Package List

To everyone who has sent me a care package, thank you so much. Its wonderfully uplifting. Here is a list of things that I could always use:

Crystal Light (helps cover the taste of bleach)

Pasta sauce packets

Dried fruit (cranberries, raisins, pomegranate)

Trail mix (especially ones with a lot of nuts)


Walnuts, pecans, almonds

Tuna or chicken packets (the plastic saches are easier than the metal cans)


Freeze dried veggies (most of the time onion is my ony veggie and it doesn't really count)


Beef jerky


Velveta

Peanut Butter (The stuff available here is not even similar I like smooth and crunchy)



Grape jelly (for pb and j)

Deoderant (Lady Speed Stick . . . Togolese don’t wear any so it’s impossible to find)

Anti-bacterial (aka Purell)

Hand wipes (a wonderful thing to have on hand in Africa)

Disposable razors

Maple syrup 

Candy (hard candy or chocolate that has a hard shell like M&Ms)



Oreos



Vanilla extract (for baking at the maison we have a toaster oven)

Magazines (It’s great to get a glimpse of America) 


Pens (the pens here are poor quality and eally hard to write with. Plus it makes a gret gift for good students. They love love love American things even if its something small like a bic pen).

Letters!

Again, thank you to everyone who thinks of me out here in Togo. I can feel the love

Ten Things I Love About Africa

Favorite Things About Living in Africa

1.       Living in Africa: I know a bit redundant, but really still deserves its own shout out. The simple fact that I’m living in Africa is just incredibly cool. I’m also not in Togo as a tourist. Nothing wrong with visiting Africa, but because I live here I get to know the real heart of Africa. I can say I know Africans and that they are my friends.

2.       The land: Its breathtakingly beautiful. In rainy season its green and lush. There are palm trees, coconut trees, papaya trees, pineapple trees, and so many more. There are these massively tall trees with a light color back. The trunk of some are as big as a bus.

3.       People: Most people here are wonderful. Togolese people are giving and will go out of their way to help you. They are also some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. They have the most genuine smiles. Life here is difficult and yet they can smile and find humor.

4.       “Star Showers”: This is a term used to describe late at night after a long hot day and you go to take your bucket shower under the stars. Get it? Star shower? Not sure where the term originated, but all volunteers know the phrase. It’s a poetic way to describe dumping cold water on yourself from a bucket. However, the view cannot be beat. Stars are so bright here out where there is no electricity. When I return to the US I will miss showering under those vivid and bright stars.

5.       Fresh fruit: Yeah, when you eat a pineapple just taken down from your yard it’s undeniably fresh. The fruit here is incredible and so much sweeter than what we buy in the United States. 

6.       Pagne: It’s the colorful printed fabric here that is then made into clothing from tailors. I love that my clothes are fitted for me and not some generic size. The colors are so vivid and the patterns are so unique. Though cotton is more comfortable. But you know what they say . . . ‘when in Togo wear pagne’

7.       Watching the creative, mindboggling, and sometimes downright dangerous ways Togolese transport things and themselves. From cars meant for five people holding nine to a moto having the zedman, two women and five goats laid onto of each other all on one motorcycle . . .  Togolese defy physics and the law of gravity. It’s amazing to see what they can carry on their heads. Just yesterday coming back from Notse a saw another moto coming towards us with a long object strapped to the back with bungee cords. As we got closer I saw that it was a coffin.  My first thought was “huh . . . it’s a coffin on a moto,” followed by “I hope nobody’s in there.”     

8.       Cold Soda: there is little better than drinking a cold coke on a hot African day. I love to hear that pop and fizzle after opening the top.

9.       Freedom of clothing: Labels don’t matter here (not that you can’t find name brands in Dead Yovo markets). You can wear anything in Togo (well . . . there are some stipulations if you’re a woman about showing your knees). You don’t have to match and often Togolese will wear with confidence some big fashion no-nos. If you want to wear a Halloween costume? Go ahead. Fur hat in Africa. Why not?

10.   Fanmilk: Togolese version of “ice-cream.” It comes in a sachet and is sold by men riding around on bikes with coolers in front honking their horn so you know they’re coming. For 150 FCA (500 is about 1 US dollar) you can enjoy your own fanmilk. My favorite is FanIce, which tastes like vanilla icing. There is also FanChoco, FnVanilla, FanExtra (like yogert and is a little tangy).

They Call Me Yovo

I love being in Togo in Africa. Every day I can’t help to think how cool it is to be here and what an opportunity I have. However, it’s far from perfect. It’s not easy being white in Togo and particularly a white woman. Most people here are wonderful and go out of their way to help, but there is another side of being an outsider here.

