Giving Thanks

December 5^th

Celebrating Thanksgiving in a developing country can really contribute a lot to one’s perspective.

Despite being far from my family and the pleasures of Fall, I was fortunate enough to be able to spend the day with about 40 other volunteers in Dapaong, the regional capital of Savanns – the northernmost region of Togo.

I paid 4000cfa to make the four-hour bus ride up on Wednesday, enjoyed a 6000cfa turkey dinner at a nice hotel on Thursday, and headed down to Lome on Friday. When you factor in the other food I purchased and the few beers over two days, plus the trip back, I spent maybe 20000cfa trying to simulate a Thanksgiving back home in the States.

20000cfa is about $40.

For a nice dinner, two days worth of food, alcohol, and travel, you’d think that’s actually pretty cheap.

However, that’s more than a lot of families here in Togo will ever have in their possession at one time.

The 6000cfa dinner alone could probably provide a family of 4 here with meals for almost a month.

The 20000cfa for the 2 days could provide 3 families of 4 here meals for a month.

Now, think about how much your Thanksgiving feast cost you.

That’s perspective.

Don’t worry; this is not a criticism of the Thanksgiving holiday. I enjoy gorging myself on turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie as much as the next person. When I return to the U.S. after two years in Togo, I’ll probably eat enough at that first Thanksgiving home to make up for the two that I missed.

This is, however, a criticism of our society’s tendency to forget how fortunate we are. I know, because I’m guilty of it as well. I didn’t realize all of this until after I’d stuffed my face and headed back from Dapaong.

In fact, all I said this year at the dinner table was what I say every year:

“I am thankful for my family and friends, my health, and the opportunities I’ve had in my life that have brought me to where I am today.”

That’s it. Almost exactly like last Thanksgiving. It just comes out like a rehearsed line. No extra effort or thought.  My mouth forms the words almost unconsciously…

What I realize now is to be truly thankful we need to be conscious! We need to develop a special awareness for all the good things life brings us. Just trying to recognize a few, small blessings outside of the obvious ones can make you look at every day in an entirely new light.

Now that I’ve had my epiphany, I’d like to do it over.

This year for Thanksgiving,

I’m thankful for my family. And that I still have all of them in my life. And that they are healthy and, as far as I know, happy.

I’m thankful for my friends. Past and present. Every one of them has contributed something to my life to make it what it is – some, a very great deal.

I’m thankful for my health. Not just in this moment, but throughout my life. I would not have been able to see the places I have or do the things I’ve done without it. So far, it’s been holding up pretty well here in West Africa too.

And I’m thankful that if I’m ever not in good health, at least back home anyway, that I have immediate access to the care I need. While in Togo, I’m thankful I work for the U.S. government and that at least gets me the best that’s available during my service.

I’m thankful that I come from a place where we need holidays to encourage all of our family members to merge their separate schedules and lives to all get together and enjoy each other’s company. Really, what I mean is that I’m thankful that we all have the opportunities to lead separate live and become our own people – as opposed to all of us living under one roof, without enough beds, sharing every moment and ever meal together.

I know this is morbid, but I’ve never thought of it before. I’m thankful that, for a lot of us, death is something that is tragic and, often, life altering. There are places where it is simply an expectation. Especially for children.

I’m thankful the world makes me feel so small. Never will I ever feel like I’ve seen and done every thing. I can constantly be longing for new sights, striving to learn new things, and get lost in experience again and again.

I’m thankful for my education. Especially after learning how hard it is for people many places to get one. Women even more so. I’m lucky enough to have always seen it as a guarantee in my life.

I’m sure as hell thankful to be an American woman. This deserves its own blog post.

I’m thankful for Texas 4000. I’m thankful for Ruel.

I’m thankful I’ve been able to serve in the Peace Corps and realize so many things about life and myself just within these first 6 months.

I’m thankful that I’m able to smile at my past, for right now, really enjoy the present, and look forward to my future. If you think about it, I’m not sure how many people in this world can do all three at the same time.

Lastly, I’m thankful to feel I have the chance to control that future – to make choices about the direction of my life (that hasn’t changed despite reading War and Peace). I’ve witnessed how completely defeated people feel here by the circumstances that life has dealt them. The majority will never entertain the idea of challenging the only future they see for themselves. And I can’t say I blame them. Life altering opportunities are few and far in between.

This isn’t nearly a complete list, but I figured you’d stop reading if I went on much longer.

I hope you found it much more rewarding to consider than my previously mentioned, well rehearsed, Thanksgiving “This is What I’m Thankful For”.

And note, although I used Thanksgiving as an excuse to share the new things this experience has made me grateful for, I hope you realize that you need Thanksgiving to give thanks just about as much as you need New Year’s to make resolutions.

Again, this blog post is not intended to be a lecture, and it’s certainly not meant to make you enjoy Thanksgiving any less. I only wanted to share this change in my perspective with the hope that it will encourage you to evaluate how much you have to be thankful for.

We usually know to appreciate what we have right in front of us, but there’s much more to it than that.

A lot of the blessings we have are not what we can see with our eyes, but what we can see by looking through the eyes of someone less fortunate.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

It’s a couple weeks past Thanksgiving, but who cares – go and give thanks.

Koumealo

P.S. Another reality I’ve come to terms with here, is that we don’t need to spend time in third world countries to figure this out! There are people in the United States just outside our doors and down the street suffering from poverty just as extreme, if not more, as people here in West Africa.

If this blog has inspired you (probably a long shot, but I’ll just pretend), Christmas is just around the corner and provides plenty of opportunities to get involved in charity work.

And again, why wait for a holiday? Volunteer any time in any way to give back to those less fortunate. You don’t have to move to Africa to do it.

Initiating Launch

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

First three months down. I’ve done a lot of observing and integrating. My language still has a ways to go before I’m at a professional level, but nevertheless, it’s time to start some projects.

Now, among the many things I’ve learned thus far living in Togo, one is that nothing is going to work out exactly as you’ve planned. So, as I present the following project ideas to you, keep in mind they will most likely fail or be altered significantly.

But, you gotta start somewhere, right?

Ideally, these are the major projects that I will be working to develop throughout my next 21 months.

Care Group

My village has just over 4,000 people, the majority of whom (women and children) only speak Kabiye. I will never be able to host sensibilizations for that many people, nor will I ever be fluent in Kabiye. So, as a health volunteer, it’s a huge obstacle to identify how to reach everyone in the population. The Care Group is a project that will help me bridge that gap.

Let’s say my village has 300 homes. For every 10 homes, there will be 1 woman representative. That’s 30 women to represent all the households in Kemerida. Each month myself and a partner (I’ve chosen the accoucheuse of my dispensaire), will meet with these 30 women and train them on a different health topic. Then, it is those women’s responsibility to go to their 10 homes and regurgitate the same training. It reaches the people of my village in their homes, on their terms, in their language. So much more than I could ever hope to do alone.

