Go to the People

So... three wells were constructed rather uneventfully, but the masons left them, almost complete, for weeks. So close, yet not finished, and therefore not good. It was so aggravating, to have an hours worth of work left... and yet seemingly the masons never found that hour to attach the cover, or smooth over the last layer of cement over the bricks. I cannot adequately express my despair! They gave the excuse they needed more sand, so we asked the residents to gather the sand. Easy, or so it would seem. But they had more pressing issues. They needed to go to the market or work in their fields and whatnot. I understand, I do. I understand that to them the wells were perfectly acceptable as they were, and, well, couldnt the finishing touches be postponed, perhaps forever or at least until dry season? No no no we told them. My friends and family sent money for five wells to be built. Top notch wells, with covers and all. Almost-finished isnt good enough, and I need to write the final report and get on with my life! Finally after what seemed an eternity, of practically daily calls and visits out there, the sand was gathered.

Meanwhile, Melmesside... there was a standoff between the rock crusher and the residents. The residents were obvioulsy overjoyed to have the well so close and so clean after a lifetime of stagnant pond water, and were already pulling water from the well, even though it wasnt finished. The rock crusher wanted them to leave it be for a few days, though, to see how full it would get, to see if he needed to crush encore or if the current level would suffice. The women refused to return to the stagnant pond, understandably. It was farther away and quite unappealing. Somehow we resolved this, too, and Melmesside's well could be completed.

Poor Fememda doggedly continued digging to an acceptable level, and the masons started building. It couldnt go smoothly from this point, though, of course not! The head mason was not present while the other masons were building. I dont know how it happened but as the well ascended from the hole, the circumference grew smaller and smaller until finally, a few feet above ground level, it was so small that the rubber bags we use to pull water would not fit through the hole. Sigh. The head mason had to smash Fememda's well and start again from the bottom. But finally, it was done correctly.

At this point, we had five almost completed but not yet completed wells. Close but no cigar. And then the masons started to finish them, one by one until all five wells had their new red metal covers and their smoothed cement platforms. !

I made construction paper signs with the name of each quartier and we went out to the village to take the final photos. Rather giddily, we hiked up and down the eroded dirt paths of the village and crossed babbling brooks, calling men women and children to drop their work and come to the well to be photographed with the finished product, so that the donors could see a small sampling of the people they were helping. One after the other after the other until all five wells were visited under the oppressive rays of the Equatorial (well, almost) sun. In all, it was a rather anti-climactic end to my single biggest endeavour here in Togo. As most things in life tend to turn out. At least in my experience!

Apparently people are impatient for news of the well projects. I didnt think people were still reading the blog, since no one ever posts anymore, grr! But it seems people are still interested in my life and work, even if they only ask my parents about it! So, here it is... drumroll, please.

THEYRE FINISHED! Finally. There are five brand spanking new wells for that village. No one need drink from the (currently mighty) river, that has recently claimed the rickety stick bridge that I used to get out there. No one must now stick their bucket into a murky, algae covered pond to satisfy their thirst. Once Im back in l'Amerique, the land of round door knobs and painless internet and technology, I have every intention of putting together a nice little photo essay, taking you through the entire process. You will even see the algae pond and the stick bridge! But until then, I ask for your patience. I dont go to the internet cafe all that often. It usually just puts me in a bad mood, and I dont like being in a bad mood. But today I have sacrificed myself, and am sitting down and writing a short history of the wells.

The money was deposited in my bank account in late March. The first step was to get it out. As the entire sum was over 1.5 million francs, I decided to first take out only the 900 000 F CFA necessary to purchase the cement. That was quite interesting. I went to the bank, with my trusty backpack and a smaller zippered bag. I filled out the bank slip, and, interestingly enough, although they didnt check my identification, there was some paperwork to fill out (on the bank's part) and I ended up sitting there with my nerves for about an hour before they called me up and thrust the thick stacks of purple 10 000 F bills at me. In front of everyone! I tried to slyly put some of the money in my bra, but didnt want any conspicuous bulges, so most of the sum went into the small zippered bag, which went into my trusty backpack. In order to not arouse suspicion, with almost a million CFA on my person, this went on my back. Then I exited the bank and made the long walk to the market to get a car. I was probably visibly shaking, at least at first, as I gave in to paranoia and kept glancing behind me to make sure I wasnt being followed. It was a singularly anxious experience, to say the least.

It kind of felt like I was getting away with something! I kept the bag with me in the car, and then walked through the bush to my family's little clearing, with enough money to buy a calabash of tchouck for roughly every man woman and child in the country. With the money safely locked up in my house, we started the search for cement. Previously we had bought cement in Kara, so we tried there. But nothing here can be easy, least of all when it involves cement, it seems. (I will write about the world map project, too, eventually, hold your horses!)

In Kara, we couldnt buy ten tons of cement. Impossible! Each person can only buy one ton, duh. We were welcome to get ten people to come at the same time and each buy a ton and put them all in the same truck and take them away, but E and I, alone, could only buy two. Dont you love logic? We do too, so, logically, we looked for a better option. That took a while, but eventually came in the form of a boutique in Ketao (5kms further up the paved road from my village) which, it turns out, we would need to go through anyway to get to the village, as the stick bridge couldnt handle a big truck with ten tons of cement on board. In Ketao we were told we could buy ALL ten tons at the SAME time. It was amazing! So thats what we did. It was quite a relief to get that money out of my house.

The next step was to buy the tools to dig the holes and make the bricks. Again, I went to the bank in Kara (this time accompanied by two Togolese men to protect the rather paltry sum I was taking out) and then we hiked all over the city, at mid-day, in Hot Season, buying buckets and rope and shovels and pickaxes. Whew!

We had a meeting and the villagers started digging. Here is where it gets a little complicated to remember everything, and where I am going to spare you all the ins and outs of what went wrong. So the villagers started digging, and then the masons started making bricks. A couple of the wells had a big problem: bedrock. For the well at Melmesside, we brought in someone with bigger and better tools than we had (not in the budget) and he sweated his way through down to normal dirt again. Fememda, poor poor Fememda, on the other hand. It took them weeks to hack their way three meters down at the site they initially chose for their well. There was only dirt there for the first half meter or so. We told them to choose another site, we tried to tell them it wasnt working, but they wouldnt listen. They didnt want to give up on the work they had already put into that hole, understandably.

I think we had already started work on the other three wells: Pitiye, Tokouman and Poukolo. These wells went up with little fanfare, until the end. The rock crusher was busy in the pit in Melmesside, until he smashed his thumb, and the poor souls in Fememda were still doggedly clawing away at their hole. We had to put our foot down. You have to change your position, we said. The rains are coming, the other wells are moving along, and you are still only at 3.5 meters. So they started again. And again, there was rock pretty much from the start. It seems that the quartier of Fememda just has this crust of rock beneath its skin... no matter where you go. Thankfully, it wasnt as hard, and work progressed, albeit slower than we would have liked.

I must pause for now, as my time in the evil internet cafe is almost up, but stay tuned, we have motor pumps and iron workers in the next issue!

I will be returning Home, to Seattle. I officially have my COS date, although I will not be Closing my Service, but Continuing Service. December 16th. I am excited, so excited to see you all again, to eat all those foods that seem like dreams here. Broccoli, sushi, Ethiopian, cheese, crackers, kiwis that werent lovingly dried by Dad and sent across the ocean in a box. Im excited to have a cat again (Hazel, I love you!) and just be in Seattle. I was born there, and it is Home.

