Why I Love The Arc de Triomphe

I love the arc de triomphe. It is the Empire State Building of Paris in my eyes.

My interest in Napoleon's desire to honor the Grand Armée with this immense arch perhaps falls hand-in-hand with my fondness of films such as Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan, The Last of The Mohicans, The Pianist and Cassablana. Neverthless, the few times I've visited Paris and the few times I've stood in front of the arc de triomphe, I often think of visitors who prefer the tour eiffel over the arc de triomphe. Yes, both are marvelous in their own way: (1) a monument to honor the French military and (2) an entrance arch to the 1889 World's Fair, today's symbol of France, and even a symbol of love.

I'm certainly no historian, nor am I anti-love. I simply never tire of the magnificence of the arc de triomphe. Whenever I stand in front of its simple design and colossal size, typical of late 18th century romantic neoclassicism, my smile is that of a child who sees his favorite characters at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Fl.

Again, I love it. All of it.

The sculptures unique to each pillar represent historic moments and they are names of major battles in Napoleonic wars: The Departure of the Volunteers in 1792 (aka la marseillaise), Napoleon's Triumph of 1810, Resistance of 1814 and Peace of 1815.

 I love the rose sculpted ceilings, the richly sculptured frieze of soldiers, and the arch's placement at the étoile--with its 12 streets. I love that the étoile is clearly a death trap but like many things in France, the French make it work. My sister and I once drove around the arc de triomphe and I swore to myself I'd never do it again unless I either had a Frenchman drive me or I had excellent health insurance.

étoile

I love the inside walls of the monument listing names of 558 French generals--names of those who died in battles are underlined. I also love the Unknown Soldier buried beneath the arc de triomphe,  which burns in memory of the dead who were never identified in both World War I and World War II.

Unknown Soldier

And finally, I love the 30 shields with names of major revolutionary and Napoleonic military victories engraved above the army bordering the top of the arch.

Napoleon I may have made several mistakes (putting it lightly) as the emperor of the French, but I'll give him this: The arc de triomphe is a truly remarkable structure adored and to be adored by people from every generation, from every part of the world.

Until next time... :)

Merry Christmas!!

Tomorrow I leave for Angers--a few hours southwest of Paris--to spend Christmas with my old French host parents Lili and Jean-Claude. And just in case I don't have easy access to Internet, or I am unable to call...

Merry Christmas!! 

I love you, my dear family and friends. Soon I'll be home to give you all a hug and my love. 

But for now, just wait until I return to Paris on Dec 26th for a Skype date. 

Here are a few Christmas pictures to keep you in the spirit. Seasons greetings! And Carolyn, tell Trevor and Vanessa to make a couple snow angels for me. :)

Blue light display on fountain near Arc de Triomphe.

The Champs-Elysees all lit-up with Christmas lights.

Christmas boutiques in a Paris garden.

If you'd like to contact me, my number in country is (+33) 07 53 56 46 54.

Until next time...

An Attempt at Invisibility

The stress of being a PCV is certainly incomparable to that of anyone with a nine-to-five job, nor one who works 80+ hours a week. We of course have work stress, but I find volunteers have more of a social stress similar to high school multiplied by (oh) 10. You try your best to fit in by speaking the same slang (or language), by finding people who make you feel comfortable for being the person you are, and by buying the right clothes (or pagne) that indicate you're part of the group. And like high school, this push to fit in all the time gets old and sometimes all that's needed is a little break to reboot your engines and get rolling again. Students call it summer break while everyone else calls it a VACATION.

Well my friends, this volunteer needs a vacation. And it's happening!

After more than a year-and-a-half in West Africa, I finally have a break. Nope, I'm not returning stateside--as much as I would love to see my entire family and close friends--but I'm going somewhere just as good: France.

My last trip to France ended in June 2007, which was the conclusion of my study abroad term. More than five years ago! As most of you know, I lived with a host family the entire term. They were (and still are) amazing people. When I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with them I barely had a sliver of homesickness--something I hope to have this Christmas. And wow are they as excited to see me as I am to see them.

For a bit of fun check out the difference: Samantha McCullough 2007 vs Samantha McCullough 2012.

Think they'll recognize me?

A weekend outside of Angers, France 2007

Thanksgiving 2012 in Togo, West Africa

I'll be doing a little back-and-forth traveling between Paris and Angers with the intention of seeing close friends in Paris, spending Christmas with Lili and Jean-Claude Maupoint--my host parents--and seeing my old university in Angers, and much to my delight...spending my last week in Paris (and celebrating New Year's) with my sister Kathrine.

Not too long ago I received an email from my good friend Mariana--a chef who lives in Paris--who asked, "What do you want to do in Paris?" To which I responded, "BE INVISIBLE!!!!"

