The People You’ll Meet

Listening to the news it’s easy to be afraid of the world outside your own small community. There seems to be no end to the violence, misery, and people filled with hatred. Whether it’s religion, culture, or the language we speak, there are many things in life that we let divide us. It’s easy to make assumptions about other people, to fear what we don’t know, and keep ourselves isolated in our own groups, but if my experiences in another culture have shown me anything it’s that when you move beyond the differences, you can find the most amazing people and form enduring bonds.

Travel isn't just about seeing historical sights and eating exotic foods; meeting the people that truly make that place what is can be a far more powerful experience. Visiting other countries has allowed me to see places for what they are beyond their news worthy headlines. Interacting with people who have a different background than I do has helped me appreciate that—while we might have some different views—wherever you go you will find good people and a friend.  

I haven’t always been the best at branching out here in Togo, language barriers and a mild fear of expectations of me have kept me from being as social I might usually be, but despite this I have never had difficulty finding someone to share a laugh or lend a hand. Plenty of strangers have helped me when I was in need; I have had people not only give me directions, but walk with me to my destination. Except for a few high market prices, no one has ever tried to take advantage of me. I have become good friends with my colleagues and neighbors. The people here don’t live up to the hype of protests and violence perpetrated by the few in the larger cities that dominates all the news focusing on Togo.

Having the chance to go abroad has not only allowed me change my preconceived notions about what a country is by meeting the locals, but has also let me meet wonderful people from my own country—some of whom have resided in the same city as I did, but if we hadn't come to Africa we never would have met.

There are so many amazing people in the world it is an injustice to never let yourself see that. It’s true that not everything you see will be beautiful—there are horrors in the world and bad people definitely exist—but without venturing out and seeing beyond the fears spread in the news, you will never get to know that there are good and decent people out there, that—while things aren't perfect and never will be—even in the worst of places you will find reason to hope in the people you meet.

What’s More American?

We Americans love our baked goods. We have our birthday cakes, holiday pies, bake sales, and milk and cookies.  I mean, after all, we are a nation that measures American-ness by a baked good.

A fake pumpkin pie I baked for Thanksgiving with papayas.

Like many of my peers, I baked occasionally when I was living in the U.S., but since living in Togo, with a bit more time to myself, my baking habit has increased quite a bit. When I’m bored I bake, there definitely are worse habits to have, but it sure hasn't been the best for my waistline! In an attempt to moderate my baked good intake I occasionally bring what I bake into work with me.

I've brought in a number of things from peanut butter cookies, to brownies and carrot cake into the office to share with my colleagues. Each one has proven to be quite a novelty; baked goods hardly exist in Togo. You can find packaged cookies in some of the boutiques, pastries in Lomé and some of the biggest cities, and bread that is made in some of the larger towns, but your average citizen never really bakes. You can find wheat flour based treats, but they are almost always fried.

My colleagues frequently ask how make the cake and cookies I bring in and finally on Friday my friends Felicité and Delphine came over to learn how to bake. After lunch we made some brownies. I taught them how to set up a Dutch oven to bake on the stove and showed them all the little baking techniques I've watched my mom use from since I was a child. Of course some of our implements were a little different; with no measuring cups we used tomato paste cans and our baking chocolate was a chocolate drink mix. In the end, though, we sat around the pan and dug into the warm gooey brownies by the spoonful.

I translated a few other recipes for them into French and the tomato can measures. They both excitedly said they were going to go home and bake this week-end so, maybe tomorrow I’ll get to hear about their experiments with cakes and cookies. My second goal here with the Peace Corps is to share American culture and what’s more American than apple pie, er… brownies?

Vogantↄ

Being a foreigner, it can be difficult to really feel as though you belong in your community, especially in a larger town where you cannot get to know everyone. This is even truer on market days when people from all over the region convene in Vogan and I run into people I don’t even get to casually see around town. Being seen as the foreigner can be disheartening after living in a community for nearly two years, and occasionally events occur that make you feel conflicting emotions. Today I had just that occur, making today quite possibly both the best and worst day I have had in Vogan, as far as dealing with my sense of belonging here.

