Amenities

I have running water and electricity sort of…  It didn’t take me long to get over my disappointment of having electricity and running water.  Sure, I wanted to be in some small village somewhere getting the real Peace Corps experience, but the convenience of amenities like electricity and water cannot be denied and I’m grateful to have them when I do.

Sometimes though, it’s not about having it at all, but consistently having it.  And my water and electricity pretty consistently go off.  The best is when my power goes off in the middle of cooking dinner—I really like playing with boiling water and hot pans in the dark.  I also like having my water go off in the middle of a shower.  There are of course solutions to these problems, flashlights and bucket showers can go a long way, but if you aren’t prepared for it you can find yourself standing soapy in the dark.  Some people have said that in certain ways the people who never have running water or electricity have it a little easier because they are prepared for it and we spoiled people get stuck scrambling.

Back home in the US the only time the power goes off is from a major event like a big storm or some sort of accident.  The power or water being off for a few days is a news worthy event, not so much here.  Along with some grumbling, in the US the power going out was always noted by the need to reset the digital clocks, and I’m very glad I don’t have an alarm clock here that gets plugged in or I would be resetting the clock a few times each day and would only occasionally be woken up in time for work.

There are times when the power goes out for days at a time (providing an excuse for romantic candle-lit dinners) but mostly the power goes out for 15 to 30 minute intervals.  There is no apparent trigger and I really don’t understand why it goes off, or really why it comes back on.  While there is an audible sigh from my neighbors as their TVs click off and the whole city falls silent, there is no real complaining or calls made to the utility company, we’re in Togo, the power goes off sometimes, we are lucky to have it when we do.

Not having water can be a little more difficult than when the power is out.  I can have water fetched for me from somewhere else in town, but without water I cannot live.  So, I keep a big garbage can filled with water just in case the next time I go to wash my hands all the faucet does is gurgle a bit. 

I never really had to deal with these things in the States, things were much more consistent.  Living here teaches you to roll with it.  You can’t really be guaranteed anything, but with a little preparation and a deep breath it isn’t such a problem.  Give it some time, soon enough you’ll be enjoying the blare of your neighbors’ music and wishing the power would just go back off.

Sans Frigo

Like many volunteers here in Togo I live my life without a refrigerator (frigo).  Being lucky enough to have electricity I could choose to invest in a fridge, but in addition to the cost of even a small fridge being more than two months of my total living allowance (that would mean no eating for a bit) and a severely increased electricity bill, I would have to figure out how to get the fridge from Lomé to my house, which would consist of taking it on and off a minimum of three bush taxis—a feat I’m just not ready for yet.

Life without a refrigerator has been in some ways easier than I may have originally thought.  I come from a family where some members refrigerate nearly everything.  With peanut butter and bread in the fridge (cough grandma cough) and everything having labeled with “refrigerate after opening” the idea of living without a fridge seemed impossible.

Of course I have given up many things by living with out a fridge like cold milk, fresh meat, yogurt, and for the most part, leftovers, but I still eat many things I thought I wouldn’t be able to have in a life sans frigo.

You can find many things on my shelves that in the States would have always been in the refrigerator.  I have my jam, margarine, mustard, ketchup, soy sauce, cheese, fish, milk, eggs, and mayonnaise all out at room temperature and if room temperature didn’t happen to be 34°C (93ish°F) I think I could get away with even more.  And for the record I have never been sick yet since being here in Togo.

It is true that my cheese is Vache Qui Rit (Laughing Cow), my fish is smoked, and I must drink my milk the day I open it (or I drink milk powder), but while not the fanciest foods, there are an incredible number of products that don’t need to be refrigerated.  Volunteers have gotten some laughs asking for cured meats and hard cheeses or other products like Velveeta, babybel, Oscar Mayer fully cooked bacon, chicken and tuna packets, and other seemingly random goods that are expensive or you just can’t find here.

There are of course drawbacks of not having a fridge, like not having leftovers (though I have risked it and eaten some things the next day).  Everything goes moldy here extremely fast.  It’s hot and humid and I guess to be expected, but I buy things like carrots and if I don’t eat them in under a few days they start to go bad.  I can only really buy veggies once a week, on Friday market day, and by Tuesday they are gone or bad.  Saving produce is probably one of the things for which I most wish I had a fridge.  A cold drink every now and then would be nice too. 

I may end up caving in and buying myself a fridge to save my veggies, but for now I’m doing just fine.  It is amazing how much we refrigerate in the US that really doesn’t need it, but it is true that a fridge can really make things last much much longer and not having a moldy surprise after just a few days, will one day make a refrigerator a welcomed appliance in my kitchen

The Jewelry Makes the Woman

From infancy girls and boys are marked different by jewelry.  All baby girls’ ears are pierced, boys’ are not.  While this little fact comes in handy when doing baby weighing and guessing which one was which, this identification is very persistent and you are not really female unless you wear earrings.

Coming to Togo I didn’t know what I was expecting and the logical thing seemed to not bring much jewelry at all.  I guess it was some silly idea that I didn’t want to draw attention to myself even with cheap fake jewelry that someone might mistake for being of value, but now I wish I had brought more with me.  My two pairs of earrings, now one thanks to my clumsiness, are sufficient, but I wear them every day and it is only time until I wear them out or lose them.  

I remember the first time I dared to leave my house without my earrings in, OK more like I forgot to put them in; my host mother was a little shocked and with a worried voice asked what had happened to my earrings.  At the time I assumed she was just concerned that I had lost them seeing as how jewelry can be valuable.

A second time I didn’t wear my earrings in public, a midwife, whom I had just met, reached over and grabbed my earlobe, “hmm, just checking.  Why are you not wearing your earrings?”  I don’t know... I didn’t feel like it? I forgot? They were making me uncomfortable? There are plenty of reasons why on a perfectly normal day I might not wear them, but apparently this is somewhat unacceptable. 

Just this last week a male colleague of mine did exactly the same thing.  In the middle of a conversation about a project we are working on he reached over and grabbed my ear.  “Women wear earrings, why are you not wearing any?”  Considering this conversation was happening in my own courtyard after I had been woken up from a nap I assumed that it would be OK not to be wearing my jewelry, I guess not.