Volunteers are often on display. It's something we admittedly despise in the beginning and learn to accept and impressively ignore as our service moves forward. But even with this almost superhuman ability to space out--a term we're quite familiar with in Togo--a vacation is still THE WAY to bask in the glory of anonymity without locking yourself in your house for a weekend.

In addition to the joy of anonymity, I fully intend to (1) photograph the streets and life of Paris once more, (2) eat well, (3) explore the Christmas boutiques, (4) drink coffee, (5) and hangout with people I love.

I have no doubt my Internet connection in France will be more than tolerable, so feel free to email or message me on Facebook if you'd like to chat (or even video chat I dare add).

The vacation officially begins December 18, 2012 and ends January 3, 2013.  

And then my dear family and friends...six months to go until I'm stateside again. Oh how fast time will fly!!

Much love to you all. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year (or Happy Holidays) and all that jazz.

Until next time in 2013... :)

To Give or Not To Give Money

Sub-headline: The one bit of Peace Corps guilt that sticks

Volunteers often have reading material. Books and magazines spread from Peace Corps Volunteer to Peace Corps Volunteer like notes pass from teenager to teenager in middle school. But every once in a while, an attention-grabbing article pops up in circulation about Peace Corps life. I’ve read three attention grabbers: What the Peace Corps Taught Me About Failure by a volunteer in Senegal, a blog post titled The Real Peace Corps by a volunteer in Ethiopia, and Peace Corps Guilt by a volunteer in Paraguay. Though I enjoyed all three, the last article left a bit of a sore spot. Most likely because it is true, Peace Corps guilt does exist and I just didn’t want to admit it.

Ester Katcoff, author of Peace Corps Guilt, details several variables of volunteer guilt: (1) taking time for ourselves, (2) not sharing personal possessions, (3) being too fancy, (4) being unsustainable, (5) and failing to save the world.

Roughly my entire cluster of PCVs in Savannah, the northernmost region of Togo, agreed with every variable. But I wasn’t completely sold.

I never feel guilt in taking time for myself. Yes, I came to Togo to help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women and to perform cultural exchanges. But if a women’s group stands me up because they need to work in their fields or men catcall me as I walk on a street or I’m missing my sisters more than ever, I firmly believe I deserve the right to enjoy the latest superhero film in the comfort of my home—even if it's the middle of the day.

I never feel guilt in not sharing personal possessions. I share pencils, paper, crayons, glitter, beads for bracelets and necklaces, old magazines, fabric for clothes, etc. I offer tastes of American dishes and beverages. But do I share my MacBook Pro or Nikon D80 with my Togolese neighbors and friends? Absolutely not. Why? Because I paid for both electronics with money I earned in America. They were not just gifts given to me.

I never feel guilt in being too fancy. I live in the capital of Savannah, thus life is already different than life in village. The married couple I replaced once told me to dress well and people will respect you. This of course I have known since I graduated from Central Michigan University; however, it was a fitting reminder that even though I am in Africa the rule still applies. The first eight months at post I hand washed all of my own clothes. Then, a nice woman asked to do my laundry so she could send her daughter, a student at the University of Kara, money for fees and miscellaneous expenses. Nowadays, she stops by my house every two weeks (or whenever I need her) to wash my clothes. Do I feel too fancy? Not at all. She works to gain money for her daughter like my mom once worked three jobs to pay for two daughters to attend university and one to go to high school.

Despite what's in the previous three paragraphs, I'm not made of ice. I do feel guilt. And it comes when children and friends I know ask me for money and I don’t want to give it.

In New York City, I often saw people who were either homeless or simply poor asking for money in the subway. Though it made me sad, I never gave them money unless they included a special performance with their request: a song, a dance, a witty limerick, a rough sketch, etc. In Togo, it’s really no different. I see children everyday with tin cans tied with string dangling around their necks hoping someone with give them 25 franc cfa here, 100 franc cfa there like in Slumdog Millionaire. I never give them money. I barely flinch as I shoo them away. Though if I have leftover bread from a restaurant, I don't hesitate to pass it on. 

With familiar Togolese friends and children, it’s an entirely different ballgame. A guilt either too tough to swallow or one I bury deep hoping to forget.

Last Christmas a friend asked me for money. His name is Robert and he was two months behind on his rent. Christmas is an uncomfortable time to say no to friends in need of money, not to mention his family lives in Burkina Faso. So I gave him six-mille franc cfa (approximately $12). He told me he would pay me back, but he never has and he never will. Even though I am glad I gave it to him, even that day, last Christmas, I couldn’t help but wonder: What would he have done if I weren’t here? Would he have found a way to pay for it himself or would he go door-to-door asking for 100 franc cfa here, 100 franc cfa there like the children with tin cans? I will never know.