While running my typical errands to the market, I was harassed by a couple men I had never seen before. As I was chatting with one of the women from whom I frequently buy my vegetables, a man grabbed my arm and a second reached out to stroke me cheek. When I told them not to touch me and moved away from them, they began verbally abusing me, shouting at both me and those around me that I was a number of bad words for daring to tell them to leave me alone. For more than ten minutes the man yelled at anyone nearby about how I didn’t belong there, that I offended them, and that I was scared of a little stroke on the cheek. I chose to ignore them and continued buy my eggs, vegetables, and spices, greeting each vendor as though there wasn’t a man yelling about me just five feet away.

While I may have been working on pretending they didn’t exist, I was worried. I have had people try to touch me and shout at me, but never with such vehemence. But while I was frightened, at the same time I felt the most overpowering sense of love and belonging that it almost brought me to tears. Each of the women that work the stands told me to ignore them and let me know that they were there for me. They protected me, telling the men to leave their sister alone and to get away from their part of the market.

I couldn’t help feeling a little jumpy as I completed my shopping, but as I passed vendors shouting my name saying hello, friends shaking my hand, and a few extra sticks of soja as a gift, I knew I had nothing to worry about; these men and women were my community and they would be there for me. I always tell people that I am Vogantↄ (one from Vogan), but today I didn’t need to say anything, because by standing with me, they were the ones who told me that I really am Vogantↄ.

There She Blows

For two years Harmattan has been a mystery to me. My friends up north speak about dry winds, cool nights, and a constant haze of dust blowing in from the north, but down here, just a few dozen kilometers from the ocean, this “Harmattan” has remained a myth to me—until yesterday.

The night before I flicked on my fan, hoping to dispel some of the sweat that is ever present on my back in the typical 80% humidity that never lets me get fully dry, and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning a little chilly with my fan blowing on me, but sometimes that happens when the temperature drops down to 80 degrees overnight.  I ran my comb through my hair to hear the
zip zap crackling of static rushing through my hair—this was bizarre, I hadn't experienced static since Europe—I ran my hands over my skin, smoothness—no damp stickiness—one more stroke, textural bliss, and I knew I couldn’t possibly have woken up in the same place I fell asleep. but alas, I had. From 80% the night before, the humidity had dropped to 20%. In my time here it has never ever ever been anywhere close to this dry.  Harmattan had finally made its way south.

Harmattan is a trade wind that blows in from the Sahara that lasts during what we’d call the winter months, November to March. With it, it brings very low humidity and lots of dust. Volunteers further north in Savannes and Kara battle dry cracking skin, respiratory problems, and dirt that invades everywhere. Down here in Maritime, though, the weather hardly changes, we have little rain but that is it—that is our Harmattan.

Increasing severity of the trade wind, which can limit visibility similar to a dense fog for days making driving and air travel near impossible, has been attributed do deforestation allowing for more particulate matter to be picked up and leading to stronger winds that have little barrier to pushing further south. A friend told me that in the past Harmattan barely touched Kara, it affected Savannes, but was more often thought of as something in Burkina Faso. Today, Harmattan is brutal in Burkina, strong in Kara, and now even touching Maritime.

The drop in humidity has been a blessing for me. These past two days I have been more productive than I have been in a while. Not being sticky made me finally feel comfortable and exerting myself didn't leave me with a puddle of sweat on the floor. While I am concerned for the ecological implications of increasing Harmattan strength, if I can feel like a human for a little while longer, let the winds blow!

In Togo Taxi Hails You

For a while now I have been meaning to talk about the transportation here.  It is an issue that really affects my life, but I kept telling myself that I wanted some major event to occur so that I could relate my story about how crazy transportation is.  But the other day, as I bounced along though the motocross course that is the road to my neighbor’s house, I realized that I have been in Togo so long that I have stopped noticing the fact that basically every time I travel it is an absurd event.

Unlike some other West African countries, like Ghana, in Togo the main form of transportation is the motorcycle or “moto.” There are a handful of cars, but unless you are traveling on very major routes you will most likely be taking a zimijan (moto-taxi). For this reason we Togo PCVs are some of the few with moto privileges. Out of our neighboring West African Peace Corps countries, Benin is the only other one where volunteers are allowed to hop on the back of a zimijan. Helmet required of course!

