So a lot of you have been asking about the kinds of things we do here. The answer is that we do a lot of things. Our days are filled with classes of all kinds, but all of them have the combined effect of ridding us of embarrassment of any kind. Let me give you an idea.
1. We look at breasts. I learned this week that according to a 1999 study by UNICEF, if every baby worldwide were breastfed exclusively and on-demand for the first six months of life, more than 1.5 million infant lives would be saved each year. I was floored. For this reason, it’s important for all of us to be able to talk about nursing, and for that, everyone has to be comfortable talking about breasts (read::saying words like areola to a group of complete strangers). This week I got to give a presentation on breastfeeding including several diagrams and a demonstration of proper holding techniques. We also talked about the effect nursing a dozen or so children for a couple of years each has on breasts. It’s not pretty. Eventually, everyone has to be ready to do this sort of presentation. I just got to be the first. I think it will be considerably more awkward for the men.
2. We talk about poo. A lot. In fact, we had an entire day dedicated to diarrhea, its causes and remedies, and the complications it can cause. This was not my favorite day, and I don’t like to think about it.
3. We practice putting condoms on model penises. That’s right, last week we showed up for class, and after a quick review of safe sex strategies, the instructor removed from her mysterious black case several penis models of various size, color, and texture. Variety is, after all, the spice of life. She then divided us into teams of five with one penis to a team and proceeded to have a relay race employing the correct techniques of putting on and removing a condom. It was adult film school field day.
4. We have hours upon hours of French class. I know this one is not exciting, but it fills up the better part of many days, and necessary as the courses are, they are a source of endless frustration and embarrassment. I know some of you are thinking it can’t be that bad, but my friend B would tell you otherwise. The dog at his house recently had puppies, and he asked his host father what he was going to do with them. The dad named several friends who had spoken for puppies, but B really wanted one as well. When the dad asked what he would do with the dog, B told him he wanted to take it to post to be his “petite amie,” literally his little friend but in common usage his girlfriend. Awkward.
Aside from all that, we live in a great village with a lot of very friendly and very curious people who ask us questions we don’t really understand and laugh interminably at out answers. Usually, I don’t know why, but it’s starting to bother my less. I just smile and wave good-bye. With my right hand, not my left--that would be embarrassing.
Also, CONGRATULATIONS to Katie, Alex, and Olivia on the birth of John, who is beautiful!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Ultimate
The Ultimate (June 21)
This is the story of yesterday. It’s not that interesting, but in some ways, it’s a micro chasm of how the trip’s going thus far, and all of you keep asking, so here it is.
Yesterday, nothing bad happened. I didn’t have a conflict with anyone, the food wasn’t bad, the homework wasn’t any more difficult or boring that usual, and it wasn’t particularly hot. I wasn’t too tired or too homesick or too sunburned. But it felt like a bad day. I was having a hard time focusing on my work, and I was having a hard time being companionable with my fellow PCTs. I had spent a little time grumbling with another volunteer. I was not in love with the Peace Corps. French class seemed to last an eternity, and once it was over, all I felt like doing was sitting by myself. I was reading an Ian McEwan novel (my fave at the moment), and I just wanted to sit alone and finish it. Unfortunately, when you live with a host family in a small village in West Africa, alone is not always an option. I was walking along with a vague idea of sitting in the huge village church to read when I bumped into several PCTs who invited me to come an play ultimate Frisbee with them. This did not jive with my “alone time” plan, but I’ve been just a little worried about developing a reputation for being that volunteer who doesn’t ever do anything with the other volunteers. Like maybe I think I’m better than other people, maybe I have some deep seeded attachment disorder, maybe I’m a secret sociopath. Probably they wouldn’t have thought that, but you can’t be too careful. I told them maybe I would stop by and watch with the secret plan to sit not too far away and read, essentially still by myself but with the appearance of sociability. At the field, there were five PCTs and my host brother, whom someone had recruited. With the addition of the guy I walked with, the teams were uneven. If I didn’t play, someone else would have to sit out, and I know my host brother would have volunteered. I had to play. I played. It was fantastic. Really, I would be hard pressed to remember the last time I played Ultimate Frisbee, but I think it must have been in high school youth group back in the TSCC days. After about ten minutes, several boys from the village had joined us, and we were explaining the rules in broken French between possessions. We were all filthy, no one was taking the game too seriously, and we all had a blast. We built bridges with people in the village, I got to know my host brother better, and I got to have fun with my colleagues. Just like that, my day was transformed.
