JULY
July has been the comme-ci comme-ca month. At the end of June, a month packed with travels and work, I returned to Kante with nothing on my schedule except figuring out what to do with my life and getting back on track with training for the marathon. I've found it to always be a bit difficult returning home and "getting into the swing of things";every time I return, it is a bit like I'm entering Kante for the first time. Usually, however, after a day of cleaning up from traveling and walking around town, I'm back to my (somewhat) normal schedule. However, this time, upon return from my super trip of June, it seemed extra difficult. Rainy season was officially here and everyone was out in the fields every day, students were away on their summer vacation, and my motivation level just plummeted while my feeling of jadedness soared. After over a week of this, I caught a bush taxi to Kara (the big city), met up with some fellow volunteers, and realized that we had, individually, been experiencing the same emotional and motivational "rut". "Mid-service depression", we named it. We had been here a year, hadn't done anything big, only have a year left, felt useless, and this is all compounded by the fact that it is rainy season and everyone is in the fields so its that much more difficult to find people to do something with. After realizing other volunteers were experiencing mid service depression, I felt a hundred times better. (Which of course is how I always feel when I hear of others suffering.. Haha..jk). I returned to Kante still in a rut, but with the knowledge that it is a mid-service rut that is not bottomless (like the bottomless bowl of pasta at that restaurant at Penn state that I miss...). So, bit by bit, July started to get better. I realized that not *all* of the students had gone on vacation, and I also started studying (GRE and MCAT), reading, biking, cooking, and running a ton.
WEDDING
My cluster mate Travis and I were invited to a wedding of one of our friends' relatives. Weddings are a bit rare here. Usually, a couple just lives together and has children, foregoing the wedding ceremony due to its high costs. One time at the hospital, a women arrived for a prenatal consultation. During the course of her registration, as usual, she gave her name and her partner's name. When we heard that they had the same name, everyone in the vicinity gave a surprised "wow". I had never been to a wedding in Togo, much less a Muslim wedding and was super excited. We left my house on our way to the wedding, not really knowing where to go. Our friend had told us it was the big mosque in town, but there are a few big mosques in town. We decided to head towards the center of town, thinking we would figure out where the wedding was somehow. Sure enough, we ran into a few guys who were all dressed in identical clothes - a sure sign that they were involved in some type of celebration- and found out that they were indeed going to the wedding. We walked with them towards the mosque, hearing the music as we approached. I was a bit nervous, wondering if I should have worn a veil like all the Muslim women, and where I should go and if there was any specific protocol. Luckily, our friend met us and guided us as we took off our shoes and entered the mosque. A large room with many fans, mats, and men sitting in plastic chairs greeted us. I sat beside Travis as my friend instructed, even though, looking around, I saw only men in this main room. All the women were behind a divider. We greeted the men around us, noticing than many people were from out of town, and many people were rich. There was one guy who was actually overweight- probably obese- it was so strange to see such a large man; I realized I hadn't seen an obese man since I was in the US. Soon, the ceremony commenced. A guy got up and started talking and singing. He was followed by another guy and another guy. During each song, people would walk up and drop money into a bowl. I hadn't been expecting this, so had only brought one bill with me. As I walked up and dropped my bill into the bowl, I looked down to see all these foreign bills! I was so confused! We were in Togo- where, as far as I know, only one form of currency is used. But, regardless of what the currency was, they still accepted my West African CFA and I returned to my seat, anticipating the next part of the wedding ceremony. But, the next part never came; there was a bit more singing, and then everyone left. I never was able to see the bride or figure out which man was the groom. Our friend found us in the crowd and guided us into a car which then drove to a walled in compound with chairs and tables. We were seated and then served A TON of food. Lots of rice with cabbage and beef, bissap juice and citron juice, and then, when I thought I couldn't eat anymore, black pate with sauce and beef skin. As we left, we realized our friend hadn't shown up to eat and began to wonder if we were in the right place. Sure enough, when we passed by his house, he was waiting there, wondering where we had gone. Entering his compound, people all turned and looked at us, greeting and offering food. After explaining that we had eaten at the wrong house, we stayed a bit to have a drink and say hi to everyone and then left. I was so full as I walked all the way home, I felt like a penguin waddling away with a full belly.
WEIRD INFECTION OF THE MONTH: ABSCESSES!
I get heat rash a lot. It comes and goes - usually on my thigh just above my knee- and is more annoying certain times compared to other times, but overall, I am used to it. However, at the end of June/beginning of July, a couple of the heat rash pimple type things, started to get pink and ooze. I had it pretty much under control, though. I would wash it twice a day and keep it covered with triple antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid, and soon it would heal and go away. Another one would soon appear though, and after a few weeks of this infected heat rash cycle, a lump started to grow just above my knee. It turned reddish purple and became really hot and painful. "Its just another infected heat rash, I thought. But, one day, after doing my fourteen mile training run, this lump seemed to gush out through an opening in the skin. For a few days pus and blood just oozed out and a second lump began to form and ooze. I called the med unit, who informed me it was an abscess, and after making sure it wasn't a life threatening thing, gave me instructions on what care and treatment I should take. So, within a week, it was pretty much all better! This whole process lasted the whole month of July. It is right now just finishing healing, still looking a bit gross, but feeling fine.