But This is home. Mama and Baba are my parents. E is my brother. Two of my sisters are pregnant, and will give birth just weeks before I leave. All those kids running around in their skivvies, they're my children. My house, with all its cruble-down edges and termites and ants, with its mice and bats and lizards in the drop ceiling, is Home. And Im leaving? Really? Yes, I will come back. I will keep in touch. But I will never live here again, it will never be Home again. It will never have the same everyday feel. When I come back, moto with peanut-gumbo sauce will be a luxury, not just dinner. Sitting for hours with Baba, picking the kernels off endless basins of corn cobs will be remarkable. But thats my everyday, today. And in that, it is remarkable, here and now.

I dont want to leave. I dont know if I can. For the first time in my life I think my heart may be breaking. But I want to go Home, to Seattle-Home. And I want to find my new home, Uganda-Home. Thats the problem with life, with travel. The more you live and the more you see the more you have to lose. In order to move forward, I have to break away from Here.

So... Uganda.

It is so nice to finally be going somewhere people have heard of. No more of that "Togo. No, in Africa. West Africa. Next to Ghana." and they still end up thinking you're in the South Pacific. Uganda people have heard of.

Right? Oh, geez, people. Okay. Uganda is in Africa. East Africa. It is bordered by Sudan to the north, Kenya to the east, Lake Victoria (which is the largest lake in Africa and also the source of the Nile), Tanzania and Rwanda to the South, and the Democratic Republic of Congo to the West. You should have heard of it for at least one of two reasons. Unlike Togo, sweet, beautiful, petite, forgotten Togo, it has a tourist draw. More than half of the worlds' gorillas live in Uganda. Gorillas: check. There has also been a brutal civil war raging there for over twenty years. Or maybe you didn't know about that. It has been called the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world. The Lords Resistance Army has been raping and pillaging and abducting child soldiers, leaving an entire generation of children that have never known peace, but the media tends to ignore that. Luckily, things have calmed down a bit in the past few years, and it is finally safe for people to go there. And I'm going to be one of them!

There is an excellent, brief history of the war available here:http://www.invisiblechildren.com/about/history/ Invisiblechildren.com is a wonderful source of information about the conflict and ideas of how to become involved. In April of 2007, I participated in their Displace Me event. By no means am I an expert, but because I do know a little bit of the history, it is an honor to be asked to serve in the very place I have fought for.

We havent set all the details yet, but here is what I know. I will be leaving Togo probably sometime between the 10th and the 16th of December, and spend almost two months at home in Seattle and visiting friends and family across the country. Then, on February 8th, 2010, I will fly out to some city on the East Coast to start staging. Do you remember those three days I spent in Philly, getting vaccinations and filling out paperwork? I'll be doing that again but with a bit of a twist since Ive done it all before. So again, my last days in America will be spent with new friends in a strange city with too much money from the American government burning holes in our pockets. Then we will board a plane and some indefinite time later, land in Kampala. I will be doing stage, again, which has its drawbacks (most people hate stage) but will be a good place to get to know the culture, learn the local language (Uganda was colonized by the Brits, so speaks "English") which in my case will likely be Acholi, make friends with the other Volunteers, and hopefully pick up some health training.

That was the main reason I chose Uganda. I received full offers from Guinea and Zambia, as well, but Uganda wants me to work a dual-mandat for Natural Resources Managment and health. I mentioned in the letter that was sent out that I had done a bit of baby weighing here in Togo, and would like to continue that work if possible, and they were head over heels for the idea. I think everyone has a bit of a sense of divine providence with the whole situation, what with my involvement with Invisible Children, and the fact that in my letter, my aspirations for my third year were exactly what is needed most in the north, where I will be living. To top it all off, my original PO (Placement Officer) from D.C. is now the Assistant Peace Corps Director for the health sector in Uganda. This is the woman who got me through the peanut fiasco and understood why I was crying on the phone when they told me I couldnt go to Africa. And I will get to meet her and work with her in Uganda! She also did her service in Togo.

Anyway, I mentioned I wanted to continue weighing babies and hoped to do other simple but very important health work in my new post, such as teaching parents how to make enriched cereal and oral rehydration solution for their children. These are such simple things, but can literally save peoples lives. Agriculture and health are the two biggest needs in northern Uganda now. After twenty years of civil war, with a million people living in internally displaced persons (IDP) camps, finally, people can return home. 80% of IDPs have returned to their villages. But they have nothing, and havent had anything for so long, they're the ones that need help the most. And I have the opportunity to be one of them.

A word on the situation. About a year and a half ago, the LRA was pushed back into Sudan and the Congo. They continue to do horrible things there, including abducting children to fight and be sex slaves. It is horrible, and it needs to be stopped. But Uganda is safe. The embassy and various NGOs and Peace Corps sent an envoy to scope out the situation about a year ago, and once it was deemed safe, the area was flooded with foreign aid workers. There is a very large presence in the area, and no problems. So, although only a few hundred miles from my doorstep the situation is inconceivable, my village should be calm.

But before all this East Africa, I will be in America. I am almost 23 months in to Togo, with just about four months left, and havent in all that time left West Africa. America is going to be so different, not least because we actually have a President worthy of the title now! Im hoping that it isnt too different, though, especially in the culinary arena. I have so much to eat! I think I'll need to average about eight meals a day to pack it all in. Therefore, I must ask that anything we do together involve food, and lots of it.

For this week, though, I am confined to the Infirmary in Lome, and it is worth the pain of the neck infection. Hot showers as long and as often as I want, good food made for me with expensive ingredients (meat and vegetables, and juice!) Even breakfast is a treat: milk and cornflakes, something I havent had since l'Amerique. With that, I will leave you, for now. If you have any questions about Uganda or my Home Leave, or heck, even Togo, let me know. I stopped getting comments on here a while ago, and its sad. Is it boring or something?

Go to the people. Live with them. Learn from them. Love them. Start with what they know. Build with what they have. But with the best leaders, when the work is done the task accomplished the people will say "We have done this ourselves".

And yet again, Togo has disappeared my blog entry. It was quite beautifully written, too. Now I dont have the energy to recreate it, at least right now, so short and sweet: I'm extending to Uganda for a third year of service.

Now I'm going to go rest, because I have an infection in my neck and it sucks.

At long last, I present, The Rain Story.

It was horrible. For practically the entire month of May there was no rain worth speaking of here in Northern Togo. Last year at that time we were reliably getting a good soaking twice a week. This year, the clouds would gather, the wind would pick up, and more often than not, nothing would happen. About once a week our hopes would be dashed when, after setting out buckets under the eaves and hoping and praying, the clouds let loose with no more than an hour of Seattle-esque rain, which here is not worth mentioning. The hour or so of light sprinkle hardly raised the level of the well, our water remaining murky bordering on muddy when we pulled it up.

Worse than that, the crops that we had planted in April, when things were finally normal after a bizarre Harmattan and Hot, were curled and drying and pitiful to look at. Fields and fields of corn and peanuts stood in the dry, crumbled earth, their leaves still green but in a parched sort of way. They were not long for this world.

It was taking its toll on everyone. Tempers would flare, voices were raising much too easily, and the women were starting to argue about the well. I knew I didnt have to worry, that if it got bad, I had a ticket out of here. But that was no comfort as I tried not to waste a drop, and realized it was no great challenge to guess which children wouldnt survive. A horrible thing to think about, but I couldnt help it. I know the individual family situations, and some of them are already almost painfully undernourished.

One day I was in Kara to go to the market. I noticed, once again, dark clouds looming on the horizon. I didnt dare to think that today would be the day. After a tasty late lunch of koliko (fried yam bits, but so much more) with a spicy tomato-piment (hot pepper) sauce, I hopped in a taxi. As we sped out of the city, a few lazy drops splashed the windshield. But as the wind picked up, maybe maybe... yes! We watched in amazement as sheets of water poured down and stopped to collect a few soaked-to-the-bone passengers. Fully loaded, and with visibility practically non-existent with the combination of the torrents of water pouring down and the fogged up windows, we continued on at almost normal speed.

