Just a few more updates…

In these last few months at post, I will be working with the VSLAs to prepare them to troubleshoot any future difficulties they might have. I have high hopes for both groups, I believe they are motivated and committed enough to keep this idea going and hopefully to spread the word to other groups in Badou. The hardest part is getting things going, but once they're in motion you should feel free to walk away - become a passive observer.

Along with these two groups, we are also closing the pilot info tech class this month. Over the past three months, I've worked with HOUMEY Adodo and TETELESTAI (local NGO based in Badou) on an information and communication technology class. We taught ten high-school students the workings of that great machine, the computer and introduced them to the interweb!! They created emails and FB accounts in order to connect with that vast world that it is the web. I’m actually hoping to find PENPALS for my kids, so if you're interested contact me here, my email, or FB. We've been lucky with the group of kids that we chose - incredibly self-motivated smart kids, with the potential to be pretty great grown-ups one day :) We'll be working on Office EXCEL these next two weeks and then they will face the daunting tasks that are the BAC exams. We have four students that will be taking their BACII ( last year of high school) in order to graduate lycee and into University. Students here will spend months getting ready for this test (as in they've probably already started and the exam isn't until July); the SATs are child’s play compared to these. Anyways, I'm sure they cause just as many breakdowns, but Togolese kids handle it with much more grace than their American counterparts.

Check out my counterpart's blog, TETELESTAI. It is a locally based organisation with plenty of great initiatives concerning ICT promotion in rural areas, youth and gender development. http://assotetelestaitogo.wordpress.com/. They welcome feedback, technical advice, and project ideas.

Journee International de la Femme a Badou!!

This year I did not attend WWEC, Women’s Wellness and Empowerment Conference. It fell around the same time as International Women’s Day, for which some of the ladies I work with and I wanted to do something special here in Badou. We began talking about what we wanted to do back in January. We wanted to prepare sketches, hold a parade, and maybe a small picnic amongst a few. Simply, March 8 would be to celebrate what women do for their community, their family and how that community should, in turn, show their appreciation. Leading up to it, a few of us distributed ‘envelopes’ to authorities, local NGOs, and businesses. More than just inviting them to our event, of course, it was our local fundraising effort. And they came through. I partnered with Madame Chang (SuperStar #1). We spent two very hot mornings walking across Badou, first to distribute and then collect. It made me very comforted to see (at least at this superficial level) that some of the ‘grands hommes’ in town were respectful and supportive of our intentions.

Now on to what we did. I’m not going to get into the village politics behind why it ended up on Mar 20 and not the 8^th; just know that the whole event was (sort of) taken out of the hands it started in and controlled by the Affaires Sociales and the state library (CLAC) director. I will assume some responsibility for this. I wasn’t sufficiently assertive about what we wanted to do, as in keep the scale manageable and the attention on the information/message the women wanted to give. We prepared the sketches on the importance of empathetic communication between mothers and daughters. We placed emphasis on how mothers can be the primary source of support for their girls, in their education and at home. I left Badou right before the event for 1) a SED close-out meeting in Kpalime and 2) for the migraine-inducing responsibility of collecting our t-shirts. Upon return, I learned that one of the national political parties was to say a ‘few’ words during our presentation…and that they would pay for the center and the chairs and the media coverage (still waiting on the last). I was piqued. I felt the blood pulsating in my temples, as I do when I feel a frustration I can do nothing about. Our parade, however, livelied up my soul. We were a raucous mass of girls and women parading through town – singing songs, dancing, simply feeling good about being female.

When we arrived at the center, my heart plummeted as I saw the party had hung their slogan up on stage. They, essentially, were using our presentation, the collection of these women, for other purposes to dole out their political messages. Someone had pulled a fast one on us.

Erin and I sat outside, waiting for the political representatives to leave the center. I felt no desire to greet or acknowledge them in any way as I walked past them into the center.

Our sketches were AWESOME. All the women got into it, sporting ‘costumes’ as young girls, gendarms, seedy zedmen, mean moms and nice moms. It made me really proud of them all. They performed their parts well, confidently, no nervous-laughter or faint voices from anyone.  It was enough to quell the irritation I felt about the political usurpation that morning. From the laughter and sounds coming from the audience I gathered that they were into it too. I have videos of their performances, which malheureusement, Togo internet is not strong enough for me to upload. But enjoy the images!!

January 7, 2013

There’s no mozzarella but there IS VQR (consolation? To some of us yes).

