realize I had covered about a third of the ground Hortense had in the same amount of time.  As we both stood to take a breather, she smiled at me, and I glanced down at my hands, screaming as blisters had formed in several spots and popped at the same time.  What’s worse, she hadn’t even broken a sweat.  I continued on, switching to my left hand and thinking about all those batting lessons my parents paid for in high school were really coming in handy.  I pushed on, insisting I was fine as my left hand started to follow my right in its screaming for a pair of gloves.  As Hortense made her way back over to my section, cleaning up what I missed, I was flooded with childhood memories of mom vacuuming the same spot I had just attempted on our Saturday morning house cleanings.  So interesting that while I’ve come to this place to teach them new things, more often than not, I find myself doing most of the learning.  And usually it’s simple skills young children pick up like learning to walk.

An hour had passed and we had cleared about a third of the plot.  I could go all day, I thought, if it weren’t for these blisters, and the sweat dripping in a constant flow from my every point on my face, and my arms scratching incessantly from those few minutes among the corn rows. Yet again, a new level of being humbled. After two hours, Hortense said we could be done. This is how farm work is done here; little by little.  On the way back, Hortense asked if we even had machines for planting and cultivating our farms.   As I nodded, almost embarrassed, I didn’t have the heart (or the French) to explain the latest GPS technology that guides a lot of farmers’ tractors back home. We walked in silence and I thought about what a contrast our lives were; both young twenty-somethings, but living entirely different lives. I once again gave my silent prayer of thanks to God for being born and raised where I was in the world.

Back home I tended it my wounds, showered and collapsed in my hammock. Who needs pilates anyway? 

Camp Season

I haven’t been home in awhile – that is Lama-Tessi home.  The past three weeks I spent in Pagala, a small town about 2 hours south where Peace Corps has a center equipped with cabins, a dining hall, and lots of meeting spaces.  AKA my home for the summer as it is officially Camp season in Togo! Thankfully, it’s also officially RAINY SEASON and I’m living comfortably these days!  While Pagala has a gross dampness too it (nothing dries- ever) it is nice and cool and there was no trouble sleeping at night. Not like I would have had trouble anyway, I was so exhausted I fought to make it through dinner each night. Not used to days starting at 6 (or before on days I went running) and lasting til 9 or 10 – and full days, entertaining and managing energetic little Togolese rugrats. 

I’d been dealing with this weird stomach thing for a few months and it came to a head the first weekend at Camp.  I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say I’m thankful I had friends there to bucket flush my mess in the toilet when I was too weak, walk stool samples to the hospital and retrieve medicine for me. I didn’t move for a day and I felt the effects for a few days.  Unfortunately that meant I missed the majority of the first week of camp.  Fortunately, we had a good team of PCV’s in place and everything ran smoothly.  Two days of rest and the next round of campers arrived, this time energetic boys wanting to play and play and play. Amazed that they would be up kicking the soccer ball around even before breakfast as I returned from my runs. A couple of them stole my heart and I’ve promised to visit in the fall.

Two more days of rest and then the third week was the training of trainers for another camp PC runs, Camp UNITE for which I will be a counselor for the boys’ students week next week.  While I enjoyed being productive and useful as an organizer for Camp Espoir (first 2 weeks), I appreciated sitting back and not having to stress about to-do lists and putting out fires in the third week. I returned home Saturday, with a bag of damp dirty laundry, exhausted and just wanting to sleep.  I was welcomed by Aposto and lots of kids waving hello as I walked to the market. It felt good to be home.

I’ll leave you with some observations and camp details:

Each morning, campers (aged 10-17) participated in educational sessions led by PCV’s and NGO staff where they learned about their rights, sexual health, the transmission of HIV/AIDS, the importance of balanced nutrition, how to be a good role model and more.  The afternoons were set aside for fun: the Olympics – Camp Espoir style and a pretend market where each cabin got to make and sell small items (think candy, juice, and popcorn) to their peers as a way to practice income generating activity lessons. 

