Alisha Williams

All I have been thinking about lately is extending my service for another year. I literally change my mind every hour. Weighing the options, the benefits, the pros the cons. All this weighing is weighing on me. Hmm.

Well, there are palpable benefits. This school project coupled with the new USAID funding that we are set to receive next month. The question is: is this the thread I want to follow? Is this something I want to jump into head first? On the other hand: what is there to lose? Experience is transferable for sure. This definitely cannot hurt me and it might be nice to have a little something concrete to fall back on other than being a waitress.

Lots to think about. Everything, except for that creeping doubt in my gut, mixing with the amoebas no doubt, is pointing me in this way. This opportunity has presented itself. Take it. Stop worrying whether or not you are qualified blah blah blah blah blah. Excuses. Excuses. Just do it. There is nothing to lose, everything to gain. I never really expected this. Togo has a beautiful way of surprising you like that every now and then.

Just came back from a long two days trying to punch out this proposal. Exhausting work but I have never felt so accomplished here as of yet. Loads of great potential. Changed plans on the fly, naturally. Going to commit to this project and go down to Lome next week, get it all on the table. Came home late this evening. My family and Dieu Donne both greeted me with open arms and a bit of surprise. I came back two days earlier than planned. Leaving again in another two however; just long enough to hand off a potential proposal form for my woman’s group for food transformation, finish the budget for a rabbit raising project for a group of local handicapped community members and spend a full day with my English club and student gardening apprentices. Whew.

Imagine my relief when my family came to the door and asked if I was hungry; of course I was. Never before has the small clap at my door with a dish of steaming pâte been more welcome. Something I have yearned for and asked about multiple times since arriving. We are finally coming to a middle ground. Lovely how things work out.

Nice day in Kanté. Lazy morning, grant writing in a hot dusty room. Yummy fufu before another meeting with invested community organization. Fanmilk (frozen milk powder and sugar…delicious and perfect during hot season) and instant coffee with a shot of Kahlua. Leisurely moto ride with my favorite zed-man who is finally back to work after a brief break due to a new baby. Yeah.

If I do decide to do a third year, this project is the perfect introduction to the inter-workings of Kanté. In the last two weeks we have met and solicited community contributions from: The Prefet, prefet’s advisor, the mayor, B?rnefonden, all local neighborhood chiefs, the affaires sociales (equivalent to local social worker), and planning on hitting up the inspector of education for the entire prefecture as well. Not to mention going to all the schools to inform them. I will be well known to every facet of the community just from this one project. Perfect set-up.

Tonight is nice. Chillin’ by the candlelight, listening to some Citizen Cope and drinking a bit of fine box wine in the African bush. This isn’t such a bad gig. I can dig it.

Day of days. Beautiful. Missed a meeting, but I needed to. Got some work done that has been weighing. Bike ride like butter. Sweet heat. Tchouck waiting. Random people mentioning the work I have been up to. Girl with the blue eye cadeaus me. Lovely greetings roll right off my tongue. The blood is calm in my veins. My feet are beneath me.

Amazing how much you can get done in one sweep; things one puts off for months. The time was ripe. Healed some scabs; Madeline and Victor. Her and I on the bench. We talked of my departure and it was sad. I know it will be incredibly difficult when the day arrives. Excited for the next chapter. Breathing easy, knowing that I will not know but that it will be everything I need it to be. My self is so whole, so ready to expand and rest easy upon the wind. My eyes are soft and ready to see. I will myself just to be me.
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Another fantastic day. Had youth club this afternoon- record attendance, over 50 kids!! Felt awesome and we had a really great time. Things are beginning to come together again. It is exhausting, and lovely.

Had dinner at Madeline’s house tonight, looking to make it a weekly thing. We agreed to forgive her debt in this way. It felt like family; sharing a bowl of pate and sauce, kids running around chickens and kittens. Dirty as hell. I love that none of this bothers me. I feel at one with my existence here.

Camp organization is coming along, as is the school proposal. Both too massive to digest. I think though, while stressful, they might be easier to manage than the work I do in Atalote. How you say? The beauty of collaboration. People on the same page, a wondrous thing.

On another note however, I have confirmed that someone is stealing from my house. Someone is stealing my tortillas. I made them in the morning, left them on my counter while I went to market, when I came home they were gone. Like I wouldn’t notice. Anyone that knows me knows you can’t mess with my tortillas.

