Togo Holidays

The photo above I took at the Folklore Festival that Vivre Mieux held this past weekend. Together with Steven, we've made a holiday card out of it and are sending it to all of Vivre Mieux's partners. The festival consisted of 8 groups that wrote lyrics about HIV/AIDS to traditional music. First, we had a parade through the busy parts of town in order to advertise the event. Then, we proceeded to the municipal soccerfield where the event took place. There, each group performed their music, dance, and even skits, where people acted out scenarios to illustrate the pertinent issues. Some performed skits involving people having protected sex, using a wooden penis attached to someone's crotch; some acted out stigmatization and discrimination scenes towards HIV-positive people; and some illustrated the use of sterile needles in doctor's offices. During all this lively bands and tamtam players accompanied the performances. It was very interesting and colourful.

The attendance at the festival, however, was scarce. At first I attributed this to the great size of the soccerfield in comparison to the space we actually used. After some consultation, I was told that people probably thought that the parade was some form of political demonstration and decided to better stay away in light of the recent events organized by the regime (i.e.. Lome a month ago). Also, the fact that the event took place in the municipal stadium had too strong an official connection. Even though we had banners throughout the whole day that explained the purpose of this event, which is to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS through folklore and song, I suppose the majority did not read and simply observed that the parade resembled a political event.

After being here for a couple of months, I have had so many experiences that I don't know how to come to terms with. Sometimes I feel that no matter what I do and how much I want to adapt to life here, I will never be accepted as an 'insider' by the locals. This is more obvious some days and non-existent other days. In my encounters with strangers, especially, it is difficult to stay open and trusting. Often strangers approach me because they see me as a means to an end, a walking dollar bill, and a marriage opportunity that might lead to a better life. With adults I can sometimes explain that I am not rich and am only a volunteer. It is with kids where it's tough because they've been told by someone that 'yovos' will give them money and it is difficult to convince them otherwise with an explanation. Fortunately, there are a few Togolese friends that make me feel appreciated for who I am, which allows me to feel 'normal' as opposed to a giant white elephant. Steven, my buddy and co-worker (we are pretty much attached at the hip), is really insightful and understands. I can ask him questions about anything and he'll give me an honest answer. I can tell him about shitty encounters, such as bratty kids who get angry at me for not giving them money, and he'll empathise but will also tell me if I have been too harsh.

The colonial history of Togo comes up from time to time as well. Here is where my ethnicity plays a role and puts me in a tricky situation. For instance, if I'm out at a bar with my German friends and a drunk Togolese man begins expressing openly his contempt for the former (I use this word loosely) colonizers of the country, his bitter comments are usually not directed at anyone, but he makes sure I know he's not talking about 'my' people. This puts me in a really awkward position. I can't help but have two trains of thought simultaneously. One, that my German friends want the same liberation and emancipation for the people here as much as the Togolese man wants and cannot be lumped into the group of 'colonizers'. Two, that the colonizers really fucked up this country and the Togolese man has every right to voice his discontent. How should I reconcile these two trains of thought? Furthermore, where do I fit into this picture with my Chinese heritage? Also, truth and reconciliation are necessary in any healing process, this I know from all the polisci courses, but how is it actually done in practise, in everyday encounters? It's been too confusing, so far, to sort it out inside my head, much less trying to explain it to anyone else, drunk or not.

On a brighter note, I'm spending Christmas with my host family. They bought a really cute goat today . . . and they're going to kill it tomorrow, so we can have it for breakfast on Christmas morning. Apparently I'm supposed to document this slaughter. Slightly weird. I'm very excited for my Togolese Christmas because I'll be hanging out with the family. They've already decorated the house and put up Christmas lights on the two coniferous trees in the courtyard (I have no idea where they came from; they are certainly not local plants). I had a traditional Togolese dress made recently that I'll be sporting to church on Saturday. It's kind of poncho-shaped but made of this really beautiful brown, relief cotton. I'm going to church for the sole reason of showing off my new outfit--at least this is what my host mom insists on. Apparently one absolutely has to show off new outfits at a big gathering--what better place than church! The service is a 2-3 hour long service all in Ewe, so I won't be able to understand a thing. The things I'm willing to endure for vanity. . .

Togo, West Africa -- Definition of Beauty

So, it's Harmattan season in Kpalime right now. This means that the humidity has disappeared and a cool dry wind from the Sahara has now enveloped the valley of Kpalime in a constant fog of fine sand dust. I cannot believe that I actually didn't sweat for one day. I got home one night after work and Aquelle was wearing a wool sweater; it must have been maybe 26 C, as opposed to 32 C. Maybe I'll move on to another topic since my mom (my real mom) reported a heavy snowfall in Ottawa recently.

From walking around the streets and judging by my short trips so far, the poverty in Togo has not really struck me as devastating. I know it's a really weird thing to say, but the people's attitudes here are so joyful and bright that it makes the material poverty insignificant. It seems to me that the devastation in people stems from the political oppression rather than the material poverty. One striking example that I can offer is a visit to Amele's house.