The Care Group also has the benefit of being able to provide excellent means of monitoring and evaluation. Each month, I can send my women representatives out with pre and post surveys. I will be able to see how many people they’re reaching with my initial sensibilitazations and determine how the community’s former knowledge evolves with each presentation. I’m also a numbers nerd, so I’m really excited about the possibility of using this information to identify areas of focus in my community for second year projects.

Ideally, the ASCs (community health workers) of Kemerida will be a great resource for helping keep the women of my Care Group motivated and accountable. ASCs already work for the dispensaire doing similar work. The issue is there are significantly less of them and the topics they present to the community are more limited. I hope they will compliment the efforts of my Care Group and work with me to do follow up visits.

Things I’m doing now to prepare:

Using my very limited internet, I was able to download satellite pictures of my village. I’ve spent the last couple weeks copying them over to one large map. I will use this map to try to identify where the majority of people in Kemerida live. 4,000 people. That is not an easy task. In some cases, I will settle for just learning how many households are in each neighborhood. I hope to have this complete by the end of the month.

After getting a better idea of how the population is distributed, I can determine how many women I need and section of the houses into groups that need a representative. I will then work with my homologue, Ben, the ASCs, and the dispensaire staff to identify women one woman in each group that speaks/reads and writes in French and is responsible enough to participate in the Care Group. I would like my women to be selected by the end of the December.

January, we will hold our first meeting. This will give me the opportunity to evaluate the group and determine if any adjustments need to be made.  Our first training/sensibilization will occur in February.

School Health Club

I want to start a health club at the CEG across the street from my house. The last level of education there would be my focus. It includes kids ages 12 to 16ish that are in their last year before high school. They speak and write decent French, so I’d be able to do presentations with them. Also, I’d love to involve them in skits and art projects regarding health issues here in West Africa.

Starting in the second trimester in January (first one already started), I would like to meet once a month. Each month will have a different topic. It will be for girls and boys combined. However, during the month for sexual health, I’ve decided it would allow for a more open, and thus more educational, environment to split up the sexes. Other monthly topics I have in mind are HIV/AIDS, malaria, nutrition, hygiene and sanitation, and life skills. 

Also, if things work out like I’m hoping, we also be able to take a field trip to the University of Kara one month.

Things I’m doing now to prepare:

First, I must meet with the director of the CEG to get his approval. The issue is that, currently, there is a nationwide teacher strike occurring. School has been cancelled until the government reaches a consensus about what the pay raise is going to be.  This post concludes the 3^rd week of no school. Fingers crossed it starts back up soon.

After school is back in session, I plan to sit in on some classes for the duration of this trimester just to get acquainted with the students and learn more about the education system here in Togo. 

Before meetings start, I will also need to find a teacher to help me lead the club. They will be the person I prep to take over the club for me once my service is complete. It’s not worth the effort if I can’t make this project sustainable.

Community Fetes (Festivals)

Using the Care Group and the School Health Club, I’d like to plan village wide fetes every few months.

These will require a lot of planning and will occur every few months. They will focus on the topics I would like to stress in my community. Ideas I have currently are a Paludisme fete (malaria), VIH/SIDA fete (HIV/AIDS), a Family Planning fete, and a Hygiene and Sanitiation fete.

Things I’m doing now to prepare:

Creating a calendar for potential fetes.

I made a chart of 6 calendars starting January 2014 through September 2015 (end of my service).

Calendar 1: World Wide Holidays (Worlds AIDS day, Women’s day, Malaria Day, etc)

Calendar 2: Togo’s School Calendar (which is actually, for the most part, unpredictable)

Calendar 3: Preliminary Care Group Calendar

Calendar 4: Preliminary Health Club Calendar

Calendar 5: Already established Community Events (i.e. Whipping Fete)

Calendar 6: Seasons of Togo (Rainy season, Harvest, Harmatan, Hot season)

By combining all of these, I am able to get a bigger picture of how all of my schedules can work together.

For example, April 25^th is World Malaria Day. In March, I can give a presentation to my Care Group about malaria (causes, prevention, etc). They will then take a pre-survey out to evaluate the knowledge and prevention practices of the 10 households they represent. That same month, since it’s during the school year, I will give a malaria presentation to my health club. They will work on a malaria skit and hopefully we will be able to get permission to paint a malaria mural at the dispensaire.

Beginning of April, my Care Group will invite all their households to the fete later that month. Around the 25^th, Kemerida will have its first annual Paludisme Fete. It will be the in front of the recently completed malaria mural and will have a skit performed by the health club. The major of the dispensaire will give a sensibilization in Kabiye to address the knowledge and prevention practices I gathered information on from the pre-surveys. There will be a net-washing station, repairing station, and a net hanging demonstration. Also, what’s a Kabiye fete without some Tchouk?

In May, after the fete, the Care Group will be able to give a post surveys to gather data on how the community felt about the fete and what they learned. If it was successful, hopefully they’ll make it a yearly event.

Constructing a pre-birth house (not sure of the official name) for my dispensaire

Kemerida is the center of 4 villages that make up a canton. They are Kemerida, Teroda, Pyode, and Atchao. The dispensaire is easily accessible by residents of Kemerida, but those in the other three village have to travel quite a ways to access health care (and it’s typically by foot).

During my first few weeks at post, my major and another community leader asked my if I could make one of my projects building a house near the dispensaire for women to stay when they’re close to giving birth. This would encourage women from the more isolated areas to come to the dispensaire to have an assisted birth in a safe environment to help reduce infant mortality.

At the time, I told them I wanted to first observe the village and determine what health problems I thought needed to be addressed. After having the idea to start a Care Group, I returned to their initial request and told them that if I can gather data proving that it would be a benefit to the community, I would do what I could to make it happen. Using surveys, I plan to do just that. If my village demonstrates a genuine interest in the possibility and I can guarantee that it will be used for the right reasons, I will work to raise the funds with my position as a Peace Corps volunteer.

I warned both of them, however, that I would not be the leader of the project. I wanted the people of my village to do it themselves. I will attend all meetings, help decide the amount of material needed, and work within the establish timetable, but one person, or a committee of people, needed to lead the project. I believe that by giving people ownership of these types of projects, they are more likely to be protected against misuse – a big issue with development projects where money and/or materials are just handed over.

Lastly, I’m also part of the World Wise Schools Correspondence Match Program. I’m currently collaborating with a French teacher in Massachusetts. Her students send me questions about the Peace Corps and life in Togo that I respond to in French for their class. Eventually, I want to match them with the English class at my village’s CEG and start a pen pal program.

