8 months down, Part 1

Hello Everyone. I would like to begin by clarifying something from my previous post. I do not mean to seem greedy or unappreciative to those who have sent me packages, letters and emails. Packages are wonderful, but all I really need is for people to keep in touch with me and send me the occasional email or well wishes. I understand that this may come across as hypocritical due to the fact that I have not been able to update as much as you or I would like and that I may not have be able to give a complete picture as to what I have been up to. Suffice to say that the Communication Age has not reached Togo and god knows it will probably take me years before I relate all that has been happening. I mean don’t worry, a lot of it is good, it just that whenever I try to think of what to tell everyone back home it makes me aware of how far away I am from whatever common ground I once existed that I do not even know where to begin. So I will segue that way I always do, with my hair.

People Touching my Hair

As some of you will remember from a previous post, when I was leaving to come to Togo my precious Deep Moistening Conditioner was confiscated in the name of International Security. I was understandably furious and feared for the future of my hair in the hot, tropical, African sun. Luckily, my hair has been holding up relatively well, though a little lighter, but I have not brought this up to set everyone's mind at ease. It is important for everyone to know that the Togolese freaking love my hair. LOVE IT. They like to touch it, pet it, braid it, comb it, brush it out of my face, and talk about it. Women ask me how I made it so smooth and they want to know if I can do the same for them or even better give my hair for them to use. Since I have arrived in village, I have seen more and more hairdresser hanging long, straight, golden-light-brown hair outside of their shops to sell. In the days before I left for Togo while I was doing a lot of last minute shopping, a “friend” mercilessly teased me because I was indifferent to everything I was buying except for my shampoo and conditioner. That I spent a good 30 minutes comparing, analyzing and debating over different brands. Now, as I recall that memory, I can only say that I was absolutely in the right and that my “friend” lacked the international savvy that I displayed that day.

This is a slight tangent, but I recently discovered that within the market of my small little village are bottles to lighten dark skin. This is just something to ponder.

Irrational Fears

After a month or two in Togo, I realized that I had suddenly developed acute fears of some of the everyday things I was experiencing. They usually feded and were replaced with another, sometimes more bizarre one. I will list some for you:

Latrines - I am a little embarrassed to admit this, but when I first came to Togo I had so idea what a latrine was. People explained that they are the same thing as Outhouses but I didn’t really understand what an outhouse was either. Nevertheless, I soon found out. Now, I should preface this by saying that I have been fortunate enough here in Togo to have only lived in houses with flush toilets. I don’t know how this happened as this is rare for volunteers, but I’m not questioning it. Though I am okay now, in the beginning I would avoid Latrines at all cost. It is not just that they smell bad, or that they maybe snakes and definitely a wide an assortment of insects (spiders, giant spiders). It was something about. I swear to you, the herds of flies and cockroaches that lived in the latrine charging towards my delicate ladies parts that I couldn’t swallow. I believe the defining moment for me was when slightly drunk in the afternoon (Togo is a drinking culture. Do not judge me) I made my way to the buvette’s latrine, took one long look at it, and decided to pee next to the latrine. Yep. Since that day I have made a lot of progress and am no longer afraid of Latrines, but then again I don’t have to use them.

Children- I should specify that I do not mean all children. Being here actually has awakened a long dormant love of children and reminded me of how much fun they can be. When I say children, what I am actually referring to is the disease-spreading side of their nature. The children I feared were the ringworm- headed, open and infected sore sporting, unwashed and latrine avoiding (can’t blame ‘em), handshaking, TB cough in your face, enthusiastic and happy to meet you children. Now I understand how much work is put into us when we are young to develop good hygiene and general self-care habits because here outside of the city you are at square fucking one. I should also mention that children generally become self-sufficient much quicker than U.S. and is it interesting to compare the difference between the hyper concern and insecurities of mothers in the states and nonchalance to indifference some mothers in Togo display. However, I will be completely real with you that the first time I saw a gang of 1 year olds running in front of a motorcycle or a 2 year old playing with a kitchen knife I was completely alarmed. Now I hardly notice it.

