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

Post Visit: "This is Africa"

July 27^th

This past week was our post visit – the first time you go to your village of service, see your house, and meet your work partners.

Originally, it was scheduled to be from the 20^th  to the 27^th, but because of the political elections on the 25^th, we only stayed through the 24^th. This was done as a precaution in case any unfortunate events were to take place on election day.

We left around 8am Saturday morning. In our Peace Corps vehicle was Malcom, Funmi, and I, along with our three homologues (work counterparts we met the day before). Malcom was the first to arrive in his village. There was a huge community gathering outside the school he would be working in with music and dancing. After he stepped out of the car, they dressed him in a traditional shirt and hat. Funmi was next and had a similar homecoming celebration. We dropped her off in her village’s market with an equally as overwhelming community gathering, complete with more traditional clothing, more music, and more dancing.  After our departure, we were finally headed to Kemerida, my village. It’s located in the Kara region just off the border of Benin. My homologue warned me that there was not a grand “fete” waiting for me because I was not the first volunteer in my village. I’m a replacement for the guy that left a week or so before. Instead, he told me they’d have a huge celebration once my “mission was complete”. Fine with me. I was happy to avoid all the awkward attention. Only downside is that there wouldn’t be an opportunity for me to showcase my dance skills as a way to break the ice like with the people of Davie…

The drive from Funmi’s village to mine took us through Kara, the regional capital. It is nestled into a cluster of mountains, one of the most beautiful parts I have seen of Togo thus far. I live about 30 minutes on the east side of it. Driving through this region as the sunset, made me very optimistic for my two years here. I had Radical Face’s “Welcome Home” playing in my mind as we got closer and closer to our destination.

We arrived at my compound shortly before 7pm, just as it was getting dark. I was greeted by my neighbors and a few of the healthcare workers in the village. They brought a batch of Tchuk (the local alcohol) as a traditional way to welcome me. We each drank a calabash(?) and then my neighbor brought out a bottle of Sodabe (a liquor popular in the South that’s similar to moonshine). He makes it and sells it himself. I tried to decline, but they said it was, again, a means of welcoming. I sucked it up and took a shot with everyone. We all hung out for a bit and I learned that my Kabiye name would be Koumealo. Like in Ewe, it just means I’m a female born on Friday.  From this point on, no one would let me refer to me as Shea. I was now Koumealo of Kemerida. Shortly after assuming my new identity, I was able to go inside and prepare to spend my first night in village.

When first walking into my house, I was pleasantly surprised by how big it was. I have four rooms: a huge living area, small kitchen, bedroom, extra room, and small closet space to use as an indoor shower. It was also full of unpleasant surprises…

I won’t go into detail, but I’ll give a brief summary:

I had been in contact with the volunteer I was replacing prior to my arrival. He offered to sell me all the furniture and kitchen stuff in his house for 70 mil. I wasn’t able to see the condition everything was in, but it sounded like a pretty good deal to me. He did tell me the couch and bed were broken, but that he’d fix it before I came. He didn’t fix them. He’d also told me he didn’t clean it like he had wanted. I was okay with that. I can handle dirty living spaces. However, after exploring my house a little more, it was worse than I could have ever imagined. I ended up sleeping on an extra mattress with my mosquito net pulled over the couch and two chairs because I refused to touch the bed in the condition I found it. I tried to take a bucket shower in the space available inside, but the drain was so clogged there was still standing water (I hope it was water) from when he last used it. I decided to save my bucket of water and locate a new shower space in the morning. 

I could say more, but I’ll focus on some of the positives:

All the furniture is easily fixable, so I’ll just do it myself. Though it all needs to be cleaned, he left me some pretty sweet stuff. I don’t need to buy any more furniture or kitchen supplies for a while. I have a collection of books and health promotion materials to use. I have a small fridge that smells terrible, but just needs some bleach. Also, between repairs and cleaning, there are plenty of projects to keep me busy during my first few months at post.

After spending the night on a mattress in the living room, I woke up the next morning and got busy cleaning. I swept the entire house and started a pile of all the stuff I needed to throw out. After a couple hours, I took my bucket to look for the outdoor shower. I found it… with no door. My neighbor’s informed me that my spot was inside. Reluctantly, I returned in my house and rinsed off as quickly as possible in my foul-smelling indoor shower space. (I’d later find a second outdoor shower space behind my compound. Again, there was no door, but it was private enough that I’d risk it. I don’t plan on showering inside that little room anytime soon.)

