Motos, Moto Riding and Moto Drivers

At the conclusion of June 2009, I classified my international internship in Shanghai as advantageous, fulfilling and money well spent. I enjoyed the Shanghainese cuisine, the Shanghai Business Review magazine, the people, and the city. After having arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport, I had one regret: Neither finding the time, nor having the cojones to ride a moto.

As luck would have it, instead of a lifetime of regret, I only needed to wait two years for satisfaction. Thank you Togo!

Even before PC Togo Introductions in Lomé, it was common knowledge that all-terrain bicycles are given to Volunteers for city/village transport. What didn’t I know? Evidently, grâce à Togolese infrastructure (or lack there of), Togo is one of only a few countries where moto helmets are also provided. Score! During Training, in addition to bike mechanics 101, my fellow Trainees and I got the lowdown on motoing in Togo—oh yeah, motoing is a word—and each Trainee received his or her helmet to decorate and keep throughout service.

So I suppose la question du jour is do I or don’t I enjoy riding motos? I FREAKING ADORE RIDING MOTOS. Just like my personality blossoms in a megalopolis, my body was built for motoing!

Basic moto must-dos:

· Wear your helmet—otherwise you’ll be administratively separated from PC.

· Negotiate fare before mounting moto.

· DO NOT wrap your arms around moto drivers—they aren’t your boyfriends and will probably assume you want a Togolese husband.

· Always mount a moto from the left (like a bicycle)—if not, beware of moto muffler!

· If you decide to wear a skirt or dress, hike it up and wrap a pagne (piece of fabric) around your legs.

· DOUCEMENT: Learn it, Live it, Love it. Doucement, meaning slowly or be careful in Togo, is very useful and comprehensible to all Togolese.

· Make sure the driver isn’t intoxicated—no matter if they are Muslim.

· If you have a monster daypack, hand it to the driver. There’s no extra praise for Volunteers who carry heavy packs on their backs if unnecessary.

It may simply be an adrenaline rush, but I get such a kick out of motoing in Togo. I may even go as far as rating it a highlight to any day in Dapaong. Perhaps it’s a combination of speed, wind blowing threw visor, dodging potholes, dodging other motos with goats and mattresses tied to the back. It’s all very riveting. Frankly, the moto stories are right up there with diarrhea stories on the awesome-o-meter.

A couple of days ago, after several hours of deep cleaning the PCV Work Station in Dapaong, four dog-tired PCVs grabbed some refreshments at Robinet, a local bar. We talked about the Midwest, NYC, California, Americanisms, Togoisms, life in Savannah; we ate spiced tofu; and we did what Togolese do best…reposed. After an hour or so, I had to moto back chez moi to drop off a few items and pick up my bike. On the road, just outside the bar, I saw two guys chilling on motos. Without hesitation, I walked over to one and asked if he knew Bar Escale—a bar close to my house. With a faint voice, he said “Oui” and nodded his head. I replied, “Bon, on peut aller pour 300?” (Good, we can go for 300CFA?) He confirmed and then told me I was going to ride his friend’s moto. I checked out his friend—a slow, up and down scan—and suspected he was more intoxicated than I preferred for a moto driver. I turned back and shook my head no. It didn’t take him long to realize I wasn’t mounting his friend’s moto. So I hopped on his moto and he drove very well. Once I descended the moto in front of Bar Escale, I took off my helmet, smiled and said, “Voila, 300.” My new moto friend replied, “Oh, I’m not a taxi. It’s free.”

Um…What?!?!?! Why didn’t you tell me Dude?

I felt like such a jackass. Sure, it was awesome because I got a free trip home, but sucked because I felt like an idiot. Ah well, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Togolese are pretty nice, must admit.

Food: Savor it Chez Vous

For all the cultural differences between America and Togo, I didn’t anticipate gastronomy to be the most difficult to overcome. To quote a fellow Volunteer, “Apart from people, food is what I miss the most.” The more I think about it the more I realize, if I can adjust to gastronomical differences, I can do anything—in Togo…in the world.

In Gbatopé, my host mom prepared every meal for me. Every. Single. Meal. C’est-à-dire, I didn’t cook for myself for 60 days (minus seven days at Post Visit when a married couple cooked for me). Mamasan, my “Mom”, is a pretty good cook. Near the end of Training, if I had only conjured up a flour tortilla at lunchtime and added it to one of Mamasan’s creations…I could have made a burrito. Instead, I closed my eyes and imagined the mysterious spicy red sauce as pico de gallo on top of rice and beans. In Togo, the combination of rice and beans is called watche. When “Mom” gave me this roughly a week before I left Gbatopé, I simply said, “Mom!! This is awesome. Why did you wait until now to give me this?! Are you trying to make me stay, Mamasan?” She laughed—I often couldn’t tell if she found me comical or just a silly foreigner. I focused more on the former to boost my spirits, and of course because it’s true.

