Yam Festivals

Before colonists brought corn and cassava from the Americas, West Africa had ignames or yams. But these ain't no sweet potatoes, which are only very distantly related to the true yam. These yams are ENORMOUS tubers (can grow to 2.5 meters in length and weigh up to 150 pounds) that are dug up, peeled, boiled, and pounded into the traditional dish fufu. Fufu is to Togolese cuisine as pasta is to Italian cuisine. It resembles a sticky mound of mashed potatoes and is accompanied by a variety of sauces: okra, groundnut, sesame, tomato etc. Yams are also stewed or deep-fried to make koliko (similar to French fries). Togo is one of the world's top 5 producers of yams.

The season to harvest new yams begins at the end of rainy season, typically between August and September. As the traditional staple food of West Africa, the first harvest of yams is accompanied by a large festival. Representative of Togo's plethora of ethnic groups, each region or village will organize it's own yam festival. Yet, certain festivals are more renowned. For instance, Bassar is well known for its fire-dancing ceremony.

Scheduling the festivities often depends on the weather, so the dates can only be confirmed a few weeks in advance. For this reason, I was unable to attend the Bassar festival. However, I have attended two others.

In 2007, while I was attending Peace Corps training, I lived with an Ewe family in southern Togo. Their village tradition featured the dance of the Panther. First, the young men of the village enter the Sacred Forest and cover themselves in mud. Then, one of the young men invokes the spirit of the Panther.

After the “Panther” paraded through the town, we all danced under the sacred trees—jumping up and down and shouting what sounded like “Cherry! Cherry!” I never caught the meaning of this chant, but it was a good time and was followed by freshly pounded fufu.

The following year, I was living at my post, Kaboli. The people living in this area are descendants from the Yoruba tribe; so the festivities included stilt walking and dancing that resembles a form of African martial arts. During the official ceremony, I felt honored when I was named in the prayers for good tidings over the next two years.

Training Twist : Getting the most out of your meetings

Peace Corps Togo manages the publication of the newsletter Farm to Market. This newsletter co-edited by two volunteers from the Small Enterprise Development program (my program) and two volunteers from the Natural Resource Management program. As farming is the primary economic activity for a majority of Togolese families, this publication focuses on interplay between business and agriculture. Each year a new team of editors is selected as the old team finish serving their second year of service and leave Togo. I was selected to serve as one of the new co-editors in June 2008.

Below is an article originally published in the March 2008 issue. I co-wrote this article with a fellow volunteer, Golda Calonge, before being selected as a co-editor.

When meeting groupements for the first time, one challenge that a Volunteer must meet is facing the initial expectations of the groupement's members. At the outset, members are looking for something immediate or concrete: "What is this person going to give me - today - so that I can improve the quality of my life?" The Volunteer, on the other hand, does notcome to these meetings with readymade solutions for all of the members' problems. At thefirst meeting, we're still learning what those problems are before we're able to offer any useful advice.

So when the two of us set out to start meeting with the groupements in our area, wewere fortunate to discover a very useful method for interacting with the groupement members. By fusing training into our meeting, both the expectations of the Volunteer and the groupement were met.

Angela works in Kaboli as a SED Volunteer, and Golda works as an NRM Volunteer in the village of Afele, which is located about six kilometers outside of Kaboli. As both our programs encourage us to work with groupements, we decided to work together and start meeting with groupements in our area. One Sunday, Golda invited Angela to meet one of her women's groupements in Afele. Meeting the NRM program objective to raise awareness about the benefits of moringa, Golda opened the meeting by training the women on how to use moringa seeds in order to make water potable. As the water is required to restone hour so the moringa seeds can work their magic, Angela used this break in the demonstration to inquire about how the groupement works and to discuss how they would like to improve it.

We began the meeting by getting the women physically involved. In order to clean water using moringa seeds, someone has to pound the seeds, mix the seeds with a bottle of clean water to create a solution, and stir it into the dirty water which needs to be treated. Although a single person could have done all those things, we asked for volunteers in the groupement to help us, which got them actively learning about moringa and potable water.

