Holidays in Togo

Happy holidays, all! This holiday season was my very first away from home an it is one I'll never forget! It's a little strange celebrating Christmas and New Years in a tropical underdeveloped country, but I still enjoyed myself greatly. The heat and humidity made me forget it was December, which was pretty helpful. Anyways, I'm sure y'all want to hear all about how I spent the holidays in this alien world, and I will tell you in two parts:

INITIATION INTO TOGOLESE TRANSPORTATION

A group of us spent Christmas in Dapaong, a city in the Northern most part of Togo, where my boss held this massive feast for us with his family, at his house. THere's a house in Dapaong that is owned by the Peace Corps for us PCVs that functions as a work station and a transit house, aka where we all stayed and hung out during our time there.

Now, I live in the Southern most area of Togo and had to ravel for many hours to get to Dapaong for Christmas. The way up wasn't so bad; a few of us took a Post Bus, a huge yellow Greyhound-like bus run by the Post office that wealthy Togolese normally take. It wasn't on time, but whatever, nothing is here. I'm pretty glad that Africa time is just like Willard time; I'm always basically on time! The real story is in getting back from Dapaong, when we couldn't get tickets for the Post Bus, so we had to take a bush taxi back.

No big deal, people take bush taxis all the time, and I have as well. The Togolese travel by bush taxi (a large van), car, or motorcycle - all of which you pay someone to take you to your destination. The thing about bush taxies and cars is that the driver wants to make as much money as possible, which means fitting as many people as possible into the car. 7 people in a 5 seater is the norm, I often practically sit on people's laps. And if it's a man, he normally asks me to marry him or to take him as my African boyfriend. I come up with some pretty elaborate and convincing stories: I have a boyfriend in the States, a fiancé doing his Masters in France, and a Togolese husband in my village. What can I say? I'm fictitiously well loved. Anyways, this is how we ended up in a bush taxi with 15 seats and 26 people. 

Not only that, but with 4 tons of cabbage loaded on the roof. Yes, after our original taxi had broken down a quarter of the way through our route, this new bush taxi took us on a two hour errand run in Kara, many hours away from our destination - Atakpame, which really was only three quarters of the way I needed to go to finally get into my own bed, anyways. 

So, there I was, sitting in the back of a bush taxi with four other volunteers and 21 new Togolese friends (I mean, we were sitting so close!), going around 5 miles per hours on the "route national", pockmarked with potholes, as it is one of the few roads in Togo that is paved, and with motos zooming past us. Oddly, the only thing that bothered me was the loud woman and her friend practically cuddling with me on the seat that kept on making the clicky noise of disapproval. God, does that sound annoy me! But, I had a book - Atonement - and good company - my friend and neighbor of 20km, Sarah Beth - so I remained content on my roller-coaster ride closer to the inferno that is the humidity of the South. Some of our other volunteer friends, bless their hearts, were getting real agitated with our travel time and conditions. Every time we stopped, I could hear their sighs and I eventually tried to reassure them that "we'll get there when we do, and we have no control over the situation, so might as well sit back and enjoy the ride". They didn't seem to appreciate that; if roles were reversed, I wouldn't either. Carefree me saying that to worrisome and anxious them was like a skinny girl saying "Oh! I just eat whatever I want. I guess I just have a fast metabolism." and you just want to punch her in the face so you can drown your chubby sorrows in a milkshake. 

Night falls and we're still rolling along. Somehow, my question "Nous sommes où?", where are we?, gets misheard into "Vous venez d'où?", where are y'all from? by our boisterous seat companions. Sometimes my fancy French doesn't get well comprehended in post colonial Africa, and I'll probably come back with a "village French" accent. And so, I am therefore malformed and think we are significantly closer to our destination than the reality. My butt has gone numb and it's too dark to read and I am hungry. We started traveling at 8 am from Dapaong and didn't stock on snakes and the entire van is restless. Finally, I started to doze in and out of sleep, trying to stay patient and calm. 

Then - gagunk! - we hit a pot hole majorly hard and the entire van gasps. A volunteer friend does the clicky noise, sighs, and says "That can't be good". She's right. We pull over on the side of the road … flat tire. Well, actually flat-tire-that-is-already-pulled-awa-from-the-rim. Or, better yet: flat-tire-because-you-idiot-driver!-you-put-26-people-and-4-tons-of-cabbage-onto-a-flimsy-skeleton-of-a-van-and-it-was-too-heavy-and-now-it'll-take-us-longer-to-get-to-Atakpame. We sat on the side of the road and awaited the changing of the tire.