Since then, I’ve been thinking a little bit about it, and I’ve taken a couple of things away from the day. The first is you can’t have fun if you don’t play. You have to keep working at being happier. The second is that physical activity really is good for you. I hadn’t thought much about it, but we don’t do a lot physically here, and I think it had been getting to me. The third is that most uncertainties and most moods will pass if I just let them. Right now, everything is new, and a lot of it is uncomfortable for that reason, but I have to be a little slower to make decisions about how things are going or how they will go. I mean, I’ve beenn told I’m a little moody, but this is extreme. When I was in RCIA, I had a really great sponsor, and more than once I went into her office and said, “I just can’t do this.” She always said, “That’s fine. No one will be disappointed, but let’s talk about it tomorrow.” And of course, by the time tomorrow came, it was always better. So I think for a little while at least, that’s going to be my motto. “Let’s see how it is tomorrow. Or ten minutes from now."
FINALLY, A HUGE HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO MY PADRE!
This is the story of yesterday. It’s not that interesting, but in some ways, it’s a micro chasm of how the trip’s going thus far, and all of you keep asking, so here it is.
Yesterday, nothing bad happened. I didn’t have a conflict with anyone, the food wasn’t bad, the homework wasn’t any more difficult or boring that usual, and it wasn’t particularly hot. I wasn’t too tired or too homesick or too sunburned. But it felt like a bad day. I was having a hard time focusing on my work, and I was having a hard time being companionable with my fellow PCTs. I had spent a little time grumbling with another volunteer. I was not in love with the Peace Corps. French class seemed to last an eternity, and once it was over, all I felt like doing was sitting by myself. I was reading an Ian McEwan novel (my fave at the moment), and I just wanted to sit alone and finish it. Unfortunately, when you live with a host family in a small village in West Africa, alone is not always an option. I was walking along with a vague idea of sitting in the huge village church to read when I bumped into several PCTs who invited me to come an play ultimate Frisbee with them. This did not jive with my “alone time” plan, but I’ve been just a little worried about developing a reputation for being that volunteer who doesn’t ever do anything with the other volunteers. Like maybe I think I’m better than other people, maybe I have some deep seeded attachment disorder, maybe I’m a secret sociopath. Probably they wouldn’t have thought that, but you can’t be too careful. I told them maybe I would stop by and watch with the secret plan to sit not too far away and read, essentially still by myself but with the appearance of sociability. At the field, there were five PCTs and my host brother, whom someone had recruited. With the addition of the guy I walked with, the teams were uneven. If I didn’t play, someone else would have to sit out, and I know my host brother would have volunteered. I had to play. I played. It was fantastic. Really, I would be hard pressed to remember the last time I played Ultimate Frisbee, but I think it must have been in high school youth group back in the TSCC days. After about ten minutes, several boys from the village had joined us, and we were explaining the rules in broken French between possessions. We were all filthy, no one was taking the game too seriously, and we all had a blast. We built bridges with people in the village, I got to know my host brother better, and I got to have fun with my colleagues. Just like that, my day was transformed.
Since then, I’ve been thinking a little bit about it, and I’ve taken a couple of things away from the day. The first is you can’t have fun if you don’t play. You have to keep working at being happier. The second is that physical activity really is good for you. I hadn’t thought much about it, but we don’t do a lot physically here, and I think it had been getting to me. The third is that most uncertainties and most moods will pass if I just let them. Right now, everything is new, and a lot of it is uncomfortable for that reason, but I have to be a little slower to make decisions about how things are going or how they will go. I mean, I’ve beenn told I’m a little moody, but this is extreme. When I was in RCIA, I had a really great sponsor, and more than once I went into her office and said, “I just can’t do this.” She always said, “That’s fine. No one will be disappointed, but let’s talk about it tomorrow.” And of course, by the time tomorrow came, it was always better. So I think for a little while at least, that’s going to be my motto. “Let’s see how it is tomorrow. Or ten minutes from now."