Their active participation continued well into the meeting portion of our day. By the time Angela started her dialogue with the groupement, Golda had piqued their interest and focused their attention. Before Angela could even ask her first question, Sinatou, the groupement's president, expressed her enthusiasm by immediately askingwhat type of loan they should apply for at the local microfinance institution.Encouraged by Sinatou's honesty and eagerness to improve their groupement, Angela explained that before we could know the best way to advise them, we needed some fundamental information about how they operated. Angela deftly redirected the conversation by working questions into her answers, such as: "How many people are in your groupement?" "What kinds of activities do you take part in together?" "Do you meet regularly?" "Are there otherofficers?" and "Do you have bylaws?"

Though the discussion was largely dominated by Sinatou and Golda's counterpart, Ernest, who was translating, one or two other women would intermittently pose questions about how we could help them. Interweaving a training session into the groupement meeting encouraged members who did not speak French or hold a leadership position to ask questions about atangible subject that they felt more comfortable with. This gave each member ownership of the meeting.

For our part, we were able to ascertain the general framework of the groupement's structure and to discuss the members' ambitions to improve it. Sinatou talked about how the women organized their credit system and how their enterprise is primarily based on selling and storing grains. This signaled to us that we should investigate local lending optionsand different methods of grain storage in preparation for future meetings. Another member spoke out and showed her interest in soy processing and animal husbandry. Upon hearing this, we asked them if they would like to have another meeting that would include asession on soy milk production and a further discussion of the issues they had presented to us that day. The answer was a resounding "yes." Just like the end of any good time you have with people you'd like to get to know better, all we needed was the promise of a second date.

By the time we had wrapped up our discussion, the dirt from the moringatreated water had sunk to the bottom of our bucket and was ready to be filtered. We had addressed a communityproblem while gaining a better perspective of how to help one particular groupement help themselves. After their meeting, people from outside the women's groupement, including men, approached us on how they could plant moringa and where they could find seeds. By introducing a new practice, community members had something tangible to take home with them, even if they were not part of the groupement.

Instead of coming to a groupement meeting with the intention of purely extracting information about how they operate, the inclusion of an interactive and interesting information session created an environment for a mutual exchange of ideas. This provided an open forum for everyone involved to learn fromeach other.

Fine Dining: Le Sandwich Omelette

The network of Peace Corps volunteers in Togo maintain a literary magazine called Perspectives. The magazines editor has asked me to write a regular food column. This article was originally published from the July 2008 issue.

It's not that I don't like Togolese food. My counterpart, for example, makes some seriously delicious kom (the fermented corn patty), especially when it is complimented with a side of fried fish. But I am always disappointed when I try it on the streets of Sokodé or Kara. The sauce isn't as good. I love the rice ladies, too—it's always service with a smile there! And most times, a local volunteer has a good recommendation. However, without a guide you may find that the sauce contains more snotty okra than you would like or is swamped with fish-skin flakes and cartilage. After a two to ten hour ride in a bush taxi, you want something that you can rely on ... the Egg Sandwich.

Home Away from Home
The formula is simple: eggs beaten, mixed with chopped tomatoes and onion, fried in oil and then laid in a mayo-smothered baguette. No surprises. The egg sandwich is all-American: I've seen every one of those ingredients in America and I can see every single ingredient that goes into making my perfect to-go repas.

Well, I may have exaggerated; it's not quite all-American. When making egg sandwiches in the United States, it's usually on toasted Wonder bread and not the Togolese version of a French baguette. Also, I like to scramble the eggs with some American cheese product, like Kraft singles. (I like a milder cheese with my eggs and therefore tend to avoid the sharp cheddars, which overwhelm the palate.) Then I top it all off with some ketchup.

Don't forget the mayo!
I love ketchup. But where there is no ketchup—there is mayonnaise. I can't get enough of this strange concoction of oil, vinegar, egg, salt, sugar, thickener E412 and other tasty preservatives. The Ghanaians give further instruction on the application of these fine condiments when fried rice is served with both mayonnaise and ketchup. Their culinary genius is misguided, however, when Ghanaians choose to serve their egg sandwiches with margarine! Margarine—the blandest condiment to ever exist and a poor substitute for butter. Unfortunately, the arbitrarily drawn border separating Ghana from Togo has left us with delicious, crusty bread on one side and egg-sandwiches with mayonnaise on the other.