There was a house off the road that was blasting creepy gris gris music. Gris-gris (gree gree) is like sorcerer magic, and in a country where animism reigns strong, the Togolese are unbelievably superstitious. The way we knew this gris-gris music was by way of a friendly guy at a tchackpa stand (fermented millet beer) in Dapaong, who showed us a video on his phone of the "devil snake" that used gris-gris to flip the bus of the Togolese soccer team on their way to the World Cup. Accompanied with the music that was currently (and creepily) blasting from the side of the road, was a video of a strange creature - snake bottom, cat front, and a mummified lady's head with a shock of long white hair, It looks like something that belongs in Ripley's Believe it or Not. So, when sitting on the side of the road at 9:30 pm (way late in Togolese time), the gris-gris music is blasting and all the other volunteers and I have just about had it with our trip. We had to keep on reminding ourselves that we would get there eventually and to have patience.

Finally, the tire was replaced and loud lady orchestrated where everyone was going to sit as we got back in the van (her real motivation was to reserve enough space for her big ol booty). We soberly continued our journey for another hour and a half and finally arrived in Atakpame, made it to the peace Corps house there, and ate and slept. It took us 15 hours to go around 300 miles, we had one car break down, then another get a flat tire. We were exhausted and I was ready to settle down and continue reading my falling apart book. Clean, full, and comfy in a bunk bed, I open said book to find that the most crucial 50 pages had fallen out during our initiation into Togolese transportation. Boo.

I finally made it home 2 days later after a bout of food poisoning in Lomé, but those days were definitely not as exciting as my trip to Atakpame. I did come home to three puppies born in my backyard, though!

A NEW YEAR IN VILLAGE

This story really isn't as exciting as the first, but it does give some insight into Togolese culture and rituals, as well as my life in village. I was really lame and didn't participate in everything, but let's get on with the story!

On New Years Eve, Paul and I went to the marché together since I needed to stock up on food since my little trip left my kitchen barren and he had to get things for "la fête", or the holiday. The marché, an outdoor market that is normally a skeleton of empty wooden stands except on Saturdays, was crazy busy, probably since it is the only marché for 15km (or more?) on Saturdays. And it was the day before the huge holiday. In Togo, Christmas is bleh and New Years is bumpin'. There were small little fireworks and sparklers being sold everywhere, as well as cheap Made in China toys and balloons available; felt like the circus. Paul and I got everything we needed and went to a boutique - or an indoor shop - to find some good eggs, since all six I bought the day before were bad. 

We sat down and had some lukewarm Cokes and talked about New Years traditions in Togo and in the States. It became clear very early on in my time here that church and religion are very important, so it came as no surprise that Paul and the rest of my Togolese family would be spending the night at their Pentecostal church. I was invited, of course, but decline. I told him about the tradition of New Years resolutions back home and how everyone typically strived to "become a new person" and weight loss was a common goal. He chuckled at that; chubby is beautiful for women here. Paul told me that in Togo, New Years day is spent with family and friends, everyone invites each other over to serve their favorite rich dishes. The day is spent eating and drinking and enjoying one another's company. He also said that the family plans together for their year - what crops to grow, how to spend or save money, and general goals that concern the family. I'm not zoo sure if this is a reality in all Togolese households as this is a very patriarchal society and there are Girls Education and Empowerment volunteers for a reason, but I really do like the idea. Family is such a huge part of the culture here and everyone worlds together to sustain the family. Mom, I'm sure you're glad to hear this!

Anyways, I missed out on midnight mass, partially because it started at ten and ended at one in the morning, partially because Pentecostal mass just takes all the energy out of me, and partially because I was ultra homesick/still recovering from food poisoning and just wanted to sleep. Before Paul left with the family for mass, he brought me a bottle of sodabe, local moonshine that he makes, that was pink with grenadine syrup. He told me it was to start the holiday! and I warily took it, knowing that I could never drink a bottle of this stuff alone, even if it takes me all year!