FINALLY, A HUGE HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO MY PADRE!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Ma Famille Hote (6-14)
So we’ve been at our new homes for four days now. Because of Peace Corps safety regulations, I’m not allowed to post the name of the village where we’re training, but I can tell you that it’s a small village about an hour away from Lome by heavenly air-conditioned Peace Corps vans. Our group of 25 has been split into Small Business folks and Health workers. The Small Business people are staying in this completely cush city with running water and electricity. We health workers, on the other hand, are embracing the realities of Togolaise village life.
There are some difficult things:
1. There is no electricity, and it gets dark around 6:30. This means that you get to eat dinner by the light of a kerosene lantern, which is pretty cool except that it makes it considerably more challenging to find those tiny and very hot peppers in the food.
2. Latrines. For those of you who are experienced in these lovely little novelties, I needn’t say more. For the rest of you, a West African latrine is basically a wooden chair with a hole in the bottom which leads to a deep hole of yuck. There is a lid which covers the hole, and it’s a good idea to knock on the lid a few times to frighten away the animals which live inside. This includes but is not limited to cockroaches, lizards, spiders, and snakes. I will admit to having had some trepidations about this system. Most of you know how I feel about animals in general, and you can probably guess that my attitudes toward those four kinds of animals is even less friendly, but so far, so good.
3. It is HOT. There is no thermometer to be found, but I am comfortable saying I’ve never been this hot in my life including my short visits to the Middle East. I think a lot of that feeling has to do with the fact that it is unbelievably humid here. A favorite volunteer pastime seems to be sitting very still in the shade and sweating. Luckily for us, we got here during the rainy season, so some days there is a torrential downpour, which makes everything seem a lot better. Of course this means that we are also perpetually muddy. This isn’t so bad, though, because it’s a good excuse for a…
4. BUCKET SHOWER. I am putting this under the difficulties column because I’d much rather have running water, but in truth it’s not so bad. Basically, a bucket shower is just what it sounds like. You have a bucket (roughly 1-2 gallons) of cool water and a little scooper, and you go to it. Needless to say, this is very refreshing on a hot afternoon, but it’s not like you ever feel as clean as you do standing under a serious shower head at home with your loofah and moisturizing and exfoliating vitamin enriched body wash. One friend said it best, “You know how gross and dirty you felt after the overnight trans-Atlantic flight? Ugh, you just think the grossest feeling is waking up after a night on an airplane to a day spent in an airport. You’re not clean, you don’t feel well-groomed, and you feel icky about it. THAT WAS NOTHING. That feeling right now would be phenomenal. We didn’t know what gross was.” People say our bodies will adjust to the climate. I hope they’re right. For the moment, I’m trying to like the smell of my own sweat.
5. My French is not so good. I mean, when I came to Togo, I knew I wasn’t going to awe anyone with my language skills, but I thought I would be okay. So far, my inability to communicate has been a source of endless frustration. Part of the problem is that French is everybody’s second language, so none of us is able to speak as fluidly as we’d like, but I think a bigger part is the accent and dialect of French spoken in Togo. In many ways it is starkly different from the Parisian French I learned in school. Thankfully, my host mother is wonderfully patient, and when she speaks slowly, I can understand almost everything she says. With my host father, it is considerably more difficult. That’s the time for a lot of nodding and smiling. I have no idea what he is saying, but I am determined to look as though I find it deeply interesting and pleasurable.
6. My Ewe is worse than my French. Ewe (pronounced Eh-vay) is the local language where we are, and we are all trying to pick up as much of it as we can, but it isn’t easy. It is a tonal language, which is really hard for my American tongue to figure out. For the moment, I have to satisfy myself with repeating things like “cocolo” (chicken), “enmo” (motorcycle), “tehtahn” (truck), and “kay-kay” after my host brother in a sort of game he made up for the two of us to play. It’s a little like I’m his pet parrot. I haven’t yet determined whether the purpose of this game is to entertain him and his friends by my failure, but I do think I’m improving, so I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. I’d better get used to being laughed at anyway, as it seems to be a pretty common theme here.
