What makes me smile in Togo?

For whatever reason, friends and family question whether or not I am happy in Togo. Yes, The Land of The Free has a great deal to offer: equality among men and women, reliable electricity, wireless Internet (Oh how I want that!), coffee shops, Häagen-Dazs Five ice cream (lemon flavor), and bratwursts. Although after almost a year of living in Togo—even without its NYC-style hot dog stands and McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish sandwiches (Judge all you want! I don’t care.)—it still manages to make me smile. The happy-or-not inquiry is usually followed by, “I am not unhappy.”  And it is the truth. Peace Corps Togo is an experience for which I asked. Peace Corps Togo, though at times quite a challenge (culturally, physically and intellectually), is unlike anything else I have ever come across in all of my travels. And that, friends and family, makes me happy.

There are, of course, other little Togolese idiosyncrasies that either prompts a smile, a mini surge of laughter, or a snicker with a headshake.

So what makes me smile?

• The sound of my neighbor’s wife sweeping the compound outside my house early in the morning
• The scenery

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

• Waking up to “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” “Lããfie!” from the street, which is simply women and men greeting one another quickly on their way to work
• Biking around the city—working in a sense—and someone yells, “Yendoutien!” I turn my head and slow down to see who has called my name and realize a friend wants me to sit and drink tchakpa. The best is when this happens before noon
• Togolese fashion sense and older women

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

• Passing donkeys on the street while biking
• Taxi-motorcycle drivers sleeping horizontally on their bikes (anytime of the day)
• Truck drivers taking naps under semis on the highway because it is the only place with shade
• Eating spicy spaghetti at 8am
• Taking naps on the floor 

• Having conversations with people while biking on the street
• An older woman at the market who sells only grapefruit and limes—we greet one another with the standard greeting but she is so kindhearted and she gives me great deals on grapefruit
• Achu, my site mate’s dog, is very strange (but cute) and whines every time I see him even if it’s only been 24 hours since I last saw him
• Women offering their sons to me for marriage
• Passed out PCVs from either too much sun, too much work or too much…  

• People telling me I am too old (at 25) not to be married
• Seeing all the items motorcycle drivers attach to their motorcycles

Photo Cred: Katy Todd

Needless to say these are not the only tidbits of Togo that make me grin from ear to ear…just happens often enough to make me remember.

Inevitably I will add to this list once more spring to mind, or, that is, the next time I smile.

Until next time…

Bike Accident in Togo

Some days you just never know what will happen. And later, perhaps you wonder if you had done things differently—left your house a little later (or earlier), taken other means of transportation, encountered different people—you might have avoided an accident. (Ever seen Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow? Great movie.)

Yesterday was one of those days. Yesterday, a motorcycle hit another motorcycle and the latter hit me while I was biking. Luckily, I was wearing my helmet—as PCVs should. And luckily, only my left side received injuries, i.e. a large bruise on my thigh, a mini bruise on my hip, scratches and a couple deep gashes on my arm and foot.

Why was I biking? I needed to buy mangoes, avocadoes and tomatoes from the market. I also wanted to buy carrots but none of the carrot mamas were out selling—GIRL CAN’T GET A BREAK! Or is carrot season ending? L

I first thought I lucked out because I was just leaving the market when tout à coup a moto in front of me decided to turn around without looking behind him and I almost T-boned him—not that I really would have done any damage. What the heck, man?! Shortly there after, while biking on the main road the same moto passed me and the idiot said, “Pardonnez-moi.” Yes, thanks for almost killing me, you jerk. But, apology accepted.

About 200 yards later, the fun really began. I don’t really understand how it happened. Perhaps moto man #1 was drunk, or maybe he just doesn’t know how to drive—this is the case more often than not. But the handle of moto man #2 hit my bike handle just enough and caused me to tip over and slide on my left side a few feet.  Moto man #2 fell just the same but the damage to his moto was far worse than my bike. Although he had fewer scratches, so I could give two shits about his moto. Ha!

People were nice and helped me up, asked if I was okay, and examined my bike for any irreparable damages. At first, I was fine; I was more pissed off than anything else. So I got on my bike and continued home to take care of my wounds. Didn’t want any infections!!!! On my return trip, things changed…

I almost got home when I started felling a little light-headed, begun to pedal slowly, and the countryside had a grey and white overtone. It was then I decided it was time to pull over. I sat on the side of the road for a bit, breathed slowly, calmed my nerves, and then I called my neighbor to come help me get home.