I met my homologue, Ben, for lunch at his house. He had invited a few of the most important men from the village and told me it was good to network with them. I agreed and when I tried to introduce myself as Shea, my homologue quickly corrected me and said I had to go by Koumealo. They all started speaking to me in French very quickly and when it was obvious I didn’t really understand, they asked my homologue how I was going to work there if I didn’t even speak French. I was frustrated with myself and my language level, but even more so now that they now took to treating me like a child. I fell silent as we shared more Tchuk and they carried on in local language. I was anxious to get home to study so that I could avoid feeling this way in the future.

Instead, we then took a walk around the village and met up at a local bar where a political meeting was taking place for the upcoming elections. We were offered dog and I declined by just saying “Non, merci.” They offered it to me several more times and told me how delicious it was. Each time I refused and gradually got more and more uncomfortable. At the end of the meeting, they held up the remains of the dog and asked who wanted it. I don’t know if I’ve ever tried harder not to cry than in front of all these African men. Immediately after, my homologue took me home and I called my mom saying I wanted to leave. I just didn’t know how I could ever fit in and make a home for myself in a place where they drink around the clock and feast on dogs. After relaxing the rest of the day by just studying and reading, I chilled out and knew I wasn’t going to leave after one bad day. It was just overwhelming and I over reacted. It doesn’t help that my French isn’t strong enough yet to fully express my thoughts and be more assertive. I understand I will feel a lot more comfortable here as I gain confidence.

The second full day went a lot smoother and my spirits were lifted again. We visited the dispensaire (local clinic) in the morning and a lot of the village women seemed happy to see me. It made me excited about working with them in the future. We took another walk around the village so that I could meet the chief and the gen d’armes (police). We even walked to the border of Benin (3k down the road) and met the officials there so that I could go to the Benin market for the next two years without obtaining a Visa. On the way back from the border, we stopped at a house for (surprisingly) more Tchuck. There were puppies I played with and a woman told me she’d sell me one once I was back at post! (I’d thought previously about getting a dog here for some company, but I’m paranoid, for good reason, that someone will steal it and eat it…) I was home by lunch and again, spent the rest of the day reading and studying.

That evening, there was a political rally at the school across from my compound my homologue came by and told me I should attend. I declined because the Peace Corps advises us to avoid being associated with any political activities for security reasons. Instead, I moved a chair outside my door to read and watch from a far. I figured this way people in my community could see me out of my house without making assumptions about my political opinions. It turned out to be a great idea. People would wave to me as they were coming and going from the rally and a couple came over to meet me. One woman I met returned later, after the event had ended, with food for me to eat. I told her I’d eaten already, but as soon as I opened my screen door, she rushed in, shut the door behind her, sat on the floor with the plate and told me to eat. I was hesitant, but it was clear she wasn’t leaving until I put some food in my mouth. It was a plate of bean/pancake things that seemed okay, but with each bite, I just kept thinking, “Please don’t let this make me sick. Please don’t let this make me sick.” After I’d tried it and we awkwardly sat staring at each other for a while, I told her I was really tired. She understood and got up to leave. On her way out the door, she pressed he finger to her lips as a sign to be quiet and told me to be sure to lock my doors immediately and that I shouldn’t trust my neighbors. That’s always encouraging to hear… (However, I want to note that my neighbors are very nice people though and lived here with the previous volunteer. I don’t feel threatened by them in any way and just assumed this woman was just trying to be overprotective.) Happy to be alone again, I read until I fell asleep.

The next day, after lunch, my homologue and I made plans to walk to the Benin marche. Along the way, we stopped to “saluer” more people in the village. My homologue insisted that I greet people in Kabiye. I knew a few phrases already, but the dialect here turned out to be slightly different. He told me the ones I needed to know and the appropriate responses for things people may say to me. Each time I messed up, he would seem impatient and told me I needed to listen better. It was stressing me out and causing me to have more reservations about visiting the marche. Once we arrived, instead of looking around at the different booths, we went straight for the Tchuk huts. I wasn’t feeling well that morning and was already not in the best mood from the walk over, so I declined the offer of alcohol. It did not go over well. Since it’s supposed to be a way of welcoming, I apparently offended some people with my refusal. I tried to explain I wasn’t feeling well, but they didn’t seem to be phased by that reasoning. A man started yelling at me in French and told me I was being rude. We left that first Tchuk hut for another, and then another, and it was the same scenario at each. I felt similar to my first full day at post: incompetent and like I would never be accepted. At one of the last places we stopped, a man came over to me and started tapping me on the shoulder. He would ask me questions, I would answer politely, and then turn away. He would not leave, kept tapping me, and telling me that he loved me. I turned to my homologue, obviously upset, and told him I wanted to leave. I was heading to Kara that afternoon to meet up with other volunteers to stay the night there and leave early the following morning. I could not get out of there soon enough. He walked me back and told me he’d return on his moto in an hour to take me to Ketao and from there I could get a taxi to Kara. He asked me to explain what was wrong and, as best I could, I told that I don’t drink very much and was afraid I wouldn’t be accepted.  He told me I just need to be better at standing up for myself and to be patient.