Amele is a woman who is HIV-positive who lives in a room with her 3-year old HIV-positive son and her mother. I went with Odette, the HIV-counsellor here at Vivre Mieux, to do a house visit at Amele's. When we walked into Amele's compound--made up of a few one-story, tin-roofed houses facing a courtyard--, the other inhabitants--three other families with grandmothers who cooked topless, a brother who ploughed the small garden, and children ran about--stopped what they were doing, looked up at the obvious outsider, and continued to stare until Odette and I entered Amele's room. As we entered, Amele lifted herself up from the double bed and pulled her wide-necked dress up at one shoulder.

The room was very warm and stuffy, the only furniture in it was the bed with a few chairs and small tables with pots and jars on them. The only window in the room was stuffed with old dirty rags and pieces of stained cardboard to block out the light. The cement floor had many cracks in it and everything else in the room had a shabbiness to it. Amele's dress was shabby, too, as she sat on the side of the bed and offered us two wooden chairs to sit on. The whole time I was in the room, however, the poverty that this environment represented was contrasting the glowing beauty of this woman who sat on the bed. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Despite her thin physique, her attitude and aura was magnetic and beautiful. Her hair was done up in many small twists, her cheekbones were beautifully defined, and as she talked, her deep voice resonated with confidence and strength. Her eyes had a fierceness to them, which impressed her words on her listeners. I didn't understand a word she said because she spoke to Odette in Ewe, but, yet she held my attention the entire visit. The room, the sick child in dirty clothes wandering about, her old and tattered dress that seemed too big for her--the poverty surrounding her made her beauty stand out even more.

She explained, with Odette's translations, that she sold home-made, natural hair gel to afford food for her son and her. She spoke about her disease and its effects on her without sadness or defeat in her voice. With a bright smile, she explained that she was grateful and looking forward to the small loan that VM was going to forward her to expand her hair-gel venture. She showed me the product and laughed as she rubbed the gel into my hair.

I was completely in awe of this bright, confident woman. To think that this woman was living this life, too poor to afford nutritious food much less ARV drugs for herself and her son, and yet, lived full of grace, made my jaw drop. To pity her, to feel bad for her situation, or to lament her life in any way would have been such an insult! I felt so empowered by her! Then I realized how pointless it would be to feel bad about poverty or feel guilty for what I have. If Amele can live her life the best way she knows how and with such grace, then I owe it to her, if not to myself, to, at the least, live my life to its fullest and the best way I know how. The point is not to wallow and feel bad and thereby project helplessness on someone; the point is to do something positive about it. If I cannot do that with all my privileges and riches, then the true pity is on me.

The last time I saw Amele at Vivre Mieux, she flashed a beautiful, confident smile and waved with recognition. I want to take a picture of her, but I can't because it will not do her justice.

Togo, West Africa -- Life & Death

I guess my emails so far have been quite emotional and I want to make sure that you guys know that I'm totally happy being here. I do want to say that I have been trying to write as honestly and openly as I could in terms of my experiences here. The drastic change in environment (in every way) was very emotional and tough in the beginning and I wanted to express what I was feeling in my emails. It wasn't meant to worry you, because I kept in mind that it's a normal part of culture shock. Now, a month later, the thought of leaving Togo is completely strange. Sylvain, a friend of mine from Lyon was talking about being at the airport to pick up a package and feeling excited about possibility to hop on a plane and see his family that same afternoon. When he said that, the thought occurred to me that I don't want to leave Togo at all right now and that I was having a great time.

Some of you guys have also been asking about my work here at Vivre Mieux, so, here it is. I'm working on the communication strategy for the NGO. The communication strategy is basically advertising designed for funders in the Occident and explains to them what, how, where, when, with whom Vivre Mieux does what it does. So, my job consists of two parts: first, to take the existing information brochures, newsletters, web-site, films, etc. and help improve them using professional software tools such as Photoshop, Dreamweaver, QuarkXpress. And second, pass on the know-how to the staff here, so that, when I leave, VM can continue to create and modify their own publications.

So, so far, I've been working with Steven (the dude holding the camera), a Togolese economics/IT major here at VM, who is learning about web design, not to mention learning very quickly.

We've been working on the old website, changing the content around, adding information, organizing, etc. We will also be re-designing the old brochure to be more catchy and readable for funding organizations or anyone who's interested in Vivre Mieux. Our other project involves taking film footage (that VM has filmed with a camcorder) of AIDS training workshops, water-pump building projects, community get-togethers, etc. and using it in a promotional DVD. I have to say, I've never worked so high-tech before. The computers that we are using are top of the line and the software is very sophisticated. Now, all that is left is for everyone to learn how to use them, including me. I'm new to stuff like film editing software, but I'm learning and the people here are learning with me. So that's my work in a nutshell. It's pretty fun and creative, just weird that it's so high-tech while the majority of the population lives in villages with no running water and electricity. I guess, in order to communicate with organizations in 1st world countries, we need to use their language and their technology. (If you are interested the site is at www.vivremieuxtogo.org or look it up in Google--what you see is the old site designed by last year's volunteer, Tim.) Having said all this, Vivre Mieux is certainly not representational of most local NGOs, here, in terms of its organizational and technological capacity.