This morning, the guilt almost too great to swallow hit me again. At just after 8AM, a child knocked on my door. Not thrilled to have a visitor so early in the morning, I opened the door slowly. To my surprise, it was a familiar face. His name is Jonas. Jonas helped with the second world map project I completed at Bon Pasteur Elementary School. This year he started middle school. How exciting! Today, however, was less than exciting. After we exchanged salutations, I asked him why he was not in school. And the rest of the conversation went like this:

“I’m not in school because they sent me home,” he said.

“Why did they send you home?” I asked him.

“Because they want my school fees,” he replied.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“My parents are dead,” he replied.

“Well, who takes care of you?” I further asked.

“My grandmother,” he replied as he looked at me with heart-wrenching eyes.

In truth, even after 18 months of service, I didn’t know how to respond. I so wanted to remain strong and refuse to offer money but I just couldn't tell him no. So instead I told him to “have courage” and I would see him soon. As he exited my compound, I slowly closed my front door and stood staring at the ground. I felt wretched and so many thoughts entered my mind.

What are you doing? He is a good kid. It’s only twelve bucks to help him continue his education. But you’ve been so firm about not haphazardly giving Togolese money. He has to work to gain money. But he is a good kid!! And his help with the world map project was voluntary. Everyone has problems, what makes him so special?

Above all thoughts and questions I had, the inevitable question took precedence over all: Will it stop? That is, if I give Jonas money for school, will the other two students who helped with the project come knocking on my door and ask for money? Am I a terrible person for thinking it's all just a domino effect?

It isn’t like in America where donations to charities can be made anonymously. Most host country nationals think volunteers have money and even with shame, they will ask for financial assistance from volunteers they barely know. It's not only their fault. Here is a country that has had so much assistance from foreign lands that for most it's all they know. But when do we as volunteers say no? What impossible situations remove the guilt and leave volunteers with the satisfaction of helping a friend? Is it not so different from America after all? Does this guilt only exist because it’s a third-world country and we are Peace Corps Volunteers?

In the end, I chose to split the cost of Jonas’ education with my site mate Katy Todd—since we completed the world map project with Jonas. The decision, however, doesn’t bring any answers to any of these questions and I fear the guilt to give or not to give money will always remain a question. 

Until next time...

PS - If you have answers, do share. 

Wasn’t I Supposed to Gift You?

In a culture where gifts are hardly if ever given on birthdays, rarely on Christmas, and few have even heard of Valentine’s Day, you might question when do people give and receive gifts?

In French, gift translates to cadeau. In Togo, this word is more often than not a thorn in any PCVs side. The term is most definitely applied too loosely. Everything is a gift. Tipping a taxi-moto driver an extra 50FCFA, cadeau; paying for another round of tchakpa for your Togolese friends, cadeau; or buying a bowl of tomatoes and the vendor throws in a few extra, cadeau. In Togolese society, it’s ill mannered, even offensive to refuse a gift—and even more so if you’re a foreigner. I’ve often heard PCVs politely pass on gifts even though deep down they are fully aware it’s a battle they can’t win. Besides, gift refusal makes it hard to integrate, right? 

Most PCVs do their best to return the kindness either by bringing a loaf of bread home to their host families in village after a business trip or by printing photos in America for Togolese counterparts and friends so they may savor the memories of working together.

In Dapaong, I have no host family. I live in a compound with four other tenants. One family I know well (a married couple with a baby girl) and the three other tenants I rarely see. For this reason, I rarely return from a trip with a bag full of bread. Yet I still gift the family I know. I’ll oftentimes make Moringa juice and offer a bottle, or I’ll cook an American dish and propose a taste. Does the family reciprocate? Oh yes.

Before the mother left with the baby to return to the University of Kara, we were quite close. The father and I don’t often cross paths because our work schedules are considerably different. And once, after I hadn’t see him in over a month, we talked in front of my house for a while and then out of the blue he asked me if I liked beer—he works at a brasserie. My first thought, “Uh not the beer from here.” But I said, “Yes of course!” He asked me which kind of beer I prefer and I said Castel. Little did I know his intension was to gift me seven beers. Not buy seven beers from a local bar, but bring me seven beers to drink alone. Seven beers…just because. Does he think I’m an alcoholic? Nope, just a nice gesture.

Roughly one week ago he gifted me again with an entire watermelon—yep it’s watermelon season. Since there isn’t a chance I could eat an entire watermelon alone I shared it with my site mate Katy Todd. Although it was a very sweet gift, literally, I couldn’t help but wonder: When do I gift him? And with what?!