We like to tell ourselves that all those things are just character building and try instead to focus on the really great things:
1. My host family is fantastic. I can’t post their names, but I have Maman, Papa, Brother M (17), Sister-in-Law R (20), Sister P (14), Sister N (6), and Niece B (7 mos.). There are also two other sisters and a brother who are soldiers in Lome, but I haven‘t met them. Upon arrival I was much relieved to discover that my baby whispering skills translate better than my French. This way, even though I am useless at charcoal and wood fire cook stoves, I can at least keep Baby B calm. I have decided that in Togo as in the rest of the world, it remains a good philosophy to make children like you, and then their parents will like you, too. J However, being otherwise useless is sort of a blow to me because though I have never been the Martha Stewart my mom is, I have always found my skills sufficient to cooking and cleaning demands. It turns out that at all those choir concession stands and family reunions, I should have spent less time on the megaphone and more time carefully observing Gail and Andy and all my uncles work their magic on the charcoal because apparently charcoal is more difficult than you might think. I am beginning to feel like all those North Quad guys I made fun of in college. Karma.
2. The food is great. Seriously. I have no complaints about the food. It can be a little spicy, but that’s mostly because I am a wimp. My host mom has been really accommodating about my diet, and she hasn’t tried to make me eat anything with meat in it (though I did have to compromise on the bouillon cube). Every morning I get tea English style (a little nicety to which I became absolutely addicted in London, thanks in large part to Katie, Amy, Di, and company) and an onion omelet on bread. It’s all very nice. Lunch is usually some sort of tomato, fish and vegetable sauce with rice, and dinner is some sort of pasta with fish. I think when I said I don’t eat meat, my host mom wasn’t sure what to do, so she bought out all the fish in a 10k radius. In truth, I will be happy not to eat fish for awhile once training is finished, but for the moment I’m trying not to let her down by eating too little. Every meal someone walks up to be and says, “Il faut que tu mange beaucoup!” Literally, “It is necessary that you eat much.” It’s like trying to share a pizza with Andy Magee and Brendan Hanehan. I’m doing my best, folks.
3. Because there is no electricity, there is nothing to do after dinner but sit around and talk. (well, and sweat, of course), and since my talking is not so hot yet, I have been teaching my family American card games. This is great because it’s a good diversion for everyone, it’s a good chance for me to practice my French, and it lets me be social with my family without my dictionary. For the past four nights we’ve played Uno and Go Fish by the light of my kerosene lamp, and I think everyone is having a good time. By the second night of Uno, I think everyone pretty well mastered it (except for the part where you shout “UNO,“ which they don’t like) despite my poor teaching abilities, but “Go Fish” has proven to be significantly more difficult. I would like to be able to blame my family, but I think it’s mostly due to Franglais instructions which translate to, “It is necessary that when it is not your time for going, you listen to the time for going of others. If you listen to their demands for cards, it is possible that you know the cards and in the hands of each person what cards there are.” Yes, Emily, good strategy tips, really. After an hour or so of playing they overcame my poor instruction, and I think everyone had fun. Maybe this week we’ll try something like War.
4. I have a posse. Seriously. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one, but there is a gang of small children who follow me singing the “Yovo Song.” None of us has quite deciphered the words, but yovo is their word for a person with fair skin, and as we walk, children often shout out to us, “Yovo! Yovo! Ca va?” It’s always very friendly, and with most of the volunteers, they just shout this greeting and wave a lot. For some reason, however, there are a few children who really like to follow me all the way to the door of my house. They talk a lot, and I nod and smile. This doesn’t really bother me, and they’re very nice, but it would be okay with me to be slightly less conspicuous, so when we got our bikes, I was looking forward to commutes that were a little less overwhelming. Imagine my dismay (and embarrassment) to discover that many of the children can run up the hill to school as fast as I can ride my bike. Ouch.
5. The other trainees are great. Training so far has been full of unexpected delights and frustrations, but it’s really nice to know that there are twelve other people with similar concerns. We all help encourage one another’s dedication and fortitude. Already, we’re adopting the Togo PCV’s mantra, “Du Courage,” which is a little like “Be a champion.”