In New York, unless you hail it, a taxi won’t stop for you and even then sometimes they seem to fly right by, but here is doesn’t matter even if you don’t want one, the zimijan will hail you. From across the street you’ll hear it “Tssst! Tsst!” maybe a hand gesture and an “on y va?” (Let’s go?) They may be zipping down the road in the opposite direction but they’ll slam on their brakes and turn around just to hiss at you in the hope you might actually want to hop on. Walk down the street and you’ll have twenty zimijans hiss at you, no matter how determinedly you walk or if they just saw you turn down another moto, it is always “on y va?”  It helps having them make themselves known from the private motos, but when you are walking down the street talking to a friend and every moto that passes you hisses, shouts, and gestures to see if you want a ride it can get pretty ridiculous. I need a light up taxi sign for myself, except the light will go on when I want a taxi rather than when I want passengers. Sadly I don’t have the wiring necessary, all I can do is sigh and shake my head, “No, no I don’t want a ride, I have feet, I am walking.”

The driving skill of the drivers can vary a lot too. If I’m planning a trip I have one driver who I trust and I call him ahead of time, but not every trip is planned in advance. On one trip to Aneho, where normally we weave around the potholes, my driver decided to drive straight through each and every one. He graciously shouted “doucement!” (be careful!) after each bump, but his message of caution had no impact whatsoever on his driving style, next pot hole “doucement!”

With the road conditions as they are it can sometimes be difficult to not hit a bump or two every now and then, and even with one passenger the roads can be perilous, but just one passenger isn’t how things work here. While technically it is illegal, you often see whole families piled onto a moto--that is saying sometimes upwards of three adults and children. Live animals, construction equipment, and containers piled high—everything you think might not even fit into the trunk of your car is carried on the back of a moto. It hardly has to be said that navigating our roads with overly full motos is dangerous, and thousands of people die every year from motor vehicles accidents.

In many villages there isn’t a single car available, the moto is the only mode of transport, so really all there is to ask is, “Tsst! On y va?”

Liz Spectacular!

Life’s a stage, or at least it became one when I moved to Togo. Based on the reaction I get from the communities in which I live and work, I may very well be deserving of a primetime slot as their very own one woman sit-com—Though, I may fall more into the category of the slapstick humor of the three stooges more than anything else.

Based on my unique appearance I have long grown used to being stared and shouted at, but it is really only just dawning on me that I may very well be the most talented, funniest, and the clumsiest person in Togo. You may well remember the Liz from the U.S. being very much average, maybe a little clumsy, but not really TV quality material. What, you may ask, have I been smoking? Well if you had just had the morning I did and really the last year I’ve been living you may very well form the same opinion of yourself.

This morning I visited two villages in order to talk about HIV/AIDS.  I said “hello, my name is Yawavi” (my local name). I got hoots and a big round of applause, and then I blew them away with a good old explanation of my job, that one got a song in response. I was speaking the same language a three-year-old speaks here and probably at an even lower level, but with every Ewe word out of my mouth it’s like I have given a rousing speech, or maybe announced I was about to give everyone free candy. I can simply ask someone how things are going and there is a ripple through the crowd exclaiming how incredible it is. The only logical conclusion is that since coming to Togo I have become more eloquent and inspired in my speech.

In order to animate the crowed and lure villagers from their homes we asked a few traditional music groups to play their drums and sing. This of course leads to dancing, and believe you me, when I get up to dance it is a revelation everyone hugs me and shouts for joy. During events I often join in with the women dancing.  I follow along and hope that I break into fast dancing at the right time. Everyone wants to dance with me, and even those just spectating split into grins and give me a few good pats. Conclusion, it may just be that I am an awesome dancer.

Now alongside my previously mentioned talents of oration and dance, is the talent of being able to make everyone say “doucement” nearly every other word. “Doucement” translates into “be careful” and is said whenever anyone has an accident or nearly one or for me anytime I move. If I kick a clod of dirt as I walk, “doucement!” if I take a big step down a hill, “doucement!” if I step to the side to avoid being hit by a moto, “doucement!” if I slightly move a chair so that it scrapes on the floor, “doucement!” if the colleague I’m walking with stumbles slightly...silence, if I stumble slightly, “doucement!” Really I might as well accept that I have the making of the next slapstick humor star.

Everywhere I go I have a spotlight shining on me and I cannot do or say the simplest things without an audience. I am a one woman circus performing amazing feats of language and movement. While I can pretend that I’m under the big top wowing crowds with my tricks, I know that more likely than not I am actually in the sideshow tent.  I am alongside the dog walking on its hind legs and a singing parrot, but at least I’m getting laughs and smiles. For a limited time only it’s a Liz Spectacular!