Can they not see my long hair, my dress, or my female form?  Are earrings really needed to let them know I’m not a man in disguise?  Yes, in the US earrings are stereotypically a female adornment, but rarely is a woman’s identity specifically focused on her ears.  Unlike in America, in Togo there are extremely few to no men with pierced ears.  I am so used to seeing body adornments on both men in women, in both the US and my National Geographic version of Africa; I am surprised to find piercings only on the ears and only on women.  It’s a practice I’ve had to get used to in order to be integrated in my community and it has taken effort, even now I find my hands subconsciously wandering to my ears, just checking…yup, no worries, female today.

Seems a Little Fishy To Me

Today I bought myself a smoked fish.  Normally I stick to a vegetarian diet of rice, beans, and other veggies—yes mom, I get enough protein, don’t worry…beans and rice make a complete protein source—but I guess today I thought I’d spice things up.  I have never before bought or prepared smoked fish and honestly I was at a loss as to what to do with it, unless it is with some cream cheese and bagels, smoked fish doesn’t really find its way onto my plate.

I usually actively avoid the fish area of the market.  Of course it has its fishy smell, but mostly it just seems somehow disturbing and unsafe.  The idea of fish sitting exposed out in the sun on a humid ninety degree day goes against essentially everything I know about food safety.  I suppose being smoked, the fish are of course preserved, but the small crabs and crawfish I see lying out there…the flies…I cannot understand how they aren’t completely spoilt.  Though the only pointers our medical staff gave about it was check for maggots and a smoked fish shouldn’t be squishy, my instincts of self preservation have kept me far away from these aquatic treats. 

On a whim—or maybe a little lapse in sanity—I had a whole smoked fish sitting on my kitchen counter.  Sitting there smelling fishy, peaking out of its little newspaper blanket… I had no idea of how to begin to prepare this fish.  This fish is fish, no special name or flavor, not a delicious salmon filet or tuna steak, just fish.  Of course the internet was the place for answers! but I learned quickly people care much more about smoking the fish than eating it.  There were plenty of links to how to smoke a fish, but very few on how to prepare one that has already been smoked.  With little online inspiration to save me from the fish sitting on my counter, winging it seemed like the best option and that is how I ended up with my tomato curried fish—quite tasty really.

Getting to that point, however, was an adventure.  After staring into my fish friend’s eyes, I made my move; picking up a knife I made to gut the fish, interestingly though I learned that when you cook a fish with its organs still intact you get one solid mass of stuff and the normal techniques just don’t cut it.  Being meticulous, I got rid of every speck of this dark stuff and skinned the fish flicking bits of it across my kitchen with professional skill.  In addition I picked out every bone I could find holding the fish up in different angles of light to make sure I got them all—no choking on fish bones for me!  In the end I had two little filets of fish popped into my pot and voila dinner. 

Cooking dried beans requires a lot of time.  In addition to needing to be soaked, beans use up a lot of my fuel as they sit simmering on my stove for over an hour.  The fish, though, is fish, nothing special.  The extra time of cleaning the fish and the smelly mess I make just doesn’t seem worth the saved fuel.  Maybe I’m just not one for variety; I’ll stick to my beans.

Frozen In Time

Where has the time gone?  Back in the States Thanksgiving is already approaching. This means I’ve been in Togo for nearly six months, but it hardly feels like it.  Being a native Upstate New Yorker I am in the habit of marking the passage of time with the change of the seasons.  Back in New York there is little subtlety to each part of the year; our winters are cold and snowy, our summers hot (relatively) and our autumn filled with colors.

Here though, we really only have two seasons, wet and dry.  To an outsider, however, in spite of the fact it does rain more at one part of the year than the other, it’s just HOT all the time.  I feel like I am perpetually trapped in summertime.  A summertime that keeps getting hotter (thank you approaching dry season…).

I’m pretty sure I have been sucked into an episode of the Twilight Zone.  Being so connected to those in the U.S., so that I have gotten pictures of the snows that are falling, I feel like it should be getting cold here.  In New York, summer is really only two months (three if it extends a little into June and September) so by season logic there is no way I have been here longer than two-three months—six is far out of the realm of possibility.  It’s like I keep being told that time is passing and I can feel it passing but I keep waking up to relive the same summer over and over again.

I know for other people around the world who grow up and live in tropical climates this is normal, but it is freaking me out a little.  I miss my seasons… I like being cold and I like being able to feel what time of the year it is.  I’m sure soon enough I’ll learn to differentiate as I do in the States but for now…  “There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Togo Zone.”

 **Cue Twilight Zone theme music… da-na-na-na  da-na-na-na

A Selling Society

Everyone here is selling something.  I don’t mean this in any deep metaphorical sense, literally everyone is selling something.  On Friday, my market day, you can find everyone you know from work and around town camped out somewhere in the market selling their wares.  I am no longer surprised to have a colleague, such as a nurse or medical assistance, shout hello to me from their stand as I pass though doing my own shopping.  From the farmers, nurses, to my landlord, and my host-family’s uncle—a director at a cement factory, everyone is selling. 

The products they are selling do not tend to be unique.  Few of the products are local or made by anyone selling the goods.  Even much of the food products (in spite of the predominant profession in Togo being farmer) are shipped in from elsewhere.  From speaking with an acquaintance I know that many of these vendors make a weekly pilgrimage down to Lomé to buy whatever random merchandise to resell at our local market and around town.  Some people tend to specialize; you have cloth dealers, those who sell spices, onions, tomatoes, pots and pans, etc. But almost all the products are identical.

I live in a city with one of the largest markets in Togo and you can find most of anything you want.  We have hundreds of people selling goods, but they are all selling exactly the same things.  For the dozen cloth sellers, they all sell the same cloth—probably all from the same supplier.  The same is true with those selling plastic wares and packaged food products.  All these goods come from the same places are of exactly the same quality, and all the same price, the choice isn’t the product, but which of the twenty vendors will you buy it from?

I can find hardly any specialization in the market here.  Few people offer unique products that you can’t easily walk ten feet and buy with someone else.  Maybe I am limited in my capacity to grasp this idea, but if thirty women buy a basket of tomatoes from the same vendor in order to sell them all at the same place, how can anyone really succeed in turning a profit? 

In the US I have on occasion despaired in how much of a service industry country we have become, but I have a greater appreciation for its effectiveness when compared to the system here.  I cannot claim to know all the intricacies of the economic system here, but it just seems inefficient and impractical for the general population.  These local vendors all purchase from the same suppliers in Lomé, padding the pockets of the few people who actually make products (most not from Togo) and sell these goods for a profit of probably only a few cents. 