A quick note on communication around here: From talking to all the other foreign volunteers (there are a few here in Kpalime and surrounding areas), it seems to me that out of the gazillion local NGOs here, only a few actually do good work or are organized enough to manage their funds to accomplish something for the community. In any case, the different organizations do not communicate with each other. Given the high cost of phone calls and Internet connections, there is no regular dialogue between organizations. And you can forget about TV ads because most people do not own television sets. The radio is probably the most accessible medium, but only near towns and not in villages. In villages, the peacecorps volunteers communicate with the community via "town crier" type messengers, who walk from one end of the village to the other, since there is only about one telephone station for each village. So, it's virtually impossible for all the different organizations to let each other know what they are up to in order to collaborate and to avoid overlap. The information age is obviously non-existent in villages.

This translates to the way people communicate on a personal level as well--if I may make one generalization. There is definitely no pressure for detailed information, much less additional information. There is no rush for efficiency and so, sometimes information is forgotten. Most things tend to work on a "we'll see" ad hoc basis with no fixed plans. Planning ahead happens rarely, unless it's a very big event. For instance, I asked my co-workers on Wednesday if they would be able to meet with me the following Monday to discuss a project. Everyone happily agreed. The Saturday before, I find out that Monday is a national holiday and people will not be at work. This is all not meant to be disrespectful in any way, it's just not that common to plan ahead. The people here also speak of African time versus occidental time. African time is a lot slower and more flexible than occidental time. There are no monthly calendars in African time and punctuality is not obligatory. I'm happily adjusting to African time, I have to say. So far, it has not really interfered with my work and I enjoy the laid-back attitude.

Other than the communication stuff, I try to observe as much as I can when it comes to the real grass-roots work that VM does. i.e. support for local HIV-patients, water-pump construction sites, monthly food-distribution meetings, taking care of AIDS-affected orphans and children, and HIV-AIDS education for local youth, etc. So sometimes, I get to hop on the back of a moped and join Odette and the other counsellors to visit HIV patients in the villages or see the current water-pump project. Oh yeah, mopeds here are THE way to get around town.

Otherwise, the weather is starting to cool down a bit, relatively speaking of course. It's still really hot and humid, and I have no idea what the temperature is since there is no such thing as the weather network and my family does not have a thermometer. Besides, it's not really useful to know it's 30 degrees today and 32 degrees tomorrow. The people here certainly avoid being out in the sun as much as possible, so it's not just foreigners that suffer from the heat. For instance, my family here doesn't really walk very much. People walk only when it's very close (i.e. 5 min) otherwise, they take a 'djzemi' (a moped-taxi). With the breeze on the djzemi, it's not very hot. There are hardly any people out walking around noon, except for the school kids that return home.

The school hours start at 7 in the morning and end around noon or 1pm. The junior- and high school kids have most of the afternoons off, where the elementary school kids go back for two hours at 3pm. The girls at my house attend private schools (mind you public schools cost money, too, just a bit less) and all the students wear some sort of school uniform of one colour on top plus khaki skirts/pants. So, no matter where you are in Togo, you'll always be able to identify a student, even university students wear uniforms. At school they learn through memorizing a lot of information. For instance, Bobo, at 9 years old has already memorized the different parts of the human anatomy that we would have learned in OAC PhysEd. While at 14 they do math at our grade 12 level, the kids here aren't really encouraged to think outside the box. Also, the teachers use caning to discipline the kids, sometimes with sticks across the open palm and sometimes over-the-knee style. The girls always tell me how amazed they are by the kids that manage not to cry when disciplined. Also, whenever something shitty happens, like the teacher was really mean or someone tripped and fell, all that is said is "du courage".

I suppose falling and hurting yourself is not so bad in contrast to death around here. My family has attended two funerals each Saturday since I arrived three weeks ago. People die young, people die in large numbers, and people die of what would seem to us a ridiculous diseases like the flu--nobody will say that a person died of the flu because they might have had AIDS. It's not really visible to me, but not a week passes when I haven't heard of at least 3 funerals. Death is very much part of life--even in humour. People joke about death all the time and laugh whole-heartedly when jokes about death are made. I suppose it makes a lot of sense when you have to deal with death on a weekly if not daily basis. At the same time, appropriately, the people here are some of the most joyful and life-loving bunch I've ever met.

Togo, West Africa -- Kpalime new home

Looking back the first night in Kpalime was probably the peak of homesickness. Since then, the sadness and loneliness has decreased over the period of a week. I can say now, that I am quite happy to be here. I am healthy, have lots of really yummy Togolese food to eat, made friends, and am very inspired by the work at Vivre Mieux. Everyday I feel like I'm living life to the fullest, which is the best part about being here. I wish you guys could be here to share this experience with me in person, but email will have to suffice.