If You See Something, Say Something

There are many things we take for granted in the U.S., one of them being our school system.  While there are many ways in which our system could be improved, we are very lucky to have it.  It’s not just that schooling is available to every child regardless of income, but that our schools often provide an experience that is beyond solely wrought memorization of the material itself. 

Our children are encouraged far beyond just being a text book of state mandated material. Students are more often than not taught to think deeper about the material presented; a history lesson isn't just names and dates that need to remembered, but a lesson about our past and how it has impacted us today, and how it could impact our future. We have extracurricular activities that encourage teamwork, communication, community involvement, and creativity such as athletics, debate, Model UN, Amnesty International, and art club.  Although some of these activities fall under threat when cutting budgets is concerned, our students and teacher benefit immensely from the fact that most of these clubs and activities are budgeted right into our school system. It is with opportunities like these that our students are encouraged to be leaders and where passionate educators can reach out beyond the classroom to inspire students.

We can sometimes take for granted these resources that are available to us when we are young. It’s easy to think that, “Of course I’m able to stay after school and solve math problems with my fellow mathletes under the tutelage of our math teacher.” But in some places, not everyone—really almost no one—has the opportunity to ever experience an extracurricular activity. In the school system of Togo there aren't the resources to pay the teachers much less buy a ball for a soccer team. Without property taxes like in the U.S., school in Togo isn’t free for every student and often teachers make barely enough to live on. While it may seem cheap and easy for a group of students to get together and discuss politics after school, think about how difficult it could be to even give your time if you had to work a second job to feed your family or work in the field to help you family pay for your school fees.

When students do get an opportunity to use their skills outside of the classroom it is wonderful to see their enthusiasm.  This past Saturday we finished up a three day peer-educator training for 35 students and five teachers from five middle and high schools in the area. We covered topics ranging from basic reproductive anatomy and discrimination to how to run a club and present material to other students.  Much of what was covered is something that students never get the opportunity see or do.

The main topic of our training was HIV/AIDS.  In Togo, AIDS is a disease that gains a foothold thanks to the fear surrounding the disease.  HIV/AIDS is a disease that can really only be fought with awareness, including testing and knowing how and when to take preventative measures. There is hardly any dialogue about HIV/AIDS in Togo and often if you host a talk about AIDS people will actively avoid participation because it makes them uncomfortable. There also exists a significant amount of stigmatization associated with people living with HIV/AIDS and discrimination can make people avoid being associated with the disease in any way.  People are also not aware of medications available free from the government or other measures they can take to keep from getting ill, making people feel that HIV is an immediate death sentence. This creates a big obstacle to getting people to get tested for the disease.  Without knowing their status people can unwittingly spread the disease to their partners and children. Not knowing your status can also mean you are not getting the treatment you need to stay healthy and delay the progression to AIDS.

In our training we attempted to tackle all the issues that could present obstacles to the students being able to inform their peers about HIV/AIDS.  We gave them the technical information on the disease, how you can contract it, and how to prevent its spread.  We also gave them techniques to use to talk of HIV/AIDS (as well as other topics) and spoke about the obstacles that arise, like stigmatization and discrimination.

I had the opportunity to lead the session about discrimination. We spoke about why discrimination occurs and the impact it has on the people discriminated, particularly focusing on the impact as related to HIV/AIDS.  As peer-educators, and now enlightened individuals I told them that they must stand up to discrimination and educate people on why they shouldn't discriminate against people with HIV (or any person for that matter).  I came up with a nice and catchy slogan to encourage the students to not be passive in the face of discrimination.  The slogan was, “If you see something, say something.” You know, I thought I was pretty creative making such a catchy and easy to remember mantra, but about ¾ the way through I realized where I’d heard it before. That just happens to be the slogan of the anti-terrorism signs posted in the NYC subways, among other places. Congratulations homeland security, your message has reached Togo. Well, at least the students seemed to understand what I was getting at.

This week we are introducing the participants as trained peer-educators to their fellow students and teachers. In each of the five schools an anti-AIDS club is going to be formed to provide an opportunity for those students trained to reach out to their peers and their community, hopefully creating a dialogue about HIV/AIDS and helping to halting the spread of the disease.