Just as with the subsistence farming that is the basis of most of the lives of Togolese, this method of reselling goods provides enough to live on but not much else.  

I’ll Beet It Out of You

I love beets.  Maybe it’s because I wasn’t introduced to beets until I was a senior at university, or maybe I’ve watched too much of The Office and fallen in love with the idea of a somehow adorably creepy man such as Dwight taking so much passion in growing this delicious food of purple-red goodness, but I really really like beets.

I first had beets in a delicious goat cheese and balsamic salad.  I don’t know what, after twenty-two odd years of never eating a beet, convinced me to take the plunge and order beets.  I think it was the goat cheese, chèvre, and I don’t regret my decision.

Oh chèvre, something sorely lacking here in Togo.  For the number of goats running around you’d expect goat cheese to be a staple, but when I had asked my family if they ever milked their goats I got a response of “…no” with a tone and long enough pause to say “who in their right mind would milk a goat??”  Hello, I would.

Well anyway, since then I have gotten beet salad at nearly every opportunity.  Many people will tell horror stories of being force fed beets as a child; I never had such luck.  I probably appreciate them all the more for it.  When I discovered that I could buy beets in my marché, a nice big one for roughly twenty-five cents, I couldn’t resist.  I now make myself beets at least once a week.  Sadly without my goat cheese or balsamic vinaigrette I can’t make my ideal salad, but sweet and sour beets are pretty good.

Every time I prep my beets I stain my fingers and cutting board a deep purple-red.  I’ve heard people complain that it is this intrusive color that turns them off from beets, personally I love it.  Maybe I’m starved for the artificially bright colors of the food products you find in the US, but its outrageous color makes me happy.  I remember being a little put off when once looking at the ingredients in an organic strawberry yogurt and seeing beet juice as an ingredient to give it more color, I completely understand now.  FUN FACT: Did you know that if you eat a lot of beets it can turn your urine pink too?  Maybe a little unsettling if it happens, but harmless and very true.

Beets have very little to do with Togo except the fact that I can get them here.  I suppose I’m just glad I tried something new even though I had a bit of a bias against it.  Beets:  a food that so many turned a face at when they were kids.  Beets:  a food that makes me happy (or maybe I just like unhappy children?).  Definitely worth a second try.

Per Diem

The past few days I have been in Lomé for a conference with the World Health Organization (WHO) about their campaign to eradicate Polio in Togo and West Africa.  WHO was kind enough to pay for our transportation to their office, but also laid upon us a “per diem” of no insubstantial sum that made a few of us volunteers a bit uncomfortable to accept.  The sum they gave to us is the typical amount for an average person who in invited to attend a WHO event and for the number of people who participate annually, WHO hands out a huge amount of money.  The idea that the money they were giving us to come and participate in a meeting could have very well been spent in a better way, such as buying these vaccinations they need to distribute, haunted some of us as we took the superfluous sum. 

A per diem is intended to cover incidental costs, such as meals and lodging, you have while participating in an event.  The idea of providing for someone to come to your event is not a unique one, but here in Togo the idea of a per diem is taken to excess. 

In the States it is typical to personally pay for training.  If you want to be certified in CPR you pay, but here everyone expects to be paid.  It can be extremely difficult to get participants in any sort of training or project without paying them and a guest speaker (such as a local doctor) can cost you even more.  You can waste a substantial part of a budget on per diem and with very limited funds this can be extremely frustrating.  Often the majority of a budget for a project such as educating a population on an issue has been the per diem.  A substantial amount is expected by participants in the form of a per diem, but the Peace Corps is attempting to discourage the giving of per diem by decreasing the amount we are allowed to allocate for that purpose in our funding applications.

I am not about to say that there are not true volunteers here in Togo, but nearly everyone expects payment for participation.  Even if they are local with no transportation or lodging costs, people want to be paid.  I don’t know if it’s a result of previous institutions being here and creating the expectation of pay for nearly everything or what, but I can’t help but think of the resources that are wasted in the per diem system.  If people would be willing to give their time for free or minimal costs, the money saved could be used to support the aspects of projects and development that actually require funding rather than going towards paying someone for coming to a meeting for a few hours one afternoon. 

A Wraparound

This topic may seem a little risqué, but being here in Togo—particularly when working with mothers—you can’t help noticing and I might as well voice what we’ve all seen, breasts. 

Unlike in the US, breast feeding in Togo is considered completely normal and acceptable in public.  There is no covering up with a blanket or retreating to a private location, no matter who is around or where they are a breast is whipped out to feed a fussy babe.  While sitting and having a conversation with a man a woman will have no qualms about pulling down her shirt. 

While my American sensibilities ask why they don’t show some restraint in when and where, the acceptance of breast feeding here is something one would hope to see in the States.  Breastfeeding is by far one of the best choices you can make for an infant’s health and it’s really a shame that baby formulas have replaced breast milk as the popular choice. 

It is not, however, advocacy for breast feeding that I want to write about.  It’s really the breasts themselves I wish to mention.  Looking at National Geographics of old you make note some of the stereotyped African tribal women with long sagging breasts.  Those old issues showing these women have been the butt of many jokes in TV shows, but my oh my are they real. 

Some of the volunteers have nicknamed them “wraparound boob” thanks to the way they are used.  There have been reported sightings of women feeding their children while they are still on their back.  They just wrap their breast around their side and voila a meal on the go.

I don’t doubt these rumors.  I have seen women snake their breasts out from under their clothes in the most unimaginable ways.  And I have seen a breast released from a bra drop down to a woman’s waist.

These are not the afflictions of old women but those of all ages.  I’ve seen young mothers of twenty with the breasts you only expect to see on a woman of seventy.  The widespread nature of this is surprising but when you think about it you can see how it could happen.

For one, fewer women wear bras here, but that doesn't really explain it seeing as how some of the saggiest I have seen wear a bra.  Second, women have more children and breast feed for longer than in the States.  And thirdly, the factor I think is most important is the fact that the way women carry children is a sling supported almost entirely by their chest (See picture).  While very efficient, wrapping a piece of cloth around your chest to support a child on your back will surely tend to drag things down.  And girls start carrying children this way at a very young age. 

Maybe this explains it, maybe not.  Just observation…

Do It Yourself

“Do it yourself” a concept that seems foreign here in Togo.  As you know, when it rains my roof has been leaking and my windows have been flooding my kitchen.  If I was in the States I would easily pop over to my local Home Depot to pick up a few supplies and voila my leaks would be fixed (OK I’m no roofer… my windows would at least be no problem).  But here, it’s another story.