Now, almost three weeks later, I have established a daily routine. In the morning, the roosters have a crowing competition around 4:30am, where they usually wake me up. I go back to sleep after their 10 minute-long saga. Mind you, this does not mean that the roosters don't also cry whenever they feel like. Sometimes, there is this heart-breaking and also really spooky crying noise in the night coming from the neighbour's new puppy. The people here buy dogs for guarding the house. Trust me, if you came across a dog on the road, the way they look, your first instinct is to ask "does it have rabies?" instead of reaching out your hand to pet it. Between the roosters and the neighbours starting their day at 5 am, I drift in and out of sleep. Around here you hear everything because there are no windows, as we understand it. Only a screen and shutters cover the windows, so I can hear the neighbours talking, sweeping, and cooking outside every morning.

When I actually get up around 6:15am, I do some yoga, and then take a shower with my trusty bucket. The yoga warms me up nicely for the cold shower--the mornings here are pretty cool. I'm spoiled in term of food here. My Togolese maman--Felicite makes the best food ever! Breakfast is ready on the table by the time I make my way to the dining room around 7am. For breakfast I have a few different meals. Sometimes I have this drink called 'Boullie' that consists of boiled unbleached flour, milk, and sugar--it's pretty thick and I can't think of an equivalent Canadian drink. This comes with bread (the bread is sold on the streets fresh and really good) and sometimes an omelette. Other times I have tea with bread and mango jam. And sometimes I have leftovers from last night's dinner. I eat by myself because the girls have already left for school by this time and Ernest (papa) is still sleeping. Maman is on a diet and doesn't eat breakfast.


On my 15-minute walk to work, I pass by many free-roaming chickens with or without babies, little goats, and the occasional duck. People here do not feed their chickens. They open the courtyard doors in the morning to let the animals out; the little creatures then look for food to eat all day; then, the animals come back home by themselves at night. Then, eventually, they are eaten. My family luckily does not have chickens roaming (this is very good for my bird phobia). They have a cage for chickens that they buy for eating. People kill their own meat here, except the larger animals like goats and cows which they buy from the butcher in the market. Even, Bobo, the littlest sister at 8 years old, has already killed a chicken herself. I haven't yet witnessed a chicken being killed. Also, I'm not averse to the idea of having to kill the meat you eat yourself. First of all, one can see if the chicken was weirdly deformed or diseased- looking in order to prevent eating a sick animal. But most importantly, if one eats meat, one should know and see how a living creature died for you to be able to eat and be nourished. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian and I do eat the meat that comes frozen in the supermarket in Canada, but I think people here value and appreciate the chickens, goats, etc. and the meat they eat here a lot more. There is no waste: the meat, the cartilage, and even the bone marrow are eaten. But I digress.

So, I walk on the edge of the paved road because there is less dust when the 'motos' or 'dzemi-jons' (sounds like a variation of demi-john to me), as they call the moped here, pass me by two fingers width. The motos are pretty much the taxis here. There are people who pass by me and say "bonjour" and I salute back. On the side of the road there are everything from restaurants, fruit stands, popcorn poppers, to hairdresser (there are a lot!). Because of a few foreign organizations that started to train people in hairdressing back in the days as a means to create more skilled workers, most of the women who have no education train hairdressing and safe up money to open little hairdressing shacks. There are also a lot of tailors due to similar (originally) foreign training programs.

When I get to work, I've saluted about 20 people and have been called 'yovo' and 'chinoise' a few times by kids. 'Yovo' meaning 'white,' which is a bit weird for me because I'm not white. My Caucasian friends here say that no matter how long they've been here, be it a few months or even a year, they still cannot get used to the 'yovo' name and they are not at ease when walking down the streets because of the harassment. I suppose it would be like yelling "hey white! how s'it going!" For me, the situation is less disturbing, which I attribute to my childhood in Germany. There, I was used to people being curious about or discriminating towards me because I looked different. In my school of kids ranging from grade 5 to 13, two kids and I were the only non-Caucasians. So, I feel fairly comfortable sticking out like a sore thumb here in Togo and have pretty thick skin for the discrimination as well.