Volunteers may debate whether or not adding mayonnaise to an already greasy omelet is a good idea, but my advice is this: take the mayonnaise! Then ask for more. It just tastes better, and besides, you're an American living in a land of pâte and snot sauce – you could use a little comfort food. What might usually hold us Westerners back from such an indulgence doesn't really apply here. After living in Togo for a year, I've gained 10 pounds, and the gentlemen at the taxi station tell me that I've never looked better.

As for something to wash it all down, I prefer a simple cup of tea. It is true that the first time I sipped a café au lait (that delicate mix of Nescafé and "Sweetened Concentrated Milk with Vegetable Oil") after four Starbucks-starved months, I could have sworn it tasted like a white-chocolate mocha. Today, however, I don't find the "Sweetened Concentrated Milk and Vegetable Oil" as refreshing as a cup of Lipton-simple after a greasy egg sandwich.

Order Up!
Ordering an egg sandwich is not always easy. Some vendors have no idea what the word "sandwich" means—whether you say it with a French accent or not. Even after repeated visits to a particular cafeteria, I have to specify that it's an omelet in bread with mayonnaise. No worries though, it always turns out fine.

In your own village, you may quickly become associated with a particular egg-sandwich man. As a replacement volunteer, I inherited my egg-sandwich guy in Kaboli. But after his marriage proposal, I decided to make my own at home whenever the craving hits.

In Sokodé, it's a different story. The proprietor of the Cafeteria de Boulevard (next to the CIB-Inta on the Tchamba road) serves up some good conversation as well as a great egg sandwich. We often discuss music, philosophy and politics. For instance, we both like Usher. Yet, he wonders why so many pop songs focus on romantic love but ignore pressing social issues. I've promised to introduce him to Mos Def and Nas.

The most technically impressive egg sandwich man I've seen so far is in Kara. While he orchestrates an elaborate presentation for your tea or coffee, the neighboring boutique tosses him supplies through the window as his run out. Best of all, there is no skimping on the mayonnaise.

Village Savings and Loan

When I first arrived at my post, my official Togolese counterpart was an officer for one of the local microfinance institutions (MFI). I quickly identified opportunities to improve their performance. However, I soon learned that this region-wide MFI was about to be restructured. During this process, the director from the capital decided to consolidate the MFI's resources and shut down the smaller branches surrounding Kaboli.

As these branches closed, the citizens of these smaller villages were further discouraged from participating in a more formal banking system. Many villagers already find it difficult to justify spending 2500 CFA (approximately $5) to open a savings account. So in order to encourage local savings and credit options among sceptical villagers, I introduced the idea of a Village Savings and Loan Association.

At weekly or monthly meetings, a group of 10 to 30 members meet to save money. The group they uses these pooled funds to offer short-term loans to its members at small monthly fee. The system increases the members' access to credit and introduces them to a more formalized system of financial management.

The system applies the principles of trust and memorization. The members are usually already familiar with each other, which encourages a strong foundation for the group. For instance, the first group that I worked with was a group of women that had been buying and re-selling okra together for several years. The system, therefore, allowed them to build a better structure for managing their money. Further, they already had strong financial ties and were comfortable loaning money to each other.When introducing a group to the system, some potential members are nervous about being illiterate. However, the system is based on collective memory instead of written documents. At the beginning of each meeting, all members announce how much money they believe is in their lock-box based on the previous meeting's count. The treasurer then confirms this amount. After concluding financial transaction for that meeting, the new total is announced.While the meetings require a lot of time and patience, the members really appreciate hearing their weekly or monthly savings rise. Also, we try to end each meeting with a snack or tchouk (the local brew) or even some dancing ..

Labor Day “En Form”

May 1st is Labor Day in Togo. This national holiday is only outperformed by the week-long New Year's celebration. The Labor Day festivities begin with a parade. All the unions march together according to their trade and in matching outfits. Then, akin to our own labor day celebrations in America, the parade is followed by grilled meat and beer.