Everyone in the car was ecstatic, the joy and relief were palpable. And then, one of the best quotes of my time here in Togo came from the man I was sharing the front passenger seat with. Translated here, for those of you who are blissfully ignorant of French and its ridiculousness: "This is as good as meat...." and, after a few seconds of wide grinning, " No, this is better than meat!" We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Coming from a man who lives in a land where meat is about as good as it gets, where it signifies wealth and privlege, and people go to great lengths to obtain it, thats saying a lot. Thats saying, pretty much, that this rain was the best gift God could have given us. And, really, it was. We continued on in the highest spirits.

Much to our disbelief and dismay, about halfway up the road, we abruptly exited the torrent, like stepping out from a waterfall. The pavement was dry and the sun was shining brutally down upon the worn-out crops. My heart sank as I trudged along the bush path among my villagers dying crops. Even the beauty of the Kabye mountains, looking down upon my little haven, could not rouse me from this slump. I didnt mention the rain in Kara to my family, for fear of disappointing them too much.

That night, however, we got ours. It rained, it poured, the fields flooded, the dry, cracked earth unable to soak up all the liquid. This was good, but one rain after so long could only do so much. We waited with bated breath, and miraculously, the next afternoon the sky darkened, and again we were drenched. And again and again and again. Things are back to normal, now. The rains come with regularity and the crops are growing fast. The only sign that we dodged disaster is that the peanuts arent ready yet. We have to wait a few more weeks for the warm, subtly sweet taste of fresh-picked, boiled peanuts to bless our tongues.

Im off to village now. Tomorrow the young men kill and eat dogs, to give them strength for next week's wrestling competition. Afterwards, once they have fought, they will be men.

I always think of the animated meerkat who is dancing down the streets of Cape Town or Joburg in the commericial for my old cell phone company in South Africa when I hear that song. But I thought of it yesterday, when I reacquainted myself with Cute Baby, after several weeks of travel and Rebecca's visit. Its an interesting thought, that people come to visit me to see what my life is like here, but just by their being there the atmosphere changes and its really strikingly different, and not at all what normal life is like. Consider I dont think Rebecca even met Cute Baby. Anyway, shes my second child (theyre all my kids, but Prewa and Carine are the two that the family wants me to take back to the States with me) and I missed her terribly. After a few moments of puzzled looks, eyebrows scrunched and all, Carine warmed up to me again and it soon became apparent to me that she had grown a lot during my absence. Shes stronger on her feet, not as wobbly. I sat her down sitting, and was astonished when she flopped down and started a halting but persistent and comical forward motion. She hasnt gotten it down perfectly yet, but sort of pulls herself along alternately on her stomach and with one knee bent and the other held stiff, holding her bottom in the air.

Shes alert and active for longer, too, getting into everything and laughing and just generally being cute. The last two days Ive been helping (i.e. watching, and holding Baby) her mother make tofu. Ive done it before but want to brush up on all the details for the future. Its been a pleasant two days, spending time with Hodalo in her compound, which I dont normally do, and entertaining Carine. Shes a big fan of looking down at the ground from up high. I hold her with one arm the length of her torso, under her stomach, and the other gripping a leg or arm for balance, and we walk around and discover endless things that are hilarious, apparently. Who knew rocks and dirt and feet could be so entertaining. Eventually though she gets restless and sleepy, and then I put her on my back with a pagne and she drops off to sleep within minutes. On a side note Im definitely carring my children on my back, its a foolproof sleep inducer! Then all the old ladies come by and coo and chatter about it in Kabye and I feel rushed into motherhood. I admit Togo has a way of getting your clock ticking, but I am in no way ready to have children yet, sorry.

I have been horrible about updating, I know. I feel like I havent given any real information in months. The thing is, Im waiting for projects to be completely complete before writing about each in a big long entry. And there are stubborn last details that havent been done that make it so that the projects arent officially over. So, patience!

I owe you all an update on the past several weeks, or has it been months? Mom left at the end of March so I guess its months. Since then I have been a busy bee working almost all day every day, which is rather unusual for a Peace Corps Volunteer. It has been nice, in a way, to be so busy. I definitely feel worthwhile when I collapse into bed every night exhausted. But I also miss those days where I didnt do any "real" work, and just hung out in the clearing with my family, plucking palm nuts or extracting Nere seeds from the pod, listening to the Kabye chatter, and actually understanding the gist of what is being said about half the time. I do not speak Kabye, at all. But I know enough single words to figure a lot of stuff out. And there is a particular sameness here, that you dont find in the states. If they are speaking about "lim" about water, it isnt too hard to guess that they are speaking about the lack of it, the rain that hasnt come for real in several weeks (note: this is no longer true, the rains did come, and its a great story I will be sure to tell at some point). And then you catch "samala" which means corn, and you know they are talking about the shrivelled little plants that will die in another few days.

A note about this sameness. I was riding in a taxi the other day, and this guy got in smelling terribly strong of gumbo sauce. There was no doubt in my mind that he had leftover moto, cornmeal mush, with okra sauce for breakfast. No doubt. And it struck me that Stateside, there would be almost no chance of me guessing correctly what someone had for breakfast, even if I could smell some ingredient on them. But here one whif and I could see and taste his breakfast, because no matter who makes it it is the exact same thing. I guess the options are more limited here. People eat a lot more things in the states. Perhaps some Togolese immigrant has gumbo sauce, but if you had cornflakes or oatmeal or eggs or pizza I probably couldnt tell just by smell. Similarly, when you speak of something, it is a lot easier here to have a visual picture in your head. There is less variety in most things. So if someone mentions a bucket, I know that it will be one of the ones that are made in Ghana, because that is what is available. How many different types of buckets are there in the states? If I go to a restaurant in Dapaong or Ketao or Badou, it doesnt matter, everything will be practically uniform. There isnt much flair and creativity. True, once in a while your egg sandwich will have a dash of Maggi, but most of the time not. Dressing up in village means a white tshirt displaying whatever politician you support/whichever one gave you a shirt and a pagne or two wrapped around your waist. Its easy to know what to expect.

Anyway, I miss those days, when they would teach me to weave baskets and argue over who I should marry in order to keep me here forever and ever. All my friends and family would, logically, come to live here too, and they could have Solim and a whole slew of white people here forever. I miss picking rocks out of the rice as Prewa sleeps in the tent of my skirt, her head resting on my knee. I miss Carine (my second child, she is the cutest baby ever) laughing at me, reaching her little arms out to me, almost falling out of her mother's lap. I miss her solemnly sitting in my lap and tentatively clutching at the strange golden threads growing from my scalp. I hardly ever wear my hair loose here, since the wind tangles it in a second. So when I take it down for her to play with, I am always struck by this strange substance, that is actually a part of me. I miss those days of just being. But work is good too!

We are finally done, done with the map of the world. We had a lot of setbacks, and eventually I will dedicate an entire entry to that story, but finally all the little things are completed, and it looks great. Now we are working on Togo and I think it will go pretty smoothly.

The wells, too, had a lot of problems, and still do. But three of them are pretty much finished. The other two are more difficult. Bedrock and tough soil are making it tough going, but I hope that before too long the masons can start building there, too. Again, I will tell that story more thoroughly at a future date. Im just giving a small update for those of you who are interested, especially those of you who donated. Thanks!

For me, I have a small vacation coming up. Rebecca flies in to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso next week. I will meet here there and we will explore the area around Banfora and Bobo-Dioulasso in the southwest before crossing over to Ghana and visiting Mole National Park. It will be nice to get away from the projects for a while. And then when I come back hopefully we can finish things up quick quick!