Yovo. That’s my name here. Children and adults alike call me yovo. In Ewe it means white person. Other languages have other names for white people, but in the southern part of Togo its yovo. I’ve heard the yovo song a thousand times, “Yovo, yovo, bon soire. Ça va bien? Merci”. You can google it and find it on youtube. Put it on repeat for a few hours and you might begin to understand what it’s like here. Sometimes instead of yovo I get “la blanche” (French for white). I ignore people who call me “la blanche” (and its always adults . . . usually men). When in village I correct children and adults when they call me yovo. I tell them I have a name and it’s not yovo. My name is Jennifer.

I think the heart of the matter is identity. I’m seen only for the color of my skin. People seem shocked and amazed when they see me. They may even touch me (especially my hair) if they are bold enough. Most of the time I don’t know if they think I’m even human. Its gets tiring the same thing day in and day out.

Sometimes when I’m in my yard cleaning dishes or washing my clothes the children in my village will gather at my fence and just stare at me. I had one little girl sit down at the entrance to my fence and sit there staring for thirty minutes. I asked her what she wanted, if she needed anything. However, she didn’t know any French and I don’t know Adja. I’ve been here for two months now and every day the children gather to stare at me. I’ve taken to keeping my dog, Swarley, outside with me when I’m doing work in the yard since he hates children and they’re terrified of him.

I have a lot of patience for the children staring and calling me yovo and singing when I’m out and about. But it’s different when they come to my home and do it. It makes me angry when I’m in my house and I hear kids rattling my front door shouting the yovo song. Or if I see them peeking through the gaps in my wood fence and hear “Yovo, donne moi l’argent” which translates to “white person give my money” That really makes me angry. I usually reply with. “No you give me money.”

I understand the children can’t help it. They are just repeating what they are taught. Yovo is just a word to them and has no meaning to them. If you told them the work for white person was “nanana-boo-boo” they would use it. If you go to Atapkame, the Plateau regional capital, they children do call you yovo. However, they are just as likely to start singing “Party! Party! Party!” when they spot you. Party? Who taught them that? Peace Corps volunteers of course. Just goes to show you that the children have no idea what they are saying. Most of the time they are just so excited to see you. Is it their fault you filled your patience quota for the song after the thirtieth time that day?

Food, food, food

I had this mentioned many times to me from loved ones from the states, “You talk about food a lot.” I think I’ve worried people with the constant facebook chatter and letters about food. It is true that a huge chunk of my life now revolves around food. I think I need to explain the realities here so that maybe people can understand why.

In village the food available to me is quite limited. The marché is only once a week so everything I want to eat for the week pretty much needs to be purchased that day. Whats available daily? Beans, rice, foo-foo (pounded yams), pate (. . . corn mush stuff), tomatoes, onions, eggs, spaghetti, and okra. Day in and day out eating the same stuff gets boring. On marché day stuff is still pretty lean in Asrama. Pretty much I can buy the same stuff it’s just cheaper on those days. Fruits like oranges, bananas, and pineapple are sold on marché day. You can buy oranges any time already peeled from one of the ladies on the street (I don’t like Togo oranges. They taste a little bitter to me). If I want variation I need to travel to Notse where I can buy cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and good bread (the bread in Asrama isn’t very good). 

So, imagine eating the same thing day in and day out. After two weeks in village I’m craving variety and general nutrients. My daily diet is severely lacking basic essential nutrients. I have taken measures to help with that like putting Peak (evaporated milk enriched with all the needed nutrients) in as many meals as possible. I also take daily vitamins. Still, I feel like my body know the difference. I look forward to going to Notse and getting a chicken sandwich from my favorite restaurant loaded with veggies or eating yovo food in Atapkame.

Many volunteers when given the opportunity overindulge when good food is available. Before Swear-in ceremony we spent a couple of days in Lome buying everything we needed to set up our houses. One of the big stops we made was to Super-ramco, a grocery store. We bought essentials to start any kitchen, but we also bought some of the things we missed that just are not available outside of Lome. When we were all done shopping and waiting for the Peace Corps car to come pick us up we were chowing down some questionable food choices for lunch. Slices of cheddar cheese, swiss, and salami was passed back and forth. Sever types of Ben and Jerry’s also made the rounds among us . . . not to mention all the candy and different sodas (and some brave souls were chugging milk). Some of us were certainly sick later that day, but if you asked all of us we’d tell you it was worth it.

Then there is the sickness. I’ve been sick a good chunk of my service here in Togo (I think I’ve been ill more than I’ve felt well). I’ve gone two or three days without food simply because I can’t keep anything down. Sometimes the thought of eating the same meal one more time makes me lose my appetite.