I know that it is my host family, they have a key and Maman said she’s misplaced it. Uh huh. Nothing of consequence; a jar of mayonnaise, half a bottle of tapioca. I thought I was going crazy. Maybe I am… Going to change my locks tomorrow.

The longer I am here, the less I know. All I know is that I am willing to try new approaches. Seems that some of my hard work has paid off. There is a slow web of motivated people interconnecting through my conduit and we are arduously working, whether they know it or not, towards a common goal.

I miss friends and family. The comfort of the known, or rather, better known. On the other hand—what awesome people I have inducted into my life circle here!! Togolese and American alike, I have met and forged bonds over this last year that will last a lifetime. So many beautiful souls and vibrant spirits. Yeah, I’m in a good mood today.

It is bloody FREEZING at night right now. Jesus. Do I dare say it? I am looking forward to hot season.

People ask: WOW! How much do you think people have changed since getting here? How much do you think you have CHANGED?
My response: I am not sure people have Changed necessarily, I just think they have become more themselves since arriving. That being said, of course people have changed. Do we yet know how? I would say probably not.

I have decided to give up on trying to catch up on this so-called blog, otherwise it will completely cease to exist. Seeing as how endangered it is as it stands…It has been forever and ever since I have updated this, my story of experiencing Togo. At first it was incredibly difficult because it is impossible to really describe this place and my life here to anyone who doesn’t have a point of reference for what Africa is like.

This is because of two things: One, that if you have never been here it is impossible to tell stories or happenstances without first referencing all the contextual information and what that means before getting to the actual action. Second, this is a problem because of the perpetuated romanticized vision of “Africa” and what that otherworldly void contains. What that looks like. No, there are not lions roaming the savannah. No, there are not people wearing loin clothes and running around hunting with bows and arrows. Yes, there are naked children covered in dirt and flies are everywhere. Yes, there are amazing and hectic open air markets that are central to village social interaction, the highlight of the week. Yes, there are breathtaking sunsets. There is no way I can explain this, so I will just tell you.

So, anyways, I have decided with this new year to just jump in and give anyone who wants to listen a feed of what my days are filled with here, what work I am doing and the lovely life I live here in my home, Togo. I will let you fill in the blanks. I think it will suffice to say that over the last fourteen months I have come leaps and bounds, and circled back to who I am and what I love to be about. I have learned so very much about myself, about my service, about life and where I want it to take me…but that was to be expected I suppose. I apologize for not taking you along on that transitional journey but sometimes you can only digest so much. Sometimes those transitions become private. That, and it is incredibly difficult to get enough time on my computer for work etc. let alone for writing. Excuses, excuses.

Today was a full day. This week is chaos, but the productive kind. The kind I’ve been craving for months and months. This is the first week of January, the first week of 2012. Crazy. This new years fête was great, all the goodness of the previous year but with an added feeling of comfort in the way of life here. My best friend and youth counterpart, Dieu-Donné (God Gave, and yes, he did…this kid is amazing, inspirational), decided that we should go around and greet the important functionnaires of our village to wish them a happy and productive new year. This is standard practice—going around and greeting people, and as you go around you are welcomed with food or drink. This year I was prepared. New Year’s eve I bought three giant bags of milk candies, three boxes of wine, a bottle of Pastis liquor and cotiséd (contributed money) for half of a goat, with my family, to kill for dinner.

Needless to say, Dieu-donné and I set out at 7:30 and I was sloshed by 11. A big important government head in our community, whom works in Kanté, opened up a nice bottle of Bordeaux for me. He said it was a non-circulated year, given to him especially from Faure the president from his private collection. I am pretty sure I have bought the same exact bottle from a liquor store in Kara but I let him feel important, even when he humiliated D.D. for addressing his letter incorrectly. Live and let live.

From there we continued on to the Director of the CEG (secondary school). More wine. Some work plugs to the important people. Then we circled back through town and headed to his family’s house. It was a poignant moment.

I think his mother is dying. There is nothing I can do. I arrived to the compound and greeted the Assamela family. The father gave me a pleading look. They have had a hard year: two members of the extended family were lost, the two sewing machines that normally sustain them need repairing, plus a poor harvest. He showed me the lackluster pile of sorghum. I asked how the mom was doing and asked if she was awake and if I could visit. They led me into a dark room that I had to stoop into to avoid into my head and brought me a chair. She sat up from a mat on the floor, covered in a reddish paste from traditional medicines; a pagne wrapped around her waist. We sat as a family would. It was sad but joyous. They were clearly unable to fête this year but their youngest daughter, Jacqueline 2, couldn’t keep herself from dancing in circles around us. No music. Just the empty Togolese awkwardness that no longer felt so awkward for me anymore.