So, that’s it. Those are the things I’m working on now and praying will work out in the future.

One thing here I’ve come to miss is EFFICIENCY. You guys in America, be glad 95% of everything there is dictated by it. It makes your work much less of a guessing game and a hell of a lot less frustrating.

Again, I’ll have to let you know more month by month as things develop.

Don’t be surprised if this all changes completely. I just wanted you to get an idea of how I’m trying to make a difference here in my village and inform you that I’m not just doing yoga and reading books.

3-2-1 Blast Off.

Koumealo

Kemerida's Kabiye Whipping Fete

On October 26^th, the village of Kemerida had its annual Kabiye Whipping Fete.

And it was one of the coolest cultural experiences I could ever hope to be a part of.

Since I first arrived at post back in August, people in my community have been asking me if I was going to be in village for the fete on October 26^th. Fresh out of stage (training), I was still wide-eyed and severely disoriented from the transition to village life. I pretty much said yes to any question I was asked.. mostly because I couldn’t understand what was being asked. When I heard “vingt-seis Octobre” and “fete”, I just nodded and assured them I’d be present. At the time, I couldn’t comprehend just how important this tradition was to my village and how critical it was for me, as their personal Peace Corps volunteer, to be there.  Guess I’m glad I automatically said yes to everything in the beginning instead of no. (Probably not the best idea though.. who knows, I could be married and not even know it.)

Once October hit, the fete was THE topic of discussion. People asked more frequently if I’d be there and I began to pose more questions to learn about exactly what it was..

The conversations were obviously in French, so give or take a few details to account for human error, this is what I learned:

For boys from traditional Kabiye families to be initiated into manhood, they must take part in this huge celebration that involves, essentially, whipping duels. Yes. Actual whipping. But it’s not as barbaric as it sounds. (At least I didn’t think so..)

Boys can start participating from age 6 and continue to do it every year until they are 22. If you decide to participate in the duels, you are matched with someone your own age/size. Even if you don’t participate in the duels, you can still come decked out with your own traditional outfit and strut/dance around the designated performance area. Every boy brings his own whip and stick-shield (?) thing used for defense. (This was recently implemented in response to the increasing awareness of HIV/AIDS and its prevention. I believe they used to use the same two whips for every duel.)

The morning of the fete, starting at 7am, each quartier (neighborhood) has it’s own mini fete prior to the main event.  This is where boys of any age who are paired up can participate. After the quartier celebrations, there is one large arena that everyone migrates to around 8am. The boys that are designated to duel here can be identified by their attire. They usually have more elaborate outfits, wear headdresses of feathers and rhino horns (I KNOW! RHINO HORNS!), have more legitimate whips and shields, and are blowing whistles. I believe they’re the boys who are near the conclusion of their initiation and maybe in their last years of eligibility.

During the duel, they each take turns lashing each other. After each has landed a few good licks, older men serving as “referees” will break up the duel. Each boy will retreat and be rushed by his friends and family. They will shower him with chants and bowing while he assumes a masculine stance and blasts long breaths of air into the whistle gripped between his teeth. During the quartier duels, this can happen several times. However, once they transition to the large arena, each boy gets one chance to publicly demonstrate his masculinity.

Some of the scars that they earn will last for life. Forever a Kabiye man. (In my earliest days at post, my homologue’s oldest son once showed me the two or three massive, raised scars down his left arm while beaming with pride. I didn’t really get it until I learned more about the fete..)

Also, the whipping fete is a custom unique to Kabiye. Villages in my area with a significant Kabiye population usually celebrate this tradition on some scale. However, the fetes in Kemerida and Pagouda are the only one’s that involve the entire village. People come from all over to see it and (though I’m not sure how it’s possible) it’s even televised.

So that’s what it is and how it works. Now for a little on my own personal experience:

The entire week leading up to the fete, I was asked if I was having a special outfit made, invited to pre-fete dinners, and repeatedly asked if I’d be present.  Any meetings I wanted to schedule or work I tried to do was postponed until after the fete. Every one was gearing up for their biggest event of the year.

A few days beforehand, my friend Judith invited me to celebrate the night before the fete at her house with her family. She told me to come at 20h and be ready for food, drink, and dancing. Iain and Alicia, other Peace Corps volunteers, decided to visit my village to see the fete, so I asked her if they could come along to. She was absolutely thrilled to be the one hosting us.

The night before, Judith showed up at my house an hour early. She said her younger brother was getting whipped tonight, so instead we were going to go to her mother’s house to watch it happen.

After at ten-minute walk through cornfields in the pitch-black night, we arrived at a compound. There were a few people already sitting outside in the courtyard that you could only make out by the light of a dim fire. There was a young man coming in and out of the gap in the wall being followed by others as they helped him assemble his outfit. They were wrapping his forearms and shins in torn white rags. Iain said he heard they had anaesthetizing properties to help minimize the pain. Turns out they were just to attach more things to for ornamentation. While all of this was going on, the three of us were served unfermented Tchouk. I secretly poured mine out behind me because it tasted terrible, but it’d be impolite for me to return a full calabash. Throughout the preparations, people continuously arrived – mostly other young men carrying whips, but not wearing any traditional clothes. After his headdress was in place, the final touch, the ceremony began! Or so we thought..

The family members, including Judith, stood and rushed the young man while screaming chants at him. He started blowing his whistle and violently pounded his feet on the concrete with the other men. The congregation worked their way around the courtyard and eventually migrated to outside the gate. In my mind, this must be it! He’s going to go outside and the other men are going to hit him with their whips. The shouting and whistling continued, but the shift outside turned into another ten-minute walk through the cornfield.

As we drew in closer from the outskirts of the village, we could here more whistling and shouting in the distance. Approaching the main road, the distance shouts began to merge into the hum of a large crowd. It was clear we weren’t the only ones celebrating tonight.

We ended up in a clearing underneath a street lamp outside the chief’s compound. There were already hundreds of people gathered there forming a huge circle. In the middle were many more young men with whistles and headdresses. Turns out that the entire fete includes the night before the official matches. The night before is more personal to the village since the main event in the morning is broadcasted and brings in a ton of visitors. I was proud to have the opportunity to be a part of it as a resident of the village and not as a tourist.

Once it seemed like most of the participants had arrived, drums were brought into the middle of the circle and the celebration began. Young women formed a long line that moved within the circle, walking and dancing simultaneously. Shortly after we’d arrived, a little girl became attached to me. Holding my hand, she dragged me to the back of the dance line and we moved with the crowd around the circle.  After one rotation, Judith pulled us out and said it was about to be dangerous for us to be in the circle. Sure enough, a few minutes later, you heard the crack of a whip. Two of the young men had rushed each other to start the duels. Pairs of young men took turns initiating their battles. One pair would go at a time and the crowd would rush to encircle each one. When the whips got too close to the spectators, everyone would run away while older men broke it up and tried to coerce the heated young men back towards the middle.  The crowd would return and quickly fill in the gaps created during the scatter. This cycle of events would repeat itself for over an hour.  Crack of the whip. Rushing. Whip. Dueling. Whip. Whip. Whip. Drums. Whip. Fear. Whip. Retreating. Returning. Crack of the whip.