Well, two days ago, I got my answer: a chicken. I was finishing up with a carpenter who I’d been working with over the last three weeks on remodeling the Dapaong workstation. And as a gesture of our friendship, he gifted me a live chicken. Again, since I live alone there’s no way I could eat an entire chicken. And more importantly, I didn’t have the first clue as to how I’d kill and cook the damn thing. So, I decided to “re-gift” it and give it to my neighbor. Genius.

After I biked home from the Dapaong workstation with the live chicken in a bag attached to my bike, I walked over to my neighbor’s house, clapped, said “Excusez!” and presented the gift. Even though I told him it was a gift, I also suggested we dine together. To my surprise he proposed to eat the chicken that very night. Why not? Saves me from sweating in my kitchen one night. Eh voila, the plan was set.

For most of the day I thought about the relief of not cooking and eating a delicious chicken with pâte. Again…little did I know I was in for a real treat.

Around 6:30 that evening, he knocked on my door with hands full of black bags. Of course he brought the chicken, but he also brought two bottles of wine and guinea fowl, a northern specialty. You’ve got to be kidding me?! I was supposed to gift you. Come on man!!!

The lime-green price tags on the wine bottles immediately caught my attention. Four mille five hundred franc CFA each! Twenty bucks easily!!! I don’t even spend that much on wine in this country. He told me one bottle was for us to share and the other was for me. I said I couldn’t accept it, but that didn’t go over very well. Stubborn man. So we ate a little, we drank a little, and he excused himself and left me with three-quarters of a chicken, some guinea fowl and one-and-a-half bottles of wine. Bullshit. But I grinned from ear to ear and thanked him several times as he walked out of my house.

The next day, he called and thanked me for a wonderful evening.

This country.

Until next time…J

Telephones, Cell Phones and Beeps

I’ve never really enjoyed talking on the phone. In fact, I loathed and feared it as a young adult. During the awkward stage of braces, I begged my mom to call and schedule all my orthodontist appointments and to top, I hid in my room hoping that either my mom or dad called for pizza.

In high school, I rarely called my friends after school. It certainly wasn’t because I didn’t like them, nor was it because I lacked friends. I simply just preferred / continue to prefer one-on-one conversations. And I’d like to believe my close high school friends knew I still liked them even though I rarely called. I also tried to make up for it by chatting during extracurricular activities such as yearbook, volleyball, French club, etc.

In college, the world of technology threw me a bone, and it wasn’t just because cell phones were a must-have. It was because technological geniuses invented texting. What a Godsend!! Of course there are texting maniacs who text on their phones—WITH BOTH HANDS—as though they’re playing on a DS. This in itself is also the very reason I have never owned a cell phone similar to a sidekick (or a flip phone that opens up into a keyboard). Sorry if I offend those who own one but you look like an idiot walking on the street, texting with both hands.

In Togo, I envisioned PCVs only using cell phones for emergencies or the occasional freak-out call between PCVs. “Why am I here?!” “Two years? Holy shit?!” What? PCVs don’t have freak-outs.  But anyways, as to be expected, my ideas of PC life changed once I arrived in Togo. Truthfully, PCVs text all the time. We text about work, social life, insects we find in our houses, and even bowel movements. But this post isn’t about phone interactions from PCV to PCV. This post—finally getting to the point—is about Togolese communicating with PCVs via cell phone.

How could it be different?

Well, Togolese beep. Beep? Think of your cell phone as a pager. Why do they beep? More often than not, it’s because they don’t have enough phone credit—because most African countries are on a pay-as-you-go system—to call or even text. OR…Togolese assume that PCVs have money to return their beep with a phone call. Unfortunately, as PCVs, we’re not exactly rolling in the dough, which some Togolese understand but not all. No matter if they get it or not, it doesn’t stop me from saying to a Togolese “PAS DE BEEPS!” if he or she asks for my number. I once played this game of beep tag, which meant I played five rounds of a Togolese beeping me and me returning the beep with a beep. Evening entertainment if you will.

What else is different?

Togolese call just to say “Hey.” Sure, grandmothers and distant aunts call to catch up or just say “Hey,” but here even strangers or random Togolese work partners call to say “Hello” and that’s it. Literally, that’s it.

Here’s an example:

A possible work partner (PWP) calls me one day after meeting me.

PWP: “Hello.”

Me: “Hello.”

PWP: “It’s so-and-so from this-and-that, you remember?”

Me: [Searching my brain for a name with no luck.] “Oh yes, hello, how are you?”

PWP: “I’m good. Just calling to say ‘Hello.’”

Me: “Okay, well hi.”[Awkward silent pause.]

PWP: “Alright, have a good night.”

Me: “You too.”

Ummmmmm…what?! Was that really worth 100CFA? It’s a sweet thought, but really, come on Togo.