Unfortunately, even though “Mom” cooked several divine meals, my body needed time to adjust. In other words, my stomach said, “Culture shock! Welcome!!!” One week into Training, “Mom” had front-row seats to my Vomiting in Africa debut. Yay. Fun. It was unmistakably a difficult time for both of us: Me, for obvious reasons—Diarrhea and vomiting aren’t usually preferred daily activities—and her, for I couldn’t eat anything she made. Poor woman, she certainly tried. Then, tout à coup, she placed a plate of spaghetti with token red sauce in front of me and I consumed all of it. Shortly after I showed her the empty plate, we celebrated…African style. We laughed, we sang, and we danced. It was magical. From that moment on, spaghetti was my “Mom’s” go-to dish. Every day, for at least one meal, I had spaghetti with red sauce. It was hysterical.

What else did “Mom” make?

For breakfast, I ate brouille, a Togolese version of oatmeal. I often had brouille with oats or tapioca mixed with sugar and water. Unfortunately, the tapioca brouille was a bit sweet for me. In addition to oatmeal, Mamasan included about six bananas. Sure, they were slightly smaller than most bananas I purchased in America (fewer hormones). But, they also didn’t last as long; ergo, I had to eat all bananas in 24 hours. The passing out of mini bananas took place every other morning. Certainly got my daily dose of potassium, or decade dose. Thanks Mamasan!

For lunch and dinner, I often had rice with a spicy red sauce similar to one mixed with spaghetti. Aside from the almost Mexican dish, my other favorite meal was rice with la sauce d’arachide (peanut sauce) and chicken. It was delectable. So good. Rice with peanut sauce was the first Togolese dish I made in Dapaong. Occasionally, Mamasan cooked onions, peas and carrots in oil, tasted of pea soup minus the soup. That dish was often served with a whole baguette. My least favorite dish was beans cooked with tomatoes, onions and hot peppers, drenched in palm oil (an oil used frequently), and topped with a dusting of gari, a floury grain.

What do Togolese eat?

Pâte and foufou for Togolese are equivalent to hamburgers and hotdogs for Americans during college football tailgating season. One just can’t survive without either. They are, without a doubt, the two most common dishes in Togo. It’s customary to make pâte out of farine de mais, or corn flour, but for a little variety, rice is also used. Pâte is often served with a sauce—la sauce de tomate (tomato sauce), la sauce d’arachide (peanut sauce), la sauce de gumbo (okra sauce), la sauce d’adèmé (leafy green sauce), etc. It’s rarely served alone. Many Volunteers enjoy pâte rouge, which is essentially pâte mixed with a tomato-based sauce and even some protein. For Togolese, protein, or more specifically meat and fish are expensive. Due to cost, it’s typical to reserve the best and largest section of meat or fish for the head of family (i.e. men). Togolese love pâte. They swear by it. They can and do eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Heck, I’m sure some even dream about it. I have yet to try standard pâte made with corn flour, but I tried it with rice. Christophe, one of my Togolese counterparts, invited me over for lunch with his family one afternoon and it was served with a mystery sauce and goat. Oh yes, and they cooked the entire goat. At one moment, I chewed on a piece of meat and the texture was a bit strange, furry even. Turns out that furry texture was the goat’s stomach lining. Mmmmm, awesome!! But uh, I’ll let you enjoy that part Christophe.

Foufou is another starch made with cassavas or yams boiled and then pounded into a thick, malleable mixture. The doughy ball is also served with a sauce.

What else is different?

• Vegetables and fruits are significantly smaller. Bananas, tomatoes and onions are teeny tiny.
• Oranges are often greenish-yellow.
• The most prevalent cheese in Togo is Vache Qui Rit (Laughing Cow) for it doesn’t need to be refrigerated.
• Soja, or tofu, is surprisingly good here. In my opinion, it’s better in the north, but it’s also prepared differently.
• All juices are very expensive.

Food is a lot fresher here than in the US, however, it also doesn’t last long. It’s imperative to plan meals accordingly to avoid waste of not only food, but also money.

Well, I hope this food entry has provided enough information to answer a few questions and perhaps stir up an appetite. No doubt, more food-related entries to come!

À la prochaine (until next time)… J

Eat, Sleep and Diarrhea

Eating and sleeping: Two activities necessary for life continuation are regularly practiced in America. In Togo, it’s a wee bit different. And Diarrhea, well, Diarrhea is the result of one (or both) of those activities gone wrong.

Seventy-two hours after landing in Togo, Peace Corps Medical Unit considered a three-hour health session on Diarrhea as important as taking malaria medication. The three-hour session included tutorials on water purification, bleaching fruits and vegetables, and the 4-1-1 on the SHIT book.

Beg your pardon? SHIT book?!?!?! SHIT, Staying Healthy in Togo, is a health guide given to all Volunteers. It contains descriptions, lists symptoms and treatments of many health concerns in Togo. In addition to an entire chapter on Diarrhea, the guide has sections on intestinal worms and parasites (I already had Giardiasis), emotional health, serious health problems and nutrition. A combination of curiosity, paranoia and boredom resulted in reading the guide three times. Among basic common sense, there’s certainly some random, yet terrifying health concerns. In Togo, for instance, there’s a frightening insect I intend to destroy during my service called a Blister Beetle.

What’s a blister beetle?

