notes on the return from "civilization"

I am back in Togo. My backpack, however, is still in Paris (i think) compliments of AirFrance. I am thus conducting a test to see how many consecutive days one can wear the same pair of daily disposable contacts.

Its sort of a relief being back in Togo, aside from the fact that most of my earthly possessions are in limbo. Its less stressful. I do not have to worry about whether I can drink water from the tap. Or if fruits/vegetables have been bleached. Menu choices at restaurants stressed me out. So did the prices. Operating in a constant state of near fiscal insolvency is infinitely easier when one can argue about the cost of everything. I can cross the street where ever I want to and not worry about being splattered by someone going 140 kph in a Maserati. My favorite sports teams win and lose games without my near-fanatic insistence on watching the box score. I am now almost guaranteed the little-boy-on-christmas morning feeling when I check my email/facebook because i know that someone is likely to have emailed me this week . . . instead of in the 5 minutes since i checked it last. I can take showers without being guilty about how many gallons of hot water I am using. I have meaning, purpose, and direction in my life again. I no longer wonder why I am here (not that I spent any amount of time doing that in Spain anyway). I do not have to worry about whether I am conforming to Western social norms anymore, like standing in lines and not having a beer at 9 am. I am not bombarded by the US political situation. Or the Greek bailout. Or much news in general. Life is much less chaotic that way.

Seriously, I am glad to be back.

I really like Andalusia. Great food, good wine, great scenery, nice people, but not to many of them. Andalusia is interesting because it is, in a lot of ways, a real fusion of east and west. the moors left their mark on the place. its not only evident in the architecture, but also in the food and the lifestyle.

I confess that my vision of Spain was partially colored by the fact that I had just read "for whom the bell tolls" last month. I made sure that i went to one of Hemingway's favorite bull rinks. His visceral description of the spainish mountains in "for whom the bells tolls" colored how I saw them. One of my favorite places that I visited in Spain was Ronda. I might have mentioned it in my last post. Its this city in the mountains that straddles a deep gorge. One of the most beautiful cities I've seen. I found out, after the fact, that the scene in "for whom the bell tolls" where the mob executes fascist sympathizers was likely based on a real event in Ronda where alleged fascists were thrown in the gorge. How civilized is civilization.

Spain. Or, notes from "civilization"

I am going to live in Andalusia someday. Just to get that out of the way.

Today, for lunch, I had sushi and a Whopper. Some itches you just have to scratch. I really missed sushi. I would have preferred a Double Cheeseburger from McDonalds, but oh well.

So I flew to the southern coast of Spain to meet up with my family for a week, minus 2 siblings. We've been seeing stuff in southern Spain, like Gibraltar and Granada. Its been really fun. I like the wine. And the food. But its been really weird in some other ways.

The day I left Lome, I walked to the marche at about 12 pm. it was something like 50 degrees out. When I got off the plane in Paris, they said it was like 6 degrees out. I seriously didn't stop shivering for 8 hours. I never realized how used to the heat I became.

When I got off the plane in Paris, I marveled at the differences in the way people travel. Africans dress up and bring piles of overstuffed suitcases. Americans dress like they are going to a slumber party and bring piles of overstuffed bags. The difference being that west Africans are bringing presents for whomever they are visiting.

I was hungry, so I bought a smoked salmon bagel sandwich. I paid with my credit card. . . and stared at the offered receipt and pen for a good long time before I remembered that I had to sign something. Has it always been like that? The sandwich was amazing.

At the Malaga airport, I got a taxi to the condo. I was the only passenger in the car. I felt naked.

I've been eating a lot of cheese. Now I can't eat cheese anymore.

When I got to the condo/resort, and after the talking, I realized that I didn't have any clean clothes to change into. So I went to the bathroom, filled up the sink (running water! sparkling bathroom!), got a bar of soap, started scrubbing . . . and my dad comes in and is like 'there's a washing machine in the kitchen.' . . . oh.

I can't begin to describe the wonder of a washing machine. Dryers are useless, but washers are amazing.

We've been taking tours places. With guides. And buses. And someone to tell me where to stand to take a picture. Tourists are like well-trained sheep. They even bleat on cue. If you like tours, do not be offended. If you read this blog, I doubt you clap and cheer when the tour guide gives you the right cue.

I think of myself as a neo-tourist. I like to wander and linger. I found the office of the Social Democrats of Gibraltar. One of my favorite parts of the trip was drinking Malaga sweet wine with my brother and sister in this little sidewalk cafe in the shadow of a cathedral.