6.The classes and trainers are excellent. It’s been a long time since I spent eight hours a day in school, but it’s worth it. We’re learning great things about the health problems facing Togo and about the Togolaise medical system. I thought all this information would seem daunting, like we’d never be able to make a dent, but the trainers have a way of presenting it in a way that helps us to feel empowered to make discernable and beneficial changes. Always, our mission is “Educate for a Behavior Change.” So far we’ve learned a little about everything from traditional healers and midwives to nutrition and family planning. We won’t know for another two weeks what our posts are, but already we’re beginning to think about projects.
Finally, many of you have asked about the timeline, so here it is.
For the next ten weeks, we will be in training in our host families. Next week, we will hear presentations about the conditions and necessary work at each of the possible CHAP posts, and we will have interviews in which we can express our preferences about which post we are assigned. Sometime during the fourth week (June 29-July4), we will find out what our post assignments are, and we will spend week 7 (July 21-27) at our respective posts before returning to training for three and a half more weeks. We will leave our training sites and be sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers on August 20. On the 22nd, we head off to our posts for two years. It’s all a little daunting, so for the moment, I’m trying to focus on not getting sunburned because of the malaria meds.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got for now. Thanks for all the email. Keep it coming. My host family is great, but it’s a little lonely, so I love to hear from you all.
A quick shout out to the birthdays I missed in the past couple of weeks:
Happy Birthday to
Logan who celebrated his 9th !
Dan-Hope a Kigali birthday was all you hoped it would be.
Steph-22 is not nearly as exciting as last year….
Joe who looks fantastic for being nearly 50
And
Grammy who also looks fantastic for being nearly 50 J
There are some difficult things:
1. There is no electricity, and it gets dark around 6:30. This means that you get to eat dinner by the light of a kerosene lantern, which is pretty cool except that it makes it considerably more challenging to find those tiny and very hot peppers in the food.
2. Latrines. For those of you who are experienced in these lovely little novelties, I needn’t say more. For the rest of you, a West African latrine is basically a wooden chair with a hole in the bottom which leads to a deep hole of yuck. There is a lid which covers the hole, and it’s a good idea to knock on the lid a few times to frighten away the animals which live inside. This includes but is not limited to cockroaches, lizards, spiders, and snakes. I will admit to having had some trepidations about this system. Most of you know how I feel about animals in general, and you can probably guess that my attitudes toward those four kinds of animals is even less friendly, but so far, so good.
3. It is HOT. There is no thermometer to be found, but I am comfortable saying I’ve never been this hot in my life including my short visits to the Middle East. I think a lot of that feeling has to do with the fact that it is unbelievably humid here. A favorite volunteer pastime seems to be sitting very still in the shade and sweating. Luckily for us, we got here during the rainy season, so some days there is a torrential downpour, which makes everything seem a lot better. Of course this means that we are also perpetually muddy. This isn’t so bad, though, because it’s a good excuse for a…
4. BUCKET SHOWER. I am putting this under the difficulties column because I’d much rather have running water, but in truth it’s not so bad. Basically, a bucket shower is just what it sounds like. You have a bucket (roughly 1-2 gallons) of cool water and a little scooper, and you go to it. Needless to say, this is very refreshing on a hot afternoon, but it’s not like you ever feel as clean as you do standing under a serious shower head at home with your loofah and moisturizing and exfoliating vitamin enriched body wash. One friend said it best, “You know how gross and dirty you felt after the overnight trans-Atlantic flight? Ugh, you just think the grossest feeling is waking up after a night on an airplane to a day spent in an airport. You’re not clean, you don’t feel well-groomed, and you feel icky about it. THAT WAS NOTHING. That feeling right now would be phenomenal. We didn’t know what gross was.” People say our bodies will adjust to the climate. I hope they’re right. For the moment, I’m trying to like the smell of my own sweat.
5. My French is not so good. I mean, when I came to Togo, I knew I wasn’t going to awe anyone with my language skills, but I thought I would be okay. So far, my inability to communicate has been a source of endless frustration. Part of the problem is that French is everybody’s second language, so none of us is able to speak as fluidly as we’d like, but I think a bigger part is the accent and dialect of French spoken in Togo. In many ways it is starkly different from the Parisian French I learned in school. Thankfully, my host mother is wonderfully patient, and when she speaks slowly, I can understand almost everything she says. With my host father, it is considerably more difficult. That’s the time for a lot of nodding and smiling. I have no idea what he is saying, but I am determined to look as though I find it deeply interesting and pleasurable.