So, is it any wonder why food is such a big part of my life here in Togo? It’s not easy getting good food here, so when I’m out of village and it’s bountiful I indulge. If you ask any volunteer they would tell you the same thing.

Half the Battle is Getting There

Traveling in Togo is a big part on my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Getting anywhere here is a big complicated production that is equal parts terrifying, exhilarating, and frustrating. I’m never more aware of my mortality than when I’m on the back of a moto bumping along the road from Ararama to Notse praying that I don’t fall off . . . or that we hit a goat. It’s also equally difficult to adequately explain what travel is like here. So, I have decided describe a journey from start to finish. 

Zedmen are an important nuisance in Togo. Everywhere you go you will find men on motorcycles just waiting for their next passenger. When they see you they hiss and typically call out “On y va?” There are many roads that cars simply just don’t frequently go down to take passengers. Yesterday, I left my house at 9:00 A.M. and walked into town with all my bags (my huge Eagle Creek Bag, my moto helmet, and my purse). I passed several people walking down what I like to call “downtown” Asrama where you can find a tight cluster of boutiques, street food vendors, and our two bars. Everyone wants to know where I am going and when I will be back (a normal conversation that I have a thousand times a day).

It doesn’t take long for a zedman to spot me. I told him I was going to Notse. He informed me it would be 2,000. I laughed and asked him if thought I didn’t know the “vrai” price. I told him it was 1,500 from Asrama to Notse and then I quickly walked away. I’ve learned through trial and error that if the zedman gives you the wrong price then find someone else. The next guy didn’t question when I said 1,500. After all, I live here and travel this road all the time. I know the price. It’s hard when you’re traveling somewhere and you don’t know the price. You’ll overpay by a lot every time. Yovo prices.

I hand him my giant bag and he places it between the handle bars. I prefer to carry as little as possible on my back when I’m on a moto. I’m not the most coordinated person and it’s hard enough as it is to remain sitting on the moto without a large bag messing with my balance. With my earphones in place I carefully pull my helmet on and get on the moto from the left side (very important unless you want to get burned by the exhaust pipe). Instinctively I reach behind me and grab the metal bars and hold on for dear life.

The road from Asrama to Notse has seen better days. It’s a dirt road the reddish brown color of terracotta. Inevitably at the end of my journey I will be covered with a thin layer of dirt from head to foot. Though the road is mostly a straight path the zedman has to weave back and forth on the road to avoid giant pot-holes and livestock. I usually have a death grip on the bars to keep from bouncing right off. Whenever I’m leaving or returning to village, I do enjoy the ride despite the horrible conditions of the road and dust.

There are several villages from Asrama to Notse. The second you cross the bridge and river before Asrama there is a tiny village, Odef, and if you blink you’ll miss it. There are several who’s names I can never remember because they are too long and difficult to pronounce. After Odef is a medium sized village about the size of Asrama called Kponou. Then about midway there is the village Kpouve.

Villages in Togo tend to stay on the road because the roads mean life here . . . commerce. Just past the dirt road the land is wild. Plateau is a beautiful region with pineapple, coconut, and palm trees everywhere. During rainy season it’s green and lush; full of life and possibilities. Every time I make the trip, I am struck by the beauty of Togo, of Africa.

Notse is a pretty big city. Not as big as Tsevie was, but there is electricity and a marché that always has a few stands even when it’s not marché day. At the end of the road to Asrama there is a massive pineapple stand. Asrama and Notse are known for their huge delicious pineapples. I ended up buying six to take with me to Atapkame.

To get to Atapkame from Notse you have to take a car. I was lucky that there happened to be one going there right after I bought my pineapple. The journey there costs 1,200. Typically, in Notse I grab a five person car, which typically by the end of the trip has eight people in it; four in the back seat (sometimes five), the driver and two other people sharing one seat up front, and commonly the drivers apprentice sitting in the trunk. That doesn’t include the occasional chicken, goat, or child. You get dropped off at the station (gare) just barely in the city limits of Atapkame. Then I always take a moto from there to the Peace Corps house 200-150 CFA depending on if you dispute well or not.

I hope this gives everyone a better understanding of travel here. It took a lot of trial and error, but I think I’ve finally gotten the hang of travel here.  

More Tsevie Photos

More photos From Tsevie

Austen and Sarah-Beth. We often went to Albetros, the bar in Tsevie, after a long day of classes to enjoy sodas



Learning how to do the AGR, liquid soap. Melissa is stirring. Da Patience is in the red, yellow, and black. She is one of our trainers. Rebekah is in the green.