My counterpart, Foumilayo, invited me to join her family and friends for the holiday by dressing “en form” and sharing a roasted chicken. To dress “en form” each member of a group agree to buy a particular pattern of pagne (a square of fabric) and then have it tailored. Often, you choose to buy two or three pagne to make a full complet (a traditional outfit). If money is tight, though, one pagne will make do for a skirt or button-down shirt for a man. I splurged for two pagne and so far it is my favorite among the my six complets.

I wouldn't normally be so inclined to dress the same as my friends in the United States. However, it is the cool thing in Togo. Every special occasion calls for the selection of matching pagne—weddings, funerals, graduations, welcome home parties, etc.

Yet—as my Togolese friends do not usually think it is necessary to explain the details of any plans—I was caught off guard when my adoptive grandmother and fou fou lady, Adissetou, made me a second, purple complet for the same Labor Day celebration. So I compromised. I wore her purple complet in the morning when I went to her restaurant to have brunch. Then I paraded around the village center to show off a bit. In the afternoon, I changed into my other complet for the party at the village outskirts. When I ran into Adissetou's daughter, however, she was a bit upset not to see me in the purple complet that would have matched her own. I tried to explain the misunderstanding, but ...

Later I learned that two other Togolese friends were offended that I had not invited them to participate in the same form with Foumilayo. These social misteps began to remind me of a middle school dance. But after my first beer, Foumilayo served some delicious roasted chicken and I soon forgot my troubles. More of my Togolese friends arrived at the festivities and I continued buying rounds of drinks until well after sunset.

A Typical Day

I wake up around sunrise. My first goal is to get to the well first. During the dry season, the well water becomes extremely murky approximately an hour after sunrise and is almost dry about an hour later. I only need 2 buckets, one for bathing and one for drinking, cooking and cleaning. On laundry days I fetch a third bucket. During the rainy season, I can sleep in because the buckets placed strategically under the gutters of my gazebo catch the rain run-off.

After filtering my drinking water, I boil some water with lemon grass and cook my breakfast. I eat oatmeal with re-constituted powdered milk and a sliced banana. Oatmeal is not sold in Kaboli, but I can find it in Tchamba, 40 km away. I stock up once a month. Nescafe or Lipton tea, which is cheaper but not always available, provides my daily caffeine fix.

Most mornings I'll go for a run on the dirt road behind my house that goes to Balanka. Sometimes I'm too lazy though and I read the latest American or British magazine that I am lucky enough to get my hands on.

Around 8am, it is time to get out of the house and perform my morning greetings. I usually begin this ritual by having a second breakfast of kom (a patty of fermented corn meal) and fried fish, which is served by Peace Corps counterpart, Foumilayo. She makes the best sauce. We chat about work or village gossip. Then I head to the small market in the center of town to buy supplies for lunch and practice my Ana (the local language) with all the vendors : Kabo ! Edjié ! Did you sleep well? Very well. How are the people at your house? They are there and well. And the children? They are there and well. And the work? It's going. May God be with us today! Amen! Send my greetings to your people. They will understand.

If have no other meetings in town, I go back to my house, study, work on the computer, and have lunch. While I'm doing my dishes, the kids are usually on their way back to school. They check if I have any empty tuna cans, which they use to make toys. Most days I do not, and they just like to say hi. I ask them how school is going, to which they always reply “très bien”—very good. After any afternoon meetings, it is time to buy my cat some fish and perform afternoon greetings with the same market vendors. But instead of Edjié (Good Morning), I begin with Aléni (Good Evening).

The greeting is key to maintaining your network in Togolese society. Even if have no work-related reason to visit colleagues at a particular microfinance institution or NGO, I like to stop by once a week or once every two weeks just to say hi and see what's up. Thanks to the miracle of telecommunications, aquaintences will often call me just to say and hang-up after an eight-second conversation.