Concerning the Christian 'reconquista' of Spain, I think my brother summed it up best in Al-Hambra palace when he was like "the moors built all kinds of pretty "stuff" then the christians came and covered it up with ugly "stuff."'

I feel fundamentally out of place. I can't figure out why. Its not the language barrier. I am used to that. I really enjoy the food. I missed my family a lot. I love seeing new places. The scenery here is amazing. But I'm surrounded by excess when I came from not enough. Its really weird.

I am sitting in reception, surrounded by people on iPads, or smartphones. I am embarrassed to even take my phone out of my pocket here.

When I got to Europe, I didn't stop shivering until I took a hot shower. My first one since I left the States (unless you count the lukewarm showers at this one hotel in Lome). I really love it if I don't think about how much water I am using . . .

the prettiest place in Togo

I am taking my angst out by blogging

Its been a good two weeks. My burned esophageal sphincter finally healed so I can eat and drink without wanting to cry

New malaria medication apparently does that to you if you aren't careful . . .think of heartburn on steroids. It was a really rough 10 days.

One of my favorite things is when I am sitting in a bush taxi and a mom gets in with her toddler/conscious baby in front of me. The kid eventually starts looking around, sees me, or D, and his/her eyes get huge. Then, if its a baby, his/her head flops back. If its a toddler, he/she dives into mommy's chest. Blue eyes really weird kids out, more so than white skin I think.

One kid a couple of weeks ago was nursing-- double fisting a breast-- when I took off my sunglasses and looked him in the eyes. He dropped lunch and stared at me with these jet black eyes. It was pretty cute.

I've been traveling a lot lately. I've slept on a floor more times this month than I've slept in my own bed. It was weird being in my house though, without any cats in it. It feels dead.

Randolf, the flat spider thats as big as my hand and who lives on my bedroom wall above my clothes rack, doesn't snuggle as well as a cat. I threw something at him the other day, but he dodged.

Hot season is here. Sort of. If I take a shower and go to bed I will wake up 8 hours later and not be able to tell if I dried off or not.

Road construction is going really quickly on the kabou/kouka road. Naware looks like a war zone after they widened the road bed and bulldozed a bunch of houses. Manga is this little un-touched oasis that is about to be attacked by bulldozers from both ends. I am kind of surprised at how much it looks like a road construction project in the US.

The Bassar/Sokode road repair job is much different. I would hate to be a Togolese road construction worker. They heat the tar up in 50 gal. barrels and sprinkle it on the roadbed with watering cans. then they toss on sand. they cook the asphalt in these big troughs over wood fires and spread it with shovels and wheelbarrows. the only machinery i've seen is a big roller.

So the other day D and I went out to Badou, a little city in the mountains of south-west Togo near the Ghanian border for my friend John's bday. It was really pretty. Think Tennessee with banana trees. It rained every day we were there too, which was amazing in and of itself. Actually it rained all over Togo last night. That is really strange.

We hiked out to a water fall that was a tourist destination back when Togo had a big tourist industry. It is gorgeous. Like a movie set. See the pictures.



Volunteers crossing the stream. I took this picture standing in it . . .



Baby spiders on the water surface.



Waterfall!



up close.



Me and D under the falls. It felt amazing.

an issue about stuff

I am sitting in the PC transit house in Atakpamé right now. We are editing our third issue of Farm to Market, a joint NRM/SED publication. In other words, it’s a collaboration between agriculture and business Volunteers. I really enjoy working on this publication, despite, um, interesting personal relations with certain other people on the editing team. Atakpamé is probably my least favorite city in Togo outside of Lomé. Its nestled in the hills at the eastern end of the plateaus from whence the region Plateaux gets its name. The road down to the transit house is so rocky that its barely passable even for motos. Walking it at night can easily result in a twisted ankle or urine soaked toes. I can’t remember the last time I wore actual shoes

About two weeks ago I walked out of my house one morning and my host dad told me that the Minister of Health was coming in a couple hours for a meeting. I was like “cool” and walked over to the boutique by the chief’s house to buy phone credit. There I met Kodjo who was helping organize the meeting. Judging from the level of commotion—big meetings are held under the neem tree outside the chief’s house—it dawned on me that I should ask what Minister of Health was coming. The one for Dankpen, my prefecture, the one for Kara . . .? No, the Togolese Minister of Health. I went back to my house to find a nice shirt and a clean pair of pants.