I’m back and sort of rejuvenated a cause de my America vacation. My mom’s hands still make the best turkey, pastelon de platanos (baked plantains, cheese, and sautéed things) and morro (beans and yellow rice) I’ve ever had. Loved the margherita pizza with fresh mozz and bangin’ tomato sauce; the Belgian fudge cheesecake was bomb (the Cheesecake Factory might be a machine, but that doesn’t mean it can’t occasionally give one culinary bliss); and the Christmas feast was killer (no shame - the food was and is central to this story). The family was spectacular – my mom started to cook at some morning hour that seemed far too early for an evening meal; my dad was petulantly checking on the pork (our favorite Noche Buena past-time is to pick at the food, mollifying the eagerness for the actual feast). My nephew was fantastic – the energy a baby gives to those around him goes unmatched. His best moments were either when he put a sauce pan on his head and a strainer on mine and we danced to MJ OR running into walls and adult feet on his battery powered Tonka car and laughing uncontrollably.

I left on an unfortunate date (Dec 31^st) at an incredibly senseless hour (9pm) which meant that I was somewhere between time zones when the clock struck midnight (Eastern Time, I guess). I left Detroit at 9pm (Paris and Lome had already welcomed the New Year) but left the eastern time zone before it was actually midnight. Anyways, nothing really exciting happened – no Champaign popping on the plane and barely any recognition from my fellow fliers. The best thing about the plane ride was the authentically Italian couple I was sitting next to. The man was as animated and grumpy as Frank in that sitcom, ‘Everybody loves Raymond,’ (not to say that Frank Barone is an ‘aunthentic’ representation of an Italian-American father, but you get the picture) with an unbelievable accent and Don Corleone hand expressions to boot. It was 1am and he was recounting his work in Cameroon as a construction advisor (or something of the sort) while I was desperately hoping he noticed how sleepy I was. When he got up to go to the bathroom his wife leaned across his seat and said “he talks too much, just tell him you want to,“ she put her head on her shoulder and waved her hand as though this would do the trick. They both spent the better part of the night complaining about how cramped coach seating is and impatiently gesturing for the attendants.  I took advantage of the AirFrance hospitality, got myself two bottles of red wine, and then found myself gagging into an airplane toilet bowl (combination of empty stomach, turbulence, and nerves(?)). The whole affair got a lot better upon exit of the Lome Airport – where Veronica and Ryan came to pick me up.

 I felt something of a sinking feeling when I was standing in the chaos of the Lome Airport – craving the anonymity in La Guardia; the self-checkout counters; the (more) professional customs guys; more than three security lines to attend to a flight of over 100 people; the clean and shiny surfaces. The feeling left as I spent the evening in good company – I DID enjoy the bar on the sand and the cool Awooyo. I was back and nothing, not the absurd moto driving; the hazardous sidewalks; the return to perpetual foreigner-status seemed all that daunting. I took a few days in Datcha with Alex, to soak in the comfort of partnership – (cheesiness warning) sharing the solitude of this life with a kindred spirit makes everything feel that much lighter. Making food for two is SO much better than the blah lonely rice you’ll make for yourself at post. I never make pancakes, or goat cheese crepes (yes, please!), or tacos for myself. Alex also hosted a few of the wonderful people of Egbedrovi to a dinner of fried chicken, to experience one of the vrai inspirations of American cuisine. I think it was resolved as a type of beignet fried around a chicken wing. If it weren’t for the unavailability (price?) of meat, I would say we’d start seeing fried chicken stands in Datcha. These days also served to reconcile with a return to Togolese routine, getting back into the swing of things as it were. Still, I couldn’t shake nervousness, a hesitation and uneasiness in returning to Badou. It’s one of those things people say – it’s the anticipation in waiting that makes fear and not the thing itself, ou bien? I had a healthy amount of separation anxiety on the moto driving away from Alex –a silent AHH! sounding off in my head. However, the bush taxi ride back soothed my nerves – not because it was physically comfortable (ahemm) but because I was with a good humored crowd who chuckled sarcastically every time our driver stopped to talk to one of his girlfriends.

Yesterday was my first full day back and it was RELIEVING. Madame Bide gave me the tenderest of hugs – maybe not as unconditional as my mother’s but with an absolute amount of feeling. And this wasn’t the last. I felt so, what’s the word…appreciated. I came back ready to face down that word that incites anxiety in all a good Peace Corps volunteer --- work. I have this determination (not something innate to me) to focus in on a few things I really want to do and I know I can do well. One of which is to paint a mural on the library wall representing the creativity of lycee students. This should be something totally plausible, fun, and won’t take a whole lot of coordination among officials (not something easily doable for Togolese officials). The reason I said “sort of rejunvenated” at the beginning of this post is because now, as I begin my last stretch in Togo, I have a restlessness to get back into things, set things in motion, and leave this service feeling utile, happy, and (at least relatively) ready and wanting for whatever comes next. Bon arrivé 2013.