I realized a couple of days ago that it is June there, too. Its difficult to imagine what that means. June in Seattle, June in Ohio, New York, Missouri, Boston. It is really remarkable how easily you forget. Until next time, then. Keep rain dancing! I promise to tell the story soon.

Village days are frequently slow, calm, relaxing, and somehow exhausting all in one. It was nice to be able to share this rhythm with both of my parents, but looking back, its hard to come up with much to say about the time spent. If you've spent any time in a place like this, you know what I mean. A lot happens, but its not earth-shattering. Yet each day is new and beautiful in its sameness and its subtle differences. I'm glad they had some time to just sit and observe. Not every night do my kids sing and dance through sunset and into the night until the stars spread across the sky, but on occasion they do. Not every night do the drums beat and the fires burn, but sometimes. And if you stay for a while you will be rewarded. Just ask Mom- she was dressing early one morning and spotted a scorpion in my wash bucket-right next to her suitcase! It didnt take long for her to smashed the thing (it took several whacks) which is probably for the better. N.B. There are other rewards.

A few weeks ago my Togolese Mama was stung on her heel. I have never in my life seen someone in that much pain. Her brother carried her outside; she couldnt walk herself. She is one of the strongest women I know, she's in her late 50s, she carries water, bricks, firewood, everything imaginable on her head. She works bent over hot cooking fires every day, preparing meals, palm oil, tchouck. She plants and harvests and rarely ever just sits down. She was incapacitated. Seeing her in so much pain was scary, actually. She was groaning and crying out and writhing in pain, barely aware of what was happening around her. Her pagne kept slipping off; she was in so much pain she didn't think of fixing it. The family had been trying local remedies. There was a lot going on, so I did't think to ask many questions, but I think they had her eat part of a raw onion to help, somehow. Her brother also chewed up part of the onion and spit, mixing it in his hands, and massaged her leg and foot vigorously.

I couldn't do much to help. I told them painkillers and anti-inflamatories could help, but it doesnt seem like there is much you can do besides that. I got a washcloth and they heated a bowl of water, and I stayed with her, applying hot compresses to the sting. She was in a lot of pain, but little by little, as the medicine set in and I kept holding the hot washcloth on her foot, her cries ceased, and she calmed down. The pain receded from her belly and slowly down her legs and finally remained in her foot. She pulled her pagne tight aroud her belly again, and thanked me for sitting with her and helping her.

At times like that I dont know how to respond. What else could I have done? The mosquitos were biting me and I was chilled as I sat there with her, for an hour, two, I'm not sure. But I couldn't leave her! There wasn't much I could do except apply the compresses and sit with her, sympathise with her pain. But I'm her family and besides, everyone else was keeping vigil with us. It is wonderful to feel so included, so a part of things. But times like this also highlight that I am always set apart in some way. Not blatantly. I'm sure Mama or E or anyone else in the family would vehemently argue that I am just like everyone else. But I know that I'm not. Proof, in the fact that no one else would be thanked for sitting with her. She is my family and I had no other choice, but still, I was thanked. Theres nothing anyone can do about my separatness, but the evening made me think about integration and culture and inclusiveness. I am included but can never fully integrate, disappear into the village. Even if I learned Kabye and married and had kids and worked in the fields and lived there forever. There would always be those small comments and actions, letting me know that I remain different, somehow.

Nice digression-back to Mom's visit. We spent most of the time in my village, but we did get out to see a bit of the country. We saw the Tatas in the Tamberma Valley and celebrated the installment of the first-ever chief in a friend's village. There was lots of dancing and drumming, right up Mom's alley. It was still dry (rainy season is undeniably starting currently) and the crowds kicked up a lot of dust, but she had a wonderful time dancing among the men and women in traditional costume... beads and skins and knives and horns. National Geographic! The women, especially, loved to watch her and dance next to her. I'm glad she could have the experience.

Soon, though, it was time to head South again. The trip was over and it was time for me to shift my entire focus to the two projects I had going. I sent her on her way back to the "real" world (scary!) and returned home... alone for the first time in several months. It was wonderful seeing Abby and my parents, but I was also more than ready to get back to my routine, and have my little cove of paradise all to myself.

It was wonderful to be able to see both my parents within 24 hours. It was also wonderful that they came seperately, so I could spend quality time with each of them without feeling like I was abandoning the other, and so I didnt have to take care of both of them at once. It was interesting, the role reversal that took place while they were here. Ive learned how to live here, I am habituated, but for both of my parents, it was something unlike anything they had done previously. New food, new climate, new way to shower... it would have been a lot harder to walk two people through this at the same time.

My Mom and I spend the first few days in Lome. It was nice to relax a bit, instead of get right on a bus up-country. The heat was a lot more bearable for sun-worshiper Cynthia, so that was a relief. I dont know how my Dad made it through. I am almost worthless during hot season, about the only time the heat gets to me. But even then it is only during the hottest part of the day. For my Dad it was all the time! I cant imagine...

Mom and I spent just about every afternoon at the Beach Bar... enjoying the sea breezes and fishermens songs as they heaved in the days catch, and cooling off with a few of Togos "big beers." We explored the Grand Marche and got several pagnes for new outfits. And we visited the fetish market, a first for me. It isnt all that big compared to most marches maybe 30 stalls, but when you consider that they were all displaying snake skins, dried chameleons, sea turtle shells, owls, and crocodile heads, it was actually quite impressive. We had to pay a guide to take us around, but I dont think we were overpriced too much. Besides, he spoke passable English, so I didnt have to translate, and who wants to piss off the witch doctors anyway? He took us through and explained what everything was, as children and old women held out porcupine quills and jackal skulls for sale.

We were given a bit of history and culture, and then went in to visit one of the witch doctors and shown a variety of gri-gris, for safe travel, good sleep, and love, among others. The witch doctor REALLY thought I could use the one for love, telling me repeatedly that the ancestors recommended it STRONGLY. Is it that obvious? I decided to pass... the idea of wispering someones name to a little gri-gri in my hand, asking for him to fall in love with me seemed kind of cheap. What if he actually did? Then I would never know if it was real, or if he was just charmed into it. Not the way I want to do it. I was interested in the little leather packet of herbs for general protection. I knew it was a tourist trap, but I couldnt resist buying a gri-gri from a real witch doctor in the land of Voodoo. So I placed it in the calabash, and dice were rolled to let the ancestors communicate their price. The dice were rolled several times as the witch doctor argued in my favor for a lower price. Finally one was agreed on. Quite the show, I must say, but Im not a huge fool. I told them my highest price (still more than it was worth) and wouldnt budge. The ancestors must have agreed, because I walked away with the little pouch around my neck.

We travelled North, on the bus, and got to my village in one exhausting day of travel. It was much better than a bush taxi, though! We spend the next several weeks mostly in village, just doing the daily stuff. Playing with the kids, drawing water, helping with whatever the family was doing. The family took to Mom as quickly as they did to my Dad. They loved whenever she helped out with something, and couldnt get enough of it when she brought out her dance moves from years of practice with VamoLa, a Brazillian band. The moves are completely different, but what they really care about here is that youre having fun.

Time is running out at the internet cafe. I have to go look for more paint for the map project... work updates are next, so be patient. Things are moving with both the wells and the maps, though. Sometimes slowly, sometimes halted for a few days, but moving. Your money went to a good cause, though, never doubt that, and everyone gives you a million thanks. I wish you could see these people for yourself, tast the first calabash of water out of the wells. I am taking lots of photos, though, so eventually you will be able to see!

Its already well into April. I have a lot to catch up on! My life has been crazy these past several months. As you know, Abby and I were travelling overland from Togo all the way to Sengal, and I flew back to Togo in early February. But THEN what happened? Two days later, my Dad arrived! We spent the next two weeks mostly in my village, taking a few short trips to see a bit of the country.

