Thursday, November 22, 2007

Let the celebrations begin

For those of you who are back at home, preparing the stuffing for the thanksgiving dinner today or pulling on your favorite fall sweater thinking, I wonder if Trace and Katrina are missing the festivities that commence this time every year? The answer: of course. Oh how with miss that excitement that comes with the beginning of school and the first freeze, but I would say our first fall in Africa has been equally as thrilling. Today is Thanksgiving; how we would love to sit around the table with our families. On the bright side of things we are getting turkey and all the fixings! Lets be thankful!
Happy Thanksgiving to All

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Oh Yoovvvooo

Yovo. There’s a little left to be desired from the word, methinks. All the characteristics we Americans hold so closely to our bosoms, individualism namely, Yovo is unapologetically void of. Never before have I been branded with a predetermined title.
From what I have gathered, the word in and of itself is not derogatory. It simply means “white” or “foreigner.” Within Peace Corps Togo, which has around 120 volunteers, the range of volunteers is quite diverse. Latinos, Asian-Americans, Native-Americans, African-Americans, and the more common Western European hybrids are all present. Here though, we all share one name. Yovo.
There are days when the stress of training can weigh on my patience. In the States, how easy it is to seek repose and solitude after a long day. Not here. Step outside to escape the suffocating noon-day heat and a plentitude of ‘yovo’ calls come ricocheting off the compound walls from every which direction. This occurs all day, every day in the public spotlight of our training villages. Perhaps now, after a bit of contemplation, I may sympathize with celebrities who are reduced to barging into a barber shop and shaving their scalp to escape the madness of unceasing attention!
Before I reject my Yovo crown, however, I should first consider my other aliases, of which, there are two. Linda Silverman and Chuck Norris.
Linda Silverman was the past volunteer that stayed with my host family. Inside my compound, all the little chitlins have not seen too many other folks with lighter skin. While Linda, who has shoulder-length hair and features generally termed “womanly,” and myself, a stark portrait of bruiting masculinity, may not share too many physical attributes, our light complexion doesn’t fool the young’ens. Luckily, Linda was well received during her stay. Walking into my compound, a few youngsters’ whole bodies will gyrate with ecstasy as they proudly proclaim in a stacottoed yelps, “Linda! Linda!” Afterwords, their moms will correct them, stating my name a few times for repetition. After nearly two months, frequent lapses into Lindaism have been known to still occur.
My other alter-ego, is worse yet. I have a few theories about this one. I was called it in Chile. Then it happened again in Omaha working in a restaurant with a primary Mexican kitchen staff. Other cultures pick up on it instantaneously. Now it has happened on three different occasions within a week. The first occurred with my host dad, Daniel. He was entertaining a friend on the porch. I was outside while the two were busy being chatty Kathy’s, speaking their local language. I, trying to be cordial, appeared mildly engaged in a conversation where I understood nothing. Finally, there was a noticeable break in the conversation. Daniel turned to me and pointed his finger at me. He was obviously in deep thought. His countenance conveyed an expression like he was trying to recall the name of an old aquaintence. Then, a light of recognition. A slight smirk curled on his lips.
“Chuck Norris.”
Before erupting into vivacious laughter until assuming the fetal position, I have an explanation. It could be that our shade of red beird is so rare in the “developing” world, people use it as a mere conversation piece. This though, only skims the surface of the cultural implications of my Chuck Norris alter-ego.
A far better explanation is the lag in American pop culture. While Mr. Norris’ predominance in the States has been waning for some time, he is reaching is apex elsewhere. The type of low-budget kung-fu movies you see at the goodwill are now just starring here. And people love them. People love Chuck!
Unfortunately, I’m not adequately able to explain how “uncool” it is to be called Chuck Norris look-alike in French. I do know though, that only the best is intended. Although, as I have stated, the attention is excessive at times.
We have developed some coping mechanisims though, in the form of peer-based support groups. On the weekends, the voluntaries throw a party that proves to be a safe haven for American music and yovo food (Yovo functions as an adjective, as well as a proper noun). When the guitar comes out, we’ve adopted some classics into yovo-tunes.
“In the middle of the night, in the middle of the night I call your name, Ohhhhh Yoovvooo…”
“Sometimes a Yovo wants to go where everybody knows your name…”
“I love it when you call me big yovo….”
…the possibilities are endless. In any case, I believe the best coping mechanisms for mounting frustration is simply to make a joke about it, however ridiculous it may be.