I consider myself somewhat of a do-it-yourselfer, and when I can I do a project myself.  If there is a project to do, I can figure out what tools to use and find them easily.  Here, not only is the tool I’m looking for possibly not available, but it’s also possible I don’t know the name of the tool in French and neither does the salesman. 

In order to fix my windows my answer was caulk.  I found the French translation and sought out caulk at the local store.  No one knew what I was talking about.  I resorted to describing the product…my problem…my ideas on how to fix it…I was offered paint and when I turned that down, motorcycle sealant.

With my failed attempt to buy my preferred product I resorted to trying to seal up the cracks with aluminum foil I harvested from chocolate bars.  The first big rainstorm though proved that my candy wrappers and scotch tape were not sufficient to keep out the rains.  I made a second attempt to explain my problem and this time with some success the salesman suggested a new product that I don’t know the name of in French, Ewe, or English.  It’s a foil like tape with tar-like glue on the back.  It has yet to be tested by a torrential rain but I’m hopeful all the cracks have been sealed.

After finding the product, convincing everyone that I can do it myself was another obstacle.  The salesman was very confused when I explained I wanted to fix it myself.  He repeatedly told me to hire a carpenter to tape my window and when I said I’d do it myself he said he’d find a carpenter for me.  When I showed my landlord that I have found something to solve my problem, too, he also said a carpenter could come and install it.  He showed his doubt, but I let him know “I’m American I can do many things.”  He was doubtful and decided he had to come and survey my work after which he said he might need to do the same with the other apartments.  This isn’t the first time I’ve wowed the Togolese with my handy-man skills.  When I first moved in I wanted to change my locks and I did it myself.  When my homologue stopped in and saw I did it myself he gave me a high-five. 

It’s not just because I am female that I am not expected to do construction-type projects myself, but in general people do not do any specialized tasks for themselves.  Everyone has their specific jobs and if you have something you need done—a construction project, or something to be sewn—you go to the person who has that profession.  When you want a quick fix this can be tough for a do it yourself person like me.

The Rains Down in Africa

We are currently finishing up the rainy season here in Togo.  Unlike in the States where we have four seasons, in Togo we only have two seasons wet and dry.  The wet season of course means rain and a bit cooler weather.  The rains can be both a curse and a blessing.  With each rainstorm my roof leaks and my floor floods (two issues I am currently trying to resolve—but fixing a roof in the rain isn’t always so simple).  But the rains also cool off a hot day and an early morning rain keeps neighbors inside creating a peace that lets me sleep past six am.

When it rains the whole world stops.  With the first drops everyone flees like cats facing a bath to the nearest shelter and no one budges until the rain stops.  Rain or shine in the US you are expected to get to your appointments on time, but here rain halts all business.  If you have a meeting it’s cancelled, or at least won’t start until a good while after the rain stops.

I’ve been given the excuses that umbrellas and rain jackets aren’t available here so no one could be expected to walk in the rain, but I don’t buy it—those things are available here if you choose to buy them.  There are good excuses though why the rainy season is known for its lack of productivity.  When it rains transportation is very limited.  Motos are absolutely miserable and unsafe in the heavy downpours and of the cars available they rarely have windshield wipers that work and the windows are perpetually stuck down.  Being in a taxi where the driver is reaching out his window to wipe the muddy cracked windshield with rag in the rain is an experience that can leave you fearing for your own life and especially for those poor souls who happen to sharing the road.

The roads themselves also suffer.  After a rainstorm roads and bridges are washed away and the unpaved roads are turned into mud.  The flooding after the rains can also impede travel making roads completely impassable.  In training we were warned about this and told to work our project schedules around the rainy season, because, while the rains can be beautiful and provide a well appreciated reprieve, in a flash all the big plans of construction or those meetings you had can be washed away thanks to a bit of precipitation.

A Glowing Family

This past weekend we Maritimers got together to send off a few volunteers who will be completing their service this month.  It was a fete of pizza, birthday cake, and glow sticks.  I can’t speak for all of the regions of Togo, but in Maritime glow sticks appear to be a party staple.  A seemingly random gift that keeps reappearing in care packages from home, glow sticks make an appearance at many of our get-togethers.

Glow sticks manage to provide us with endless entertainment.  Dancing with bodies adorned with glowing jewelry, having mock roller-skating competitions, wearing togas, and playing games in the dark, the locals think that we are quite an oddity.  Questions are asked about what ceremony we are performing and people lurk off to the side watching the strange ways of the Americans.  The Togolese must have extraordinary ideas about what American culture is from the brief glimpses our glowing celebrations.

One of the objectives of the Peace Corps is for volunteers to be ambassadors teaching our host countries about our culture and bringing their culture home with us.  When we come together we are a family, we work, gossip, and play together.  In a strange land we support each other and do our best to show the Togolese our most bizarre American habits.  I can only imagine what the average Togolese person thinks about American culture and how the small glimpses of Togolese life that we get while living here cannot really encapsulate the entire peoples of Togo.

Hello, My Name is Not Yovo

As a foreigner one of the first things you’ll notice is that many people, particularly children call you “yovo”.  This word literally means “white” in local language and it is frequently shouted whenever I or any other white person passes by.

Having “yovo” shouted at you from across the street, in the market, and well everywhere you go can be very tiring.  Some people are making an attempt to actually speak to me, but others seem to be shouting just to shout at me.  Not being able to blend in and being noticed and pointed out all the time is really what gets to me, not the word yovo in particular.

The Peace Corps makes efforts to decrease the amount of yovoing that occurs by sensitizing our Togolese trainers, host families, and counterparts to the impoliteness of calling us yovos.  Many people here, however, do not understand what could be wrong with calling someone what they are. 

In the US, not pointing out peoples’ differences and not labeling people is one of those things that is emphasized to American children.  A two-headed man can walk down the streets and it’s true that people will take a second look, but if a child points out that person they would be scolded.  Thanks to our history skin color or race can be a particularly touchy topic, but in a place that doesn’t have the same tumultuous past of racial issues, the idea of labeling someone by the color of their skin doesn’t register as offensive.