I had anticipated Togo being rather cold when I got back. Last year at the beginning of February, we were deep into Harmattan. The world was a white haze, sounds stunted by the Saharan dust in the air, hiding my beautiful mountains. I was waking up uncontrollably shivering in my bed in the middle of the night when it dropped to 72 degrees farenheit. This year, though, I have no idea what is going on with the weather. My Dad arrived with his fleece, his long pants, his socks, because I told him the north would be a bit cold. Lome, with its humidity, was a shock to him (he's lived in Seattle for more than 30 years) but I didn't believe word from home that Hot Season had come. More than a month early? Psh. Sure enough, though, when we got up to Kara, it was hot. Not unbearably, in my opinion, but certainly not Harmattan's chill.

Despite this, Dad jumped in right away, helping with village responsibilities after the long bush taxi ride up from Lome. Usually, I wouldn't have subjected him to the horrors of travelling up-contry in one of those vehicles, but it being "funeral season" we didn't have a choice. The luxury air conditioned bus that keeps me sane was full several days in advance. Dad was a trooper, though, and it wasn't too bad. I embellished a story about my Dad's age and bad knees and other ailments and insisted we sit up front with him (meaning three across rather than four or five) and I think I scared the guy a bit. He immediately started calling Dad "Patron" and asked permission every time we needed to stop and apologized after for "waisting our time." He even refused a police officer the front seat. And this was a guy with a gun! But, as he said, my Dad was "the Patron" and as we all know, that overrides everything. Except maybe the President.

I apprenticed Dad to the family, and he learned how to roll peanut sticks and form homemade soap into balls. On his next visit, they're going to send the "giant" to the marche to learn the marketing aspect of surviving hand-to-mouth. I'm sure it won't be hard to convince him to go. I think the thing he liked most about the trip (besides maybe getting to see me) was going to my village market.

I have a rather large market, actually, for the size of my village. The problem with it, and the reason I don't go on a regular basis, is that although it is large, there isn't much variety. There are tchouck stands (where Dad bonded with the local men using hand signals and a calabash of local brew) and piles of cast-off Western clothes. Tables of flip flops and batteries and assorted pills and medicines. There are baskets and basins of grains and seeds and all variety of seasonal local products in the rock-strewn area under the shade of tall trees. There is not, however, much variety when it comes to food. You can get your staples, depending on the season, as well as salt, sugar, gari, onions, piment (hot pepper) every time. There are usually tomatoes as well. Apart from that, though, you would be lucky to find sauce leaves... gboma or kapok or baobab, or gumbo or eggplant. I have never seen anything else in the way of vegetables.

We spent most of the time just hanging out. Anyone who has been to my village can tell you that I have been blessed with a little haven at the base of the Kabye range. Life is calm. With the rural agricultural layout, you go to people more than people come to you, so it is rarely overwhelming. What he wanted to do most was experience my normal life, but something new for him. We pulled water from the well (it was still adequately filled at that time), we watched palm oil nuts transformed into palm oil, we saw the neighbors constructing a new room out of dirt and pebbles and water formed into bricks. Everyone had a blast posing for photographs with a much more skilled photographer than myself (and one returning stateside a lot sooner than I am, for printing purposes) and remarking on how much we resemble each other. One of my favorite comments was in passing, at the marche in Lome our first full day. In French, a guy commented to his friend, "Look! A yovo! And her Dad!" Apparently its obvious who my father is. :)

We made it out to the village where I'm building the wells one day. They even opened the stick bridge (usually closed in dry season when the river is low to preserve it) so we didn't have to wade through the shisto-infested waters. It was a hard trip, very hot, and I didn't bring enough water, but we had a nice meeting with the chef and other importantes of the village, and they were quite excited to meet my father. In three languages we communicated, everyone very happy and very thankful for the project and each other and the opportunities. The chef of the village took to Dad especially, and appointed him "Chef of P____ in all of the United States" which I suppose is something like Ambassador. So if you want a visa, he can take care of that for you.

It was a short visit, only two weeks. Everyone was sad to see him go, but any longer and I think Dad would have shrivelled up like a prune in the heat. It probably never went below the normal high temperature of a summer day in Seattle while he was here. We took the luxury air conditioned bus to Lome and visited the beach one more time, running into the same rasta we had met before, and then it was off to the airport! It was hard to say goodbye until December, but Dad had to get back to his Ambassadorial duties. It was a great visit, and I had something to look forward to the next day: my Mom was already en route to l'Afrique!

I will update when I have the time, I promise. I just wanted to post a quick note to let everyone know that things are going well here in Togo, and to ask that your thoughts be with the family of Kate Puzey, a Peace Corps Volunteer who lived in Badjoude, Benin, just across the border from me. Kate was found dead outside her house last Thursday. I never met Kate, but have heard nothing but wonderful things about her dedication as a fellow Volunteer.

In the midst of this tragedy, five wells are being dug in my village and thousands of other people like Kate and I are doing wonderful, small, world-changing things with the help of people like you and I am reminded that there is always some good with the bad, and as always that the next day will come, whether you want it to come or not.

Im back in Togo! It feels great. I loved traveling and seeing some more of the world and being with Abigail, but it feels great to be back. Togo rocks. Seriously. And even though we complain about it some of the time I think Im happier here than I would be in a lot of places. Plus it is just so diverse, even though it is small. Now for a quick overview of the trip after (O)bamako.

We took a bus to Tambacounda in Senegal. It wasn't that bad, except on the Mali side we kept having to stop so that the gendarmes could collect money from everyone (except us, yay Peace Corps) for the roads. So every fifteen minutes or so on some stretches we'd all have to pile out and stand around. We made it across the border that evening, and got our passports stamped, but then we had to stay there until morning because customs was closed. That meant a very uncomfortable night sleeping on the bus. Picture a Greyhound bus, and then picture it falling apart. Picture everyones bags in the aisles and children on laps and almost no ventilation. It wasn't too bad except there was nowhere to get comfortable enough for more than a few minutes of shuteye. You could go outside, but it was freezing cold, and it wasn't uncomfortable enough on the bus for me to brave the frigid air. We woke up in the morning, and then sat there. For hours. Marche mamas go to Mali to buy sugar and other supplies to take back to Senegal and sell, because they can get a cheaper price. Unfortunately the customs officials don't like when they do that, so the entire bus had to wait for them to be cleared. Finally, though, we made it to Tamba. We slept well, and moved on to Kedougou, in the SE corner of Senegal. The area really reminded me of Togo. It is beautiful and greener than the rest of the country, and there are hills and rocky mountains. We hung out in Kedougou for a couple days (where I ate warthog) and then visited a Volunteer in Dindefelo, close to the border with Guinea. We visited a waterfall and stumbled through the forest, swinging on vines, and disrupting a baboon family crossing the river. They weren't too happy, but I flexed my muscles and they left us alone. We explored caves filled with bats, and bees, and climbed to the top of the mountain to watch the sunrise and look down on rock spires.

We continued on to Kaolack and Abigail's village. It was nice to see where she's been living and get a feel for what her service is like, but I'll admit she has it harder than I do. The feel of the village and the people is just... a lot different... than what I have here. She has to deal with a lot more than I do. Im sheltered in my wonderful little patch of Paradise at the base of the Kabye Mountains. From her village, we decided to take a few days of rest on the coast of The Gambia. We relaxed on beautiful sandy beaches and exposed our white white skin that hardly ever sees the light of day. We walked along the coast and found patches of quicksand, which were fun to play in but would have been quite scary if they were quicker to suck you. Its such a different experience, though. It feels like there are spaces, pockets of air or something, below you that are collapsing and you sink down and down at a steady, regular speed. Front and back and front as the ground gives way in stages below you. We crossed back over to Senegal and saw the Sine Saloum Delta and mangroves. We found a fisherman to take us on a tour, and spend a lovely few hours out on the water. We docked on an island and explored an open patch of land where birds congregate in the evenings and, according to the tracks on the ground, hyenas and baboons and crocodiles also frequent.