The call just to say “Hey” is definitely a cultural struggle for me. Sure after 16 months I’ve learned to brush off the little things but every so often I do implement Operation Screen Togolese Calls to bring a bit of peace to my life.

No doubt this PC Togo experience halts any desire to own a pager in America. And I think I can live with that.

Until next time…J

Telephones, Cell Phones and Beeps

I’ve never really enjoyed talking on the phone. In fact, I loathed and feared it as a young adult. During the awkward stage of braces, I begged my mom to call and schedule all my orthodontist appointments and to top, I hid in my room hoping that either my mom or dad called for pizza.

In high school, I rarely called my friends after school. It certainly wasn’t because I didn’t like them, nor was it because I lacked friends. I simply just preferred / continue to prefer one-on-one conversations. And I’d like to believe my close high school friends knew I still liked them even though I rarely called. I also tried to make up for it by chatting during extracurricular activities such as yearbook, volleyball, French club, etc.

In college, the world of technology threw me a bone, and it wasn’t just because cell phones were a must-have. It was because technological geniuses invented texting. What a Godsend!! Of course there are texting maniacs who text on their phones—WITH BOTH HANDS—as though they’re playing on a DS. This in itself is also the very reason I have never owned a cell phone similar to a sidekick (or a flip phone that opens up into a keyboard). Sorry if I offend those who own one but you look like an idiot walking on the street, texting with both hands.

In Togo, I envisioned PCVs only using cell phones for emergencies or the occasional freak-out call between PCVs. “Why am I here?!” “Two years? Holy shit?!” What? PCVs don’t have freak-outs.  But anyways, as to be expected, my ideas of PC life changed once I arrived in Togo. Truthfully, PCVs text all the time. We text about work, social life, insects we find in our houses, and even bowel movements. But this post isn’t about phone interactions from PCV to PCV. This post—finally getting to the point—is about Togolese communicating with PCVs via cell phone.

How could it be different?

Well, Togolese beep. Beep? Think of your cell phone as a pager. Why do they beep? More often than not, it’s because they don’t have enough phone credit—because most African countries are on a pay-as-you-go system—to call or even text. OR…Togolese assume that PCVs have money to return their beep with a phone call. Unfortunately, as PCVs, we’re not exactly rolling in the dough, which some Togolese understand but not all. No matter if they get it or not, it doesn’t stop me from saying to a Togolese “PAS DE BEEPS!” if he or she asks for my number. I once played this game of beep tag, which meant I played five rounds of a Togolese beeping me and me returning the beep with a beep. Evening entertainment if you will.

What else is different?

Togolese call just to say “Hey.” Sure, grandmothers and distant aunts call to catch up or just say “Hey,” but here even strangers or random Togolese work partners call to say “Hello” and that’s it. Literally, that’s it.

Here’s an example:

A possible work partner (PWP) calls me one day after meeting me.

PWP: “Hello.”

Me: “Hello.”

PWP: “It’s so-and-so from this-and-that, you remember?”

Me: [Searching my brain for a name with no luck.] “Oh yes, hello, how are you?”

PWP: “I’m good. Just calling to say ‘Hello.’”

Me: “Okay, well hi.”[Awkward silent pause.]

PWP: “Alright, have a good night.”

Me: “You too.”

Ummmmmm…what?! Was that really worth 100CFA? It’s a sweet thought, but really, come on Togo.

The call just to say “Hey” is definitely a cultural struggle for me. Sure after 16 months I’ve learned to brush off the little things but every so often I do implement Operation Screen Togolese Calls to bring a bit of peace to my life.

No doubt this PC Togo experience halts any desire to own a pager in America. And I think I can live with that.

Until next time…J

A Surprise Weekend in Anfoin

It’s expected of any volunteer in Togo who participates in a conference (in another West African country) to present that which they learned to PC Administration, i.e. the country director and program directors.

On what did I need to present? The Food Security Summit in The Gambia.

We put it off long enough due to conflicting schedules and a summer packed with camps, rain and the training of new PCVs. But this weekend dubbed “Now or never!”

So we set a date: Friday, September 28.

I of course bought my post bus tickets ahead of time—figured if I didn’t have my iPod there was no way in Hell I’d take a bush-taxi. Moreover, my good friend Katy Todd planned to return to Togo around the same time after her vacation in America, thus I also bought her return ticket to Dapaong.

Well, life is rarely this easy and inevitably plans change. A program director—we have four in country—called me the Monday before the meeting and informed me the date and time of the meeting changed: Monday, October 1 in the afternoon.

What?!?!?! SURPRISE!

Needless to say, I was a bit crossed. Being that a volunteer’s salary is by no means substantial, I simply couldn’t afford to spend five nights in a hotel in Lomé in addition to 17,400CFA it costs to travel south to north. And to top, I already purchased Katy’s tickets and someone had to hand them to her in Lomé before the day the bus left, right?