I think she has a tumor, or something grave, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. I feel along her ribcage underneath her arm. It is hot. She says that it hurts when she wants to cough. I ask her if she feels like she needs to cough but cannot. She nods, tries to demonstrate how much it hurts when she coughs. I tell her that I have no idea. Respiratory infection? Tuberculosis? Cancer? I have no idea but I don’t think the local hospital would either. So I say du courage and give her a little money for pain meds. Tell them to keep me posted.

We hang out and laugh at Jacqueline. She is going to be a beautiful girl and it is funny because there is such an undertone of gravity in the room. But she is hilarious and we all laugh. I can tell they are a bit embarrassed by the situation. I have already paid their two boy’s school fees for the year. They feel obligated to serve me something, so they serve me brewing tchouck that is a good day or two shy of being ready. It tastes like sorghum water. I drink it dutifully as we sit. Then I give my respects and head out.

Dieu-donné wanted to go greet a local man who was raising rabbits. I didn’t want to go because I know that this man is doing a poor job and the animals (in my mind) are suffering the consequences. It is just in a concrete room with little ventilation. The rabbits undersides are yellow and the air a bit acrid. D.D. is excited but I pay it little attention. I notice the legs of one of the bunnies are broken. I am distracted by a baby monkey the man has bought in an outlying marché.

I tell them the monkey still needs its mother and ask where it is. They tell me they killed it. I ask why. They say it wasn’t them per se, but the mother is dead. The monkey is curled in the fetal position on the concrete stoop beside me yowling. It sounds like a baby. I pick it up and it tries to suckle my fingers. At first I am a little disconcerted—risk assessment. I coddled it why they looked at the rabbits. Surreal noontide drunkenness. As if in a dream, but not. One of those days when I see where I am.

I went home and a fabulous plate of fufu was set in front of me. My host family’s daughter was up from the South. She just got assigned a teaching job as an high school English teacher and wants to show it off by a big fête. She brought a generator too so we could have lights and loud music to dance to. Straight to nap after eating, long night of good village fun.

Quick timeline…. Cause I’m sick of playing catch up….sorry if there is overlap or complete irrelevancy…

Sept: Arrived in country. Bewildered. Whirlwind of mixed language, new faces, new living.

Oct-Nov: Stage= ten hour days of hell. Language. Language. Language. Technical sessions. Only to go home to more work, trying to figure out how the hell to live here. How to communicate with my host family. How to work on a bike? How to see how much one’s brain can absorb before exploding. Sticky humidity. Blah.

Nov: Post. Harvest.

Dec: Harvest. Fetes.

Jan-April: see blog posts, they are extensive.

May: What the hell did I do in May? I don’t know, everything was just trying to figure out something.

June: June I started getting into the bureaucracy and then decided to bail. Did a little dittie for the language trainers on teaching English as a foreign language (As if I’m an expert!!?) It was unnerving, because whenever I get around people who speak real French, mine freezes up and I sound like a child. It was cool to go back and visit with my host family from stage. The village has electricity now, crazy. All they do now is watch television. Ah yes, development for everyone. Visited a friend in the South and braved traveling in country, in the South—which is almost an entirely different culture—and made it back up the country in a run down bush taxi with over twenty people crammed in. It was great. Met some fun people on the ride. It poured rain, which was wonderful if a bit claustrophobic. My great big slow boat to Sokode. Had wanted to stay the night with the Nurse’s wife in Sokode (a big city halfway up the country in the region of Centrale, before Kara), but couldn’t get a hold of her. Splurged on a big fancy hotel room for equivalent of 12USD. Fell asleep before hitting the bed. Amazing real mattress, soft, clean sheets. Waves of blissful sleep.

July: July marked our first issue of “Farm to Market”, the NRM and Small Enterprise Development (SED) collaborative publication. It has both English and French sections and is used to disseminate information and successful projects, insights throughout country. It is also sent to all Peace Corps country desks in Africa and Washington D.C. Yeah resume builder… It essentially consists of us bunkering down for about four days straight of editing, re-editing and designing until we get it done. Lome is expensive and time limited. Like all things in Togo, so we knock it out as best we can. I was able to get to know the country capital better during this time; eat some expensive and delicious pizza with real cheese. Get my Ghana visa etc. etc.