Nightly entertainment kicked off with an “opening ceremony” in which each cabin represented a different country, marching in with their flag and added their flame to the bon fire.  Maybe more special to PCV’s than to campers was the highlight of a marshmallow roast as the finale of the ceremony.  Later in the week, campers young and old came together to put on skits and show off their dancing skills at the nightly talent shows and dance party. 

Meal time was remarked as being the best part of camp by many participants as kids were given the rare chance to eat full, well-balanced meals to their content. This was especially interesting for me to watch, realizing some of these kids have never had a lot of these foods like salad, pineapple and especially not meat at every meal. 

Camp also offered the rare opportunity for catharsis.  Many painful stories of losing parents, learning of their HIV status, being orphaned and treated like outcasts flowed forth during the candle light ceremony held one night.  Tears flowed and campers were given a chance to tell their story in a safe and comforting environment, surrounded by new friends with similar stories. One girl in particular told of her situation living with her aunt who makes fun of her for being HIV positive and basically treats her like a dog; eating whatever is left over after the rest of the family has eaten. 

This candle light ceremony was interesting as it was quite painful especially because Togolese normally don’t talk about their problems, feelings or emotions.  While some NGO partners don’t like this activity as it makes the kids safe, we as PCV’s push for it and sometimes I think it helps us more to understand the grimness of their situations.  One would never know they’ve lost their parents or don’t get enough to eat by visiting camp; kids run around with copious amounts of energy, playing, eating, teasing, getting into a little trouble, and fully exhausting their staff.  It appears that life is good, normal but in the reality, this may be their only chance all year to enjoy a week of carefree fun.  That’s why we keep plugging on.

Home in time for the start of Ramadan and a neighborhood full of fasting Muslims. While I’ve noticed the town seems quieter, I’ve also noticed my host mother is a bit more cranky – you would  be too if you couldn’t have water, I tell myself!  I noticed a change in me, however.  Last year when it was Ramadan, I had only been at post for a few weeks and didn’t really think about it too much, eating and drinking and not really minding to think of the hungry/thirsty people around me.  However, this time around, I’ve noticed myself hiding my water bottle when I know I’m in the company of someone fasting.  I eat my meals in my house so as not to ‘rub it in’ my families face by eating out on my porch.  Interesting to see how perspectives, attitudes and behaviors change. 

90 homes, 16 hours and three days

The past few days have been incredibly productive.  In partnership with multiple international organizations, Peace Corps is conducting a country wide evaluation of the 2011 bed net distribution.  This translates to each volunteer surveying three villages near them.  After a day of training on how to conduct a non-bias, authentic, and legitimate survey with two counter parts we chose from our villages we received our fancy blue ‘survey’ vests and survey books. 

With the week before Camp Espoir, I knew my schedule was light and so I volunteered to do all three villages with my counterparts.  Why not? I’d like to see more of small villages around me.  Thankfully, we didn’t have to battle the weather and it was overcast and cool most of the three mornings. I took notes on my observations to share some highlights:

First up was the village to the south of me, Yara Kabye.  My counterpart (I call her Madame because I can’t pronounce the rest of her name) met me on my porch and was full of the latest gossip concerning these silly surveys.  You see, Madame is a local health agent who was recommended to me by Aposto, but she isn’t who another staff member would have chosen to do the work (and received the pay) and thus there was ugly talk going round. Really? I thought to myself? Why does everything have to be everyone’s business? I wondered if this place would ever advance if it continued to battle petty politics like this. We arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to announce our presence at the chiefs doorstep a few minutes later.  Too bad the chief wasn’t as eager.  The guy was almost literally almost dead. His children had left to work in the fields and so here he was delirious and refusing to go to the hospital.  What a great encouragement for our work!  Luckily, other village ‘officials’ arrived and gave us their blessing to continue with the surveys.  