So where did this leave me?

Luckily, my partner for this presentation lives in Maritime; and even better, he lives only an hour and a half away from the capital. So the new plan was set: I took the post bus down on Thursday as scheduled, spent the night in Lomé, took care of some business at the PC office, and made the trip to Anfoin that is located near the border of Benin.

Traveling to Anfoin wasn’t difficult at all. I grabbed a taxi to the bush-taxi station and much to my surprise I didn’t have to wait for the car to fill up. As usual, in what was a five-seated vehicle, four women including me squashed in the back seat and two others in the front passenger seat. Although a small car often means a quick departure, I find the rides to be less comfortable than riding in a larger, 15-passenger van. There’s bound to be at least one side of my butt that goes numb, or an entire leg for that matter. This trip was no exception. Once I reached Aneho, a town near Anfoin, I switched to a moto—but first had to allow the blood to return to the entire left side of my body.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but I love motos—just me, the driver, and wind in my moto helmet. J

What happened once I arrived in Anfoin?

I decompressed a bit, and then Ben and I walked through town to get to a bar near a canal. The bar built a bar deck on the canal, so we lounged on well made comfortable wooden seats and drank a couple beers. It was perfect.

A bonus to living au village is host families oftentimes feed PCVs. After the bar, Ben and I returned to his house to dine with his homologue/host dad/president of an NGO. That night we ate pâte with great sauce AND pasta with oil, tomatoes and onions AND sugared bread. It was delicious, but I wanted to hurl.

Volunteers au village generally have two rooms in their houses: One as a living room/kitchen/dinning room, and the second as a bedroom with a small litpico equal to a twin-sized bed. This meant I slept on the floor—though Ben offered his bed—and you know you’ve become accustomed to life in a third-world country when a straw mat is so comfortable you sleep like a baby.

The next morning, even after I overindulged on pasta and pâte, I was ready to eat again. Ben heated up some water, arranged the necessities like oatmeal, sugar, honey, milk powder, moringa powder and the meal was set. The thing about eating chez other volunteers au village is that if they’re those who don’t enjoy cooking, they don’t have enough utensils for guests. This of course led me to eat my oatmeal out of a large measuring cup and a plastic tablespoon. TIT (This is Togo)!

After breakfast and for most of the day, I worked on our presentation scheduled for Monday. We wrote an outline that detailed the purpose of the summit, activities and sessions, future plans, etc. We also created a country action plan to use as a guide in order to effectively improve food security in Togo.

Since Saturday was a workday, we had Sunday to party. And oh did we party! It happened to be the town’s party of the year that Sunday. They called it a “Pique-nique!”  Ben and I were invited to a couple of his good friends’ houses—and these friends are more or less forty-year-old men. Since I was a visitor from the north and tchakpa is the local drink, I simple couldn’t refuse the sodabe from the south. In an hour, I took three shots of sodabe. It was good sodabe, but I prefer tchakpa. We ate and ate and ate all morning until it was time to repos and sleep off the sodabe.

Just a shot I liked.

One of Ben's good friends gifted me more than 30 oranges.

Yep, we drank wine out of a shot glass. Tis how we roll!

Since Ben didn't eat a lot of the first course, I told his friends they had to make him eat all of his second course. No mercy. Ha, life's a bitch.

On the right, one of Ben's besties. Yeah, we tend to hang with people twice our age or more. 

Overall it was a great night, a new PCV from a nearby village biked over and we made sangria with freshly squeezed orange juice. We also ate too much banana bread that I have no intention of making it for a looooooooooong time. But it was delicious. Thanks Ben!

Although I would have preferred to spend just a couple of nights in the maritime region, it was a pleasant weekend and I experienced yet another town in Togo. And in case you were wondering…the presentation with Country Director Carolina Cardona and the program directors went very well.

Until next time… J

MANGEONS: An African Civility

In English, mangeons—pronounced mAH-zh-OH—translates to “Let’s eat!” It’s courteous, its brother is “Bon appétit!” and it’s very African. 

Truthfully, this phrase isn’t exclusive to French-speaking African countries. Lili and Jean-Claude Maupoint, my host parents in France, said it often—even though I prepared my meals, Lili always offered a taste of French cuisine. So how does one distinguish France from Togo? It’s simple. The courtesy is open to anyone and everyone.

In Togo, the phrase is said to whomever, wherever and whenever. It’s spoken without reservation, meaning if I buy fruit from a woman in the market and she happens to be eating pâte with peanut sauce and says “Mangeons!” Well, no problem if I do just that and snag a bite of her food.