About 10am a convoy of late model SUVs rolled up and disgorged a swarm of dignitaries. There is a strict order at these kinds of events as to who sits where. The most important person gets the nicest chair in the middle, the lesser important people get chairs on either side and behind him. This was such a big deal that my chief du canton got a wooden chair halfway down the front row. My prefet was there, the local Ministers of Health were there, a television crew was there, and so on. I stood there trying to figure out what was going on and someone told me to sit down because I am an “authority.”

The National Minister of Health is actually from Bassar, which is about 60k south of me, in the same region. He picked Nampoch as one of the sites to promote a treatment against river blindness. I have no idea why. The whole event was a pretty big deal. A bunch of my friends put on a hilarious sketch that illustrated why people should take the medicine and avoid river blindness and the Minister gave a speech.

Afterwards, a couple of the dignitaries did a television spot. They were all surprised to find a Volunteer in Nampoch. Apparently they consider it to be fairly remote. One woman told me, in English, that she got her Masters from UCLA. Now she works for WHO. Definitely not what I expected when I rolled out of bed that morning . . .

I went to Pagala a week ago Sunday to be a trainer for the 2011 stage’s In-Service Training. Paul, my boss, told me that he and a bunch of other people had seen me on TV from the Health Minister’s visit.

I turned 30 in Pagala. I was not happy about this fact originally. Pagala is my least favorite place in Togo. But it was actually a nice birthday. The new NRM stage sang happy birthday. D stopped by for the night on her way home to visit me. Katie K, a 3^rd year PCV, told the kitchen to make me a birthday cake. I totally surprised when they brought it out. Then everyone sang to me. Again. Then I went out and counted my gray hairs.

IST was fun. The new stage is a good group of people. It was exhausting for us as trainers, but I guess that’s part of it. I led sessions on the Food Security Committee, Funding, and Pump projects.

The day before I left for Pagala, Jenn and Bry came out to Nampoch for a meeting with our Committee Against Forced Marriage. It was a successful meeting. The members are really motivated so stuff gets done without a lot of blood, sweat, and tears on my part, so that’s encouraging. Afterwards, though, we were sitting around drinking tchakba, and I got to talking with a couple of my friends. Gilbert is a student in university majoring in English, so a lot of the following conversation was in english that he translated into Konkumba.

My friend Eli said that the Committee is good but that it needs actual power. I said that it has power because forced marriage is illegal according to Togolese law. They explained that, in their culture, you do not involve yourself in someone else’s affairs unless it affects you. In other words, if you try to stop a father from marrying off his 12 year old daughter, he will think that you have a personal problem with him. I started explaining how laws were there as a tool to help Togolese society develop and improve. Then I started thinking—Togolese civil law was adopted from the French legal code. French law developed with the society—it was adapted by society in response to perceived needs. In Togo, however, the law was imposed by elites on a society that had a different mindset. Now, the law is in place, but Togolese society has to adjust to it. That is where a lot of the development problems stem from.

There is another factor at work too. As our conversation progressed, I talked about how my little sisters are in college and can become whatever they want because of the protection that US law provides them. Then I asked Eli, when he holds his newborn daughter in his arms, what he dreams of her becoming when she grows up. He replied “I dream that she lives.”

hot season is coming . . .

The other night the wind did not pick up like it usually does. Instead the heat stayed in, near the ground—this creeping ooze that filled the compound and all the corners of the house. There was nowhere to go to get away from it. It was mostly calm, so the air was like this blanket that pressed against your face wherever you went. The next day, D bought a fan cause she has electricity. Hot season is coming.

I was going down to Bassar the other day. We got to one point on the Kouka-Kabou road where I did not recognize where I was, it was so different. Bulldozers are pushing back the brush and preparing the new roadway after logging crews cut out the useful lumber. Then people pick through the roadway for every burnable scrap of wood.

Speaking of traveling, this is the best time of year to ride in bush taxis, at least up here. The roads are turning to sand and powder, so a lot of the holes and ruts are somewhat smoothed out. Motoing is a lot harder cause motos don’t do well in sand.