Also in July a group of us went on a little sortie to an agroforestry farm near Kara, to see what this guy Ali was up to. It was fun and informational; like a stage session but self-driven, with beers afterward. The highlight? Besides me butchering French? As we were trekking along the road back to town to undoubtedly wait for a car for hours to take us back to Kara (we were about 30min out of the city) a Chinese road worker (they do tons of infrastructure work here and don’t speak a lick of French…) in a brand new pick-up truck stopped and offered us a ride into town. YES! A Volunteer’s dream come true. Maggie and I rode in fine form in the back of the truck bed, enjoying how easy traveling could be in Togo if one had a vehicle.

Also I rounded out July with a trip to a friend’s village just outside of Kara; stomping grounds of the president Faure. There is a famous fete here called Evala every July. It consists of tons of Kabye (the ethnicity in and around the city of Kara and the Southern part of Kara region) young men wrestling. An initiation ceremony. It felt like a big party

August: Rain rain rain. August it rained like every day. Yup. My roof has myriad leaks in the tin, thus propagating my ceiling (plywood) to begin to rot. One day I came home and there was a big hole from a storm in it, a place that rotted out. I duct taped it closed. One day I came home to a three foot high termite mound in my kitchen. August I was mainly in village. I taught English to to grade levels for the Togolese equivalent of summer school. It was great, super small classes—one with only two kids, at the highest level though—and an afforded vrai schedule. It was a great reason to stay in village and dress up in pagne everyday. Felt a bit professional, if not useful. So that was M-F for five weeks. It was a little unnerving at first (no curriculum to go off of and a deeply engrained ROTE system of learning) but I caught a groove pretty quickly (cause I had to!) and turned out enjoyable and educational. Also, I noticed afterward that I garnered a bit more respect around village, even though it was only a handful of kids, word gets around quick here. Kids started greeting me with little genuflects and saying “Bonjour Madame” (often times monsieur) instead of chanting my village name at me or slyly laughing at me, or averting their eyes. Good change. Gave me confidence to continue to pursue work opportunities with the youth.

At the end of August we had our Mid Service Conference. I wrote a couple of blogs concerning the remainder of August, a bit of Sept and October that you can relate back to. Yam fête shenanigans.

Sept: September I had the Training Deseign Workshop to be a trainer for the new stage. Also, at the end of the month, we welcomed them to Lomé in fine form. The traditional “welcome party” had been nixed by admin because of some previous issues, so that was less fun. Not very many volunteers came down to welcome the new trainees, but they seemed to be enjoying it. A bit bewildered, as to be expected, but a really solid group. I came down to greet them, but also because Sky and I were planning a quick four day getaway to Ghana. Beach time. A cocktail or two.

There is this little sort of backpackers retreat at a beach just outside of Accra called “Big Milly’s Backyard Resort.” It is cute, little bungalows, bucket showers and bucket flush. Nothing we couldn’t handle. They have big reggae nights on the weekends but we were there during the week so it was fairly quiet. Relaxing. We didn’t have enough time though and are looking forward to doing another trip during hot season, go and see Cape Coast and on to a well know eco-lodge further West.

Headed back and forth to village during this time. Back and forth. Back and forth. Since MSC. But I felt the need to come back to village as often as I could, even if it was only for a couple of days. A lot of this was for Jack. When I got back from Ghana, gone for just a week, he was sick. He died a day later. It was heartbreaking.

October: The morning Jack died, I got on a bus headed South to carry out my week as a PCV trainer for the new group. It was challenging. Probably better that I wasn’t at the house. Somehow I was able to pull it together and the week of training was immensely rewarding. I had a really good time getting to know all the new trainees and was glad to be there to support them and try to answer, or at least give my take, on the zillions of questions they all had. It was a nice feeling to see how far I had come, if only in the integration aspect and feeling so much more at ease with life in Togo; having some points of navigation to guide me.

After that I headed back up to Atakpamé to do our second issue of “Farm to Market.” I was a day later than the team, due to training schedule conflicts, but we got it done.