FOUR YEARS FROM THIRTY
I am 26 years old now, which is weird, because when I was in high school, my field hockey jersey was #27 and I remember thinking how old and knowledgeable and put-together I would be at age 27 (which is currently just one year away). Also, I don't feel 26 at all; I feel like I'm 23 or 24. This must be because I went skydiving when I was that age and I want to go skydiving again. Not really- instead, I think the reason is that I am currently choosing between med school and grad school, which is a junction that most people on that career path reach when they are younger. But, regardless, here I am at 26. The exciting thing is that I will be running the 26.2 miles of the marathon when I am 26.2 years old. My birthday was a fun, but very chill and laid back day. Travis and Alisha (my cluster mates) biked to my house and we all went out for a beer and then began making egg rolls! (Alisha and I had been wanting to make egg rolls for awhile now). We feasted on egg rolls and tchouk before going to get a beer with Papa (my landlord) and The Blind Man (we never remember his name). We then returned home and bought goat meat and pasta and rice for all my neighbors to eat! It was fantabulous and they loved it.
RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS
We are officially into rainy season. Apparently, rainy season came late this year. It would rain a bit in May and June, but there were still be about a week between rains. It wasn't until July when rainy season really picked up. Now, it rains every few days and sometimes everyday. I love the rain and have not loved the rain so much ever in my life. I love how dark clouds creep up from the west, blanketing the Tamberma Valley and soon the distant rain hides the mountains from view. And then, before you know it, the wind picks up and the static noise of rain hitting tin roofs gets louder and louder until its hitting your own tin roof, so loud that it sounds like an avalanche of rocks instead of the tiny raindrops that they are.
BLAST FROM THE PAST
Since I first moved to Kante, I have been told stories about all the past Peace Corps volunteers who have lived in here. One had a dog like mine, and made Togolese-style clothes for her dog. Another rode his bike EVERYWHERE, rode to Kara and Sokode and Lome (hundreds of kilometers). Another was quite the partier and would come back from travels hung over, and another loooved kids. I often wonder how true these characteristics and stories are and how I will be described when I leave. Anyway, the volunteer who biked a lot has been brought up again and again in conversations, and I eventually got the impression that he was a super volunteer who could succeed at everything and became everyone's favorite person. So, when I heard that he was returning to Kante for a visit, I felt a bit intimidated to meet this all-star volunteer, but curious to hear his stories. So, I waited anxiously for his arrival. One evening, around the time he had mentioned he would visit Kante, I received a call from my friend inviting me to dinner. When I showed up at his house, I was surprised to see that the normal place where we ate together was not prepared; instead another room, decorated with tablecloths and pretty plates and silverware, was prepared. The former volunteer and his friend were there too! We talked all about Kante and Peace Corps Togo- the changes and similarities. Apparently Kante has not changed much. There is a new restaurant and a new road sign thing, but besides that, the same ladies are selling the same things as they were 6 years ago, the same trash, dust, and gorgeous mountains, and the same culture of course. Talking to him, I found out he wasn't a super volunteer; he was a normal volunteer who had challenges like everyone else and didn't end up working on exactly what he was selected for-which is a part of my experience that has been sometimes frustrating. He visited my house, which apparently has changed a lot. The landlord "Papa" built new buildings and a wall since he was here, and the decorations of my house are much more "homely" than his. He ate most of the same things I eat and did many of the same hobbies I do (biking, running, reading, writing). I was really happy to talk to him and cant imagine what it was like for him to come back and see what used to be his home.
DA DA DA DAAA DA DA DAAA DA DA DA DAAA DA DA DAA DAA DAAA.. (INDIANA JONES)
I have never seen the movie Indiana Jones. (I actually saw about 5 minutes of it in French, but then the electricity got cut off and I fell asleep before it started again.) But regardless, that does not prevent me from humming that song whenever I run. Specifically, during the last mile of my run, da da da daaa starts playing through my head as I envision myself tearing through the last mile of uphill. It never fails. Besides finishing to the music of Indiana Jones, my favorite part of the run is the half way point of the 6 mile run. At this point, I have run three miles West, am at the top of a hill, and turn around to see the just-risen sun mounting the sky. "Here comes the sun" instantaneously begins running through my head as the whole three miles back, I watch the sun get higher and higher in the sky, often producing spectacular rays through the rainy season clouds.
I WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT HIS NAME IS
"Je connais! Je connais!" My neighbors yell that all the time at the baby. I just figured it was what they liked to do - maybe one of those common Togolese french phrases- maybe something that everyone yells at babies- like how everyone always makes ridiculous facial expressions when looking at a baby. After about 5months of listening to "Je connais Je connais!", however, I realized that they were yelling this particular phrase to the baby for a reason. That is his name! I thought. I had asked his name a couple times when I first arrived but never remembered it, always just calling him baby. So, now I know what his name is, which is good timing because, at about 1.5 years old, he is curious and walking and has the potential to get into trouble.
CYRILLE
Cyrille is one of my favorite people here. He is a university student who, when not at university in Kara, lives in Kante. When he is here, he has been my french tutor and we usually end up talking about food. He showed me how to make rice and beans and I showed him how to make macaroni and cheese. He studies linguistics and loaves talking about different languages. I have been in the process of teaching him pig Latin. Anyway, he is in the process of defending his memoir, which is basically like a thesis. I read it, and although did not understand much of it (I really realized how much spoken French I know compared to written French) and I am so proud of him. He did an in-depth analysis of how the Lamba language can be used to express emotions and plurality. Even though I didn't understand it all, I just can't imagine all the work it took to do that - here in Togo! First off, barely anyone knows how to type - I have just started teaching some kids in the English club (who are in their final year of high school - like 17/18 years old!) and they have nooo idea how to type. I can't imagine the work going into typing a 100 page thesis that includes all those strange Lamba characters. Also, he had so many pages of references, found all these random books and reports written about the Lamba language- I had no idea the Lamba language had been researched! Anyway, I was just a bit blown away by his memoir. I had helped him fund this Lamba research project, and was happy to see my name "Mary Mafisa" in the thank you section. Soon, he will report back to Kara where he will meet a board of professors who will talk about his memoir and he may have to make changes before he can officially graduate. I asked him what he wants to do after graduation. Asking anyone here what they want to do "when they grow up" makes you feel really lucky to be from the USA. He wants to continue research and continue work in linguistics-which would be totally plausible in the US - and he would be an excellent hardworking and smart candidate. But here in Togo- you can't do research. You need money first. And its not like in the US where there are grants and universities and government and private organizations who want to fund things. Here there is nothing beyond who you know. So if you know rich people- if you are in a wealthy family, then go for it! But if you don't, you are sort of stuck. You can be a doctor/medical assistant/nurse, a police officer, a teacher. We are so lucky to have loans and grants; especially being in science. None of my university years would have happened - there are no educational loans available here. And my first job would not have happened- Togo isn't exactly No.1 in terms of science funding. But, you know- little by little. I hope things improve here in Togo for the Togolese citizens. Regardless I am just (1) super thankful to be American, (2) sad for all the potential that is lost due to funding here in Togo, and (3) super proud of Cyrille because he's come so far, little by little, and I hope we can find a way so he can go further.
THOSE WHO TALK DON'T EAT
In the US, dinner conversations are expected. Meal times are social times, often one of the only moments in the day when family or friends or coworkers can come together and talk about whatever is on their mind. In fact, we often arrange reunions with friends or meetings at work in the context of a meal (coffee with a friend or lunchtime meeting). Here this is not so; meal times are silent. I can always tell when my neighbors are eating because the talking, shouting, and crying that is inevitable in any household with 4 kids and a baby, ceases.
CLUB ESPOIR
Club Espoir has been one of the activities I do, regardless of how busy or not busy I am. It is a monthly meeting for kids living with or affected by HIV/AIDS. Every month, a different theme is reflected upon through the games, songs, and discussions of that day. Every volunteer who shows up regularly gets placed with about 6-10 kids of a specific age group. My group is called "the silver snakes" and is known among the volunteers as the troublemakers. While everyone else is gathering their group to begin a game or discussion, the members of my group are nowhere to be found. However, I love them. Once they are found and gathered, they are a great group. Just recently, they acted out a couple of skits. My favorite one was on the theme "the environment" which opens to the scene of a kid throwing a plastic bag of poop into his neighbors compound. The neighbor and kid get in a fight that continues throughout the ends dramatically when the chief of the village explains how it is not good to throw plastic bags of poop in your neighbor's compound because poop should go in a latrine and plastic bags should be contained with other trash and that we should respect the environment because we need it and it is like our friend. Quite a marvelous skit, I thought, even though it was a round-about way of getting to the moral. But, that is why I love my trouble-making club Espoir kids.
EVALA
Togo is made up of many different ethnic groups, each with their own slight variations of celebrations. The Kabye people just south of me, in the areas surrounding Kara have a celebration called Evala, which marks the coming of age of boys. During this celebration, villages get together and have a huge wrestling tournament, when boys from each neighborhood, then village, wrestle each other. It is a huge deal; and the president of Togo, Faure, even flew with his helicopter onto the celebration area. I saw one of the semifinals, which was still incredibly crowded, with seemingly every woman in village selling tchouk or food and every other person crowding around the field of wrestling.
Random text message from Travis: Eat an ear for me.
(I had told him that there was grilled corn in Kante a day before...I received the text message a day later and was really confused until I remembered the grilled corn)