After watching for an hour, tired from all the excitement and hungry from skipping dinner with the expectation of being fed, we finally headed to Judith’s.  And then got sidetracked to another quartier’s night celebration. We thought we were going to have to watch the same thing all over again. We ended up not staying long. We met up with Judith’s husband and went back to their compound. Where we actually did watch everything all over again. On video. From the year before.  There was no food because Judith didn’t have time to cook before going to see her brother. The Tchouk was all gone because all the drinking took place before the evening festivities. Wish we’d known that… So all there was for us to do was a little bit of dancing. Like most things here, things don’t usually turn out like you’d expect. I think the three of us were too tired to be good company for long, but the night was already so full of so many unexpected events that none of us were too disappointed by the lack of an after party at their place. After hanging around for almost an hour, we decided to call it a night to save some energy for tomorrow.

We headed to bed around 1am. And were expected to meet at Judith’s for breakfast at 6am..

Woke up at late. 5:50am. Perfectly on schedule, Roman, Judith’s son, showed up at my door at 6am. He actually brought breakfast to us. Bean beignets with pimante. One of my favorites. We dressed in a hurry and walked with him back to their house. Once we arrived, we were actually redirected to the neighboring compound. There were several males of all ages there getting their attire assembled just like the previous night. I recognized my homologue’s son to be one of the main participants as another man helped secure his headdress. He had on a bottle cap skirt, leather straps lay over his chest, and shin guards made of folded palm frauds. Others were wearing normal clothes and covered with baby powder. These were the men that were too older to participate in the duel, but could be a part of literally, every other aspect. Then there were a couple of younger boys wearing grass skirts with smaller whips who would just get the chance to dance around the main area. While watching the preparations, one of the older men jumped in from of us and showered us in baby powder. He got the back of Iain’s neck and Alicia and I were lucky enough to have our entire fronts covered. It’s custom for the female dancers and all male participants, no matter what age, to wear baby powder. Basically if you were going to be in the arena at any point, you were marked by white powder. We weren’t included in any of these groups, but I guess being a yovo (foreigner) was good enough to earn us the distinction.

After everyone was ready, we moved out of the compound to a large crowd under a tree. They formed a large circle with the young men in the middle, just like the night before. This quartier’s first battle of the day was about to be underway. Judith’s husband Ayim was in the center playing the drums and my homologue’s son was part of the first pair to initiate their duel. Being able to identify people in the action made this particular part of the fete even more memorable for me. I wasn’t just an American visiting Africa who got to see a cool tradition take place. I was a member of a community getting to watch her friends perform in one of the most important traditions of their culture.

The fete proceeded just like the previous evening. Duels. Break ups. Drums. Dancing. Scattering. Whips. We left halfway through this quartier’s duel to revisit the quartier from last night. Again, same thing. Just daylight. We left a little prior to 8am to make our way to the large arena for good seats.  Iain and Alicia stopped on the way for Tchouk, but because this was my village, I felt it was necessary for me to be able to see the action. I wanted to have a full understanding of the fete since it was so crucial to the culture of my village. I didn’t have to go alone though. The little girl from the day before found me again and accompanied me there.

The arena was set up behind the elementary school just off the main road. All the tables and desks from inside the school had been pulled out early that morning and arranged into a huge circle in the cleared field behind the school buildings. I kept thinking it looked like a West African version of gladiator. It crossed my mind to look for lions in cages situated around the perimeter. The seats were all already filled upon our arrival. In the back of the circle though, there was still a little space left for standing room just behind the people seated. The perfect place for two short people to get a good view. We took our places just in time for another large wave of people to fill in behind us.

We waited about 20 minutes until the crowds of men from the quartier battles began to trickle into the arena. As it began to fill up, the drums from each quartier collected in the middle. They started a beat and the crowd within the desks began to move. They danced laps around the circle. Stopping briefly in front of various groups to do a mock duel or strike a pose. Baby powder was being thrown around left and right, covering anyone that stepped through the barrier. Being at the front of the standing crowd, we were shoved forward more and more until we were hovering over the people seated in the desks. I could smell the breath of the old lady underneath me.

The pre-ceremonial dancing took about 30 minutes. Eventually, the men in the middle segregated themselves into different groups around the arena and took a seat. Each group represented a different quartier. The drums continued. A man with a chalkboard walked out into the center and circled the perimeter. This was the way to announce which two young men would be participating in the next duel.  After he completed a revolution, two young men would emerge from the crowds and take their place just off the center of the circle. They were to duel between the drums and the shaded pavilion set up for the chief and other important figures in the village. The young men stood facing each other, whips and shield raised. The old man refereeing would call for it to begin. Lash for lash the boys would duel - trying to strategically land a hit on the other while using their shield to defend themselves. Each individual match lasted only a few minutes. The ref would blow his whistle and the crowds of men bordering the arena would rush the participant belonging to them. After things settled down and people returned to their places, the chalkboard would come back around and another duel would begin. It took about 30 minutes for all the main duels to take place.

The fete finished by 9am. Well, the whipping part anyway. The drinking, dancing, and celebrating would continue for the remainder of the day. I met up with Iain and Alicia around the front of the school. We wandered through the dispersing crowds so that I could find my homologue’s son for a picture. I got my picture and we settled in for some Tchouk and bean beignets.  We found my homologue soon after and he invited us to his place to continue the celebrations. After some saluering (greeting) and Tchouk, we decided it was time to reposer (rest). My homologue’s wife, Marie, told us to come back a 23h for fufu and cake.

This was by far one of my favorite things to have experienced since being in Togo. I have a new appreciation for the Kabiye culture and feel proud to be a part of the village of Kemerida.

I’ve always wanted to travel the world, but in a way that allows me to experiences places. Not just see them. That’s exactly what I’m getting to do here.

Go experience something.

Koumealo.

Sunshines and Rainbows

October 1^st

I would like to preface this blog by saying that I’m still really happy here and love my village. At his point, I also have a lot of project ideas I’m really excited about pursuing. I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot to look forward to.

HOWEVER . . .

So far, I’ve been trying to write my blogs in a manner that will provide you with a pretty general idea of what my life is like here in Togo.  What I haven’t been doing, though, is giving a complete account of my feelings and attitudes about everything.

95% of the time, life is great. Most days I feel like bottled sunshine and my levels of happiness would probably disgust most people.