6. My Ewe is worse than my French. Ewe (pronounced Eh-vay) is the local language where we are, and we are all trying to pick up as much of it as we can, but it isn’t easy. It is a tonal language, which is really hard for my American tongue to figure out. For the moment, I have to satisfy myself with repeating things like “cocolo” (chicken), “enmo” (motorcycle), “tehtahn” (truck), and “kay-kay” after my host brother in a sort of game he made up for the two of us to play. It’s a little like I’m his pet parrot. I haven’t yet determined whether the purpose of this game is to entertain him and his friends by my failure, but I do think I’m improving, so I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. I’d better get used to being laughed at anyway, as it seems to be a pretty common theme here.
We like to tell ourselves that all those things are just character building and try instead to focus on the really great things:
1. My host family is fantastic. I can’t post their names, but I have Maman, Papa, Brother M (17), Sister-in-Law R (20), Sister P (14), Sister N (6), and Niece B (7 mos.). There are also two other sisters and a brother who are soldiers in Lome, but I haven‘t met them. Upon arrival I was much relieved to discover that my baby whispering skills translate better than my French. This way, even though I am useless at charcoal and wood fire cook stoves, I can at least keep Baby B calm. I have decided that in Togo as in the rest of the world, it remains a good philosophy to make children like you, and then their parents will like you, too. J However, being otherwise useless is sort of a blow to me because though I have never been the Martha Stewart my mom is, I have always found my skills sufficient to cooking and cleaning demands. It turns out that at all those choir concession stands and family reunions, I should have spent less time on the megaphone and more time carefully observing Gail and Andy and all my uncles work their magic on the charcoal because apparently charcoal is more difficult than you might think. I am beginning to feel like all those North Quad guys I made fun of in college. Karma.
2. The food is great. Seriously. I have no complaints about the food. It can be a little spicy, but that’s mostly because I am a wimp. My host mom has been really accommodating about my diet, and she hasn’t tried to make me eat anything with meat in it (though I did have to compromise on the bouillon cube). Every morning I get tea English style (a little nicety to which I became absolutely addicted in London, thanks in large part to Katie, Amy, Di, and company) and an onion omelet on bread. It’s all very nice. Lunch is usually some sort of tomato, fish and vegetable sauce with rice, and dinner is some sort of pasta with fish. I think when I said I don’t eat meat, my host mom wasn’t sure what to do, so she bought out all the fish in a 10k radius. In truth, I will be happy not to eat fish for awhile once training is finished, but for the moment I’m trying not to let her down by eating too little. Every meal someone walks up to be and says, “Il faut que tu mange beaucoup!” Literally, “It is necessary that you eat much.” It’s like trying to share a pizza with Andy Magee and Brendan Hanehan. I’m doing my best, folks.
3. Because there is no electricity, there is nothing to do after dinner but sit around and talk. (well, and sweat, of course), and since my talking is not so hot yet, I have been teaching my family American card games. This is great because it’s a good diversion for everyone, it’s a good chance for me to practice my French, and it lets me be social with my family without my dictionary. For the past four nights we’ve played Uno and Go Fish by the light of my kerosene lamp, and I think everyone is having a good time. By the second night of Uno, I think everyone pretty well mastered it (except for the part where you shout “UNO,“ which they don’t like) despite my poor teaching abilities, but “Go Fish” has proven to be significantly more difficult. I would like to be able to blame my family, but I think it’s mostly due to Franglais instructions which translate to, “It is necessary that when it is not your time for going, you listen to the time for going of others. If you listen to their demands for cards, it is possible that you know the cards and in the hands of each person what cards there are.” Yes, Emily, good strategy tips, really. After an hour or so of playing they overcame my poor instruction, and I think everyone had fun. Maybe this week we’ll try something like War.