During the moto ride, the sight of the mountains immediately improved my mood. Once we reached Ketao, I thanked my homologue for everything and waved down a taxi for Kara. I crammed into a car with 8 other people. As I took the spot of the guy getting out, he slammed the door, leaned down to the open window, and jokingly said, “This is Africa.”

During the 20 minute drive, practically sitting on the lap of the woman next to me while two other strangers held onto my belongings, I stuck my head out the window and reflected on all that happened the last couple days. I concluded that this was going to be hard, but not impossible. I also realized that most of the problems I encountered could be mitigated by being better at French. I was not going to let my post visit apply as a generalization for my next two years. I would finish training, and return in two weeks with an open mind. I got out of the taxi with weird yellow shit on my pants and an improved perspective.

I vented about my experience to the volunteers I met in Kara and enjoyed the rest of the night with them. We returned to Davie the next afternoon after a 7-hour bus ride. My host family rushed out and hugged me and told me how much they had missed me. I remembered how awkward I felt first coming to stay with them, and now it was actually like they were my family. It took over a month to get to this point with them, and I think Kemerida has that potential too. I just need to be patient.. and less stubborn. Rather than being offended that people refuse to know my real name, don’t understand my drinking habits, and insist that I start speaking Kabiye, I need to appreciate how much they are trying to accept me as one of their own. I know it’s still going to be very hard and that future frustrations are inevitable, but there’s a lot of room for it to get better over the next two years.

I’m sure I’ll have more interesting stories than this to come. After all, “This is Africa.”

Best,

Koumealo

Settling In

Tuesday, July 9th

Tomorrow marks exactly one month in Africa.

Although I still have a lot to learn, I feel like I’m finally starting to adjust to my new life here. Though I could do it more eloquently, I’ve chosen to just list out some of the things I’m experiencing here:

Our dog, Milo, is now my best friend. It only took a couple of chicken bones to win his affection.

People have stopped shouting ‘YOVO!’ (foreigner) at me when I walk around the village. I have actually made a few friends that I see and chat with consistently.

I have discovered the abundance of avocados, mangoes, and pineapple here. When I leave my host family to live alone for two years, these will make up the majority of my diet. I’m picking up a few recipes from my host mom, but I’ll be dependent on these quick fixes when I don’t feel like spending an hour with my charcoal stove.

My digestive system is functioning properly once again.

I love when it rains! I have a tin roof over my room and retreating inside of it is the only time the noise here gets drowned out. From 4am until 10pm, there’s shouting, drums, roosters, babies crying, motos honking, and radios and televisions blaring. I have to admit, it’s much less peaceful here than I had imagined. And yes, my house right now has electricity. Although this may sound very exciting, it only adds to the consistent sound. I’m having to adjust the majority of the expectations I had coming here.

I’ve finished one book: Into the Wild. Cliché, I know. My “big” sent it to me in the mail a few days ago and I couldn’t put it down. Now, onto War and Peace. That one should also only take me a couple of days…

I have a mountain bike to ride around on. Along with my previous knowledge of how to change a tire, I can also fix/replace a chain, grease brake and derailleur cables, and change break pads. All of which I learned how to do in French.

I’ve had roaches and spiders on my face. Wasps have been stuck in my hair. And flies orbit my head nonstop.

We visited the Marché last week to practice bargaining in French. I was able to buy a pagne and had it made into a traditional dress. One of many more to come. I also bought a grass mat to use for yoga since I failed to pack one.

Here, it’s custom to say hi to EVERYONE you see on the street. Every single person. If you don’t say “Bonjour”, “Bonsoir”, or “Waezolo”, you are thought to be extremely rude. Even if you see that person four times that day, you better say hi every time. I’m struggling with this. I’m used to keeping to myself with my headphones in as per habit of walking around campus.

In addition to the dance moves I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve discovered some other past times to share with my siblings and the neighborhood kids: juggling, rock-paper-scissors tournaments, and hangman. There’s also my consistent use of pictionary and charades to make up for my lack of language. My brother taught me a hopping game where you try to push the other over and I showed him yoga poses.

Although I’m far from fluent, my French has improved dramatically. We have language classes up to 5 hours a day and one-on-one tutoring twice a week. After mastering a certain level of French, I will be able to move onto Kabie – my local language for my new post.

Right, new post.