Within a Togolese abode, it’s no secret that the size of a traditional family far exceeds that of most American families. It also comes as no surprise that more family members imply more mouths to feed. “What’s mine is yours,” an expression that is oftentimes taken literally. In most households, the mother prepares a sizable casserole of pâte along with one large bowl of sauce and the entire family gathers in a circle surrounding the meal and they dive right in, preferably with clean hands. No plates, no cutlery, no hesitation to share.

The purpose of this post is to acknowledge a civility I appreciate in Togo, and not to reveal a lack of propriety on the part of Americans. It’s a cultural difference. In New York subway cars, for example, never did I see someone in a car with something to eat or drink—be it a coffee, a smoothie, a hot dog, a McDonald’s cheeseburger or a banana—and offer a taste to everyone in the car. The Paris metro is just the same. Surely the majority of Americans grow up with basic manners, i.e. they learn to say please and thank you, apologize if accidently push or bump into someone, etc. Most of us know the meaning of share. Undoubtedly, for some it takes longer to master than for others or for some it means everything can be shared and taken (MOOCHERS!).

This in mind, how often do we [Americans] share with strangers? Similar to France, there in lies a cultural difference between Togo and America.

A quick story:

Yesterday I traveled from Sokodé to Dapaong. It was a long travel day, which started at 9AM and ended at 9:40PM. The ride was like every other bush-taxi ride: people packed into a vehicle like sardines in a can, people complained about the heat, women breastfed their babies (seven on this trip), men blasted artist Too Fan on their cell phones, taxi broke down for 30 minutes, etc. So what made this trip and others like it bearable? An iPod and little pleasantries like mangeons. As I waited four hours for the taxi to fill up, a man offered me a banana, another man offered tea, and a young hip woman (one I sat beside the entire trip) offered rice and beans with tomato sauce, eggs, water and a banana. I didn’t have much to offer, but since the woman was kind enough to hold onto my iPod while I slept (so it didn’t fall on the floor), I shared my headphones and we jammed to Lady Gaga and Rihanna.

Questions??

Must one accept a mangeons? Nope. It’s there for the taking. If you want to, go ahead, and if you don’t, just say “Thank you!”

Does one always have to say it? No, but it’s polite. Not all Togolese say it, but most do and they respect foreigners who do as well.

Will I bring it back stateside? Good question. Soon find out. ;)

Have I ever accepted a mangeons from a stranger? Yep, sure have!! 

Dishes I plan to bring back stateside? See photos below. 

Photo courtesy: Rebekah Chang

Kalma, ground beans with peppered salt, onion and oil.

Photo courtesy: Rebekah Chang

Rice balls with peanut sauce.

En Gambie

In my 25 years, I’ve never travelled to another country strictly for business. The week I spent in The Gambia, several locals asked me if I was interested in a safari to which I replied, “Sorry, I don’t have time. I’m here on business.” Ha! I’ve always wanted to say that and Peace Corps gave me the opportunity. Sweet.

Why did I go to The Gambia?

I, along with fellow PCV Benjamin Bogardus, was invited to attend the West African Food Security Summit. The summit was scheduled to be in Mali, but with the coup (and evacuation of Peace Corps), The Gambia was next in line.

FOOD SECURITY. It’s a buzzword PCVs know well. But what does it mean?

                  “Food security is the existence of safe, nutritious food for all people at all times and a food system (a community’s means of food production, distribution, and consumption) that protects people and promotes their culture, economy and environment.”

PC TOGO Food Security Task Force

Food is life in Togo. Of course, food is life everywhere. Everyone needs to eat. But in Togo, food IS life. Agriculture is the primary occupation of the population. Food is the topic of discussion at every tchouk, tchakpa or sodabé stand no matter if women, men or children are present. If it rains, farmers thank their Gods—not because it’s hot and they want to cool down, but because they know their produce gets the nourishment it needs.

What’s the problem in Togo? To list a few:

Unaffordable food prices: seasonal price rises, etc. Land use and farm labor arrangements; sharecropping. Unequal food distribution within a household (certain family members receive less or lower-quality food such as young girls and children). Chronic malnutrition (particularly in the north). Unaffordable protein sources (tofu, meat, eggs, etc). Food borne diseases resulting from poor sanitation during food preparation. Access to food crop preservation and storage.

How did the summit help with food security in West Africa?

The summit, itself, offered PCVs from eight West African countries (i.e. Benin, Burkina Faso, The Gambia, Ghana, Guinea, Mali, Senegal and Togo) a chance to exchange information on food security and network. Every country had something to offer at the summit; be it creative food transformations (Moringa juice, soy bread, etc), camp ideas for kids (Eco-Action) or in-depth trainings.

It wasn’t all work.