However, 5% of the time, it’s very very trying. I guess I want to write an entry that will give you an idea of how hard this actually is at times.

Honestly, I don’t find the lifestyle to be that difficult at all. Electricity is a luxury I have and I know I could get by without it. I’ve learned ways to satisfy myself food wise - I can make some restaurant worthy chicken fajitas and pad thai. Not having running water doesn’t bother me. I actually like how strong my arms are getting from hauling water out of a well. I’ve gotten used to the transportation system, or lack there of. I feel overall it’s made me much more patient. And motos are again, awesome, and surprisingly, not terrifying. Bugs and parasites don’t bother me either. I’ve finally stopped annihilating the spiders in my house because more just keep coming back. I see one on the wall the size of my palm and shrug. Most of the things (practically everything) we “need” in the U.S. are just out of convenience. After being without them long enough, my missing them has minimized. (Don’t get me wrong, I’d still kill for air conditioning, pizza delivery, a good beer, and a bubble bath BUT I’m no longer daydreaming about them.) I’m actually now very content with what I do have here. Also, compared to most African households, we Peace Corps volunteers are livin’ the good life.

I no longer find being away from home difficult either. I do still miss my family and friends very much, but in a way, this is starting to feel like home. If I weren’t on another continent, I’d probably still be somewhere far away. The separation was something inevitable I needed to get used to.. though this is, admittedly, a little drastic. Also, I’ve been able to keep in touch enough to keep me up-to-date and happy.

What is hard:

Feeling (and being treated) like I’m incompetent.

No matter how much I practice or study, I will never be able to express myself in French (much less Kabiye) the way I can in English. I get that. But, when I have a meeting with the Major of my dispensaire to discuss future projects and sound like a 5^th grader, it’s really discouraging. I have really really great ideas for my community (that I’ll post once they actually get started.. don’t wanna jump the gun) that I’m really excited about but can’t explain to anyone why I think they’re so great! Take something you are really really enthusiastic about that you could talk about for hours. Now try to condense all your thoughts about it into four sentences that a third grader is capable of comprehending. If you can’t picture what that feels like, it’s like you are going to explode - like all my ideas are going to start bubbling out of my ears because I can’t express them with my mouth.

The midwife I work with is also a very aggressive individual. I think she gets a lot of joy out of humiliating me. The other day she met me at the marche and pulled me around by the arm (leaving bruises) and made me bow to every single man and greet him properly in Kabiye. When I didn’t do it correctly, she yelled at me and made me do it again from the beginning. Everyone thought it was hilarious. At work, if she drops something, she snaps at me and tells me to pick it up like I’m a dog. Right now, I obey. I’ll fetch and I’ll sit and I’ll stay until I’ve been here long enough to not offend everyone else by standing up to her. I want to be nice and lay low for a while until my language skills and reputation are well established. I do not intend to go for the next two years though being her puppet. (Sometimes, in moments of weakness, I do yell back at her in English. AND IT FEELS GREAT! She thinks it’s funny so I know I’m not being offensive.)

My French and even my Kabiye have made huge strides this past month. As much as people appreciate my attempts at local language though, it doesn’t keep them from laughing at every mistake I make. It’s the worse when it’s children laughing at you. And the worst when it’s large crowds of children. I wouldn’t laugh at you if you tried to speak English! I’d applaud your effort!

Feeling that no one knows you now, and that no one really will for the NEXT 2 YEARS.

No one in my village knows my real name is Shea. Or knows about my family. My education. My friends. Things that I like. Things that I’m good at. What I think of life. What I want out of the future. Nor do they ever care to. Or say there’s a few that do care, I still can’t express my ideas in a relatable way. Life here is just too different. Talking about hopes and dreams and all the things the world has to offer doesn’t get your fire going here. Instead it makes me feel like I’m upholding the stereotypical image everyone has of us rich, privileged Americans.

Never being alone.

In the past two weeks, 5 children have moved into my compound, making it 8 total. School starts in a week so kids seem to be popping out of the ground like corn stalks. I had finally gotten used to the 3 living here. What tiny sliver of peace I had before, is now completely gone. There’s never a moment of silence. Ever. There’s always kids crying, fighting, laughing and trying to get into my house. When I don’t let them in, they peer their little faces into my windows or throw rocks at my door. It’s so exhausting and I’ve started yelling at them, even though it always makes me feel guilty. All hours of the day, people knock on the door and start a monologue in French. Projects they want me to do, things they want me to buy, or more often, just to say hi and see what I’m up to. If I’m taking a nap, I’m not for long. Not answering the door just means they’ll yell outside and bang on the door until I do. I’ve tried taking my hammock to a secluded place for some alone time, but people just follow me. I’ve started running in the morning, but have to stop and saluer people every 5 minutes. There’s literally NO ESCAPE.

Being a collector’s item rather than a person.

When I first got to village and everyone wanted to be my friend, I felt very welcome and optimistic about time here. Now, I think every single person wants something from me, even if it’s just to say they are friends with me. Every time I leave village, I get a list of things people want me to bring back. Bread, jewelry, pagne, yams. One woman came to my house a while back to say she was staying in my village for a couple of weeks and wanted friends. She asked for my number so she could invite me to dinner. Initial thoughts were “That’s so sweet! Of course I’ll be your friend!” and gave her my contact info. She’s called me 6 times a day since. Twice in the morning, early afternoon, and at night. She drops in on me and asks me to buy her pagne so we can have matching dresses. She told me she has a French friend in Kara so now she has two “blanche” (white) friends to tell everyone about. She left village and I stopped answering her calls. Now she calls me on different phones. I’m kind of at a loss for how to proceed.

Not getting attached to anything.

I’m learning to not like anything too much because something will eventually happen to it. The other day I took my dishes outside to wash them. My neighbor inspected them and said they were really dirty and he needed to show me how to clean them better. I gladly accepted the help. He even brought me a steel sponge because he said it’d be easier to get food off the pan. He grabs my largest sautéing pan and goes to town scrubbing off the tephlon (not sure about spelling) coating because he’s convinced the black part is dirt. “Le noir n’est pas bon. Ce n’est pas bon.” (The black isn’t good. It’s not good.) I tried to explain to him that, “The black is good. It keeps food from sticking to it. The pan is from the U.S. It’s not like pans here. It’s supposed to be black.” He continued to argue with me and scrub away. I had to stand there for 15 minutes as he ruined my nicest pan. Every interjection I made was followed by rejection. He would not give my pan back until only silver was left. He then proceeded to go to every person in our compound and show them how clean he got it. Usually I can handle feeling stupid here. It’s part of the language barrier and integration into a new culture that will all get better with time. What I do no appreciate is being made to feel like an idiot while you ruin my things; especially because those are at least one thing I know more about than you! I used that pan this morning. It ruined my pancakes because I couldn’t get them unstuck…

Yesterday my language tutor called and cancelled because she was sick. We were supposed to make breakfast tacos that morning, so I walked them over to her house so she could still have them (I mean.. I love when people bring me things when I’m sick). During our follow up lesson today she said she asked if she could keep the tupperware I brought it to her in. I said I’d actually prefer to have it back, and she basically said no. I hauled it here all the way from the states. It took up valuable space in my luggage and I want it back!