Back up to village but didn’t have much time to work really. A meeting here. A meeting there. Trying to sustain interest in things I had started, germinate seeds I’d planted. Juggling also trying to be there for the newbies, go to their post visit party to support them and encourage them for the homestretch of training etc. This was what they call “mid-service crisis” time. We were all going a little cuckoo.
November: Same as above. We had a little shindig up in Dapaong for our first year in Togo celebration. 11/11/11. First time I had been North of Kanté. It was ‘dead-yovo’ formal. This bears some explanation:

So in Togo, we are always called (or rather chanted at by packs of ravenous Togolese children ‘Yovo yovo, bonsoir!’ –absolutely infuriating and mortifying at the same time), it carries with it a sense of disrespect as it literally means white person/foreigner. In David Packer’s book “The Village of Waiting” about his service in Togo neary twenty years ago, he says it means ‘cunning dog’ and dates back to colonialism days.

In Togo (and from what I can tell most of Africa and I would imagine the rest of the developing world), there is a huge market for second hand Western style clothing. Every marché you go to there are these clothing stands, or rather mounds of clothes one digs through, with some fancy items hung up to draw you over. The source of all this comes from the deep water port in Lomé, they come off the boats en masse, not sure really where the clothes are coming from though. I imagine a lot of Western families who think they are doing Africa a favor. Can’t verify that though. So this is called ‘dead yovo’ apparently because Togolese in villages etc. with a smaller view of the world, think these must be the clothes of a dead foreigner. You would have to be dead to give those perfectly good clothes away. Right.
Anyway, we live off of dead yovo clothes and pagne. And there is some pretty epic gems to be found in those stacks. A hot pink mid-drift with some furbie creature from the eighties on the front? Done. Full track suit in florescent pink and green? No problem. Sea foam green prom dress from 1992? Perfect. You get the idea, a large group of us dressed this way. It was fun. What can I say? We’re starved for entertainment.

December:
The beginning of December marked my return to Togo from the lovely South African vacation I took with my Aunt and Uncle to a game reserve North of Durban. It took about a week to re-adjust to Togo (read: took me a week to travel through country and make it back to post, where I would inevitably be all alone.) There were university student riots in Kara (my regional capital), which gave me an excuse to stay in a PC transit house in the South, in Atakpamé for a couple of days. It felt like a guilty indulgence considering how much time I had already spent away from village but it was necessary. It was nice and quiet, with only one or two other people around, and it was exactly what I needed to readjust. I spent a lot of time loafing, watching television etc. I finally made it up to Kara, to celebrate some volunteer b-days and see off a number of friends that were heading stateside for the holidays.

After that, I made my way with melancholy back to post. All the excitement and chaos over, nothing to look forward to, all the bustling and madness quieted with the dust in the air. Just me and my small corner of the world. It got better quickly, as soon as I was back around those people that make it all worth it and back in the country I’m comfortable in— the North.

Being back home was short lived though… For months I had been telling people that I was going to bike up to Dapaong for Christmas festivities. So, I decided to push myself, to stick to what I said and not bail like I normally would. Last Christmas I stayed in Ataloté and while I don’t personally celebrate the holiday ( I celebrate the solstice!), I felt that this year it would be nice to be around PC friends. My friend Sky and I hoped on the bikes, packed with sparse clothing and lots of quick protein fixes and set off from Kanté. We met up with our friend, and newly sworn-in volunteer, Manda about 40K North of town. We took our time getting to Dapaong and spent the night in a town about half way up. The ride was surprisingly enjoyable (probably because we were on pavement instead of sandy gravel) and we really enjoyed seeing the countryside that way. I am going to be obsessed with biking when I get home. I love it; your legs can take you so far in this world. The last stretch was a bit difficult—a couple of hefty hills and harmattan headwinds—but we made it and had a fabulous weekend with friends. Probably one of the best Christmases I’ve ever enjoyed.

Absolutely breathtaking. Amazing. Once in a lifetime experience. There are not enough adjectives and gushing expressions to encapsulate today’s experience. Not even the pictures and videos do it justice. It is something you truly have to experience to understand. Between the hours of 8am-8pm I saw not only breathtaking scenic views from the gorgeous reserves surrounding our lodge and those in the area, I saw Nyalas, Impalas, Giraffes, Zebras, Warthogs, Wilde-beasts, Elephants, Hippos, Rhinos,Water Buffalo, Lions, Leopards, and Cheetahs. It is indeed indescribable and hard to believe. What’s more is that I got to this with my very close family and can only hope we have such adventures together in the future as I make my way across this crazy, beautiful planet.
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The last two days were equally cool as the first. Today we went on another game drive to see a host of large game on the reserve where we are staying at the lodge. It was a bit quiet at first but turned into Giraffe day—we saw tons of them it seemed around every corner and they are so beautiful and statuesque.