At Vivre Mieux, I work from 8am until noon, when I leave to eat lunch at home. For lunch I've had fufu, pate (both sticky lumps of pummelled potato, maize, or flour) eaten with different sauces that have different combinations of some of the following ingredients: died fish, chicken, mutton, hot peppers, ground palm nuts, peanuts, green beans, a local spinach-y plant, tomato, zucchini, and onions. I also get couscous, spaghetti, and fries (plantain, potato, or sweet potato). For dessert there is always fruit. The pineapple here is organic (well, everything here is organic. . .) and is amazing! After lunch, people usually take a nap. Except for youngest one, Bobo, who is a crazy energizer bunny. She'll jump around, act dramatic, or will do her homework in the afternoon. After napping a bit--I usually really need it after a night of rooster drama-- I go back to work for 3pm. Just half an hour before the sunsets, at 5:30pm I leave work. Sometimes, I go to hang out with my friend Jean-Marc, a New Yorker who is part of the American Peacecorps here. He lives by himself in a villa, has about 6-8 wild cats--they live, have babies, and die, so he's never sure how many there are. He's been here for a year and is leaving in another--he can't wait to go home. When I go home in the dark (which means after 6pm) I use a little flashlight in order not to trip over the rocky-sandy paths. There is no street lighting but very safe to walk in general before 10 - 11 pm. I have dinner with the family, chat a bit, take a bucket shower (so essential!) and go to sleep around 10pm usually. There is not much of nightlife here since people get up so early and it's pretty hard to navigate in the dark. The heat makes everything a lot more energy consuming, too. So, after a day's work, I'm pretty beat. So that was my lengthy account of an usual day in my life.

On the weekends, it's a lot more fun. I've been to an international dirt-bike competition, which was held here in Kpalime. It was really weird to see competitors race through the streets in their shiny, colourful uniforms with sponsors like Fox and Sony on their backs and their crazy dirt bikes. It was very out of place; probably equivalent to seeing a giant while elephant on the streets in Canada. Last weekend I was in Lome, the capital for the U.S. Marine Ball. I was a bit weirded out by the fact that it was a marine ball at first, but once I found out that there were only 5 marines, I relaxed a bit. It was really fun and I made a bunch of new friends. It was in a chi-chi hotel with air conditioning (!!) and an open bar. The entire U.S. embassy was there with a bunch of Peacecorps volunteers and a few marines, who are in Togo to protect the embassy.
All in all, the need to feel 'normal', in a pre-Togo sense, has gone away. I suppose the paradigm shift from Canadian to Togolese is almost done. The new 'normal' is gradually sinking in and I'm beginning to forget what the old 'normal' feels like. When I'm writing this email it is already becoming difficult to see Togo through a Canadian lens. Things here are becoming matter of fact rather than strange, and I'm finding it effortful to notice the differences between Togo and Canada.

Togo: Roosters crow even before sunrise

Now, almost three weeks later, I have established a daily routine. In the morning, the roosters have a crowing competition around 4:30am, when they usually wake me up. I go back to sleep after their 10 minute-long saga. Mind you, this does not mean that the roosters don't also crow whenever they feel like. Sometimes, there is this heart-breaking and also really spooky crying noise in the night coming from the neighbour's new puppy. The people here buy dogs for guarding the house. Trust me, if you came across a dog on the road, the way they look, your first instinct is to wonder "does it have rabies?" instead of reaching out your hand to pet it. Between the roosters and the neighbours starting their day at 5 am, I drift in and out of sleep. Around here you hear everything because there are no windows as we understand it. The windows are only covered by a screen and shutters, so I can hear the neighbours talking, sweeping, and cooking outside every morning. When I actually get up around 6:15am, I do some yoga, and then take a shower with my trusty bucket. The yoga warms me up for the cold shower--the mornings here are pretty cool. I'm spoiled in term of food here. My Togolese maman--Felicite makes the best food ever! Breakfast is ready on the table by the time I make my way to the dining room around 7am. For breakfast I have a few different meals. Sometimes I have this drink called 'Boullie' that consists of boiled unbleached flour, milk, and sugar--it's pretty thick and I can't think of an equivalent Canadian drink. This comes with bread (the bread is sold on the streets fresh and is really good) and sometimes an omelette. Other times I have tea with bread and mango jam. And sometimes I have leftovers from last night's dinner. I eat by myself because the girls have already left for school by this time and Ernest (papa) is still sleeping. Maman is on a diet and doesn't eat breakfast.

On my 15-minute walk to work, I pass by many free-roaming chickens with or without babies, little goats, and the occasional duck. People here do not feed their chickens. They open the courtyard doors in the morning to let the animals out; the creatures then look for food to eat all day; then, the animals come back home on their own at night. Then, eventually, they are eaten. My family, luckily does not have chickens roaming (accomodating my bird phobia). They have a cage for chickens they buy before eating. People kill their own meat here, except the larger animals like goats and cows which they buy from the butcher in the market. Even, Bobo, the littlest sister at 8 years old, has already killed a chicken herself. I haven't yet witnessed a chicken being killed. Also, I'm not averse to the idea of having to kill the meat you eat yourself. First of all, if the chicken was weird and deformed or sick-looking, you would avoid it. But most importantly, if one eats meat, one should know and see how a living creature died for you to be able to eat and be nourished. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian and I do eat the meat that comes frozen in the supermarket in Canada, but I think people here value and appreciate the chickens, goats, etc. and the meat they eat here a lot more. There is no waste: the meat, the cartilage, and even the bone marrow are eaten.

