Saturday, October 20, 2007

Headin to the North Country

Greetings to all-
This weekend my training group are up in Kara which is in the the second most northern region of Togo. The landscape and weather has changed dramatically as we went North. Its flatter and drier. The farther north you go, the more "African" it looks. You can see for miles and the view is spotted with winding trees and a blush sky. Our field trip has been physically and emotionally draining. It took seven hours in a bush taxi to get up here, bouncing the entire time on the best road Togo has. We have visited several volunteers in their villages and it is so encouraging to see some incredible projects in progess. Yesterday evening we got the chance to speak with about 20 people living with HIV. Most of them were Islamic women and their children. It was so powerful.
I want to apologize right now to everyone for Trace and I. It is very difficult to go to the internet cafes and try to write whats going on around us if a few minutes. I know you may be anxious to hear more from us, but we are doing are best.
My ride is here! Sorry for the abrupt ending.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

George and I

Everybody has that dude, the guy who you can lay it on after a hard day. He’s the guy you don’t need to sugarcoat your day to, he already understands the way it is. I was fortunate to meet this dude my first day in village. In fact, he’s part of my host family.
His name is George and he’s five years old. In many aspects, George and I have a lot in common.
For starters, we both know a language outside of French. George speaks Ewe, one of the local languages in our village. I speak English. When I’m searching for a word in French, I often unconsciously spout out the word in English (or Spanish for that matter). But George understands, he often resorts to Ewe.
Another commonality is our eagerness to learn French. Many days as I walk through the gate of my compound, George is there with his portable chalkboard practicing his penmanship. Oft-times, I am doing the same at my table. The other day we were playing a dice game and George rolled an eight.
“Hmm…eight,” I thought. “huit or nuef?” So I started counting. Un…deux…trios…catre…cinq…six…sept…huit. As I got to eight (huit), I looked up and realized George and I had both simultaneously counted to eight using our fingers.
The final quality about George and I that I adore is our forthrightness. Normally, it is just George and I at the table to eat. The first days I might come in and say “J’ai faim,” (I’m hungry). When finished, I might add, “Je suis rasasie. C’est bonne,” (I’m full. It is good.) George will smile and say, “Oui, c’est bonne,” (Yes, it’s good.)We both don’t feel the necessity to use flowery language to fill our time together.
I know George is limited in the number of things he can express to me. George knows the same about me.
Sometimes though, “c’est bonne” is all one needs.

Bon arrivee

OOOh Togo….Ooh Togo… I sing our theme song to our journey thus far with as much endearment as I imagine John singing Oh Yoko. I hope that this letter puts everyone whom we love at ease. I’m going try my best to only talk in first person, but I know I can speak for Trace when I say that all is to the nth degree of well. The scenery in the villages that we live in here is absolutely divine. The plateau region is lush with banana, orange and grapefruit trees. We are nestled against Mount Agou, which is the highest point in Togo. Its hot and its oh so ever humid, but we get a nice rain shower almost every day which cools things down about fifteen degrees.
The people in our training village have been very welcoming to the flood of Americans that have suddenly appeared in their homes and streets. When we first arrived at our training site, I had no idea what was in front of me. Before I arrived at the airport I thought that Lome, the capital city would have been more modern than it was, while in fact it was far from any other city I had ever seen. With this in mind, I had no idea what a village was going to be like if Lome was a city of 700,000 and supposedly quite “booming.” As I and about a dozen other Americans stepped out of the Peace Corps land-cruiser we were flooded with African sounds. It was all so overwhelming. About a hundred villagers met us upon our arrival all dressed in their finest fabrics while a drum line and chanting men and women marched us to the “town square.” Many volunteers began crying as they showered us with their welcoming gifts and as the chief made an emotional speech in their tribal language.
Since those first few days, things have been much less emotional thus much more clear. My host family is incredible and they do everything they can to cater to all my needs. I definitely live in the nicest house of the volunteers (I have electricity and indoor plumbing), but I have been told after training, Trace and I do not have such amenities although many volunteers do. My first few days I had a bit of a gastrointestinal problem, but since I’ve felt as good as ever. I have officially become a vegetarian in Togo (which is much easier than being a carnivore here!). Tofu and other soy products are readily available in this region as well as a ton of fresh fruits and vegetables.
Our days are stacked from 7:30-5:00 with classes. I feel like I’m making leaps and bounds with my French each day. Most of the other volunteers already know the language, so I’m working extra hard to catch up. Other than French, we have technique classes to prepare us for the Girls Education and Empowerment assignment. The teachers we have here are amazing. They are all Togolese and are all very passionate in the work that they do to prepare us for our two years alone. I’ve been exhausted at the end of everyday from producing gallons of sweat and trying to differentiate if my family is talking to me in Ewe (the tribal language) or French. Luckily, it is the norm for people to go to bed at dark.
To wrap things up, I want to give thanks to everyone’s support that helped Trace and I get here. I love and miss you all. Please be patient for word from us. Communication is definitely going to be a challenge for a while. If anyone is interested in sending anything, do not use a plain envelope because there is a good chance it will not arrive. If sending a letter, put it in a bubble envelope. The best way to ensure the arrival of a package safely is to put some sort of Christian symbol or message on the outside (e.g. draw a cross, address to Sister Katrina, write “Dieu te vois” meaning God sees you in French).
Okay, until the next post.P.S. If anyone is curious, the side effects to my malaria medication are nothing short of fascinating! I didn’t know my dreams could get more vivid than they were.

Homecoming

As it turns out, we didn’t get “punked.” There were no tricks concerning living with a host family in rural Africa.
It is here. It is now.
Sweet African beats are ricocheted back and forth in our complex here. Morning cleaning has begun; dishes and sweeping mostly. I just finished a jog with Immanuel, CaCoo, & George, that valiant little guy nearly kept up with us until the very end when his tired legs let him sprint no further.
The welcoming celebration yesterday was perhaps my first overwhelming experience where my emotions gushed with excitement. Undoubtedly, the marching band, running ten to twelve deep, initiated my reaction. It felt like a traditional homecoming parade, with a few exceptions…
When I looked up, I did not see the water tower, but lush jungle. I was not walking down 2nd St., but an unpaved road of amber dirt. Candy was not thrown, but an offering of water and cornmeal was poured into the street to ensure our safety and success. The trumpet players were not frightened at the prospect of belching their horns. In fact, they seemed turned on to the idea. And finally, our school song was not tooted as a grand finale, but a melody of African drums with our cautious host moms leading the dancing.
In short, it was a great homecoming to a place that is as far away from home as I’ve ever been.