One of these kind leaders decided to be our tour guide for the day, helping us navigate the winding paths between houses and fields.  It was helpful and he carried my heavy bag. However, he also yelled at villagers when they didn’t respond to the questions in the ‘correct’ manner.  After this happened the second time, I had to pull him aside and explain we were here for the truth, not the ‘right’ answer.  I’ve learned people in need will often tell you what you want to hear so you’ll keep coming back and providing for them.  And in fact after a lot of the surveys, people asked us if we were going to bring them more mosquito nets. Oh, development work.

With Madame not having the greatest eyesight or literacy and most of the tiny village speaking local language, it was a busy morning of me reading the eighteen questions in French, her translating back and forth and recording the response. Over and over.  It was cool- I felt very PC, until about house number 20 and hour number four of walking and sounding like a broken record. At about this point, my energy and patience was running low and the little kids chanting ‘white person’ went from being cute to just plain annoying.  Every house we went to a crowd gathered to see what the white person was doing here.  When one family offered a calabash of tchouk and even larger crowd gathered to watch me, I tried to explain how it’s not polite or nice to stare.  That if they came to America, no one would call them out for being black or stare at them.  This blew them away a little and while I knew they’re innocent in their wondering, it wears on a girl after awhile.

Walking among spouting corn, bean and cotton fields I wondered how long progress and development will –if ever- take.  Watching filthy, half naked kids scraping bowls of corn mush clean while interviewing their mother breastfeeding another child and who couldn’t have been past 30, I couldn’t help but wonder if this cycle of life –poverty – will ever be broken.  Will there always be small villages in Africa with no sanitation, health care, or education? Other oddities/frustrations came when you asked the mother or father, how many people live here and what are their ages. Unfortunately, I thought of America and sitting at someone’s kitchen table, parents easily listing off their kids’ ages (birthday, social security number, and what they ate for dinner, if you asked).  This is unfortunate for me because obviously this is not America and someday, hopefully I stop comparing the two.   A general statement, but often parents may not know their children’s ages, or the kids who slept at their house last night. Everyone is welcome (the mother’s sisters cousins daughter and her daughters son), thus determining the age and gender of the nuclear family are difficult.

The second day started out well.  I noticed right away the socioeconomic differences of the two villages.  This day we were in the small village just north of LT, Yao Kope, and I was working with 

Terry, another local health agent.  This chief was very with it and ready for us.  When you enter someone’s compound or yard of sorts, someone calls for chairs or wooden stools and you do the interview with whoever is there.  ‘Its always interesting to watch the hierarchy within the families (if dad’s there he yells at mom for the chairs, if mom’s there she yells at the kids who then yells at the youngest to get the chairs). Almost all of the compounds in Yao Kope had cement covered outdoor areas, when almost everywhere else I’ve ever seen is dirt.  Not only that but families had pens for their animals and full cement huts for cooking and storing things, not just stick and straw lean-to’s. The real kicker was the public latrines. I counted at least five (and used one) scattered throughout the village.  Wow! This is quite unheard of and I wondered what made this village, only a few kilometers from Yara Kabye so much more developed.  

Not only was Terry more literate than Madame (he filled out and asked every question) but he was much more methodical, thus the 30 houses took us six hours instead of five. In more of a supervising role, making sure he was filling in the blanks correctly, I was in my own day-dream world as the interviews were all in local language. To top this day off, we couldn’t find moto’s to take us back to LT and had to walk the hour back, in the 1 p.m. sun.  “I signed up for this,” I said, reminding myself.

On the third day, Madame was early and I sat at the schoolyard being stared at intently by the hoards of kids milling around while she went looking for our motos. I felt light and happy as we road through fields and washed away dirt roads to reach this even more remote village of Kobyo. I prayed I could feel this way in five hours. Thankfully, Madame was on a mission and as I would start the question in French, she would start in local language and this helped move things along. Again, I made not of the socioeconomic status; huts made of mud and straw, out in the middle of fields.  New this time however, I noticed the lack of oral health as most people were missing quite a few teeth and what was left were obviously quite rotted.  