One of my fellow volunteers provided me with a hypothesis about yovo that I rather liked.  The Togolese are very accustomed to labels in general.  An individual in this culture is known by their profession or other notable characteristic: A doctor is “doctor” and a teacher is “teacher.” Labels create an understandable place for an individual in the community and it is not rude and even needed in this culture.  Extending a custom of labeling people to the rarity that is a white person finds a place for this new person.  This stranger is the “white man” with a label and a place.  Even with a possible way of understanding the behavior I can’t help but still be annoyed by being shouted at all the time.

When I came for my post visit to Vogan during stage I was greeted by a welcome committee made up of a number of individuals who I may end up working with.  My homologue explained to the committee about not calling me “yovo” and one teacher in response told me not to get angry with the children who call me “yovo” because children are taught to call white people yoyo from a young age with a little song of “yovo yovo bonsoir…”  I found myself giving a speech that sounded so much like something from the era of civil rights I almost had to laugh at myself.  I told them that I understood, but that I wanted to be known for the work I do and who I am, not by the color of my skin.

However, it is not only children who call me “yovo” but also many adults and not all of them with the innocent please the children get by singing a song.  I do my best not to get angry at these people and to explain that it is impolite to address me as “yovo.”  For those who shout “yovo” at me I tell them that if they want to speak with me they can call me madam or by my name that I do not respond to “yovo.”  There are a few people who have latched onto the idea and there are even a number of Togolese community members who will correct others that call me “yovo.” 

There is no stopping everyone from calling me “yovo,” but it I can’t help being affected by it.  I suppose I just want to be treated like anyone else.  Every other woman is addressed as “madame” if someone wishes to speak with them.  I want to receive the same treatment as every other person and not be singled out.  Being me, but still part of the crowd is definitely something I miss about America, a country built on diversity.

Squeaky Clean

There are a few things I have learned about the Togolese; one is that they like to be very clean in both home and body.  Here you are expected to bathe two or three times a day and some host mothers have been known to brag about how wonderfully clean their volunteer is if they bathe a few times a day. 

I can understand the desire to bathe more than once in the day.  It can be immensely hot and humid during the day and getting sweaty is unavoidable.  For some reason it also just seems to be easier to get dirty here.  With dirt roads and no grass everything gets very dusty very fast and I have not felt so grimy so often in a long time.

Making a clean house and property is another high priority.  Everyday the whole house is swept along with the yard.  As diligent as Americans are with tending their lawn, my Togolese family makes sure their open space of dirt is smooth and debris free.  This diligence towards cleanliness, however, does not extend beyond ones own space. 

All of Togo is a trash can.  In Togo the idea of a dump or trash collection is nearly nonexistent.  Togolese families dump their trash just off their living space and roads and public spaces are littered with garbage.  Shower water and animal feces are also included in the rubbish.  Plastic bags are often the largest portion of the trash in the streets.  Every purchase is placed into a black plastic bag, drinks are served in plastic baggies, and ice cream treats come in a small plastic packet.  All of this packaging and all other trash is just tossed in the street.

Not only is all the garbage odorous and ugly it also poses major health issues.  Excessive amounts of waste makes areas for water to pool creating breeding grounds for mosquitoes.  In a region plagued with the most deadly types of malaria, minimizing the breeding mosquitoes is of immense importance.

The spread of diarrheal and parasitic diseases is also increased by high levels of pollution.  Animal dung and waste water tossed into the streets impacts water sources and acts as a reservoir for disease that people walk though and play in every day.

It would seem that finding a way to get people to take as much pride in their communities and country as they do in their own homes would help solve this problem.  But without the resources dedicated toward garbage collection and a place to put trash you cannot expect people to stop just throwing their trash on the ground.

It's a Boy! (July 18, 2011)

Last night my sixteen year old sister gave birth to a baby boy.  While I had noticed that she was pregnant we had never discussed it.  In the middle of the night I was awoken by the screams of labor and the arrival of the midwife and some female family members.  I was not included in the birth itself, but was handed the baby in the morning.

My sister does not have a man in her life, and is/was an apprentice with a tailor.  Having a baby means she will have to pay a fine to her master and potentially lose her apprenticeship.  Her father also just came to speak to me because he does not know who the father of the baby is and my sister will not say who it is.  As surprising as it might be, he was actually coming to me for advice.  He explained to me how without knowing the father there is no means of supporting a new baby and with a baby Mary cannot continue to work making two mouths to feed for my father, not just one.  All I could tell him was to talk to her explain what he has to me.  Be honest and open and hopefully she will see the importance of sharing who the father is. 

Unfortunately my sister is not unique in her situation.  There are many young girls who become pregnant while in school or an apprenticeship, and after becoming pregnant can no longer work or continue school.  They become dependent on there families or if they are lucky the man who got them pregnant will marry them.

Beyond not being aware of contraceptives women here are regarded sadly as very cheap.  Men convince young girls to have sex with them by offering gifts like cell phones and tragically the girls think that that’s all they are worth.  These practices have also been institutionalized at schools where young women can struggle to get an education, not only combating economic pressure and the stresses of school that affect everyone but also the pressure to have sexual relationships with their teachers.

Coming from the US it is obscene to think of a teacher having sex with his young students.  A teacher is supposed to be someone who a student can trust to guide them in their decisions, and encourage a student’s success.  In Togo, however, it is common for teachers to solicit sex from their students.  Whether by offering a good grade, or threatening failure, teachers enter into sexual relationships that are extremely damaging to a young girl’s success in school.  This contributes to distractions that lead to poorer performance in school and to drop out rates.

Scarily though, there is no understanding that these types of behaviors hurt these young girls.  The men who participate are no inherently bad people, but it is seen as a man’s right to have a woman.  It is a cultural issue that cannot be solved simply by encouraging women to stay in school or use contraceptives, but the mentality of the worth and role of women must be changed and demonstrate the ways that a man’s behavior negatively impacts women and consequently many other aspects of society.  

A Diplomatic Enlightenment

Prior to coming to Togo I tried to do some research on the country, but honestly there isn’t much literature out there.  With limited information, a history of a military dictatorship, and stereotypes about other African nations it was easy to make assumptions.  On paper Togo looks like a pretty typical third world country and it doesn’t really stand out one way or another.

Actually being in the country provides a new perspective, but it is still a limited one.  Living in country we have been able to hear the perspectives of our Togolese trainers and families, but it is rare to hear an American perspective on Togo.  The other day, however, the soon to be retired American ambassador to Togo came to talk to us about the history and political climate in Togo.

While I can’t much discuss the politics of Togo, I was very interested in the American perspective on the recent elections that were tightly controlled through international efforts (In spite of the efforts made there are still a few people who believed the elections to have been fraudulent). 