The afternoon was also great—we went to a African cat rehabilitation center and saw African Wild Cats, Caracals, Cheetahs and Serval Cats whom are being rehabilitated from various circumstances and then their young being re-introduced back into the wild through various reserves and preserves. The Wild Cats are like large feral cats with the difference being that they have never been domesticated and have a few other defining characteristics. The Caracal cats were feisty and could jump higher than their enclosure fencing to get their food! They remind me of cougars back home. The highlight of the experience was with the Cheetahs, there are two brothers there that had been brought to the center before they had opened their eyes and so are essentially tame and very used to humans. We were all able to pet them and hang out in their enclosure! It was awesome and they were so cute, purring just like my kitty back home, only they had massive unretractable claws… We ended with the Serval cats, and were able to enter an enclosure with like five of them. They are like mini cheetahs and very sweet. There was one, Jane, who likes humans a lot and as I was trying to take a picture of one that was resting up in a tree, Jane walked by and rubbed against my legs! She did that a couple of times and I was also able to pet her. Near the end she found and killed a small bush snake in the enclosure and then the handler came over and played with her and the snake just like you would with a cat at home. Very cool.
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This trip, thus far, has been rewarding in many obvious and unknown ways. I have had time to spend with my dearest Aunt and once again re-connect with nature at its best, something believe it or not, I have been yearning for since I left Colorado. Strange considering my work, but life in Togo is a different type of connection with nature, more ruthless and in your face—there is little sitting back and drinking in, it is more of a battle to survive it. I miss reserved forests and spaces and land that is let be. I realize why this is not a reality in Togo and that the environment takes on an entirely different meaning all together when you rely on it to survive—it is beautiful to breathe again, to dry my skin out from the sweat baths of 14months and once again feel a chill upon my soul.

Yawning green vistas shadowed by blue rolling hills, twisted aged bark and uprooted trees ; some primal being resides in these patchwork lands and the whipping breath of time runs along the songs of birds. But it is the quiet that speaks to me. The simple green, the smell of deep earth—it settles like sediment into my bones and lifts my spirits up into the ceiling of never ending cloud. I cannot see one building on the horizon and if I listen hard enough I hear nothing. The call of the ancestors reaches into my thoughts and hushes the chatter. I am calm now. I am here.

There are animals here. And not just the ones that people come from all over the world to see. There is a healthy ecosystem, something that has become foreign to me. It reminds me of reminding times. It is going to be infinitely difficult to return home—that home being a bereft land of scorched grasses and cracked earth. Of pleading people donning the shroud of apathy. I know I want to return and part of me misses much of my little spot of Africa, but I miss home also. The real home. I miss the small comforts, I miss the mountains and being able to explore without social repercussion. I want to smell the mountains again, to shovel snow and wear a parka. I know that the next year will be fulfilling beyond my current knowledge but I know this is not my place in the world of things. I am still looking to find that niche but I know in my blood that it must be found amongst the land and nature.
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This morning was yes, yet again, amazing. We went to an elephant preserve and participated in an elephant ‘interaction’ program. The preserve has two elephants around 25yrs old Rachael and Rambo whom were spared as calves from a culling in a reserve in Namibia. Because they were initially, from a young age, accustomed to interacting with humans they began causing issues at subsequent reserves until they were brought to the one we visited this morning where they are allowed plenty of interaction with humans—whom they have identified as part of their ‘family’ due to their experiences as impressionable calves etc. They recently had a calf of their own named Jubilano (the last of four that has survived due to the lack of a herd to show Rachael how to care for her young) and they were a real treat. So they are indeed still wild elephants that live on their own accord on the reserve but due to their special circumstances they are not accepted into the other herd of 80 elephants on the preserve and also provided with daily human interaction. We were able to feed them, stroke them—feel their legs, tusks, behind their ears and I even got to stick my hand in the bull’s mouth and touch his tongue! The baby was very playful but we were instructed not to interact back with him because they are wanting to attempt to integrate him into the herd so that he has a chance at a normal Elephant life. It was beautiful and soul stirring to get so close to these wise and gentle giants.