Trekking even further between households, I was amazed and saddened when the mothers would ask us if she should get her husband from the fields to meet with us. No, we explained, you’re quite capable. We got caught in the rain at one house where everyone was sitting under a straw hut when their oldest boys came home announcing they had passed their exams.  The family was very glad, but they discussed how expensive it is to pay for school and they worried how they would manage with four more kids not yet school age.  I wanted so badly to be into the conversation, but again we were at hour 4 and my human needs of being hungry and tired overrode the volunteer in me.  Add to that the foul wafts of the father’s breath hitting me in the face and it was too much and I had to look the other way.  We passed a farmer herding his cattle on our way to the next house. I was pleasantly gifted cow’s milk after the interview, of which I destroyed on accident in attempting to pasteurize it when I got home.

Finally, we went to say goodbye to the chief and as we waited for our moto drivers, I shared my package of cashews from America and he and Madame were amused. 90 homes, 16 hours, five moto rides, three calabashes of tchouk, one craft of cow’s milk and countless miles walked, yes, it was quite the experience. 

Rain, rain, never go away!

It still amazes me how happy rain makes me. How clear blue, sunny skies make me cringe yet dark clouds make me so excited, happy, and content. Rain means cool air and cool air means not sweating uncontrollably.  Amazing how much manageable and more enjoyable life is here when you’re comfortable.  I spent a few days in the capital, Lome, preparing for Camp Espoir and was able to really enjoy them as I wasn’t drowning in sweat from the usually intense heat and humidity. It was so nice!  I felt so normal; walking places, doing work and not being discussed with myself! I also ate really well while I was there, almost to the point that I was getting a little too used to ‘normal’ food again – that is expecting it rather than treasuring it. I was in the American bubble; working in the PC office with my fellow volunteers, enjoying high speed internet, consistent electricity , being productive, going to lunch and dinner in different places.  On the last day when I took my first run in Lome I was quite satisfied as the increased levels of delicious dinging had paid off with a high energy run along the beach. 

Thankfully, I was gently worked back into the ‘Togo bubble’ as I headed to Kovie, my friend Veronica’s village a few hours northwest of Lome. It is a really beautiful village about the same size as mine (7,000) Her house is also really spacious and peaceful with an enclosed front courtyard to herself.  We went for a killer run among the green fields starting to sprout, avoiding puddles (seriously, it rained almost every day!) the first morning.  Of Latino decent, Veronica was excited to make me a traditional breakfast after our run. Beans with a tomato sauce, cheese (or as close as we can get here), eggs, and toast. She also explained the tradition with beans in her house growing up; how they’re prepared a batch for the whole week on Monday and mixed and modified to make different meals throughout the week. I loved hearing her speak about her culture, very passionate and very proud. It was so lovely sipping coffee and relaxing on her front terrace, enjoying the view over a good meal after a great run.  A perfect morning. 

A very active and involved volunteer, Vero had meetings and business to attend to so I got to tag along and watch her work.  Her village loves her and she seems to be known by everyone! I appreciate her passion for her work and for the people she’s come to call family.  Later, when we were walking to go see nearby rice fields, we got to talking about the development of Togo and of development in general.  I think it’s safe to say this is a highly discussed topic among PCV’s here; sharing frustrations, opinions, what someone’s read in the latest book from the other side about development.  

More and more I’m understanding how development, corruption and poverty are all intertwined.  How it’s often easier to keep a population oppressed than help lift them out of their despair. Vero reminded me of this country’s youth and how not long ago anyone willing to voice their opinion was often never to be heard from again.  Volunteers throughout the country have heard such stories, so it was interesting to me to really think of this place on a development timeline; a continuum.

Saturday we headed to Atakpame and I had a wonderful few days celebrating my birthday with some of my closest friends here.  It was a big week and for the first time in a while I can say I was happy to return to my home this morning.