The summit also gave us the chance to experience The Gambia. Along with our tour guides (Gambian PCVs), we explored the markets of Banjul. We tasted exotic fruits like jackfruit. We walked along the beautiful SeneGambia beach and took a field trip to the Kumu Kunda Bee-Keeping Initiative.

Eating a jackfruit. It was delicious!

It was a phenomenal trip. I bonded with PCVs from seven other West African countries. We laughed. We celebrated American Independence together. We ate well. We drank Julbrew…the ONLY beer in The Gambia. Above all, we became cognizant of the magnitude of food insecurities in West Africa and the importance of regional collaboration. 

More Than Just A Cultural Exchange

My grandmother, Celeste Strong, recently sent me a letter to which she posed several questions pertaining to PCV work—and one question took precedence over all.

                       

                        “Do you have to be on call at certain times or are you on duty 24 hours a day?”

The former US Ambassador to Togo gave the answer to this question my first week in country: We are technically on duty 24/7. We are essentially US representatives, US (petits) ambassadors.

We may not be educating our communities 24/7—we need sleep like everyone else—but we make un grand effort to shine a positive light on America and it’s often hard work. But what do we do really? Or more importantly what do I do, right?!

I’m quite certain there are some curious cats that would like to know about my work activities in country (and outside). Am I wrong? I sure hope not!

So here’s what I’ve been doing:

WORLD MAP PROJECT

With my site mate Katy Todd, I worked with a small group of elementary students at EPP Worgou in Dapaong and painted a large world map on an outside wall of the school.

WELL-BEING CONFERENCE IN SAGBIEBOU

Originally organized by a CHAP PCV in 2011, the village decided to make this conference annual (SUSTAINABILITY!) and requested PCVs and HCNs to present a topic of their choice. Since my Togolese counterpart presented on family planning methods and CHAP PCV Maggie McRae did condom demonstrations, I focused on the benefits of family planning. More specifically, I explained the ways in which a smaller family size benefits everyone, more resources for each member of the family—food, money, clothes, housing, water, etc.

WOMEN’S GROUP IN DAPAONG

Nutrition. I love it; I teach it; and I live it. In June and July, I led a nutrition talk with a women’s group in Nassablé, Dapaong. Most of the women are in their 50s or late 60s, thus I discussed the importance of calcium, low-sodium intake, hydration (especially during hot season), etc. They also requested a talk on what qualifies as a balanced diet.

CHAP TOOLKIT REVISION 2012

Each program sector has a book complete with a plethora of resources for PCVs to use (if they so desire) at post. An editorial team of six PCVs (including one PCVL) revised the toolkit for the new CHAP trainees who arrived this month.

FOOD SECURITY TASK FORCE (FSTF)

An increasing population, environmental degradation, and gender disparities have led to the current food security crisis in Togo. There are seven members of FSTF, which include PCVs from all four sectors. Each member has his own role, and I work on public relations and communication.

FOOD SECURITY SUMMIT 2012 (THE GAMBIA)

EAFS PCV Benjamin Bogardus and I recently had the opportunity to network and exchange information at the Food Security Summit in Banjul, The Gambia with PCVs and staff from eight other West Africa Food Security Partnership (WAFSP) countries: Ghana, Benin, Burkina Faso, The Gambia, Senegal, Guinea, and Mali. Through sessions and informal exchanges, we learned about the food security activities happening in other countries and formed some recommendations for moving forward in Togo.

MID-SERVICE CONFERENCE

That’s right. Halfway there! This conference was an excellent opportunity for PCVs from each sector, i.e. EAFS, CHAP, GEE and SED, to showcase their activities in a three-day work fair. It also gave PCVs a chance to refine their skills.

SITE DEVELOPMENT IN PANA (SAVANNAH)

Proper site development is crucial before the arrival of a PCV. If a community is seriously committed to receive a PCV—which entails a community-donated house for the PCV that also meets PC requirements—then the site is accepted. PCVs often help APCDs with site development and I helped with the site development of a village near Dapaong.

CAMP ECO-ACTION

Togo has many camps, however, this environmental camp had its début this July. I was a counselor for girls’ week. I led informative lectures/trainings on nutrition, composting, improved cook stoves, and soy bread.  

HOUSE MANAGER OF A WORKSTATION

There are two workstations in Togo: one in Atakpamé (Plateau) and the other in Dapaong (Savannah). I am the new house manager for the Dapaong workstation. Yay!

AGRICULTURAL TRADE FAIR 2012

Economic development in Togo largely depends on improving sustenance farming and agricultural information exchange. This fair gives individual farmers and agricultural producers a venue to showcase locally produced products and open new marketing and networking opportunities. I am a scout for the fair.

Well, that's what been happening chez moi. Next blog will include more information on the Food Security Summit. 

Until next time...