To end the trip, we went North near the coast to a random desert. It just appears out of the flat expanse of bush, like a dream. All of the sudden there are these amazing, beautiful dunes. I really appreciated Lompoul because, frankly, the desert outside of Timbuktu wasn't all that impressive. The fact that we were in Timbuktu was cool, as was the camel ride, but the dunes kind of left something to be desired. From Lompoul we went to Dakar. Dakar... is America. Don't get me wrong. Other capitol cities are nice, but... the thing about Dakar is you don't really see the village encroaching on the city. In the other capitols, you can much more easily see the village influence. In Dakar there are freeways, with overpasses, with lights. There are grocery stores. With real food, Duracell batteries and ice cream bars and Coca Cola and canned foods. On every corner, practically, not just in the regional capitols. There are nice cars, that belong to Senegalese, not just expats. There are fast food restaurants with shiny lights and booths like in America, with "Jungle" play places. Leave Dakar and you are back in Senegal, but Dakar could be America, Florida or somewhere with nice weather (although it was freezing when I was there) except with lots of black people. We wandered the marche and went out to Ile de Goree, and ate at the same Ethiopian restaurant both nights. Ethiopian food. Its my favorite. Ever. Unfortunately they didn't have injera made with teff, but it was still wonderful. Yesterday we woke up early and went to the airport to say our goodbyes. I stumbled through the airport, a complete idiot after not having been on a plane in 16 months. But finally I got to the gate and we left on time.

The plane was amazing. Definitely the fanciest ride of the entire Sojourn. I got my own seat. The seat next to me was empty, even. And they fed us, twice. We were given breakfast on the way to Abidjan. Something hot that they claimed was egg but I dont believe for a minute (although it wasn't bad), apple sauce(!) and a croissant and a bun with real butter (butter!) and jam. Coffee or tea and your choice of juice. On the way from Abidjan to Lome they gave us a swiss cheese sandwich and a muffin with real chocolate chips, and again juice. It was very satisfying. We made a beautiful turn out over Lome and came down among the palms and landed, again, with a bump. Welcome to Togo. It was wonderful to be back and I couldn't keep the huge grin off my face. I got my baggage and burst out into the humidity and was so happy to know what was what again. Its horrible not to know the country you're in and have to rely on someone else. So I brushed off the taxi drivers who would think I was just another dumb Yovo who would pay three times the price and walked to the road and got a taxi for the right price. No fooling me. I know this place!

Today I bought the paint and brushes for the world map mural project so that we can get started with that soon. Now I'm just hanging out in Lome, waiting for my Dad's arrival tomorrow evening. It will be so great to see him and show him this wonderful country that I love so much. If you have questions about anything, the Sojourn or my life here in Togo, please ask. It gets hard to think of things to talk about on the blog sometimes, but I want to make it as interesting as possible for all of you.

Hello from (O)bamako, Mali! Abigail has been much better about updating her blog, so you can check that out if you want more detailed news, but short and sweet here is a summary of our trip so far. We left Togo and spent a few days in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, home to empowered women and girls. We took a short trip to Koudougou and sat on sacred crocodiles. Then we headed over the border into Mali, where we spent a few days hiking around Dogon country. Then we headed from Bandiagara to Sevare, where we saw the market of Mopti and the boats on the Niger River. Then we travelled to Tombouctou (Timbuktu) and spent a few days in this legendary city, riding camels and seeing Boctous well, the citys namesake. We returned to Sevare for a night, then continued on to the capital, Bamako (although the sign across from our hotel claims we are in Obamako, much to our enjoyment!) We are spending the day in this beautiful city of pizza delivery services, highway overpasses, and, alas, many many biting mosquitos. In some ways Obamako gives Accra, Ghana a run for its money, though. Tomorrow the plan is to cross into Senegal.

I will try to give more detailed descriptions with time, but for now, know that we are happy healthy and safe, and have been having amazingly good luck in every area, including, remarkably, transport. Knock on (Elijah) wood this continues, but it seems our cars and buses and ferries wait for us to arrive, and then shortly leave. Quite the accomplishment here in West Africa.

Once I return to Togo, I return to work, however. Please consider donating to my village well project. The village has 1100 people and currently one well. This means most people rely on other sources for water, like the river, which is no doubt teeming with disease I want to build five more wells to help remedy the problem, but need the money asap so we can construct before the rains come:

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=693-328

Thank you in advance!

Il faut me donner l'argent...

Sorry, Togolese moment. Im asking for money! My first Peace Corps Partnership Proposal is online and just waiting for funding. Take a look: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=693-326
and if you like what you see, please give money so my villagers can have pretty maps of the world.

If you dont like what you see, wait a couple weeks and my other Proposal will be up. Im attempting to get money to build five wells in one of my villages. They currently have one well for around 1100 people spread out over quite a large area. Not fun. Or healthy.

I have to get off the internet here soon so thats my short post of the day, but Ill try to get on soon to tell you about Abbys visit so far and our wonderful Christmas fete. We will be heading North soon to see a bit more of Togo and then up and over to Senegal and The Gambia through Burkina Faso and Mali.

Enjoy the last day of 2008 and look forward to a new year and a new family in the White House. About three weeks left... life is good.

The Great West African Sojourn was supposed to start yesterday. Saturday night I couldn't sleep for all the excitement-Abigail would be landing in Lome at 13h the next afternoon! We were texting back and forth (technology is wonderful) as she couldn't sleep either. Finally we said goodnight and see you soon. Then she gets a call in the middle of the night. Air Senegal. Telling her the plane wouldn't be leaving until 15h the next day. I woke up just after 5h and got the message. It was quite a blow. But its been over 15 months, whats a few more hours, right? Wrong. Every minute was excruciating. She went to the airport at noon. 15h rolled around. Eventually they informed them the flight would be leaving at 17h. They were still sitting there at 17h. (She was calling me with every new announcement.) At 18h they told them they'd be taking them to a hotel. But that they were leaving that night. Not in the morning.

In order not to let dispair overtake me, I ate FanMilk (bagged ice cream in different flavors) and watched YouTube for hours. I had CNN on satellite on the night of the election, but besides that, I hadn't seen much about the elections. I watched OBAMA's victory speech and cried again, I watched scenes from the celebration around the world. Then I started looking at clips of Sarah Palin. I would like to apologize to everyone who has had to deal with her for the past several months. I had been blissfully unaware of just how much of an idiot she actually is. Why hasn't anyone punched her in the face yet? I'm all for non-violence, but... And I know that not everyone reading this holds the same political views as I do, but seriously. Did you really think it would have been a good idea to elect her? She had to ASK what a Vice President does. After she'd already accepted the offer by McCain. She didn't know Africa was a continent. I mean, come ON!

That cheered me up some, but it was still hard. Usually I can take Africa's tantrums and holdups. But this is not the time for Africa to act up! Abigail is one of my best friends in the entire world. I'm sure you can imagine how torturous it has been to think she's on her way, that I'm only hours away from seeing her after more than 15 months, and then for it to all be a sham. Its some of the worst teasing I've ever experienced! Its like the carrot in front of the mule that he never gets to.