I had a nice bush taxi ride down to Bassar the other day. The road was wasn’t too terrible, and the car left on time. We didn’t have too many stops, except for one flat tire. I got the front passenger’s seat. The guy sitting next to me kept dozing off and bouncing off of me but that was ok. When we got to where they are working on the road he kept saying “c’est bon, c’est tres bon.” I didn’t really care though because I love sitting in the front, and the seat was good. I don’t care how its allegedly not safe. Most of the bush taxis in Togo are Mazda or Toyota vans that have the engines under the driver instead of in the front of the vehicle, so a head-on collision is theoretically more dangerous in one of them. However, I’ve seen way more bush taxis that have rolled over and burned than have gotten in a head-on. I prefer to be able to get out of the car quickly, instead of being crammed in the middle of 20 other people in the event of an accident.

My wish list includes Clif Bars too

Its kind of interesting how much stuff has changed here just in the past year or so. My favorite egg sammie guy just rebuilt his little café—its really nice now. A couple new storefronts have opened up in Kouka. Double and triple kit phones that play mp3s are more common—despite the fact they are all chinese knock-offs. MP3 headsets entered the scene about a year ago and a lot of people have them now.

Speaking of buying things, it’s the new year, so Nigerian moto salesmen have been through. Now a lot of the zed drivers have new motos, which they will resell again next year when they are worn out.

And speaking of Nigeria, current war/strike there is creating a problem here because that’s where Togo gets most of its gasoline. The gas stations in Kabou, Kouka, and Bassar are either out of gas or are hoarding it. There is a thriving illegal gasoline trade here—little stalls along the road that sell liter bottles of gas are ubiquitous. They are getting rich because, since they stockpile gas, they are the only source of it now. Gas used to be 500-600 CFA/liter in the station and at the stand. Now its up to 600 at the station, and 800-1 mille at the stands. Traveling just got a lot more expensive.

I saw the most hilarious thing the other night. Nighan was out and the kittens were asleep on my lit picot. I was watching something in bed when I heard this crash and snarling from the other room. I got my flashlight pointed at the door in time to see both kittens charge into my room side by side, growling and hissing. They each had one end of a mouse that Nighan brought in. The kittens ran under my bed where one of them eventually won out, and then I got to listen to kitty jaws crunching a mouse. I didn’t mind though, I was too busy laughing.

I sort of like TIME Magazine's Person of the Year for this year-- the Protester. It is cliche, but summarizes the year's most important development. I, however, take issue with the obituary section. Yes I love Steve Jobs-inspired/developed products and will keep buying them. Yes, the man was a genius. But, compared to the rest of the people who died this year, why the hell does he rate the first mention, like he was the most important? Buried back in the section is the obituary for Sargeant Shriver, the guy who founded the Peace Corps, among other things. Who has more of an impact-- someone who developed stuff that people want to spend money on or someone who created an organization that helps the world? Would you rather have an iPod or clean water? Someone's importance should not be related to how much money they made in their lifetimes, but, sadly, it is. Jobs did a lot, but no one in Nampoch knows what the hell a Macbook is . . . .

The price of progress is

a lot of trees. Crews have started working on the road between Kouka and Kabou-- my current link to civilization. When its done, it will go from a partially washed out, rutted, dirt road that is barely passable in the rainy season to a 2 lane blacktop that will be one of the nicest roads in Togo. All of this is hard on the teak forests that surround parts of it though. It will also be hard on my friend Jen's village, Manga, because the road will completely change the village. And Kouka too. But it will take me like an hour to get to Bassar when the road is finished, instead of the current two, or an hour and a half to get to Kara, instead of the current 2.5 . . . crazy.

My insatiable curiosity is, i have decided, no longer good for my mental health in some respects. A couple months ago, when we were doing the technical visits for our pump project, i saw a long, thin, silver snake cross the road in front of our motos. My driver freaked and swerved, but the snake was fast and long gone. i thought it was pretty, and i also thought that the likelihood of me running into every venomous snake in west Africa was pretty low, so i didn't think much of it. Then, a couple weeks ago in Lome, i was looking up another snake that i've seen around here a couple of times because i was really curious as to what it was . . . i stumbled across a picture of a black mamba. they are long, thin, and silver. . . .

The Kouka girl's football team came out to Nampoch last friday for a match. they won. 2-0. on penalty kicks. like anything else is new. but it was fun. A bunch of my Volunteer friends, Abs (Abby), D (Danielle), Siya (Katie) and Bry (Bryanna), came out to do a condom demonstration and a talk on family planning after the match. they did a really good job. I had to go back and add their real names in parentheses . . . .