To cite from SHIT, “The blister beetle is a brightly colored insect that is attracted to artificial light at night. When disturbed or injured, the beetle secretes a substance containing cantharidin. Cantharidin is an acid that causes a severe reaction when it comes in contact with the skin or mucous membranes. INGESTION OF A WHOLE BLISTER BEETLE IS USUALLY FATAL. Blister beetle type reactions are more common in November and December in Togo.”

Holy potatoes!! I plan to steer clear of all beetles, but this one…grab kerosene and matches fellow Volunteers!!!!

Although blister beetles are scary, many health concerns found in Togo stem from human ingestion (i.e. water and food contamination); hence our three-hour Diarrhea talk. Dapaong’s city water, though better than river water, should be purified prior to consumption. Daily water decontamination consists of filling a bucket with water taken from my shower faucet, pouring the water into a three-liter filter, filling an empty liter-and-a-half bottle with filtered water, adding six drops of bleach, and waiting approximately fifteen minutes before drinking. In comparison to most Volunteers in Togo, this process is a piece of cake. Others may filter water through a pagne (fabric in Togo), boil it, wait for it to cool down, pour it in a filter, fill a bottle, add bleach, and then wait.

Fruits and vegetables, unless they are pealed or cooked, must be bleached for fifteen minutes.

Prior to consumption, disinfecting water and food is as essential as breathing in Togo—at least for Volunteers. If not, an unpleasant dose of Diarrhea and vomiting are well on their way. Of course, it’s only natural for our bodies to adjust to water and food in other cultures. In Togo, it seems Volunteers need quite a bit of time for their bodies to adjust. And do we have stories!!! Some have more stories than others, but all have brought tears of laughter. PC nurse practitioners gave us a handout, Diarrhea Flow Chart, noting the various stages of Diarrhea. The stages are listed one through seven and past Volunteers created their own level, 10. “Have you level-10ed?” This is a frequent question Volunteers ask one another. Level 10 Diarrhea is code for pooping one’s pants. Generally, it’s unavoidable. According to most, it’s practically initiation into Peace Corps Togo. Once, a Volunteer had even level-10ed in front of the Country Director (A.K.A. our boss). I cried for roughly two minutes after hearing that one-one that involved pooping in a Ziploc bag, throwing the bag down a latrine, sitting and then standing up to reach for some cookies and poop bursting out uncontrollably.

What do I find most bizarre in regards to eating, sleeping and pooping in Togo?

Biological clocks.

It seems even if Volunteers practice proper water and food sanitation, their bodies often wake up (usually between 5:30a.m. and 6a.m.) and tell the mind it’s time to take care of business. For me, it’s 5:30a.m. Since the first week of Training, my body wakes up and tells me it’s time to poop at 5:30a.m. It’s the craziest thing. Doesn’t matter if I am up late or go to bed early…5:30a.m. Every. Single. Day. J

An Unforeseen, Stronger Presence of Patriotism

Patriotism. In college, I deemed patriotic Americans as chauvinistic, flag-waving yuppies—those ignorant of the world beyond US borders. [Face runs parallel to floor.] After traveling to Western Europe, Asia and presently West Africa, I am ashamed to have applied those descriptors to such loyalists. I was a young fool who emitted an illusion of profound cultural awareness to my peers by devaluing American patriots. To my delight and thanks to living abroad, the US has itself another flag-waver and I accept it…wholeheartedly.

Why?

It isn’t because I joined the Peace Corps, nor is it because I “found myself” while training in Gbatopé, a small village in Togo. It’s because America is remarkable, Americans are adaptive, and I grew up.

Let me be clear and stress I do not view America as perfect. We’ve certainly got our problems (i.e. health care, economy, individual rights, etc). America, however, overflows with citizens interested in reshaping the norms if need be. C’est-à-dire…we bleed change. Sure, we fight among ourselves, quarrel like 60-year-old married couples and often agree to disagree. But hey, kudos for trying, right?! Americans aspire to fulfill the needs of not only our culture, but also our neighbors’ cultures. Hint, hint…the Peace Corps. We are the only country with such a program. Wow. And generally, people love us for it; or at least Togolese love us.

A couple of days ago, I ran a few errands around Dapaong. En route chez moi, I walked passed two gentlemen who whispered to each other, “Elle est avec le corps de la paix.” Translation: “She is with the Peace Corps.” Um, what?! Did someone put a Peace Corps sticker on my clothes without my knowledge? Did they see me when the PC Swearing-In Ceremony was nationally televised? I just smiled and continued my promenade home. News of Americans in Togo spreads like wildfire.

Why am I blogging about American patriotism while in Togo? WHY NOT. Do I dislike my Togolese experience thus far? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Before college, for instance, I found my hometown insufferable. It was petit, held many upsetting childhood memories, and was the whereabouts of some former boyfriends. Nevertheless, I wasn’t in college too long before I fully appreciated its splendor. With this post, it’s the same story.

All in all, America has a sufficient amount of charming attributes—no matter if I adopt a couple lifestyle changes in Togo or in another country—that, for lack of a better cliché, I want to grow old there.

Proud to be an American. J