I have been assigned my village of service for two years starting in August. I will be in Keremida in the Kara region of Togo. It is just off the border of Benin. My focus will be on family planning and child nutrition. I’ll have a post later on dedicated to the details once I know more.

Along with my location, I’ve learned a bit about my living situation. The Peace Corps has started placing volunteers in compounds for safety reasons. This means I will have my own building, but fenced in with other buildings occupied by other people. From what I’ve been told, I know this includes a vendor and his family and a priest. I will also have electricity here, but no cell service. My village is 30 minutes from Kara, my regional capital, so I can go there whenever I need to restock on stuff and use the internet.

As I’m sure anyone could imagine, there are some days that I’m really excited to be here, and there are others where I miss my family and friends more than anything. The people are what have made it so enjoyable thus far. Spending time and having fun with my family, my teachers, and the neighborhoods kids without great verbal communication gives me confidence that I will continue to feel more at home here as my language skills develop. Also, some of the health sessions we’ve had have really made me look forward to my future work. This past week we gave a practice session to a group of teenage girls about HIV/AIDS prevention and family planning. It was so rewarding to feel you were making an impact and empowering them to take responsibility for their bodies and their health. There are also parts I’m really nervous about. Togo has a patriarchal society and there will be many times my guidance and skills will not be accepted because of that fact. I know that will be one of my greatest challenges.

I’m slowly accepting that my college life in Austin is part of the past now. I think back on all the memories I have and am overcome with immense appreciation, joy, and also sadness. It was an incredible chapter of my life and a very very hard one to close. I will awkwardly take this opportunity to thank anyone reading this that was a part of it. Love you and miss you all.

I look forward to the day that I am that happy here.

This will be my last past for several weeks. In the next one, I’ll be able to tell you more about my post and future work. I get to visit it in two weeks!

Here’s to the next chapter!

Shea

Girl's Got Moves

Sunday, June 16^th

First off, I got my luggage back!! It was filled with tiny insects, but that’s beside the point – all of my things are back in my possession!! The clothes would have been replaceable, but I am very relieved to have my sketchbook, incense, Aladdin lamp, and Christmas candles.

Now that that’s been announced, on to the more exciting news:

I met my host family today!

I was really nervous because my French is proving to be pretty atrocious and all I can say in Ewe is “what is your name?”, “my name is…”, “good morning”, and “welcome”. I was afraid the lack of communication would put my host family at more of a disadvantage for getting to know me.

Not the case.

Our vans were welcomed into the village with our families lining the streets and clapping for us. Immediately following, we were walked inside and shown to where a group was playing music and dancing. They would grab certain volunteers and pull them into the middle to dance.

It was discovered shortly, that I dance in a way satisfactory to people here in Togo.

Everyone was cheering and laughing. Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, people would come up to me and say “Dansez tres bien!”

When I was introduced to my host mom and dad, they too complimented my moves. I then learned I had a host brother and sister who were also amused. When the band started the music, they would take me to the middle to dance again.

After the celebration, we each left with our individual families. The home I’m staying in is actually separated into several small buildings surrounded by a tall fence. I have my own little building, stocked with a mosquito net and water filter. My mama and papa have a building, as well as my brother and sister. There’s also a building for cooking and the shower. In the middle of the courtyard is a straw hut to hang out under. We have a dog named Milo that took and immediate disliking to me, along with any other living being that walks into the courtyard.

They are working so hard to make me feel at home. They cooked for me and won’t let me carry anything. They also encourage me to leave my shoes on, although each of them takes theirs off before going inside.

Another notable experience for the day: my first bucket bath. I wrapped myself in my shower pagne, which is a vibrant, patterned cloth here in Africa that you can make clothes from and, apparently, dry off with. I took my bucket, filled it with well water, and proceeded to the outdoor, closed in shower area. Using a bowl with a handle, you pour one scoop over your head. You then soap up all at once, and use the remaining water to rinse off. During my bucket bath, I could look up at the open sky and see the stars. I think I could definitely get used to this. I returned to my little house rewrapped in my pagne and continued to dry off with the regular towel I brought.

After freshening up, I hung out with my family. Though still struggling a bit with the language barrier, my brother and sister and I decided to share music and dances with each other.

I taught them how to Dougie.

And learned that even in Togo, they love Michael Jackson.

We each took turns demonstrating our best movies and could not stop laughing. I’m being reminded that you don’t need language to enjoy the company of others. I’m also being reminded that I’m a white girl from south Texas because every dance move of mine they mimic looks ridiculous. I’m looking forward to bringing a little somethin somethin back to the states.

Tomorrow, I will begin my official CHAP training. I’ll give you all an update soon.

Thanks for reading.

Keep dancing,

Shea