4. I have a posse. Seriously. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one, but there is a gang of small children who follow me singing the “Yovo Song.” None of us has quite deciphered the words, but yovo is their word for a person with fair skin, and as we walk, children often shout out to us, “Yovo! Yovo! Ca va?” It’s always very friendly, and with most of the volunteers, they just shout this greeting and wave a lot. For some reason, however, there are a few children who really like to follow me all the way to the door of my house. They talk a lot, and I nod and smile. This doesn’t really bother me, and they’re very nice, but it would be okay with me to be slightly less conspicuous, so when we got our bikes, I was looking forward to commutes that were a little less overwhelming. Imagine my dismay (and embarrassment) to discover that many of the children can run up the hill to school as fast as I can ride my bike. Ouch.
5. The other trainees are great. Training so far has been full of unexpected delights and frustrations, but it’s really nice to know that there are twelve other people with similar concerns. We all help encourage one another’s dedication and fortitude. Already, we’re adopting the Togo PCV’s mantra, “Du Courage,” which is a little like “Be a champion.”
6.The classes and trainers are excellent. It’s been a long time since I spent eight hours a day in school, but it’s worth it. We’re learning great things about the health problems facing Togo and about the Togolaise medical system. I thought all this information would seem daunting, like we’d never be able to make a dent, but the trainers have a way of presenting it in a way that helps us to feel empowered to make discernable and beneficial changes. Always, our mission is “Educate for a Behavior Change.” So far we’ve learned a little about everything from traditional healers and midwives to nutrition and family planning. We won’t know for another two weeks what our posts are, but already we’re beginning to think about projects.
Finally, many of you have asked about the timeline, so here it is.
For the next ten weeks, we will be in training in our host families. Next week, we will hear presentations about the conditions and necessary work at each of the possible CHAP posts, and we will have interviews in which we can express our preferences about which post we are assigned. Sometime during the fourth week (June 29-July4), we will find out what our post assignments are, and we will spend week 7 (July 21-27) at our respective posts before returning to training for three and a half more weeks. We will leave our training sites and be sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers on August 20. On the 22nd, we head off to our posts for two years. It’s all a little daunting, so for the moment, I’m trying to focus on not getting sunburned because of the malaria meds.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got for now. Thanks for all the email. Keep it coming. My host family is great, but it’s a little lonely, so I love to hear from you all.
A quick shout out to the birthdays I missed in the past couple of weeks:
Happy Birthday to
Logan who celebrated his 9th !
Dan-Hope a Kigali birthday was all you hoped it would be.
Steph-22 is not nearly as exciting as last year….
Joe who looks fantastic for being nearly 50
And
Grammy who also looks fantastic for being nearly 50 J
Global Mamas (6-10)
This has to be a short post, but I wanted quickly to share an experience I thought was really cool. Most of you know that when I was in South Bend, I worked at a fair trade shop called Just Goods. If you haven’t been, you should really make the trip. My friend Becky runs it, and everything in the store represents a worker or group of workers who was paid a fair wage to make something under safe conditions out of environmentally friendly materials. Plus, all of the stuff is super cool. Anyway, one of the companies I really love is called Global Mamas. I even brought with me one of their skirts which I received as a gift. It is a collective of women from Ghana who make brightly colored clothing and accessories which are very pretty and far less expensive than most fair trade things. Anyway, I was with a group of PCVs and I noticed a the pattern on one of the volunteers’ shirts was really familiar. Sure enough, when I asked him where he got it, he told me that his post is really near the border with Ghana, and this local company called Global Mamas sells things at his local market.
Of course, Global Mamas is a pretty big company now, but it was neat to see the real life connection between the things we buy in the US and the people who make them elsewhere in the world. We should never think that our consumer choices don’t have a real impact.