Also, I bought beautiful pagne and gave it to my courteriere with a drawing of how I wanted it designed. My favorite pattern so far. I’ve been waiting on this dress for a week and was so excited to go by today to see it. She decided to implement her own ideas and make the ugliest dress I have ever seen. Total let down.

I realize these examples are really really trivial. It’s a pan. It’s Tupperware. And it’s a dress made from 2 dollars worth of fabric. I have another pan. Mom, can you send me more Tupperware? And there’s literally thousands of other pagnes. There’s just very little “things” I can take pleasure in here. Which I think is a good thing. Pleasure shouldn’t come from things. But I’m not Thoreau or Buddha just yet and the reality is that when my things get ruined or taken, it still bothers me. The longer I’m here, the more I think that will subside. Also, with everything else mentioned above happening in the last couple weeks, this was just icing on the cake.

I’m really looking forward to the break I have coming up.  We have IST (in service training) with all the other volunteers next week and then afterwards I’m heading to Lome for a few days to work out Visa stuff. I’ll be out of village for almost two weeks. I know I’ll miss it after just a few days, but right now I’m ready for a breather and to spend some time with a large group of Americans.

I hate complaining, but I also don’t want to provide a false picture of it being just sunshines and rainbows over here. I want to be honest and thorough.

Again, this is not an account of my daily attitudes. With this accumulation of events, I’m just suffering from a tiny puncture to my spirit. Writing this out has provided the first couple sutures, and tomorrow I’ll be fine. Today, I’ll eat some Nutella, listen to some Fleet Foxes, and drink a glass of terrible boxed wine.

Cheers,

SHEA

(because that’s my real name. and I like it.)

23 To Go

So I’ve been at post for a little over a month.

Not too many exciting things have happened since I last posted a blog. I am starting to get the hang of things though, so I figured I’d write you a brief update on my day-to-day living.  Forgive me if I repeat something I may have already mentioned. Just trying to provide a complete picture.

Utilities:

I do have electricity. Although it’s not very reliable. Goes out every time it rains and sometimes even for no reason.

I use a gas camp stove for cooking, but I plan to get a charbon (charcoal stove) soon for meals that take longer. There’s a gas shortage in country, so once your tank runs out, there’s a good chance you won’t be able to refill it or replace it. I have one tank, and two years so I figured I’d start on a plan B for cooking early on.

I do not have running water. There’s a well in my compound that I use. A bag (that looks like it’s made of recycled tire rubber) is attached to a rope that I throw 20 feet down and then haul back up. It usually takes 5 bags to fill one bucket. It was a huge hassle getting water every time I wanted tea in the morning, needed to do dishes, take a shower, etc. So, I bought a large trashcan with a lid to keep in my kitchen that I fill up every so often so that I don’t have retrieve water every time I need it. I also fill buckets when it rains and recycle that water. The water I drink, I run through a filter provided by the Peace Corps and then add a couple drops of bleach to it.

I’m sure it could be inferred, but just to specify, I do my laundry by hand in my compound. Underwear I have to do inside and hang them so no one can see them. There’s a superstition here that if anyone else touches your underwear, they can put a spell on them.

I have a squat latrine (bathroom) that’s outside my house and across my compound. It’s also home to probably a thousand mosquitoes. No joke. I keep a container with a lid next to my bed known as a “chamber pot” to use at night when I don’t want to unlock my door and venture outside.

I still only use the outdoor shower space I discovered during post visit. I’ll probably never use the one inside my house because despite being cleaned, it still smells terrible. And the drain doesn’t work.

I burn my trash behind my house. A lot of times people look through it just out of curiosity. Sometimes they also take things.. Anything I don’t want to be found goes in the latrine, just in case. Sorry, Mother Earth.

Food:

As far as cooking goes, it depends on what I can find in my marche. Right now, the closest one is in Ketao (about 10k away) on Wednesdays. I can always find dry pasta, beans, rice, oil, tomato paste and things of that nature. Produce is more limited. Not the avocado and mango paradise I was originally hoping for. So far, I’ve really only been able to find tomatoes, onions, carrots, cabbage, and pimante (hot peppers). On the occasion I make it to Kara (35k away), I can bring back pineapple, apples, lettuce, eggplant, and cucumbers. I usually eat pretty well for the three or 4 days after the marche, then live off starches and tomato sauce until the next one. I try to buy eggs if I can find them, but I don’t get nearly enough protein. I haven’t started buying meat in the marches yet.  Still a little skeptical…There’s also a frozen food store in Kara I need to check out. I’m sure I’ll develop a better routine with time. I’ll also be able to go to the huge market in Benin on Tuesdays once I grab my passport form Lome. Hopefully there will be more options there.

“Fast food” wise, it’s really easy to find street food. In my village I can usually get coliko (fried yams), watchi (beans and rice), soja (like tofu), spaghetti, riz de graz (rice with fat), and an assortment of fried bread balls. Pretty much the same for all of the places I’ve been so far in Togo. With my neighbors or at some of the cafes around, I can get pate and fou fou. Pate is a flavorless flour (corn?) mixture with the consistency of dough that I’ve only had with gumbo sauce (sticky green sauce with okra). It has the consistency of snot, but tastes pretty good depending on who makes it. Fou Fou is delicious. It’s also a dough-like food, but made from boiled yams. It comes with various sauces, but my favorite is tomato sauce with goat. You eat both with your hands. In Kara, there are a couple French bars where you can get pizza and burgers, but they’re nothing like the food back home. Maybe in a few months I’ll be desperate enough to think differently.

Transportation:

I walk everywhere in my village. I also plan to buy a bike soon to get to the neighboring villages. The one we had for stage we had to give back.. womp womp. For now, outside my village, I mainly use zeds (motorcycles). The Peace Corps issued us helmets that I haul around pretty much everywhere. When you grab a zed, any big belongings you have will go in front of the driver, and then you’ll hop on the back. Catch is.. you can’t touch the driver. You’re either hands-free and balancing or holding on the bar under the back of the seat for dear life. You have no idea how fast the driver is going (I have yet to see a single odometer that works) and you’re dodging around pot holes and flying over bumps in the road. I always feel like I’m in a racing video game. It can be scary at times (especially when your butt loses contact with the seat), but I LOVE IT. Riding motos is one of my favorite things about Togo. I also feel like a total badass walking around carrying the sweet helmet we were given.