In some ways though, it is actually the lack of international and specifically American presence in Togo that I found so interesting.  Unlike all three bordering countries (Ghana, Benin, and Burkina Faso) Togo receives nearly no aid from the US and has been left out of other international aid projects.  Togo is a country stuck in the middle.  Including health there are many areas in which Togo desperately needs improvement, but there are few places that Togo sticks out.  Fortunately and unfortunately Togo does not currently stand out.  There are no genocides, military coups, terrorist threats, or massive HIV/AIDS epidemics, but also few development prospects.  There are few things that are perfect in Togo, but it seems that according to various aid funds there is even less really really wrong.

Being left behind in receiving aid has left Togo in a vulnerable spot as the countries surrounding it advance with international help.  Togo has been making efforts to not be left behind.  It seeks to not fall victim to receiving the crime that is pushed out of bordering countries.  While there is still a long way to go, the efforts are a step in the right direction

A Carb Cuisine

In southern Togo the cuisine staple is pate (sounds like the French word for pasta).  Pate is corn flour prepared with boiling water to make a thick paste.  Bits of this paste are then taken in the hand and dipped into a small amount of sauce.  Without sauce pate can be rather bland but many Togolese seem to love pate.  My sister Mary even said that if she didn’t eat pate she’d die.  She was referring to how filling pate is. 

It is true that pate provides a decent amount of energy as carbohydrates are oft to do, but these carbohydrate meals provide little else.  Roughly 90% of the diet is Togo is carbohydrates.  If pate is not eaten at a meal it’s replaced with another carb, whether it be pasta (called “spaghetti” or “maca”-roni here sine the French word for pasta is the same as pate), rice, bread, or yams (pounded into a stick paste call fou fou).

Another passion for food is oil.  Much of what is eaten here is fried.  Before every dinner I get from my host mother an appetizer of fried yams, plantains, sweet potato, or other root (Taro etc.).  On the street women sell fried dough, fried bananas, fried tofu, and other fried pastries.   

In addition to frying foods oil is used heavily in many of the sauces.  The base of many of the sauces is vegetable oil or even healthier, with much saturated fat, palm oil.  It is rare to eat vegetables and proteins and the sauces tend to be limited to tomatoes, onions, and okra. Thankfully the Peace Corps has explained that we Americans need more veggies and protein than that to be healthy.  In spite of this 85% of my diet is empty carbs.  I have been so lucky as to have a carb trifecta for a meal with fried yams, bread, and pasta, don’t forget the oil poured on top...

My mother also feeds me an incredible amount.  There may be a stereotype that Jewish mothers provide an endless supply of tasty food to her children and guests, but you haven’t met a Togolese woman yet.  You are expected to have third and fourth helpings of everything.  I am given fried treats before each meal and as snacks throughout the day.  I am given a giant bowl of pasta or pate and I’m expected to eat it all and they tease me if I don’t finish.

A lack of food security is something often associated with African nations and malnourished stick-thin children.  But it is often not a lack of food that is the main problem but a lack of quality foods.  Eating carbohydrates and fats alone provides energy but doesn’t provide the nutrients needed to build a strong body or immune system.  Like my sister said, people are under the impression that pate and other carbs are the key to health and productivity in the fields.  But it’s not providing a higher quantity of food, but providing higher quality of food that is important.  Providing high quality foods and educating people about the importance of a diverse diet that also incorporates fruits, vegetables, and proteins is the key to health not just a larger quantity of food.  

A New Home (June 7, 2011)

After our introductory lessons in Lomé we are headed north about 45 mins to our training sites where we’ll be spending the next nine weeks.  SED is being placed in the regional capital of Tsevie (chev-e-ay) and the CHAP volunteers are placed in a farming community Gbatope (bah-toe-pay) 6km away.  I’ve been told that our training sites are foreshadowing our posts in the future.  The SED volunteers are in a city, have electricity, running water and ready access to the internet, market, post office, and other amenities afforded by a big city.  In Gbatope the community only received electricity a few months before we arrived and only a few of us volunteers are living in homes that have electricity (myself not included).  

Here in Gbatope I live with a host family on their farm a little outside of town.  I have five siblings ranging from the age of 18 to 7, Jean is 18, Mary is 16, Adjo is 15, Victorine “Victo” is 11 and Ansin who is 7.  In addition, my father’s sister, his aunt, and a cousin have houses on the compound.   Along with the five children in my immediate family there are four others ages 1.5, 5, 6, and 12.

Joining the fifteen humans there are sheep, ducks, chickens that roam freely, and a donkey.  The donkey is a novelty for the southern region of Maritime.  Donkeys are much more common up north in the Savannes region.  When asking what family I live with people they know it as “the one with the donkey.”  Donkeys are pretty strange animals and the braying adds to the cacophony that’s ever present on the farm.

The main house, where I have a room, is a cement building with three bedrooms, a living room, a washroom, and a front porch that spans the width of the house.  Without electricity or running water, there is an outside kitchen which consists of a palm frond canopy over an earthen stove and a small charcoal stove.  Another small wood building with a tin roof serves as storage for all the kitchen implements and a place to escape the rain during meal times.

Also on the compound are two small two room cement houses with tin roofs and one house made of bricks from the dark red mud found in the area.  I also have a small private walled in bamboo latrine/ shower area outside.  It’s here I get to take bucket showers under the stars while being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

This is where I’ll be calling home while I’m in training.  The Peace Corps places us with host families as a crash course in cultural integration and I’m excited to get to know my family, but with language barriers it can be tough to live with a new family.

First Impressions: Lomé (June 3, 2011)

When we arrived, around 7pm, in the capital it was already dark.  That didn’t keep it from being ridiculously hot.  Coming from the weather of Upstate New York where it hasn’t gotten over 75 degrees, 95 with humidity roughly equivalent to being in a swimming pool feels only slightly oppressive.

From the stairs off the plane we were shepherded through the presidential entrance, surely a place that the majority of people passing through the airport.  From there we were piled into trucks and brought to a hotel where we were sat down in the near darkness of a bamboo courtyard of sand and the Peace Corps nurse went down the row handing each a pill.  This may have been the beginning of our anti-malarial prophylaxis but then again if the pill had been blue instead of beige it may have been the beginning of the matrix.  We took the pill and soon enough we’d wake up to a world outside the Matrix of fast-food restaurants, hybrid cars, and Super Walmarts.

