Feeling better

Okay, I'm back. Feeling better today and have taken care of what I assume is the worse of the meds. So let's jump right into the meaty stuff.

My post is in the south of Togo. Togo is divided into 5 regions, Savannes, Kara, Central, Plateau, and mine, the southern most region, Maritime. I am in the top left hand corner of the region, about 60km from Lome and less than 20 km from the border of Benin. My village is actually villages, meaning that I am the health volunteer for a group of 10 village, the largest of which I call home. The ethnic group are the Ewe, languages spoken are French for those who are educated, Ewe and Mina. Everyone would like to speak English, and give me their children, and marry me. By the way, I'm engaged, since I can't right out lie and say I'm married though I have taken to wearing the third pagne. Wait, that makes no sense, hold on:

Pagnes are beautifully decorated cloth that people use to make clothes. Rarely are clothes ready made, instead people buy pagne, and then take it to you the appropriately gendered tailor and have outfits made. Needless to say, I love this and think I am going to solely wear Togolese clothes while I am hear. Anyway, wearing a third pagne, around you waist or over your shoulder, means you are married.

So anyway, my village is considered to be "en brousse" because I have limited access to food and necessities, no electricity, unreliable cell phone reception, and cars that only leave two days a week because the 8 km long road that leads to the next large town is so bad it looks like Swiss cheese. Not funny when you are driving it. In fact, I have moto privileges because of this. Motos are catching a ride with men who drive motorcycles. It gets pretty crazy sometimes and you see an entire small family and a goat on a small motorcycle.

This being said, my village is also pretty comfortable as far as health volunteer villages go. I have running water and a wonderful house with a large pouch, flush toilet, shower, and big living room. I believe the house is owned by some old political bigwig. Also, the Chief of my village is young and motivated for change, and there are a few different NGOs and dispensaries that I could work with so in terms of being able to do some work I am in a good spot. Also, I am close to hippos and alligators which is sweet. And there is a lot of Voodoo in my area, which I will be sure to explore once I am able to ask about it.

My french has grown at alarming speed though I am still not able to have an adult conversation. It also comes and goes, for example, one day I will be winning and argument with a Togolese man about the merits of family planning ("But who will work in the fields if I get sick", they say. "What? You don't have fields, Jesus Christ", I reply) and the next week I can barely order a beer. But for the benefit of all, I have refrained from peppering this blog entry with french to avoid sounding too pretentious.

Okay, gotta to. Quickly, Togo is without a doubt a patriarchy that is a pain in my ass, though to be fair there are equally annoying men in the U.S. It is also very, very poor. In retrospect, I think my decision to live in a developing country for two years was greatly aided by my having never been to a developing country before. It can be overwhelming, but I will get in all this next time.

I think a good way to proceed with this blog thing would for all of you to send me questions which I will then post responses. I promise! Also, no one has sent me anything yet. I didn't want to say anything, but it just makes you look bad. Things I need include the following:

Magazines
Candy
Music (on Cds, mp3s, this is incredibly urgent and must be sent as soon as possible)
Dark chocolate
Tank tops (medium)
Presents!

Padded envelopes pass through easier than boxes, US mail is best, and make sure you send it out to "PCV Souer Natasha Ott" and cover it with crosses and the like. For some reason divine intervention is necessary.

"PCV Souer Natasha Ott"
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 3194
Lome(accent on the "e"), Togo
West Africa

Til we meet again,
Natasha