I walk on the edge of the paved road because there is less dust when the 'motos' or 'djzemi-jons' (sounds like "demi-john" to me), as they call the mopeds here, pass me by two fingers width. The motos are pretty much the taxis here--an export of neighbouring Benin. There are people who pass by me and say "bonjour" and I salute back. On the side of the road there is everything from restaurants, fruit stands, popcorn poppers, to hairdresser (there are a lot of them!). I think there were a few foreign organizations that started to train people in hairdressing back in the days as a means to create more skilled workers, most of the women who have no education train hairdressing and safe up money to open little hairdressing shacks. There are also a lot of tailors and carpenters, too.

When I get to work, I've saluted about 20 people and will have been called 'yovo' and 'chinoise' a few times by kids. 'Yovo' meaning 'white,' which is ironic because I'm not white. My Caucasian friends here say that no matter how long they've been here, be it a few months or even a year, they still cannot get used to the 'yovo' name and they are not at ease when walking down the streets because of the harassment. For me, the situation is less disturbing, which I attribute to my childhood in Germany. There, I was used to people being curious about and possibly discriminating towards me because I looked different. In my school of kids ranging from grade 5 to 13, two kids and I were the only non-Caucasians. So, I feel fairly comfortable sticking out like a sore thumb here in Togo and have pretty thick skin for the potential discrimination as well.

At Vivre Mieux, I work from 8 am until noon, when I leave to eat lunch at home. For lunch I've had fufu, pate (both sticky lumps of pummelled potato, maize, or flour) eaten with different sauces that have different combinations of some of the following ingredients: died fish, chicken, mutton, hot peppers, ground palm nuts, peanuts, green beans, a local spinach-y plant, tomato, zucchini, and onions. I also get couscous, spaghetti, and fries (plantain, potato, or sweet potato). For dessert there is always fruit. The pineapple here is organic (well, everything here is organic; there is no money for fertilizer . . .) and is amazing! After lunch, people usually take a nap. Except for youngest one, Bobo, who is a crazy energizer bunny. She'll jump around, act dramatic, or will do her homework in the afternoon.

After napping a bit--I usually really need it after a night of rooster drama-- I go back to work for 3pm. Just half an hour before the sun sets, at 5:30pm I leave work. Sometimes, I go to hang out with my friend Jean-Marc, a New Yorker who is part of the American Peacecorps here. He lives by himself in a villa, has about 6-8 wild cats--they live, have babies, and die, so he's never sure how many there are. He's been here for a year and is leaving in another--he can't wait to go home. When I go home in the dark (which means after 6pm) I use a little flashlight in order not to trip over the rocky-sandy paths. There is no street lighting but very safe to walk in general before 10 - 11 pm. I have dinner with the family, chat a bit, take a bucket shower (so essential!) and go to sleep around 10pm usually. There is not much of a night life here since people get up so early and it's pretty hard to navigate in the dark. The heat makes everything a lot more energy consuming, too. So, after a day's work, I'm pretty exhausted. So that was my lengthy account of an usual day in my life. Here is the short account of the weekend:

On the weekends, it's a lot more fun. I've been to an international dirt-bike competition which was held here in Kpalime. It was really weird to see competitors race through the streets in their shiny, colourful uniforms with sponsors like Fox and Sony on their backs and their crazy dirt-bikes. It was very out of place; probably equivalent to seeing a giant while elephant on the streets in Canada. Last weekend I was in Lome, the capital for the U.S. Marine Ball. I was a bit weirded out by the fact that it was a marine ball at first, but once I found out that there were only 5 marines, I relaxed a bit. It was really fun and I made a bunch of new friends. It was in a chi-chi hotel with air conditioning (!!) and an open bar. The entire U.S. embassy was there with a loads of Peacecorps volunteers and a few marines, who are in Togo to protect the embassy.

All in all, the need to feel 'normal', in a pre-Togo sense, has gone away. I suppose the paradigm shift is in progress. The new 'normal' is gradually sinking in and I'm beginning to forget what the old 'normal' feels like. When I'm writing this email it is already becoming difficult to see Togo through a Canadian lens. Things here are becoming matter of fact rather than strange, and I'm finding it difficult to notice the differences between Togo and Canada.

Togo, West Africa -- HIV in person

I arrived in Kpalimé with my host parents Felicité and Ernest last Sunday afternoon. The car ride through the bush into the mountains was beautiful. The heat of Lomé suddenly disappeared and a breeze of cool fresh air took over. This is why the people in Lomé say that the air in Kpalimé and in the mountains of the Plateau region is "plus frais". The road was paved and smooth and there were people walking along both sides, at times carrying products on their heads and at times with bags on their shoulders walking from one village to the next. I tried to put my seatbelt on in the backseat of the 80s nissan sedan, but couldn't find the buckle--no-one here wears a seat belt, of course. What is the price of life anyway? On the way, we chatted about Ernest's work as a travelling pastor-he visits different villages near Kpalimé and conducts Sunday services on the weekend. An hour later, after having stopped on the road a few times to buy fresh pineapples and oranges from the street-side vendors, we finally arrived in Kpalimé.