Every other day, I visit my fou fou lady, Da Da Adissetou. Fou fou is yams pounded into a sticky mass. You eat it by clumping balls of it between your fingers and then dunking it into a bowl of sauce. But when fresh yams are out of season (from May to August), the alternative is pâtt, a thick corn meal porridge eaten in the same manner as fou fou. I enjoy fou fou as it vaguely reminds me of mashed potatoes, but I can only tolerate so much pâtt. But even if I am not eating, I am required to stop by and greet Adissetou as she considers herself my grandmother away from home. Nevertheless, she always complements my outfit and tells me that I am beautiful. Then some days her sister is selling wagash (cheese made by the Foulani tribe)—a nice bonus.

My evenings are quiet. I usually have a light dinner, study French or for the GMATs. Then I brush my teeth and read myself to sleep around 9pm.

My days aren't always so uniform. For instance, I am looking forward to hosting an evening radio program at the end of the month. The weekends are the best in Kaboli : I go to the market on Saturday afternoon. Sundays, I go to church in the morning and then drink tchouk (the local brew) and eat grilled pork with some friends under a grove of mango trees.

Holidays: Christmas in Kara

To fight off the holiday blues, I traveled to Kara Christmas Eve in order to spend the holiday with my good friends from my training class, Peter and David. Kara is the capital of the Kara region, which is just north of the Central Region where I am posted. Though smaller than my regional capital, Sokodé, a wider variety of alimentation can be found in Kara because of it's larger expat population. Further, the president's family is from Kara and it therefore receives more attention from the government.

So on Christmas Eve we dined at “La Douceur” and enjoyed scalloped pork and roasted potatoes. We then woke up Christmas morning, munched on cookies and fruitcake, and listened to Christmas carols played on my computer. Afterwards, we began our preparations for Christmas dinner. While the scalloped potatoes were cooking, we played Simpsons' Monopoly and drank gin & soda. Peter won.

After stuffing ourselves on steak, spinach and potatoes, we took the traditional nap. Wrapping up the festivities, we watched “It's a Wonderful Life” and enjoyed warm apple crisp.

Shout out to ...

... All my family and friends that took the time to send me a card or note during the holidays. While I am able to find joy in most of my days here, I definitely experienced strong pangs of homesickness at Christmas. Therefore, I very much appreciated all the well wishes at the turn of the year. Though not all cards arrived before Christmas, I kept my cards on display until the hot season arrived in full force in March.

My First Vacation: The Africa Cup of Nations

My first chance to escape the borders since arriving in Togo 7 months ago, I traveled to Ghana. This year was Ghana's turn to host the Africa Cup of Nations, a 3-week-long football (soccer) tournament between the top teams from across the continent. Games were played in 4 cities across Ghana, but my friends and I decided to catch a couple of matches in Tamale, a large city in the northern Ghana.

Tamale was a wonderful city to choose for my first vacation from being a volunteer in Togo. The city itself was very peaceful and the people were very friendly. When in search of an egg sandwich for breakfast the first morning, I made fast friends with a young, bright-faced Ghanaian woman named Abou. In between pouring coffee and flipping omelettes, Abou would circle back over to flirt with my friend and teach us some of her local language. “Despa”, that means “Good Morning.” And then you respond “Naa.”

Though Ghana continues to struggle, it is evident that its level of development is a cut above Togo. The streets are clean and there are public trash cans. The busy intersections have cross-walks and signals for pedestrians. There are more cars than motorcycles. These aren't scientific measurements for development, but it makes a different impression. Driving through the bush and the surrounding villages, however, you can see that there work is not done. The Ghanaians are still threatened by poverty and hunger: “

Nevertheless—I still felt like I was on vacation. Tender and juicy fried chicken and fried rice were a nice treat from the chewy cuts of 'meat' more frequently found on the streets in Togo. And compared to the oft skunky beer one finds in Togo, Ghanaian vendors presented a very impressive selection of brews—from the dark and creamy Castle Milk Stout to the refreshing Stone Lager. (And no—I have received no money for this endorsement).


My good friend and fellow volunteer, Amy, hooked us up with free V.V.I.P. tickets to watch Senegal vs. Tunisia and Angola vs. South Africa. I rooted for Senegal, but all the scores ended up tied. Angola played sharp and had some good-looking players—I really enjoyed watching them play.