The good news is that she was on a plane at 6 this morning and they were leaving "tout de suite" which translates into Togolese as "sometime before the cows come home, probably, but we're telling you it will be soon so that you'll get off our backs and rest easy with renewed (false?) hope. Inch Allah." So I'm going to head to the airport with a book in a couple hours and hopefully not be there too long before she is delivered to me in all her sparkling beauty.

And then the Sojourn can begin.

Okay, so you're carefully opening the package. Gently pull the condom out. Blow a bit of air into the ring so it sticks up like a little hat. Make sure the edges curve out. Pinch the tip, place the condom at the head of the penis, and roll all the way down. Once you're done, remove the with a tissue or scrap of pagne, being careful not to spill any liquid. Either dig a hole and bury this to make sure no children find and play with it, or throw it down into the latrine.

We discuss the demonstration and answer any questions people have. Then we're done. We gave each director or chef or person in charge a box of condoms to distribute as they wished, and then we got back on our bikes and headed to the next village.

Okay, I didn't intend for it to be this long between posts, but I got caught up in the harvest and funded projects and illness and the imminent arrival of Abigail from Senegal. As for AIDS Ride, I'm sick of talking about it, so I'm going to move on.

As I mentioned, I've been caught up in the harvest. Rice, as I spoke about, as well as millet, sorghum, manioc, yams, corn, peanuts, beans, soy. Its tiring work, but fun, and is a good opportunity to talk with E. One of my greatest joys is talking to him. He is wonderful, as I say just about every other paragraph. And we get along great. Some of the happiest moments for me(and there aren't very many moments that aren't, but still) are walking somewhere or other with him, heading to some sort of work, and discussing everything under the sun. My French has gotten good enough that he knows what I'm saying 99% of the time, and I know what he's saying probaly 95% of the time. So we can have a real relationship. He is also attempting to improve his English, which he learned in school but never speaks. We probably look like lunatics as we walk along the narrow paths of our village, past baobab trees and sorghum stalks in the moonlight, doubled over laughing with pure joy at some joke or funny word. "Fingernail" is my favorite thing for him to say in English. I won't even get into my Kabye.

All this time with my family has brought us ever closer, which inevitably means I will have my heart torn from my body as I fly away from this country and this life and leave a part of it behind, but as with a lot of things I can't help doing anything else. They, too, love me more each day, and the requests for me to stay another year or two or three or forever increase. E's wife, A, even went so far as to suggest I find a Togolese husband. I said okay, who? A said I could have hers. I could be the second wife. She was mostly joking, so I played along and said why don't we ask E what he thinks? When he got back, she looked at me with a glint in her eye, prompting me to ask him "A thinks you should take another wife. Me. What do you think?" He laughed and blushed a bit and said no, he is Christian! Then he got an idea... what if he sent her away, so he could take me as the only wife! A was fine with the deal, she would move over to our younger brother's room. Its all the same family, so what does it matter? We all laughed a lot and I gently turned them down (it was a relief to know that E had no hopes in that regard) saying that they were good together and I couldn't take him from her. It was great to know that they love me so much that they would even playfully suggest that sort of thing.

So I've been harvesting a lot. I've also been doing a lot of work on two Peace Corps Partnership proposals. Many of you will shortly be getting requests for donations for my projects. By no means should you feel obligated to contribute, but anything you can give will be greatly appreciated! If you are interested, let me know and I'll tell you how you can donate.

Our first project is to paint two murals on the outside walls of the middle school. We want to do a large map of the world and another of Africa specifically. E is incredibly excited about this project, and the kids seem to like the idea well enough. I've finished the application and hopefully it will be going to Washington soon so we can be funded by the time I get back from The Great West African Sojourn.

The second project is a bit more complex. My post is actually a demi-canton made up of six separate villages. The most rural, hard to reach of these villages currently has one well for roughly 850 people spread out over a large area. Like the rest of the villages, this village is an agricultural community with clusters of houses connected by dirt paths through fields and bush. There are five cartiers, or neighborhoods, in this village, which is a two-hour walk from my house, down a rutted dirt road which ends in a rope and tree-branch bridge just before the start of the houses. One of these cartiers has a well. Those who don't have access to this well must rely on the river and the several small trickling streams running off from it for their water. The situation get especially grave in February and March, before the first rains have fallen. There are also several other "wells" that people have constructed, but these don't amount to much more than holes in the ground with a muddy, stagnant puddle at the bottom. Poverty prevented the purchase of cement and other necessities in good well construction. But with your help, the community hopes to construct a well in each of the four cartiers that doesn't currently have a (real) well, as well (!) as a well to serve the rural health clinic and elementary school, which are next to each other.

I was hoping to have the proposal for the well project finished before Abigail arrives (next Sunday!) but I got sick and had to come to Lome on Sunday, missing my meeting on Monday. I'm getting a bush taxi back up tomorrow and hope to get all the information in the next few days so that I can shortly complete it so that Peace Corps can ask you for money and we can start construction before the rains come.

Abigail is coming! I am beyond excited. We're spending Christmas in my village (I'm planning quite a fete for my family, will eventually write about it) and then heading over to Senegal. I have a lot of work waiting for me once I get back, and then more visitors (Mommy and Daddy) so I have a lot to look forward to in the next several months.

Okay, I'm tired of the computer, so I'm going to stop writing, even though I probably have more to tell. I'll try to update again soon but who knows what will happen. In any case enjoy cold weather (haha suckers) and good food and family and friends and the holidays!

Okay, finally the next update about AIDS Ride 2008. We were in the middle of the skit (see below.)

After Solim and Daniel walk out hand in hand, there is a scene with brother Fidele and David. David is worried about his friend, who sleeps with girls and doesnt use protection and takes advantage of them, gives them cadeaux to get them in bed. Fidele tells him he should help his friend see the error of his ways. On a related note, he met his sisters new boyfriend, and he is outstanding. He gives her presents and encourages her in school and is faithful. Yes, Daniel is wonderful. Wait, says David, did you say Daniel? Hes about this tall? His skin is light? No no no Fidele, that is the friend I was telling you about! He isnt faithful, he has a new girl every day, he probably has a disease! You have to get your sister to the hospital so she can be tested for SIDA! The scene ends with both men worried.

Next scene: Solim returns home with a smile on her face and a dreamy look in her eye. Oh, Fidele, Daniel is so nice, so handsome, look at all the notebooks and pens and pagnes he gave me! Solim, leave all that, I have to tell you something. Daniel is a bad man, he has a different girl every day of the... no, no, brother. I am the only woman, he told me! Solim, hes lying to you! Did you use a condom? Well... We must get you tested, he may have SIDA! But he told me he was tested... Solim looks defeated, and agrees to her brothers requests to go to the hospital. They arrive, and the doctor draws blood. She comes back with the results, and its not good news. Solim is infected with VIH/SIDA. The siblings collapse, saying its the end of her life, there is nothing that can be done. No, no, no, this is not the end of your life! This is not the end of her life! the doctor comforts. There are organisations like AED (Hope for Tomorrow) that can provide support and ARVs. You can have a long life, we can eat and play and live together without fear! You hear that? says Fidele, Solim, you can have a good life! Yes yes my brother! Thank you for your support. But Solim, Daniel is really not a nice boy, you shouldnt continue to hang around him. Yes, yes.

Finished. We ask what the audience saw in the sketch, and discuss it for a while. Then we move on to a game. The Elephant and Lion game! We are in Africa, so we are en brousse. First, there is a baby elephant, which in the game represents the heart. Then, there are Mama and Papa elephants, who protect the baby elephant. These represent the immune system. Then there are lions, who try to attack the baby elephant. These represent maladies such as Palu (malaria), diarrhea, TB, etc. The parent elephants successfully protect the baby. But then a hunter appears. He has a gun, and he quickly kills off the majority of the parent elephants (for their tusks, we presume). The hunter represents the HIV/AIDS virus. The lions (diseases) come again. With most of the parents (immune system) MIA, the diseases easily break through and attack the baby elephant (the heart) and the person dies.