After my assumptions about what a third world country would be, I was pleasantly surprised by my room in the hotel.  I had my own bathroom and pretty close to a normal bed.  While I can’t say exactly what I was expecting; maybe a latrine outside? No running water?  Not electricity and a fan in my room…  One thing I did expect though was the mosquito net I’ll be sleeping under for the next two years.  I can’t help but be reminded of those tent forts you put up over your bed as a kid. 

At 2 am it was still over 90 degrees in my room and even with a fan I spent the night perspiring.  If I thought I had melted as much as I possibly could, I was wrong, when I stepped out into the sun.  During the five minute walk to the Peace Corps bureau, I’m pretty sure I that I started burning after the first two minutes.

The part of the city I got to see on the short walk to the bureau was sandy streets and cement walls.  On first look it was hard to see the difference between commercial establishments and personal homes.  There are a few stands set up selling local foods and some small items.  There are kids everywhere roaming the streets without shoes.

Over the next four days we once again received a few shots in each arm and I continued to melt.  We spent the days learning about Togo and the PC policies, most of all we were cautioned not to go near the beach, which was just a block from the PC main office.  The beach is a hotspot for crime in the city and it is not only at night that people are mugged.  From afar the beach looks like a picturesque tropical paradise, but with a closer look you can see the pipe of raw sewage streaming into the waves.  There won’t be any beach vacationing in Togo for me…

From the beginning (June 2, 2011)

Before heading out to Togo I’ve met up with twenty-two other Peace Corps volunteers in Philadelphia, Pa.  The volunteers will be working in one of two subject areas, CHAP (Community Health and AIDS Prevention) and SED (…I don’t actually know the acronym, but it’s for business development).  These are two out of the four programs that the Peace Corps operates in Togo.  The other two being: GEE (Girls Education and Empowerment) and NRM (Natural Resource Management).

In Philly we met up for last minute preparations; a few vaccinations, more than a few signatures, and a focusing session on what to expect, and what we expect, for our service.  I didn’t know what to expect, with limited information on Togo and only a vague sense of the actual work I’d be doing in this ‘third world country’, all I can do is enjoy my last shower, swim in the soft sheets and let my head sink into the fluffy pillow—for one thing, I know I don’t expect to have a real shower or bed for two years.

The next day after a final bowl of the American classic of Fruit Loops, we are piled onto a bus and sent out ALONE to JFK to catch our flight and begin the well over twenty hour journey to Lomé, Togo.  As an aside, going and communicating to Togo is an expensive affair.  My one way ticket through Paris was well over $2,000 and even the cheapest phone call to Togo is around $0.40 per minute.  This is a stark contrast to other West African countries that border Togo.  Ghana, a country that the capital of Togo (Lomé) literally borders, costs over a thousand dollars less to fly there, phone calls cost 50% less and good old snail mail is cheaper too.  These  things mean limited communication or maybe another piece of the adventure.

A journey over three continents is plenty of time to ponder what I’m thinking traveling a few thousand miles to live in a mud hut, no electricity, no water… that may be part of the allure, just jump right in, but twenty hours can feel like an awfully long time to drop not knowing what you are going to land in. I'm off Togo here I come.

It's only been a little while...

Well, this is embarrassing!  I have been in Togo for nearly 4 months and I have not successfully made a single post to this blog.  Without a computer to type up posts, a foreign keyboard, and limited access to a slow internet connection has proven to be too much of an obstacle for me.  From now on though, with the addition of my own private computer and an internet key, things are going to change. 

While the time line may begin a little distorted, I hope to get up to speed and be more consistent with posts as my service continues.  So, sorry for the long absence, but from here on I’m yours.

On Our Way

We are off.  After a wirlwind staging in Philly we are headed to JFK for a red eye flight to Paris and then on to Lome Togo.

During staging I learned that I will be headed out with a group of 23 volunteers consisting of both health volunteers (CHAP) and business volunteers. They are all exceptional people and after a few ice breaker games I am looking forward to getting to know them better in the coming weeks.

With a scambe for the last few checks of email and phome calls we have piled a few mountans of luggage on to the bus and away we go.

Disclaimer

I wanted to take this time to make it known that the contents of this blog are my own and do not represent the opinions of the Peace Corps or US Government.

14 Days and counting

It is now just two weeks until I leave.  I am all packed.  I remarkably have only my backpack and two carry-on sized pieces of luggage and, if I wasn't insistent on bringing a two year supply of the toiletries I like, I would have very easily have not even had those extra bags.  My only packing dilemma has been the number of books I wish to bring and the fact that my trainers do not squish into tiny spaces like my clothes do.

I realize I have sort of jumped to gun on getting packing, but I suppose being anxious and the fear that everything I have would not fit into my bag spurred me into action.  Now I have a pile of luggage sitting in my room staring at me while I absorb my last bit of America, sucking down craisins, sitting in fleece pants and a sweatshirt enjoying the cool weather while I can, and watching every TV show I can get my hands on.

Pin pointing exactly how I am feeling is difficult because it hardly seems real at the moment, but with every friend or family member I say goodbye to it touches home just a little bit more.  These last weeks will fly by and with a trip back to the alma mater the day I head out is very near.  My parents have been relatively mum about my going away, but we'll see how things go as the day grows nearer.

A letter from the Peace Corps to Family and Friends

Dear Families,

Greetings from the Togo Desk in Washington, D.C.  It is with great pleasure that we welcome your family member to the Togo training program.  Over the years we have received many questions from Volunteers and family members alike regarding travel plans, sending money, relaying messages and mail, etc.  As we are unable to involve ourselves in the personal arrangements of Volunteers, we would like to offer you advice and assistance in advance by providing specific examples of situations and how we suggest they be handled.

1.  Irregular Communication.  (Please see #3 for the mailing address to Peace Corps' office in Lomé the capital of Togo).  The mail service in Togo is not as efficient as the U.S. Postal Service.  Thus, it is important to be patient.  It can take from three to four weeks for mail coming from Togo to arrive in the United States via the Togolese mail system.  From a Volunteer’s post, mail might take up to one to two months to reach the United States depending upon how far the Volunteer is from the capital city, Lomé.  Sometimes mail is hand carried to the States by a traveler and mailed through the U.S. postal system.  This leg of the trip can take another several weeks as it is also dependent on the frequency of travelers to the U.S.