Long story short, I’m fine. I immediately hopped in the shower, rinsed off my wounds, applied triple antibiotic cream where it was needed, slapped on (not really) a few Band-Aids, and made some juice to ease the shock (sugar helps).

What did I learn?

• ·      There’s a reason helmets were invented.
• ·      Men, too, do not know how to drive, so don’t generalize and say only women are horrible drivers.   
• ·      I’m lucky there weren’t any serious injuries.
• ·      Shit happens and it’s not really Togo’s fault. Ha ha.

      Want to see the battle scars?? Continue below.

Premier Mai

Christophe DJIKOUTIKE, my Togolese counterpart, is one of the few people I’ve met in Dapaong who just gets it. He fully understands Peace Corps Volunteers are not sent to cities and villages to give sizeable donations, to give cadeaux similar to those millions have received on The Oprah Show, etc. He gets that we are here to educate, to exchange cultural ideas and ideals, and to hopefully improve life in Togo.

At 7:54am, I received a text from Christophe. He officially invited Katy and I to celebrate le Premier Mai with he and his wife Martine—a woman half his age and twice his size. Niiiiiiiiice, Christophe. Nice.

At first I was hesitant to accept. Katy and I had already accepted two other invitations and we knew very well that such invitations would include food, drinks and dancing. Accepting the invitation was an absolute confirmation that our stomachs would despise us by the end of the day. End of the day??? No. That’s not correct. By the end of the afternoon!!!!

So what did we do? We accepted. Boom.

Thank goodness I ate a hand full of mixed nuts and a mango for breakfast!!

ROUND ONE:

Katy and I arrived at Christophe’s house shortly after 11. Christophe was out in search of la soupe de bon mil (a.k.a. good tchakpa), so Katy and I sat outside, stared off into space and occasionally came back to reality to admire the art of pounding yams. Fufu was on the menu. Score!

So…yes, we ate fufu with a tomato sauce and beef. I often enjoy dining chez Christophe because in addition to everything else he gets, he is fully aware of our disgust to stomach lining. Or is that just me?

I had nearly finished my plate when Christophe said, “Oh, il faut ajouter.” (Oh, it’s important to add.) Ummm…Christophe. I did tell you we had another lunch scheduled with Katy’s homologue. Did he listen? Nope!  Fortunately, he gets a kick out of my sassy personality. So when I took the serving spoon from his hand and cut Katy’s second helping of fufu in half to split between us he just smiled.

Of course we couldn’t leave his house without taking a pitcher of tchakpa!!! I guess we were just hoping we could.

ROUND TWO:

We wanted to walk off some of our food before our second date, with Katy’s homologue. That, however, did not happen. First, we were so full we could barely breathe let alone walk a mile. Second, we were running a little late. Pfpfpfpf…l’heure africaine…we’re never late.

So we took motos. Before mounting the moto, my friend Robert walked up to say and confirm our date later. We confirmed and then told him we left tchakpa on Katy’s porch and he was welcome to take it and share with others. Little did we know…

Katy and I arrived at our second destination with no desire to continue consuming liquids and food. But what were we to do? Say no. Yeah, that would have gone over well!

We ate soup—but really it was tomato sauce—spaghetti and enough meat to fulfill my protein intake for the week. We struggled. I finished slightly more than half my plate but wanted to vomit. That was it. I was done. At least for an hour.

 Before Round Three, we decided to walk (instead of taking motos) back to Katy’s house. No doubt I was waddling either like a penguin or a pregnant woman in her third trimester.

The hour we had to rinse off and GO HORIZONTAL (i.e. lie on a mat) was sufficient enough. Well, kind of.

ROUND THREE:

Since our rendezvous was scheduled for 16h, we figured food might not be involved. Damn it. We were so wrong.

We met our favorite seamstress at Bar Obama. That’s right. Obama!

As soon as we walked up to the table, it was unmistakable…plates, cutlery and giant cooler. They waited to eat with us. Balls!

Couscous, chicken and beer. Need I write more? No.

Following the day’s pattern, we ate and we drank, but this time we danced. Togolese always get a kick out of foreigners doing the Moba dance. Of course, I didn’t expect everyone at the bar to stare at me while I danced. And somewhere in the middle of all the dancing I got a marriage proposal from a man whose wife sat right next to him and she accepted me too. Yikes!

I could write more, but just enjoy the photos below (Give me a couple of days. Internet is pretty terrible today.). It was a good day. We had some laughs, we ate lot, and we drank a lot. Reminded me of Thanksgiving.

Until next time…J