I found it interesting that the city centres here all surround a gas station and are also named after whichever station is there, like Mobil or Texaco. The grand marché, post office, bush-taxi stations, and grocery stores are all next to the gas station. Everyone needs gas, I guess with all their 'motos'-mopeds- and cars to fill up. Makes me think about our suburb systems in North America which require people to own a car and consume gas in order to get to work or to city centres.

On arrival at the Omlés, I noticed that most houses had walls surrounding their property. There is a courtyard, always with a mango tree and sometimes plantain (like a giant banana) or papaya trees in the middle. Right now it's fruit season where oranges, grapefruits, and pineapples are ripe. The main house has the living quarters with cement floors, simple wooden furniture, small rooms for bucket showers, and, lucky me, toilets instead of latrines. There is however, no running water and we get water from the well that collects rain water to flush toilets and to take bucket showers with. The drinking water has to be collected from a pump at the end of the block, 300 m away. There is electricity and the kitchen has a gas stove that is rarely used; it's cooler to cook outside on a little portable oven.

My room consists of a double-sized bed, a chair, a table, and a closet. The three girls and their parents live in the house with Ernest's little brother Espoir and Felicité's niece Aquellé. The girls played a welcome concert on their flutes for me which made me feel very welcome but also kind of weird, because it seemed so formal. We sat down to dinner together as we would in the future, but without Espoir and Aquellé (I'm not sure why). We had fufu ,a pummeled kind of past made of mais, with a liquid red sauce with smoked fish, mushrooms, and onions. I ate with my right hand, as one is supposed to. The kids were quiet and very well-behaved, I'm slowly seeing the change in them, though, as we get to know each other. I felt fine.

That night when I settled to sleep under my mosquito net, a sinking feeling grabbed me. All of a sudden, I've had enough. I've had enough of all this foreign stuff. The house was different, the people were different, the air was different, everything was different, and I wanted so much to have just one person or one thing that was familiar to me. I really missed everyone at home. I was really sad and cried and wanted desperately to talk to a friendly; familiar voice on the phone. If I hadn't received such encouraging text messages from Mitra and Chantal, my two friends on the other side of the country in Vogan, I think the despair would have been palpable.

I guess I'm following the culture shock curve pretty well. I've had the excited happy initial 'honeymoon stage' when I was in Lomé. Now, the vacation is over, reality has set in and I'm here to stay . . . for 5 months--seems like an eternity. The homesickness is only really bad at night. Usually when I wake up in the morning, it's not so bad. Day by day, though, it's getting better. The adjusting begins hereon, I guess. I'll be fine.

At work things are very interesting. Yesterday, I sat in on a counselling session with Odette, a psychologist here at Vivre Mieux. She received a man who was HIV-positive and with his permission, I was allowed to observe. They spoke in Ewe, the local dialect, so I could only pick up on the bits and pieces of french that are mixed into the dialect. Odette would translate for me after every little while or so. This man, named Jean, had just come back from the hospital where his had a blood tested positive for HIV. He had been sick for a few months now, not knowing why he wasn't getting better. He was thin under his bobo and his face a solemn. He told us that he had already lost his wife four years ago and found out afterwards that she was HIV-positive. With him remain his twin teenage daughters who haven't gone to school since their mother died because their father does not make enough money to pay for their education. The girls have not been tested for HIV. Odette introduced to him Vivre Mieux's services.

Vivre Mieux is one of several other NGOs in Togo that are part of the country's HIV/AIDS care systems. VM takes HIV/AIDS affected people and children and supports them in various ways. For anyone who wants to find out about HIV can come here an be counselled. If there is someone who suspects of having contracted HIV, they can come here anonymously to seek help. VM sends them to the hospital for a blood test and afterwards takes care and keeps track of all the affected. In terms of services, VM pays the school fees, buys school books and uniforms for all the children or orphans that are affected or whose parents are affected by HIV. When their clients get sick, they can come to VM to seek help from a medical assistant, who, here, is the closest person to a doctor. A doctor who provides services that are free. And when there is enough money for medication, the clients receive the drugs, which they can barely afford on their own. Once a month, VM holds "reunions" for all their clients to get together and have a nutritious meal. Where clients are sick and cannot make it in, Odette, the other counsellors and medical assistants make house visits.

This is all funded by the UNDP Global Fund and administered by NGOs like VM. There is a serious lack of funding for anti-retro-viral drugs. VM recommends to the clients who have very low white blood cell counts (there are a few with less than 20) to go on ARV drugs. BUT, they do have to pay for it themselves because the drugs are expensive and are not covered by the funding. Here, they cost 5000 CFAs per moth (equivalent to CDN$12.50), and have to be taken for the rest of their lives. These drugs must be taken continuously in order to avoid developing virus immunity. The price for the drugs is way too high for the majority of the affected here. VM tries to make sure that the rest rely on good nutrition, when possible, and good mental, psychological health. Keeping people healthy through simple means, through counselling sessions, a nutritious meal once a month, and avoiding diseases through education are what VM's work entails.