When you’re traveling too far to take a moto, you take a car or bush taxi. I’ve been in cars where they put up to 5 people in the back seat and 3 in the front (not including the driver…). Personal space isn’t an issue here. I’ve been on a couple of laps already. Also, each car looks like it will fall apart at any given second. I’ve been in several that have broken down mid journey. Once, I had to hold the door shut as we traveled because it wouldn’t latch on its own.  Another time, we had to compression start in reverse! It’s also no surprise to get leaks in the roof or see the road flying by through the holes in the floorboard. At least the drivers are considerate enough to hang air fresheners… usually in place of the rear view mirror.

Bush taxis are the same story. I’ve only taken one bush taxi at this point and it was with 8 other PCVs, so it was slightly more comfortable than what it would be normally.

Luckily, when I travel from Kara to Lome (a 7 to 8 hour trek), there’s a bus that goes directly from a station in Kara. That’s the furthest I’d ever have to travel, so I’m glad I have that option.

Community Activities:

I go to the dispensaire about three days a week. Mondays are CPN days (pre-natal consultations). I’ll go in from 8-11 and help fill about paper work during the women’s check ups. Thursdays are CPC (infant vaccinations) and baby weighing. I’ll also go in 8-11 and help fill out the vaccination cards on file at the hospital. Other than that, there’s not too much for me to do. I’ll go sit and hang out with the staff a couple hours on the other days, but generally feel pretty useless. I’ll start working on my own projects with time.

When I can, I go to the Catholic church on Sundays. Afterwards, I’ll usually grab food with someone and then drink Tchouk at my homologue’s house.

Other than that, I usually just walk around my village to saluer (greet) people. Sometimes I’ll be invited places for Tchouk or food. I’ve hung out with the courtiere (seamstress) a few times at her house and spent some time with one of the street food vendors.

Mostly, I spend a lot of time in my house or with my neighbors. Lots of reading, guitar learning, and yoga. Needs to be more studying of French and Kabiye…

Other notable things to mention about Africa life:

Everyone asks you… for everything. It’s kinda funny in the beginning. But it’s everyday. All the time. People started calling dibs on my stuff already for when I leave. It’s very frustrating. I can’t tell who genuinely wants to be my friend and who just wants things from me. Every time I come back from the market, people ask what I brought them. Every time I take tea or coffee to work, someone asks to drink it. Mostly it’s just a joke and you can laugh it off, but other times, people are serious. I’m also accumulating a very long list of people who have asked me to take them to America. I think I’m at about 10 now…

Everyone tries to sell you…everything. Every car or moto you pass, the driver hisses (yes, actually hisses) at you and asks where you’re going. Every marche mama yells at you to buy from them. If you stop to look at pagne, they’re going to start picking patterns out for you and hovering over you. It’s like when you walk through a shopping mall and the people at the booths in the center have a 10 second catch phrase to get your attention and explain why you need to be interested in their product.. but times 100 and every single place you go. It’s like I’m walking around with a giant dollar sign flashing above my head. Sometimes people carrying things on their head will just come stand by you and look at you awkwardly. It’s like they’re expecting me to all of a sudden have an immediate desire for bread and they want to wait until it happens so they’re the one to sell it to me.  Children are usually the worst about it.

I don’t need the weather channel when I have Togolese friends. They can all predict the weather… like it’s a science. All I’ve picked up so far is that when it gets really really hot, that means it’s going to rain sometime in the near future. The hotter it gets, the bigger the storm that's a brewin'.

The children here are very destructive. Babies are so silent and peaceful tied to their mothers back, but then it’s like once they’re too big to be strapped to the back, they enter this demolition phase. The kids in my compound have come into my house a few times. At first I didn’t mind, until they started making it a habit. Even when my door is closed, they stand outside the screen and peer inside and yell until I come to open it. I finally told them when it’s open, they’re welcome. When it’s closed, it means I’m busy or tired. It didn’t help at all. I do still leave it open on occasion. Last week a girl came in and started playing with a deck of cards I had. She took them out of the box and started throwing them all of the room and bending them and biting them. Finally I took them away. Then she found markers and I gave her a piece of paper to draw on. She decided my chairs and walls would be more fitting. And they were permanent. Now I can only let them in when I can keep them under complete supervision.. which I usually don’t feel like dealing with. Sorry kids..

There’s apparently tons of different fetes (parties) that vary between cultures and regions. In my village, there’s a whipping fete, where boys are publicly lashed across the left arm with a rhino-skin whip to signify that they’re now men. There’s scarring fetes for the different ethnicities. Fetes where boys are publicly circumcised (sorry if anyone thinks that's inappropriate to share.. just trying to be thorough). Funeral fetes. And I’m sure many more I have yet to hear about.

A couple weeks ago, I visited Kelsey with some other PCVs. She lives in Bassar and in that area they have Yam Fest! It’s a fete to celebrate that yams are in season. It wasn’t quite as elaborate as I had pictured, but there was a huge yam marche and a traditional tribal fire dance. Everyone sat in circle underneath a huge tree in the middle of the street. They started a fire and men came out in costumes. They had pagne skirts, horse tail whip things, and their shins were covered with metal pieces that clanked together (I might have taken one). They took turns walking across the fire and then danced around it for a few hours. We were able to sit in the front row and a few of us got up and participated in the dancing.

I got a weave! Because.. why not? Passing time before meeting other volunteers, Iain and I walked around a hair shop. The woman working said if I bought one, she'd call up her hair dresser to come put it in immediately. It was 7pm at night, pretty late for Togolese standards. I figured it was a once in a life time opportunity, so I agreed. It hurt so bad!! They braided my short hair into corn rows and then sewed in the extensions. They were about 18 inches long and actually looked really good... until they greased it. I ended up taking it out the next day for several reasons: 1) Most importantly, we were going swimming and I wasn't allowed to get it wet. I was not not going to jump in the pool.. 2) It gave me a terrible headache. I couldn't even sleep with it. 3) I wasn't a fan of looking like a mermaid. It was cool to do for a day, but it was more like a Halloween costume that needed to be retired after one night out. 

Also, I have my first intestinal parasite! (named Mildred.. Thanks Frieds!) Amoebas. Not the most fun thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I’m getting meds sent to me this week to kill ‘em off. First of many, I’m sure. And I’m 95% sure I have bed bugs… which are even more uncomfortable than my new intestinal friend.

So there you go. Not the most thrilling news, but hopefully you’re getting a better idea of what my life is like here in Togo.

If you want to know more details or have questions, shoot me an email: shea_flynn@utexas.edu.

One month down. Twenty-three to go.