I slept through midnight and woke up at 6 am to fireworks going off and children running around, excited for the parties to start. Paul brought over plantains his wife fried for me, and noticed that I hadn't started drinking the sodabe. He was really adamant about me drinking it, probably to share the custom, and I felt pretty obligated, I mean he even brought me a shot glass to use, so I took 2 shots. Alone. In my house. On New Year's Day. in Africa. The sodabe matched the pink of my fancy pagne dress and I hoped that the cheerful color would be a determinate on my year to come rather than the fact that I was drinking alone. Shortly after that somber moment, Paul and I headed over to his sister's house with a bunch of other men. I was the only girl and in a really weird position, having New Year's lunch with a room of men all sharing this intimate family meal. Obviously, I was respected enough to eat with them, let alone served the catfish sauce they made especially for me, but I was excluded in that I didn't speak the local language well enough to even have any inkling about the conversation, and that I'm a girl/woman, so culturally it is assumed that I wouldn't have much to add to the convo anyways. It was a strange feeling, but soon I was distracted with the shots of sodabe being passed around and being officially drunk at 10 am. I wanted another American there so badly and I tried to focus on the fufu I was eating (with my hands!) and try to pick up on the tonal language. 

Two shots of sodabe, a glass of wine, and a sodabe cocktail later, Paul and I headed home and I stole away into my house to sober up and make a pineapple upside-down cake as my lame contribution to the afternoon feast with his immediate family. While cutting up the pineapple, my homesickness was overwhelming and I decided to lay down for a minute. The combination of being uncomfortable at lunch and drunk and alone but living in a dang fishbowl and being away from all that I know was too much, and I was incredibly homesick. I kept looking out of my window and it would all just crash over me again: I am living in Africa and there is a red dirt film all over everything and crumbling mud houses and big bellied babies and polygamy and voodoo and real poverty and this is real life! I was dwelling on what all my friends at home were doing; probably getting all glamorous and trekking through the cold to go to a New Year's party. The fireworks going off made me think of Sewanee and passing the huge fireworks store at the base of the Mountain and how excited I would get, chugging up that incline on my way to the Domain. part of me was aching to take it all back and be back in the States, just do a simple rewind of my recent life and be comfortable in my easy Western identity. Then, a larger part of me started to calm down and i took a little nap and woke up sober-ish and refreshed, but still missing the heck out of Margaret and Ryann.

Lauging at myself and my little breakdown, I got back to work on the pineapple upside-down cake. I guess I hadn't completely sobered up because I forgot the egg and had to pull out the cake and add it, messing it up all. All I could think was WWCD? What Would Chelsea Do? Laugh and go on! Half the cake end dup burnt to the pan, but the family really liked the good part! I guess Madame sensed my need to be alone and brought over some rice and sauce for me instead of having me eat with everyone else under the communal mango tree. I was really grateful for that.

That evening, Paul and I went to go say Happy New Year to Joseph, my flaky #2 (Paul is my #1, obviously). We went over to one of Joseph's wives, Patrice's house and she served us fermented pâte (like a fermented grits but thicker and you eat it with your hands) with a chicken sauce (meat is a rarity here), as well as more wine (ahh!). Her children had gotten toys for the New year - the cheap plastic Made in China toys, but the kids showed them to me with so much pride and joy. The twin boys had airplanes and the girls had white dolls with blonde hair. It made me feel incredible sad that I have been such a greedy snob all my life, but also so happy to share their joy with them. I have felt a lot of gratitude for being born and raised in America since I've been here, but this night I wondered what I was so homesick for, when there are so many families here who want to share their happiness with me. They were content with the little they had, as I should be. They have struggles, as does everyone, but it isn't the greed for more and the best, but rather to survive and succeed in daily life. 

Joseph wasn't there, so Paul and I finished eating and headed to his other wife's house. Joseph wasn't there either, and luckily they didn't feed us more food, and I was secretly glad to leave so quickly because I wanted to get home and sleep more. On the way home, Paul admitted to me that he had passed out after that morning meal too, except he was under the mango tree with all his friends and he woke up alone. We both had a good laugh at that and turned in for the night. I am very lucky to have a counterpart, or "homologue", who is also my Togolese dad and friend and is as open minded and determined as Paul. His family has taken me in with open arms and have been so patient with me as I try to break out of my shell and gain my footing without the comfort of my Western culture. I have a good feeling about the work we'll be doing together. 

Oh, and that was the night I noticed that my village got electricity while I was in Dapaong, but I'll write more about that later. :) 

Any New Years Resolutions? I'm going to run the half marathon in Ghana in September, take the GRE, and continue to push myself out of my comfort zone to have a positive and fulfilling experience here. I'm not resolving anything work related, because I have no control over how it'll work out and if it'l be successful, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to work! It just means that I am not tying my self worth to work that depends on so many other people. 

Happy New Year, y'all. Send me letters!