Ningan is awesome. her kittens are imps from hell. she's been bringing back mice at night for them. whichever one gets to the mouse first runs into my room with it and growls for a half hour to keep the other 2 away. since the mice are about half the size of the kittens, i have to lay there and listen to them chew on it for an hour . . .

in other cat news, the other two haven't showed up yet most likely never will now.

My wish list, in case anyone wants to get stars in their crown or blessings in the hereafter or to have a chicken sacrificed in his or her honor and sends me a package:

seasoned salt/pepper

beef jerky

instant mashed potatoes

instant anything that just needs water added . . .

crystal light

AA batteries

snacks- of the instant kind that i can eat instantly

salami

cheese (Velveeta?)

cigars (thanks Annabelle)

cheesy anything

oreos

granola bars (thanks Bry)

trail mix

chex mix

tuna packets

crackers

cheetos

ok, i think i am done now . . . I've been craving snack foods for the past week

People in village are starting to finish up their harvests. this means that huge cotton trucks go up and down my road as they collect the cotton harvests from small villages. Nampoch is deserted most days, but people are starting to be around more as they begin hot season 'repo'.

its still cold at nights. which means i get to sleep under a sheet. i walked out the other morning in my shorts. N'tido was huddled over the fire wrapped in a pagne and wearing a sweat shirt. i asked her if she was cold, she looked at me like i was crazy. it probably only gets down to like 65 maybe, but i can't tell. a thermometer in Kara last weekend said that it was 40 C. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans and felt fine . . .

its still really dusty. some days, the air is white. if i squint and tilt my head just right, i can briefly imagine that i looking at blowing snow. . . .

ho ho ho its a new year . . .

Merry 2012. I forgot today that it was not 2010 anymore.

New Years was fun. Togolese know how to celebrate the new year. It is, however, not a good holiday for Togolese poultry, or other livestock. Togolese start feting on the 31st and they do not stop until at least the 2nd. The holiday coincides with a lot of the harvests, and it is not religion specific, so it is really popular. Of course, I had one Assembly of God friend try to tell me that it is really a Christian holiday that no one else understands, but whatever.

My friend Christine came to visit me over the New Years. She got into Lomé on the 28th; we got up to Nampoch on the 30th. It took her the same amount of travel time, or maybe even less, to get from the US to Togo as it took me to get from Nampoch to Lomé. Anyway, it was a lot of fun showing her Nampoch and feting together and stuff. She flew out yesterday.

It was kind of interesting seeing how Peace Corps is reflected off of someone who is not a Volunteer. I found myself having to adjust my vocabulary cause most Americans do not habitually speak in acronyms. I take a lot of stuff for granted, like the instinctive response to “ça vas?” or laughing at ridiculous zed drivers, or being one of 25 people in a 15-seat van for 8 hours straight.

The highlight of New Years was popping a bottle of champaign at 1700h with my host family on the 31st. Specifically it was N’tilabi going "oOh” when the cork got 10 meters of altitude over his head.

Cat update: I am down to 3. It does not look like Nigarmi or Mullet, Jen’s cat that I am babysitting while she is in the States, survived New Years. They have not been seen for a week and the consensus is that they were probably on someone’s menu. To say that I am really pissed about this would be an understatement; the public nature of this forum, however, limits what I can say on this matter. The matter is being investigated.

In the vein of sad things, Jacqui and I went out to Dimori, my friend Sangbo’s village, today to get some of his stuff and to tell the community what happened to him. That was one of the harder things I’ve done in a while. It is hard enough for communities when their Volunteer finishes his or her service. But many times, like in the case of Sangbo, Volunteers leave without warning and people in village have no idea what happened to them. Jacqui and I went with a couple people to the local school where Sangbo did a lot of work and told the students what happened. They were pretty sad about it.

It kind of goes to show that you should never take anyone, or any relationship, for granted. Life can change in a heartbeat and bonds can be severed by unforeseen events that are out of your control. It is not a concept that life in the United States prepares people for. We are conditioned to plan, to think that no problem is insurmountable, to think that there is some kind of magic cure or surgery or drug that will fix any problem. We do not have holes in our lives that are left by people except by death, which is usually foreseen in some sense. Anything other than this is a tragedy that we can numb away through media, electronics, drugs, or by drowning ourselves in the endless noise that characterizes western life. But most people do not have the luxury of such temporary amnesia. What is there when the only thing you can do is wake up the next day clutching the previous day’s sorrow? You mourn, adapt, and go on.

The best laid plans of mice, men, and Peace Corps Volunteers . . .