It was disappointing, however, to see the brand new stadium half empty. We sat in the press section with our V.V.I.P. tickets, which would have otherwise cost 75 Cedis (more or less $75 U.S.). Seats behind the goals cost 4 Cedis—which is about a day's earnings for many Ghanaians. Other seats were 15 Cedis.

Overall, it was nice to get away from work for a couple of days, visit another country and see the diversity of the African continent.

Home Sweet Home

I inherited my house from the health volunteer who preceded me in Kaboli. It's taken me sometime to make it my own—which is only one of the many excuses that I have for not posting about my living situation sooner.

Nonetheless—now I can introduce my new kitten, who is only 2 and a half months old. I've named her Catherine (her Christian name) Idàlé (her Kaboli name, which means 'crazy'). Many Togolese may have up to 3 names: their Christian name, their Muslim name, and/or their African name. I've assumed that Cat is Christian—though the Church does not baptize animals.

My neighbor is my landlord's second wife. I do not have running water. The electricity only runs from 8:00 am to noon and then 3:00 pm to 11:00 pm. The rectangular house includes three rooms: a long front room and two back rooms. The latrine is attached to the outside of the house but enclosed by a private courtyard. The courtyard, however, does not look very pretty during dry season. I'm still working on the garden.

Please follow the link to view a photo album illustrating my home in Africa.

Foumilayo: Receiver of joy

When placed in a village as a volunteer, Peace Corps trains an official counterpart to serve as you local guide and help acclamate you to community life in an unfamiliar environment. My counterpart's name is Foumilayo, which means “receiver of joy.” Though she has served as the “bringer” of joy to my life. She has not only guided me in my work, but she has become a good friend as well.

Few women are selected to serve as couterpart, as Peace Corps usually seeks out persons whom have attained a certain level of education. Although Foumilayo did not graduate from high school, she did earn her lower-level diploma, the BEPC, which one may consider equal to graduating after the 10th grade in the American school system.

Foumilayo is about my age, although it is difficult for me to get a straight answer from her. Many Togolese will offer 2 ages when asked: their age by birth or their school age. Like the majority of togolese students, Foumalayo had to repeat several years of schooling. However, if you continue to remain in the same grade, you can only do so up a certain age. Therefore, students often have their age reviewed or changed so that they may continue their schooling.

Foumilayo has one son, who is five years old and starting school this year. The father is unknown to me, but she has strong support from her family and a long-time boyfriend. Being a single-mother is difficult any where, but it can be particularly challenging in Togo as many woman are shamed by their family and community. Foumilayo's unique situation reflects the strength of her character, which is proved further by her efforts to improve her community. She came to be my official counterpart due to her position on the board of one of the local credit unions (a microfinance institution). She is also a volunteer with the local health committee promoted by the Red Cross.

Our work together includes my visits to her food stall every other morning in the Djama neighborhood. In my opinion, the women of her household make the best kom (fermented corn-meal patties) and sauce in all of Togo. While eating my second-breakfast, we discuss the needs of the community and life in general. Occasionally, she will refer the various visitors of her food stall to my services. Recently, she introduced to a man looking for the capital to build a hen house.
More formally, we are working with others in the community to create a professional training center. Her father, who we call Pélé since he was once a great footballer for the local team, serves as the president of our committee that is managing this project.

Yet, Foumilayo is more than a great colleague, she is a good friend. I've hosted her and her father for dinner at my house. I served egg-drop soup and chicken fried rice. While it soon became obvious that they didn't particularly like the food, Pélé appreciated the hammock that I had hanging in my courtyard.

Recently, Foumilayo and I attended a four-day conference organized by Peace Corps in the south of the country. The meals served were a mix of Togolese and American cuisine, and one morning Foumilayo fell in love with pancakes. She asked me to teach how to make these cakes as soon as we've found some honey to serve with them.

Holidays: Turkey Day

For Thanksgiving 2007, a group of fellow volunteers gathered my regional capital, Sokode, in order to celebrate with a traditional American feast. My duty was to secure and cook the turkey. Turkeys were brought to West Africa from the Americas and they have continued raising them alongside chickens, guinea fowl, and ducks. So finding one wouldn't be too much trouble.