Right now VM is looking to put together a sponsorship program where individuals can be sponsored to buy ARV drugs. It's only an idea on a notepad right now, but hopefully through partnerships with western NGOs it'll work out. Of course there are also various projects, such as building water pumps in villages, peer-to-peer HIV/AIDS training sessions, and village education about sanitary conditions, to name a few, that make up VM's work. For these projects, VM seeks independent funding from international organizations.

My work here is to build VM's communication capacity. Very recently, Guy, the director here, has invested in some very powerful computers that are capable of editing videos, designing graphics for websites and publications. The employees here do not know how to use these tools to build a strong communication strategy. I'm going to try to share what I know about these tools, so that VM can make websites, brochures, bulletins, posters, and film. All this media will be used in training sessions, to facilitate learning in the village education projects, to connect to the international community for information sharing, and to reach potential partners and funders for future projects to make people's lives here in Togo better. So, I am very excited and eager to get on with the work.

I guess Halloween is coming up in Canada. The Omlé girls know about pumpkins and Halloween! When I showed them the pictures Kate Ullrich had taken of pumpkins they all simultaneously yelled out "les citruilles." There are no pumpkins in Togo. When I proceeded to tell them about Halloween, they said with bored eyes "yeah, yeah, and then the kids say 'trick or treat' and get candy . . " They were fascinated by the idea of snow and ice, though.

Togo, West Africa -- Jia the Wreck

Jia here, well and alive; arrived in Lome in one piece Thursday night had a really tough voyage on my way here, though. After I left the Clocktower in Ottawa on Tuesday after saying goodbye to you all, I was in such a state of panic, fear, anxiety~~the works. After a near sleepless night, I got on the plane only somewhat at ease thanks to some comforting words (thanks Paul, Meaghan and Jenn!). I thought, god, what am i getting myself into, this is too scary and too difficult already, I just want to go home; I've made such a mistake!

Once I arrived in Lome, I calmed down and stepped off the airplane at the tiny airport that was smaller than the Ottawa bus station. The air smelled like gasoline and was humid and warm. The sky was dark then at 8:30 pm; I was told that the sun sets at 6 pm sharp everyday. The days are more or less 12 hours long all year round. Apparently, I caught the tail end of the small rainy season--though it hasn't rained yet. The other two crossroaders, Chantal and Mitra met me at the other end of customs which I got through fairly quickly given the chaotic crowd.



So, now it's been three days. Ever since I stepped off the plane, the anxiety, fears, and panic have dissappeared. The sights and sounds of Lome have been thrilling and so wonderful. The people here are incredibly warm and welcoming so far. I dropped my hat at a market without noticing, left and returned two hours later, when one of the merchants called out to Simplice, one of the NGO directors here, and told him that he had my hat. The Togolese sense of humour is very sarcastic and teasing, which made me feel right at home. The people here joke (well, sometimes they are serious, I'm told) with constant proposals of marriage. I've already had three, one of them from a mother on behalf of her son, a grown man standing next to her~~it was very sweet!

The time here runs slower, and people have the habit of taking a siesta. The roads, with exception of the few paved "goudronnes", are made up of a beautiful red sand. Instead of squirrels, there are tons of harmless lizard, and many of chickens. The people here kiss on the cheeks to greet (from the French customs?), and if it is an especially warm welcome, there are four kisses~~all starting on the right cheek, not the left!

Yesterday I met my host maman, Felicite and my boss, Guy, director of VivreMieux, the NGO I will be working for, and Rudy, a co~worker. My host mother is an instructor for kindergarden teachers. She trains them to be teachers and is a formidable lady with short hair and a very sincere smile. From our conversations so far, she seems totally open minded and cool. She explained that the things she valued most in life are transparency and the relationships between people. I was a bit worried being asked about my religious beliefs because people here are either christian, muslim, or animist (primarily), and might not take anything else (i.e. not religious) well; furthermore, my host papa is a pastor. I explained that I did belive in a greater entity than myself but that I didn't subscribe to any religion, albeit I respect all religions for the important basic morality they support. She accepted my response readily and asked if this meant that I could not go to church. I explained, that, yes, I could go to church. She said, in a very neutral way, "ok, that is good because my husband is a pastor". I think that went well.

Rudy is a better speaker of English than French because his wife is from Ghana, so we've established that he'll be my I'm-too-tired-to-speak-french-today friend and translator at work. I look forward to working with him, he seems like a very solid, good guy. Guy, my boss, is such a quintessential visionary. He's got greying hair, very tall, speaks very slowly and very eloquently, with wise words mixed with teasing jokes. Only one day with this man, I'm already in awe of him. Along with founding and running Vivre Mieux, he also works full time as the UNDP's Global Fund Director for the plateaux region in Togo and acts as a doctor (in a medical assistant capacity) for people in Kpalime.

I leave for Kpalime with my host mom and dad today. Apparently my three host sisters eagerly await my arrival. At 8, 10, and 14, the three girls will be fun, I hope.