Of course, Global Mamas is a pretty big company now, but it was neat to see the real life connection between the things we buy in the US and the people who make them elsewhere in the world. We should never think that our consumer choices don’t have a real impact.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Here
Hey friends,
Well, most of you know that after much anticipation, I received my invitation to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer late this winter. After many weeks of doing little to prepare and about three weeks of frenetic activity, I (and a modest 67 pounds of luggage) made my way to Lome, Togo last week. My staging group is made up of twenty-five men and women from all over the US and some other places, too. Of those, twelve will be sharing my work in Community Health and HIV/AIDS Prevention (CHAP). Since arriving, we are doing a lot of acclimating to the weather, the food, the language, the customs, but so far it has all been good. We are staying at a charming little hostel, which has both electricity and running water, luxuries we will no longer enjoy starting this evening. Our days have been fillled with informational meetings about everything from Togolaise greetings to diarrhea. It's a lot of information, but it all seems important. Thankfully, for the health parts, they gave us a manual entitled "Staying Healthy in Togo," which, of course, everyone calls by its acronym.
The most exciting meeting we've had was yesterday afternoon, and we got to hear about the history of the CHAP program and the work it has done and continues to do. The staff here work hard to make sure we stay in touch with the needs of our host country, so the foci of the programs is constantly evolving. Right now, CHAP in Togo is primarily focused on four areas: malaria, family planning, nutrition, and HIV/AIDS. During our eleven weeks of training we will learn about the work involved in each specialty, and once it's finished, we will be responsible for developing relevant projects directed at one or more of the focus issues. In addition to CHAP, there are also programs for Small Business Development, Natural Resource Management, and Girls Education and Empowerment, so we will also have the opportunity to partner with a volunteer from another program in a joint project. It seems like we have a lot of freedom to meet the needs of our post villages as we see them as effectively as we are able. This, of course, is both thrilling and terrifying.
For the moment, we still have eleven weeks of training ahead of us. That time will be spent living with a host family for full immersion into Togolaise language and culture. During the day, we spend our time in language and techincal training sessions, which everyone says are pretty rigorous but absolutely essential. In truth, I'm really looking forward to the work and information. The downside to training is that mine will take place in a village that has no electricity or running water, so email will be somewhat less frequent, but please keep them coming, as I will love to read them when I can get to another site on some weekends. Also remember, snail mail is still a thing, and I would love to get it.
Thanks so much for all the well wishes. Write and tell me about you.
Love.
Well, most of you know that after much anticipation, I received my invitation to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer late this winter. After many weeks of doing little to prepare and about three weeks of frenetic activity, I (and a modest 67 pounds of luggage) made my way to Lome, Togo last week. My staging group is made up of twenty-five men and women from all over the US and some other places, too. Of those, twelve will be sharing my work in Community Health and HIV/AIDS Prevention (CHAP). Since arriving, we are doing a lot of acclimating to the weather, the food, the language, the customs, but so far it has all been good. We are staying at a charming little hostel, which has both electricity and running water, luxuries we will no longer enjoy starting this evening. Our days have been fillled with informational meetings about everything from Togolaise greetings to diarrhea. It's a lot of information, but it all seems important. Thankfully, for the health parts, they gave us a manual entitled "Staying Healthy in Togo," which, of course, everyone calls by its acronym.
The most exciting meeting we've had was yesterday afternoon, and we got to hear about the history of the CHAP program and the work it has done and continues to do. The staff here work hard to make sure we stay in touch with the needs of our host country, so the foci of the programs is constantly evolving. Right now, CHAP in Togo is primarily focused on four areas: malaria, family planning, nutrition, and HIV/AIDS. During our eleven weeks of training we will learn about the work involved in each specialty, and once it's finished, we will be responsible for developing relevant projects directed at one or more of the focus issues. In addition to CHAP, there are also programs for Small Business Development, Natural Resource Management, and Girls Education and Empowerment, so we will also have the opportunity to partner with a volunteer from another program in a joint project. It seems like we have a lot of freedom to meet the needs of our post villages as we see them as effectively as we are able. This, of course, is both thrilling and terrifying.
For the moment, we still have eleven weeks of training ahead of us. That time will be spent living with a host family for full immersion into Togolaise language and culture. During the day, we spend our time in language and techincal training sessions, which everyone says are pretty rigorous but absolutely essential. In truth, I'm really looking forward to the work and information. The downside to training is that mine will take place in a village that has no electricity or running water, so email will be somewhat less frequent, but please keep them coming, as I will love to read them when I can get to another site on some weekends. Also remember, snail mail is still a thing, and I would love to get it.
Thanks so much for all the well wishes. Write and tell me about you.
Love.
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