I asked a friend in my village to help me acquire a turkey. He asked me how big I would like it to be. I said that I wanted the fattest one he could find. He certainly provided... It was an old bird, male, and weighed at least 10 pounds. He cost 15,000 francs CFA or 33 U.S. dollars.

I traveled 80 kilometers from my village to the regional capital with the turkey tucked away under the backseat of the 'bush' taxi. At the volunteers' shared transit-house in Sokode, the guard helped me to slit the bird's throat as my fellow volunteers looked on. The Togolese guard, with years more experience butchering fowl than myself, quickly de-feathered and disembowled the bird. To show my appreciation for his help, I offered him the turkey butt, which is highly prized here.

This was not the first bird that I had to slaughter and cook during my time in Togo. Therefore, I knew that his meat would be tougher than the fattened birds found in America, as flocks are usually left to roam across the village in order to find food. To tenderize the meat, I decided to soak the bird overnight in a brine flavored with some local herbs.

On Turkey Day—as the bird continued soaking—my first task was to collect 10 liters of peanut oil in order to deep fry the turkey. So I walked 2 kilometers to visit the largest market in the center of the city with 2 empty water bottles. After filling up, I headed back to house, emptied the bottles, and went out again to refill. At a smaller market closer to the house, I visited the same vendor twice in order to obtain all the oil that I needed. She seemed a little perplexed at seeing me the second time and then tried to charge me more per bottle—as though I was crazy and had forgotton her first price.

After elaborate preparations, the bird turned out wonderfully and was complemented by all the traditional American dishes at our feast: mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, green beans, beets, salad ... All served with some local bissap juice—just to remind us where we were. Many of these dishes were an exceptional treat as many of the items are somewhat pricey based on our pay-rate and can only be found in the larger cities of Togo. Further, butchering a bird is a consuming task—so I indulge rarely.

Able to fill our bellies with more familiar foods, it was nice to spend the holdays with some of my co-patriots.

Hair Update 1: Historical Background

When I first thought about joining the Peace Corps as a high school student, I also began to fantasize about cutting off ALL my hair. Since I am always planning ahead, I knew it would be cooler and easier to manage (I was right). Plus, I just wanted to see what I would look like ...

Though you may have already caught glimpses of my new do in other pictures that I have posted to this blog, I wanted give a bit more background. This story really begins in January 2007 when—at the suggestion of my good friend Sadie—I decided to start experimenting by gettin' myself some “bangs”. So before you see it all come off, below is a collage of events leading up to my transformation à la Sinead O'Connor. Before shipping out, I had a chance to show off my trendy new bangs in Paris, New York and New Orleans. Included are some pictures of my last night in the U S of A with my friends in Washington D.C.

Stories from Stage: Fashion Show

During my first three months in Togo, the trainees and our host families were invited to organize a 'fashion show' to serve as a cultural exchange activity and a chance to practice our French. My host mother, Zacharine, thought seriously about what I would wear in the fashion show. She did not want me to just wear the standard 3-piece complet (note picture at right) like all the other girls probably would be wearing. So she presented me with two choices, the standard complet and the pagne (2 meters of cloth) girls wear when parading during traditional festivals.

I chose the purple-velvet pagne embroided with high-heel shoes. After trying it on, Zacharine painted circles on my shoulders using a mixture of sweet smelling herbs and water. Then she handed me a necklace of traditional beads, a gift from one of her aunts.

The day before the show I practiced my turn down the catwalk in a spare room. I was to hold a calabash (the shell of a local dried-out fruit) filled with candy to toss to the crowd. During this dress rehearsal, Zacharine insisted that I should saunter down the 'runway' like the models do—swaying my hips. I had fun alone practicing in front of my small audience of host brothers and sisters. But on the day of the fashion show, the entire crowd went crazy as I tossed the candy from my calabash. My host mother was very pleased.

After the show, my host sister, Florence, and her friends decided to dress up themselves and put on their own show. Together they did a series of choreographed dances and sketches that lasted the entire evening.