Mice- For 2 months, I was involved in a contest of wits with a family of six mice and a rat. I know how many because that is how many I killed. In all actuality, I did not really fear the mice so much as I feared their lack of fear of me. They would run over my foot, perch next to my head while I was eating, and ate all my food. They had to die.

Sensibilsations - I refused to give what in French are known as, health lectures based on not being strong in the language and that it was just another example of one of the biggest problems in development world. Basically white person comes, tell local population how they can live a better life, white person gives gifts, t-shirts, candy, and/ or money to locals. White person leaves, never comes back, and feels good about role in universe. Local person, wearing t-shirt, continues living life the same way as before, and the next time White person comes asks for t-shirt. Not interested. There is this psychology to poverty and development work that seems to prevent sustainable progress. Granted, there are many ways to gauge progress and I am young and inexperienced in this field and cannot see the whole picture. However, at a local, grassroots level I can say what is not going to work for me and my village and I am not going to do work that a local person should do himself or herself, such as a Sensibilsations. It’s is about sustainability. Luckily, my director agrees, so now I have to find away to convince my village it does not actually need me. Does that make sense? It will.

Premature Aging- When the hell did I become 27? I was just 24. Ultraviolet rays have never seemed so threatening. I have found myself closely examining every winkle and smile line and have found another gray hair. For those keeping track we are now up to two gray hairs. I understand that fixated on aging is silly, especially when one is still healthy and fully enjoying their twenties, and that years from now I will laugh at my vanity. But not yet…

Gastronomical Delights

Since my goat jaw story was so popular, I have another one for you.

The President of my Village's Community Development group had invited me over for lunch and he had his wife prepare a feast for him and me to share. Eating here is like a test of endurance, you have to be in it to win it. It is almost impolite to not ask for more and if you want more at someone else’s house you better believe that is going to be brought up. Anyway, Mr. President is pretty well off, he has 3 wives, 17 children, 3 homes, and a degree in Russian Language from University of Lomé. This meal had many courses, was served on table with a tablecloth and silverware (most people eat on the ground, out of a common pot with their hands) and I almost ate myself sick. I was digging into some fufu with goat when I come across a piece of meat that was all bone. Here whole animal is used here so I am accustomed to picking meat from leg bone, arm, rib, spine, I’m on it. Therefore, I figures that might be some juicy goat meat hidden within this mass of bones. Sure enough, I cracked it open and found what looked like a nice chuck of something still attacked to the bone and began to inspect it. I did not really like the texture, which was rubbery when I squeezed it, and it felt like might be full of fluid though its shape looked like it would be perfect to pop in my mouth. Mr. President asked if I interested in the meat since I was hesitatingly squeezing instead of eating. I confessed I did not know what it was and he explained that it was the eye of the goat. My own eyes got wide, I quickly flipped the piece over, and sure enough, the skin I had already decided against was in fact goat cheek and eyelid. I gave him big smile, picked the goat face out of my plate, and dropped it in his own. “C‘est pour vous” I explained. “Deui Merci” he responded and popped the eye in his mouth.

Quick Updates

*I suspect I can control the Togolese through music.

*People, men especially, when I express gratitude for something tend to respond that it is because I am “so beautiful” that they felt compelled to help me out in some way. I could see that. Please send sunscreen.

*Was given a cat by the aforementioned Mr. President after complaining about the aforementioned mice. I think he has a dark soul. His name is George or Georgette after Mr. Pres. We’ll soon find out.


Okay folks that is all for the moment. I will be sending out another update this weekend with pictures but wanted to get some of this mammoth entry out as it has already taken a month and a half to get it all together. Thanks to everyone for their Birthday well wishes and I hope to hear about everyone else’s life soon.
Natasha