The guide today with the Elephants was really nice. She is originally from Sweden but decided she wanted to live in South Africa as a young girl and lived for a year in the bush to learn and become a wildlife guide. She and I talked about what I was up to and how she wanted to visit West Africa. I just thought it was another nice reminder of how you can make something happen for yourself if you want it badly enough.

The weeks leading up to Auntie J’s visit were jam-packed: with our first year anniversary party and swear-in I had my hands and my head full trying to keep everything straight. And while you can do everything you can to plan accordingly, to plan ahead and schedule itinerary after itinerary, Africa has other plans… As I found my way to Accra, delightfully meeting up with some COSing (Close of Service- alas, in PC there is never a lack of acronyms) volunteers at the border and sharing a car into the city, the realization that I was going to see my family for the first time in over a year set in.

The trip, overall, I must say was a success. Togo set before us a wide array of her trials: bad chauffeurs, broken hotel door locks, mufflers ripped from undercarriages of cars and a festive wait on the side of a bush road… it all adds to the experience. The authentic one that is, and that is indeed what my family got. My village really turned out, exceeding all my expectations and we had a fête that was beyond what I could have dreamed up. Traditional dancers, drumming yummy tofu and beignets, calabashes of tchouck and of course round after round of my ladies dancing it off. It was heartwarming and lovely. Even though my chief asked my family for money, I was able to overlook it (and the crazy foule that molested my uncle right off the bat) and truly sit back in awe of what was going on before my eyes: two of my very favorite people enjoying and experience my other life.

So I am getting ready to leave the new stage. It is strangely sad. This is a real embarkation into the second year of my service, and it feels real now. This has been due to a couple of things= namely the new stagieres arriving. Also due to a few personal changes, my dearest Auntie will be here soon and in a flash a new group of volunteers will be swearing in.. They are an inspiring group and a much needed breath of fresh air. I can’t wait until they get through stage and come join us en brousse. While it was difficult to make it down here, due to the loss of Jack, it has been immensely rewarding to be a PCV trainer and I thoroughly enjoyed my entire week back here in Gbatope.

Heartbreak

So in between my brief respite in Ghana and the week I was scheduled as a trainer for the new arrivals I decided to run back to village for a couple of days. Since this mad-man roller coaster begun with Mid-service conference I have done this a couple of times—I think it is better to make it back for a couple of days, make it to some meetings and reassure people that I am still here and committed, than to be completely absent for long periods of time. This has its disadvantages as well, and seeing as how expensive it can be to travel, this tends to exacerbate the image of me as a wealthy American here to hand out gifts and monetary assistance, which is the most difficult and frustrating part of my day to day service. I came home expecting my pup Jack to run up and give me the warm welcome I have come to expect when I arrive back from traveling. Every time I turn the corner and head towards my compound after being gone for a week or two I have the sinking suspicion that something may have happened to my pets while I was gone.

This time I was right. Jack was nowhere to be found. Maman told me that he ‘wants to die’ and has been very sick, that the other puppy died while I was gone and the mama dog probably won’t make it through the night.

Pulling it together

At five o’clock in the morning I buried my dog. After an hour of comatose crying I pulled myself together and assembled a massive stack of ems packages to be sent out to my fellow volunteers—I had been in charge of both ordering and sending out our NRM 2010 stage t-shirts as well as the trainer pagne for the swear-in ceremony in November. At nine o’clock I was at the post in Kanté, eyes swollen and in a daze waiting for the bus South. The post woman had asked me if I was being affectéed (transferred) to another post and I wondered if my host family thought I might not return as well. I was a mess. It is amazing though, how life goes on. I suppose I could have stayed, I could have talked a friend into staying to train a couple extra days for me while I wallowed in grief at my house, but I think it was better that I wasn’t there. After a few hours on the bus, silently crying intermittently, I began to function again, if only for appearances.
I finally arrived in Tsévié and met up with some friends at a bar to drown out my sorrows and then made my way out to Gbatopé where the new NRM trainees are based. Heidi, a good friend and the trainer for the previous week, and I had a really good talk and she prepped me for any information I might need to know for the next week.