This is a visual way to help explain how the HIV/AIDS virus does harm. Its not HIV/AIDS in and of itself that kills, but it weakens the immune system so that other diseases such as Paludism can easily harm the person. We discuss the game and its significance, then we move on to perhaps my favorite part, the silent ABC sketches. I like them because they are easy, quick, but very effective.

A: A woman (usually me, but in one very successful instance, a man) is just hanging out by themselves. Twidling their thumbs, waiting around. Then a guy walks up, tries to get her attention. She waves. He makes suggestive gestures, blows her kisses, maybe offers her a cell phone or a camera. She refuses. He tries again; again she refuses. Another man comes up and does the same thing, and another. She refuses him each time. And its done. This is such a brilliant way to explain, without words, abstinence. Plus its fun for me to turn all the guys down ;)

B: I walk in hand in hand with my boyfriend/lover/husband/whatever. We walk a ways, then part ways. I turn one way, and another man comes up, makes suggestive moves, offers me a cadeau, the usual, but I refuse. At the same time, another woman is trying to get at my man. He refuses, brushes away her touches, shakes his head no. We keep walking and, relieved, grasp hands once again. There it is folks: bonne fidelite! Faithfulness. Both partners refused others. Thats a big deal here, for the man to refuse, too.

C: Condom demo! Finally, the wooden penises make their long-awaited appearence. Each group has two. Sometimes a Volunteer uses one, sometimes both are with audience members. I loved when girls would do the demos, and they seemed to have fun, although invariably they would run back to their friends giggling and blushing. Hopefully all of you know how to use a condom, but just in case, here we go. We first ask where condoms are available, and make sure people know not to buy the ones in the marche, because the sun ruins them. Okay, first, check the date. Everyone see the date here? Then, check to make sure theres a bit of air in the package. If there isnt air, it may be ruined. Then open the package carefully with your hands. Dont use your teeth or a mechete or anything that may tear the condom...

Hopefully none of you are in a bad way, because my hour is almost up. If its urgent, look at the directions on the package, or call Planned Parenthood or something. For me, I gotta go. Until next time!

I know I said I would continue the AIDS Ride story, and I will, eventually, but as everyone knows, a few days ago history was made. Barack OBAMA was elected as the next president of The United States of America. I watched the same CNN broadcast as most of you, but my experience, I imagine, was a bit different, and I would like to share it with you. About a dozen Volunteers gathered in the regional capitol of Kara for the elections, as the Volunteer here has satellite TV. Amazing, right?

I woke up in my village that morning with a rock in my belly. Maybe for the first time in my life I woke up knowing that that day, history would be made. The fate of the world, in part, would be decided. My family could tell that I was nervous, but they seemed confident that OBAMA would win. I, however, didnt have so much faith in the American people. I walked out of the clearing, exchanging shouts of OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA with my family, taking one last look at my home, hoping and praying the next time I saw it, I would be victorious. We spent the day in Kara catching up with each other, attempting to nap, and trying to settle our uneasy stomachs. Nothing would even begin to happen until almost midnight. We ate some pintad, guinea fowl, and drank some beer, and then went to the Volunteers house. We settled onto the floor and the couches and watched American TV. I definitely saw it in a new light, after over a year without it. Ill leave those comments for later, though.

As you all well know, we started off well, and just kept going. We cheered and hollered with every state projected for OBAMA, and as the night wore on (remember most of us are asleep by 20.30!) and problem states from the last election were given to us, we fought the exhaustion and welcomed the excitement. Ohio, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Florida... we sang praises to our Volunteer friends from these locales, as their votes really made a difference. I love Washington, but my vote didnt do anything. No way was it going to the almost dead guy and the wicked witch (no offense, Im sure they are remarkable individuals). 1,2,3 AM and Im hoping Im not imagining all of this in my sleep-deprived delirium. People are fading in and out, but Im excited enough to stay conscious. We are way ahead, and no one can imagine theres a way for McCain to climb out of the latrine, but Im nervous. Look what happened in 2000. And the popular vote was too close for comfort. Its nearing 4AM, and they say theyll have more projections for us when the West Coast closes. The same damn commercials, then the flashing stars across the screen and the jingle we had been trained with all night: they were going to make a projection. Excitement flooded my body, I just knew they were going to project the West Coast for OBAMA, and his victory.

But the screen flashed to 'OBAMA elected President' and my heart stopped. My body shook, the tears started flowing and I knew it was a dream. The other Volunteers' cheers and tears werent real. The sudden burst of noise from outside wasnt there. But I didnt wake up, this was reality. Im not even sure what the screen said, the moment was so surreal, but I knew what we were being told. I sent text messages to friends who couldnt make it in to watch with us, my Mom confirmed it really happened. My body still shook and our faces were still wet with tears as we figured out the burst of noise was the Call to Prayer. We watched in amazement as the world celebrated and McCain spoke, and finally as the President Elect of The United States of America walked on stage in Chicago and our future was given back to us. His speech was beautiful. He didnt seem to promise us anything but hope. Hope, and a chance to make things better. OBAMA spoke with such humility and honesty and truth, he seemed to be saying 'this doesnt mean we are out of the woods, it doesnt mean we are saved, but it means that we have hope, and a chance. the world is not condemned, we are pointed in the right direction. we may not get to where we're going in the next four years, or even in our lifetime, but WE WILL GET THERE.'

Oh yeah, and he gave a personal shout-out to us. We werent exactly 'huddled around our radios' but we are in one of those backwater, forgotten lands, figthing for Good. That felt good. I hear Palin doesnt even know exactly what Africa is. Figures.

The sun appeared on the horizon, and with it complete and utter exhaustion. We stumbled back to the maison, greeting passers-by with the good news. I packed my bag and got a taxi back to my village. I told everyone I saw OBAMA would be the next president. Every time I said it, every time I remembered those words, 'OBAMA elected President' I teared up. And Im not much of a crier here in Togo, however you remember me from the States.

I practically floated through the bush back to my family, OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA. Celebration, and E is harvesting rice. Tired as I was, I wanted to help, so I went out to the fields and cut alonside him as I explained Martin Luther King, Jr. and his Dream. I choked up and hot tears fell down upon the parched earth and precious grains. E understood my tears of joy, and I think he was amazed at the emotion. I know he has no doubt that some Americans, at least completely believe there is nothing in the pigment of skin, but none-the-less, I think that was a defining moment for him, that display of emotion.

E made me return home, where I collapsed into a deep, blissful sleep. I woke that afternoon, and sleepily went out to greet my kids and share the news. Prewa climbed onto my lap and I lay my head on her freshly washed one, smelling her smell and feeling her weight, her little beautiful body in mine, and relished in the moment, the pure joy and security. My family produced a celebratory meal, watche (rice and beans) with a spicy peanut sauce, and a papaya. Im not sure, but I think they bought the papaya. Buying things is special here, where most people dont usually have money. I dozed off on my litpicot, waking at dusk to my kids showering and chanting OBAMA OBAMA OBAMA, and with a smile on my face, moved inside to my bed, drifting into another blissful deep sleep.

I dont have time to continue the AIDS Ride legacy today, but I wanted to make a quick post just to let everyone know we WILL be up to date on election news this evening (well, starting at midnight!) We'll be watching CNN on satellite, so we should hear and see almost the exact same thing as you guys, including the (hopefully predominantly blue) map of all the states.

Inch Allah my next post will bring the story of my epic return to village, brining good tidings of Obama's victory to my family. Until then, vote well. We're on the edge of our seats here, too.