Volunteer dancing



Host families singing and playing music for us as part of a cross-cultural event

The formatures and formatrices doing a fashion show for us in the various traditional and modern Togolese clothing



Night Before Christmas (Dec 24th)

T’was the night before Christmas and not a creature was stirring expect the bat in Jennifer’s house. But, that’s the end of the story. Let’s go back first to the beginning. The day before Christmas I left Asrama and took the moto ride in to Notse. It was Saturday and thus, marché day in Notse. I was pretty much down to spaghetti noodles and eggs. Therefore, I needed to go out and buy some veggies otherwise my Christmas day was going to be pretty lean.

Notse the day before Christmas on marché day was something to behold. People were everywhere selling chickens, carrots, pimont, and pangne. It was overwhelming all the sights,sounds, and smells. I made a quick sweep of the marché to get an idea where what I wanted to buy was located. Women tend to set up right next to each other selling the same thing. Not exactly smart when it comes to economics, but it makes shopping a little easier. I’ll know the bread ladies are over there and the women selling cabbage are next to them.

Once I had a general idea of the layout, I snagged some bisap from a girl selling them from a bucket on top of her head and made my way over to Hotel Effata, which isn’t far from the marché. Their chicken sandwiches are delicious and filled with veggies (more then I eat in a week combined). Though it’s a little pricey, it’s well worth it.

When I was done eating I went back to the marché and bought the essentials (and stuff that’s rare to find at my marché): carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and good bread. Then I motoed back to Asrama trying to get back before then sun fully set. Swarley, my dog, was ecstatic to see me. I leave for a couple of hours and he’s practically trying to jump into my arms like I’ve been gone for days. I opened my door and set my bags down. By this time it was dark in my house so I went to my bedroom to grab my candles and I heard something moving over head.

I screamed, of course, and quickly found my head lamp. There was a bat the size of my palm flying around my bedroom. The absurdity of it made me laugh and then call my Father since I figured he too would get a kick out of a bat trapped in my house on Christmas eve. Dad, suggested that I find my host family to help me and to be careful and not get bit. Last thing I needed would be to have to take another trip to the med unit before a major holiday because the creatures of Togo decided to attack me.

I intended to take my Dad’s advice, but my host family was nowhere to be found. So I grabbed my bali (Togolese broom) and decided to try and heard the bat out my front door. It had to have been quite the sight; me swinging a broom at a bat hanging from my drop ceiling with Swarley barking like crazy and me screaming every time the bat swooped down to get away from my broom.

I’m not sure who was more terrified . . . me or that poor bat. It took fifteen minutes for the poor thing to find my open door and make a hasty get away. All part of the fun and excitement of living in Africa.

   

A Few Proposals

This is a topic that comes up a lot in Togo for Peace Corps Volunteers. Everywhere I go there is some guy who decides after seeing me that we must get married. Maybe I was sitting next to him in the bush taxi or he saw me in the marché arguing over the price of onions with the vendor. Where ever I am the conversation usually starts the same;

“Bonjour . . .  Madame? Mademoiselle?” I’ve learned to dread hearing these words.

I always tell them I’m not married. Many volunteers claim to have a husband, but of course that has its own issues. Then you have people asking where your husband is or when will he be visiting you? I decided early on to be truthful in my relationship status, which has consequences . . . like the constant proposals.

After confirming that I am without a husband the next part is almost always the same;

“No husband? Then you will be my wife, yes?”

Back in training I asked seasoned volunteers a good response for this. All of them told me, “It depends on the situation. There is no one good response.” Though this answer didn’t satisfy me at the time I have come to learn that it’s mostly true. My response depends greatly on my mood and who’s asking. Is it clear that it’s a joke? Does the person seem to really think I’ll marry them? Do I have to work with this person?  

My first few responses were awkward and I often made a fool of myself trying to backpedal out of the situation as quick as possible. Though my response does vary a little, I find it helpful to have a tried and true generic reply. At first I said that if I was going to marry them then they had to go to the US and speak with my Father in person. It worked at first. It wasn’t mean and it settled the matter since it they obviously weren’t going to the US. Then I had a would-be suitor give this response;

He looked quite serious as he said, “That won’t work. I cannot go to the United States. Alright, we will do this instead. You will be my mistress.”

After that I changed my generic response. So far it’s worked out fabulously. See, no Togolese person can same my name. They butcher it horribly. Jenny-far (is as close as I can phonetically spell my name said the African way). So now when a man asks to marry me I tell him this;

“Alright, I will marry you if you can say my name the American way.” Then I’ll say my name with the correct pronunciation. It’s worked like a charm. So far no one has been able to come close to saying my name correctly . . . even after giving them several chances.