Training

I must say, being a trainer was one of the most rewarding experiences I have had here in Peace Corps Togo. Just the sheer fresh attitudes, the inquisitiveness and exuberance that new situations and the aura of new possibilities this experience can bring were contagious. It was exactly the breath of fresh air that I needed at that point. I love when things work out the way they should. At first I was really worried that the Jack situation would put a massive damper on the whole experience but I truly think they helped me as much as I helped them get through that week. It felt amazing to realize how far I have come this past year spent here in Togo, how much I have learned about myself and a host of new materials, about culture and coping. We had a blast! I feel that while the actual session part of the week is instrumental for trainees but that is not really the asset we bring to the table. Why it is so important to have Volunteer trainers is because we break down that barrier of empirical knowledge and overwhelming amount of new information with personal experience and empathy for what they are going through. We are there to answer questions, to assure them that all this will pass or at least become easier to deal with.

It is at a crucial time for us as well. We are reaching our mid-service mark. Just like a mid-life crisis, there are very real and tangible mid-service crises. It is a pattern that is scarily on point for nearly all Volunteers—these stages of service that we all experience in one way or another.

The euphoric busy body behavior that at first was refreshing has begun to wear me down a bit. Or, perhaps it is more the melancholy dampening I’ve felt from my village, the palpable sense that this is no longer playtime; we are here and stuck with one another for a little over another year. I have been thoroughly resisting the pathogenic downward spiral of cynicism many volunteers in country have begun adopting. I have had incredibly disheartening hiccups but I refuse to lose faith in the good and potential in others.

That being said, I think Peace Corps is a long series of mutual disappointment (at least at first). We have both come into this odd couple relationship with grand expectations that neither one of us will ever live up to. As we both slowly begin to realize this, through our gradual day-to-day struggles to understand one another, we begin to cower in a deep shadow of mistrust we have cast in an effort of self preservation. The people in my village were expecting a rich, somewhat gullible white girl from America to help them in the only way they see how: to give them money and assistance with securing what they need. I, on the other hand, have had the pretentious dream of helping these poor unfortunate souls, of living an exotic adventure in a beneficent manner, since high school. It was the dream that pushed me on through college and back again. Now, together we are beginning to realize the truth; neither one of us is going to get what we expected.

I had a bit of a breakdown today. The constant demands for money, gifts and food were starting to wear my skin thin. After a particularly touchy conversation about the failings of our soap groupement, I couldn’t stand it and had to rush home. I feel slightly betrayed by Victor, the one who is supposed to help me navigate the cultural undercurrents of this village, to ward off the beggars and inform the community what it is I am here to do. He has completely failed me on this end and on top of it has made no effort to repay a debt he owes me, not even to invite me over for dinner. Frustrated.

So I have been here nearly one year. It is surreal and fantastic; I feel as though this great wash of change has enveloped me and I know in my heart that the next year is going to hold twice as much growth. I have challenged myself. I have challenged myself to come to Togo and work for the Peace Corps and that I have accomplished. Further, I now challenge myself to learn as much as I can- about myself, about this lovely culture I am enmeshed in, about international development, about gardening and agriculture. There is too much learning to regurgitate it all, but I know that this experience will define the rest of my life. I know that in the next year I will challenge myself in ways I can in no way perceive in this moment. It will be the time in my life that I chose and learn the skills that will bring me to the next stage of evolution. This pinnacle of experience and personal growth is valuable beyond comprehension and I feel the internal twinings and cogs of excitement and nerves beginning to whir.

I have just returned from mid-service conference, and while it is not quite the mid-service point for my program I know that it is quickly approaching and that the next year is going to fly by at an incredible velocity. There was a lot of sharing of information, tips and what not. Everyone presented something successful they have completed in village- daunting but interesting to see what others are up to. I talked about a demonstration garden I worked on throughout the summer. The various one on one gardening and farmer consultations I have given. Small potatoes but work nonetheless. The conference ended with a hilarious talent show (yes we are starved for good entertainment) and an auction for the Gender and Development small projects fund. Both were all good fun, considering nearly all the volunteers in country were present. Many memorable items were auctioned off for ridiculous prices- example: A warm bottle of Corona went for something like twenty dollars. A five night stay at the Country Directors house (with the use of a real washer and dryer!) in Lomé sold for two hundred dollars. Good times.

I am looking forward to all of my prospective work options but hope I can find a balance between them and looking inside to find the peace within. I have met and cultivated friendships that I know will last a lifetime. I will execute projects that will catapult me into new realms. I look forward to what there is to find.