Koumealo

Address Update

New address for any of you who may want to send me something:

Shea Flynn

Corps de la Paix

BP 23

Ketao, Togo

West Africa

Short and sweet.

And So It Begins...

August 13^th

Swear-in was this past Thursday, August 8^th. So, I’m now a real PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) instead of a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee).

We had a ceremony at the Country Director’s house that included many Togolese officials, the U.S. ambassador, the entire Peace Corps Togo staff, our host families, and many of the old volunteers. Those of us who have been taking classes in local language got to give short speeches and we ended with taking an oath.

I guess I should cover the few important events leading up to the event:

We had our final language test. I needed to achieve intermediate-mid level French on the language test or else I’d have to stay for an additional week. Not sure how, but I got it!

I had to say goodbye to my wonderful host family. It was much harder than I could have ever imagined when first arriving in Davie. During my last night they had a small “fete” for me and my maman cooked my favorite meal for us to eat as a family. They also had a guy come over and take our “family portrait”. I took this opportunity to give them a small cadeau (gift) that I had brought with me from home. It was a ceramic Texas ornament with “Someone in Texas is Thinking of You” written on it. I told them it meant I would always remember them. They loved it, hugged me, and we spent the remainder of the evening dancing to Michael Jackson one last time. The next morning, I woke up to one of our goats screaming and when I went outside, my sister said that the goat had a present for me too. First thought, “Oh shit, they slaughtered the goat and are giving me meat to take with me.”… turns out, one was giving birth!! They had told me it’d be a few more weeks until she was ready! The goats here are miniature already, so miniature miniature goats are almost as cute as puppies. Even covered in blood and placenta.. After that interesting hour of my life, I met the other volunteers at the tech house and we were off to Lome.

We returned back to Amy’s Hotel, the place we stayed for our first three nights in Togo. We would spend the next couple days shopping and exploring Lome. I was able to buy a mattress, gas tank, and groceries (including an emergency bottle of wine) to take to post. We also found time to check out the beach and eat pizza and hamburgers! They weren’t exactly as I remembered them, but delicious all the same.

. . .

Now I’m back at post.

We had a slight issue during the evening of my arrival.

Driving up to Ketao (the city between Kara and my village) a large crowd of men carrying hoes and machetes had blocked off the road. When we reached the barrier, they picked up the road blocks and let the Peace Corps Vehicle through. My driver proceeded slowly while they pressed their faces to the windows and yelled at us. Once we were through the crowd, we could see that the city was being occupied by military and there were fires being put out. My driver pulled over and decided we should call the Peace Corps’ safety officer to determine how to proceed. They said they’d call us back, but in the meantime, to leave the city. So… we went directly back through the angry mob we passed at the entrance and parked a mile or so up the road. My driver got out of the car briefly to determine what was going on. There apparently was an ethnic battle between the Kabiye and the Kotikole muslims concerning which mosque they prayed at on the final day of Ramadan. After waiting it out for a bit, the person in touch with my driver called and said I needed to contact my homologue and determine how safe Kemerida was. After learning there was no threat there, the Peace Corps suggested he meet me and we continue through Ketao because they’d prefer if I made it to village that same day. It turned out that while we were passing time up the road, the mob had subsided and the city had become slightly more peaceful. We were able to meet my homologue and proceed with no further issues. When we arrived, my neighbors helped me unpack and set up my new mattress. Soon after, I was off to bed.

After surviving the first night, I’m now a few days in to my two years of service! And so far, things are really good!

For the first three months here, I have a lot of free time. I can’t go straight to work until I know the community and what their needs are. Therefore, I’m supposed to spend my days trying to integrate… and speak better French.

I try to get out of my house at least once a day. I visited the church on Sunday, have taken a couple walks around the village, and today am planning on going back to the Benin marche. I feel sort of useless, but I know it will all come in due time.

In the meantime, I have a lot of things to keep me busy:

I’ve started doing a more thorough job cleaning. Right now, my living room is completely in order and I’ve moved the table and chairs out of the spare room and into the front room to create a dining space. In the now empty room, I have only my grass yoga mat and mirrors. I plan to build a bookshelf and buy a comfy chair for this room as well. I also want to paint a mural on the wall eventually. I still have the kitchen and bedroom to go. I need to fix the armoire (wardrobe) I have so that I can finally unpack my suitcases. I’ve also talked with a carpenter about cutting the pieces I need to fix my bed.

I’ve started teaching myself guitar.

I’m almost finished with my 4^th book – The Brothers Karamazov. After Into the Wild, I conquered War and Peace, and quickly read through Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.

I’ve used my empty room for yoga and random dancing so far and plan to keep it up almost daily.

I’m experimenting with cooking. I’m still not as good as my host mom, but I’ll get there.

I study French. Not as much as I should, but hey, it’s only day 4! Before the end of stage, Mark installed Rosetta Stone on my laptop (Thanks again, Mark!). After I feel comfortable with my French level, I have Latin America Spanish, German, and Italian at my disposal. Although, I have to learn Kabiye too, so those may just be wishful thinking.

Besides a dirty house, the old volunteer left me a few things to keep me busy, including movies and books to study for the GRE (which I’ve learned you can take in Ghana!)

I’ve also been trying to start on my list of promised post cards and letters.  If you’d like to be included, shoot me an email: shea_flynn@utexas.edu. I’ll get it and send you one eventually.

Finally, it’s been just over 2 months here in Togo. Some of the random things I miss the most (besides family and friends because that’s to be expected):

-Mexican food (QUESOOOO)

-And not just queso. All cheese. All of it.

-Dominoes pizza

-Chai Tea Lattes (especially from Tazza Fresca)

-Good beer (particularly 512 IPA and drinking it at Spider House)

-My favorite pair of high-waisted shorts (or really just shorts in general)

-SWEET ICE TEA (emphasis on the ice)

-Whole Foods

-Juiceland (I would commit terrible crimes for a smoothie right now)

-Internet Radio (my iTunes has not be updated enough over the last 2 years...)

-Record Player (and spending an afternoon at a record store)

-Zilker Park

-Photography (more specifically having a good camera that I’m not afraid to take out in public)

-Town Lake trail (still working up the courage to run around alone in my village)

-Water that doesn’t taste like bleach

-Mostly just having options.. options for food, music, activities, people to spend time with, etc.

These were all things I expected to miss. What will be more interesting is to see how this changes and gets more specific as the months go by…

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. I hope you don’t feel you’ve wasted your time learning how I am spending mine. I just felt that after reading about my first post visit experience, you all deserved an update to know that things are going well!

Also, I will be getting a new mailing address soon. Look for it as my next blog post! Other than that, I plan to blog again after my first full month at post.

Unless anything truly thrilling happens before that, talk to you all then!

Koumealo