We suggest that in your first letters, you ask your Volunteer family member to give an estimate of how long it takes for him or her to receive your letters and then try to establish a predictable pattern of how often you will write to each other.  Also try numbering your letters so that the Volunteer knows if he or she missed one.  Postcards should be sent in envelopes--otherwise they may be found on the wall of the local post office.

Peace Corps Togo has established “The Lomé Limo” which runs up and down the country monthly, delivers mail, medical supplies, and sometimes volunteers or staff to central sites along the national road.

Volunteers often enjoy telling their “war” stories when they write home.  Letters might describe recent illnesses, lack of good food, isolation, etc.  While the subject matter is often good reading material, it is often misinterpreted on the home front.  Please do not assume that if your family member gets sick that he or she has not been attended to.  The city of Lomé has medical and dental facilities, and there is a Peace Corps Medical Officer there as well.  Most Volunteers can reach Lomé in less than one day’s time.  Many Volunteers also have access to a telephone so that they can call our Medical Office.  In the event of a serious illness the Volunteer is sent to Lomé and is cared for by our Medical Unit.  If the Volunteer requires medical care that is not available in Togo, he/she will be medically evacuated to South Africa or to the United States.  Fortunately, such circumstances are very rare.

If for some reason your communication pattern is broken and you do not hear from your family member for at least one month, you should contact the Counseling and Outreach Unit (COU) at Peace Corps in Washington at 1-800-424-8580, extension 1470 (or direct: 202-692-1470).  The COU will then call the Peace Corps Director in Lomé, and ask her to check up on the Volunteer.  Also, in the case of an emergency at home (death in the family, sudden illness, etc.), please do not hesitate to call COU immediately, so that the Volunteer can be informed by a member of Peace Corps/Togo staff.

2.  Telephone Calls.  The telephone system in Togo has fairly reliable service to the United States.  In the interior of the country, where most of our Volunteers are located, the system is less reliable.  Most Volunteers have access to a telephone in or nearby their site. 

When dialing direct to Togo from the U.S., dial 011 (the international access code) + 228 (the country code) + the number.  Volunteers generally set up phone calls with people in the U.S. in advance, and have the distant party call them, which is much less expensive than calling the U.S. from Togo.  Many volunteers decide to purchase cellphones once they arrive in Togo, but they may not always have regular reception at their site.

The Togo Desk in Washington, D.C. usually calls the Peace Corps office in Lomé at least once a week.  However, these calls are reserved for business only and we cannot relay personal messages over the phone.  If you have an urgent message, however, and have exhausted your other means (regarding travel plans, etc.), you can call the Desk, and the message will be relayed. 

3.  Sending Packages.  Parents and Volunteers like to send and receive care packages through the mail.  Unfortunately, sending packages can be a frustrating experience for all involved due the high incidence of theft and heavy customs taxes.  You may want to send inexpensive items through the mail, but there is no guarantee that these items will arrive.  We do not recommend, however, that costly items be sent through the mail. Even though many Volunteers sometimes choose to get local post office boxes, you may always use the following address to send letters and/or packages to your family member:          

           Elizabeth Stevens, PCV

                 Corps de la Paix

                    B.P. 3194

                    Lomé, Togo

                    West Africa

It is recommended that packages be sent in padded envelopes if possible, as boxes tend to be taxed more frequently.  Packages can be sent via surface mail (2-3 weeks arrival time) or by ship (4-6 months).  The difference in cost can be a factor in deciding which method to utilize.  For lightweight but important items (e.g. airline tickets), DHL (an express mail service) does operate in Lomé, but costs are very expensive.  If you choose to send items through DHL, you must address the package to the Country Director, s/c Corps de la Paix, 48 Rue de Rossignols, Quartier Kodjoviakopé, Lomé, Togo.  The telephone number for the Peace Corps office in Togo is (228) 221-0614, should DHL need this information.  If you send the item to the Country Director, no liability can be assumed.  For more information about DHL, please call their toll free number, 1-800-CALL-DHL, or visit their web site at www.dhl.com.   Please be aware that there is a customs fee for all DHL packages sent to Volunteers.  For each DHL package, the Volunteer will be taxed 10,000 CFA (roughly US$20). 

Sending airplane tickets and/or cash is not recommended.  Certain airlines will allow you to buy a prepaid ticket in the States; they will telex their Lomé office to have the ticket ready.  Unfortunately, this system is not always reliable.  Many airlines (e.g., KLM, Air France, Ghana Airways, Air Togo) fly into Lomé or Accra, but each has its own policy on pre-paid tickets.  Please call the airline of your choice for more information.  You could also send tickets via DHL as mentioned previously.  However, Peace Corps will assume no liability in the event of a lost/stolen airline ticket.

Trying to send cash or airline tickets is very risky and is discouraged.  If your Volunteer family member requests money from you, it is his/her responsibility to arrange receipt of it.  Some Volunteers use Western Union, which has an office in Lomé.  Volunteers will also be aware of people visiting the States and can request that they call his/her family when they arrive in the States should airline tickets need to be sent back to Togo. 

4. E-mail.  There is fairly reliable e-mail service in Togo with cyber cafes in most large towns.  Connections can be very slow and time consuming as well as costly.  E-mail, however, may become the preferred method of communication between you and your family member in Togo.  Not all Volunteers have access to e-mail on a daily basis but they should be able to read and send messages at least once a month.  As with other means of communication, do not be alarmed if you do not receive daily or weekly messages.  Unless in Lomé at the office, Volunteers have to pay for internet time at cyber cafes and this can be a slow or expensive process depending on the connection at the café.

We hope this information is helpful to you during the time your family member is serving as

a Peace Corps Volunteer in Togo. We understand how frustrating it is to communicate with your family member overseas and we appreciate your using this information as a guideline.  Please feel free to contact us at the Togo Desk in Washington, DC, if you have further questions.  You can find our telephone numbers below.

Sincerely, 

Ana Cardoso

Country Desk Officer

1-800-424-8580, option 2, ext. 2332

(202) 692-2332

Greetings

Helllooo everyone,

I wanted to make this blog to share my adventures in my Peace Corps service in Togo, West Africa.  A couple months ago I found out that I will be headed out on June 1st.

I will be heading out with the public health section of PC and my official assignment is labeled "Community Health Educator and/or Public Health Advisor." I must say as the time draws near I am getting very excited/nervous/anxious, but I can't wait.

With this blog I hope to keep everyone updated on the goings on in Togo, but I cannot make any promises to posting with any regularity.