Leftovers

I should be telling you all about the artists' market we visited where potters use wheels cranked by the hands of their assistant (the pots are amazing, by the way). Or how so many woman walk down the streets of Lome carrying giant loads of fruit, boxes, and fufu (national starch I've yet to try) on their heads.

All of this is neat and curious and something I need to take pictures of to share and tell you about later.

But today I want to talk about the art of leftovers in Togo.

Towards the end of my first week here, I realized I was on Day 5 of eating the Fried Rice dish our cook (yes, I'll get to that one later as well) made for us. I also noticed our guards' (I know, I know - lots to share) eyes light up when I took 4 giant cardboard boxes out into the garage for disposal of some sort. And, coincidentally enough (or not, perhaps), I started reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. It's a book about a family who decided to eat only what they were able to grow themselves or get locally for an entire year.

Anyway, our refrigerator is currently as empty as it's been since about my Sophomore year of college. Don't get me wrong - I'm not starving in the slightest. It's just not as easy to get food the way I'm used to getting food around here. Unless you want to eat at the one terribly overpriced and not that great of a restaurant in walking distance, you need to go out and get yourself some food. And there are no Whole Foods in sight.

It entails making lots of stops at various food stands where Togolese woman are selling fruits, vegetables and eggs. Then perhaps you head to the terribly overpriced supermarket (even by US standards) to see what's on the shelves and try and improvise on the spot.

Once you get your goods, you have to bleach and clean the produce since it's not safe for us to eat otherwise. And don't even ask about me how we get meat, etc. I have the number of a guy who delivers but haven't yet been organized or brave enough to do it.

Thus, the cook. He comes once a week and cooks up a ton of food that lasted us about 5 days the first time. The last two days I need to get creative with. It currently involves adding potatoes to other dishes to bulk them up and anything with eggs. Or heading to that aforementioned restaurant. I'll get better about that eventually.

In a related incidence, our guards eventually asked us if they could have our cardboard boxes. We said, yes, of course, but what do you want them for? They told us they'd use them for tons of things: side tables, storage containers, even beds for small children.

This from men who make a relatively very good salary in Togo.

Since then, I've noticed them take my garbage in what initially seems a gentlemanly gesture. But then I see an empty plastic bottle or pieces of tin foil being pulled out of the bag as I turn the corner to go back inside. Presumably they'll use the bottle to store clean water or rice. And of course the foil can be reused. I suddenly feel like a spoiled schmuck. It's clear they anticipated that I'd throw away Perfectly Useful Things.

I don't want to give you the impression that I'm surrounded by poor beggars. Or that people are miserable and starving in this country. That's not the case at all. What IS true is that they creatively reuse everything, while we throw things away without a second thought.

I include myself in that accusation. Back home, I'd eat what I felt like eating. If there was leftover chili in the fridge, and I felt like Indian food, I'd ignore the chili and go get myself some Indian food. I wouldn't even bother freezing the chili - it'd just eventually go bad and I'd throw it out.

Don't even get me started on the things I'd break or lose. And trust me - the thought of sewing up a hole on a pair of socks has never crossed my mind. Ever.

But I hope this experience will change me. I think it's already begun to. I'm incredibly conscious of the size of my trash bag each night. And leftovers most certainly get eaten.

Fishes Live in the Sea...

...as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.

I'm going to be very nerdy and tell you that this bit of Shakespearean philosophy is quite meaningful after my eventful flight to Togo. Bear with me.

First off, despite my love of travel, Airplanes + Me don't mix well. My first memory of being on a plane is of my sister throwing up all over me. Since then, any and all storms, cancellations, technical difficulties, rude people, baggage problems and potable water issues seem to find me. It's quite funny.

And by funny I mean that you probably don't ever want to travel with me.

However, the Red Sea parted on the day I left DC for Togo. Imminent thunderstorms passed. A record heat wave through Europe moved on. A full rainbow (not kidding!) bid me Bon Voyage as I drove across the Potomac. Nala was easily boarded, I had an Exit row, and - get this - two empty seats next to me.

Miracle upon miracle!

Things changed pretty quickly in Paris. I could hear Nala crying three floors up as the escalator ushered me down to the baggage claim. No one could tell me where to take her out to go to the bathroom, so I laid out puppy pads in the middle of the terminal in desperation. Of course she proceeded to pee everywhere but.

As I cleaned up one pile of pee, she moved as far as her leash would allow and start peeing again. This happened about 6 times before I sat down surrounded by doggy urine, a giant crate, 3 suitcases and one freaked-out puppy in defeat.

No one at De-Gaulle airport took pity on me.

After a 20 Euro bribe to an airport baggage guy to help me get everything to our next terminal, I thought the drama was over.

But this is me we're talking about, so of course it wasn't.

Going back to Mr. Shakespeare, his second point about the darker side of human nature - or at least our faulted behavior toward one another - is something I've been mostly sheltered from. The strong do not eat the weak in America! We are all created equal! No one is naturally a "great one"!

I'm not totally naive to the real picture of the world, but I've not yet seen it up close and personal. I think that's going to change quickly here.

I awoke on the airplane to two men fighting. Rather, one man yelling at the other in French, and the second man sitting in silence trying to ignore him. A huge commotion broke out because of it with half the plane trying to calm the situation down, with the stewardesses eventually threatening to call the police.

All I could gather was that the Togolese man who was yelling had previously tried to engage the European man, who said he couldn't speak French well. Then the Togolese man heard him speaking French and lost it. He loudly berated the other man for not being honest, for being disrespectful on the way to HIS country, for belittling his pride, etc. This and other things I didn't quite understand lasted for a good 30 minutes.

Before I even stepped foot in Africa, I saw some of the tension that still exists between Black and White, African and European, Colonized and Colonizer.

It all felt so foreign to me. Complicated. Sad. I hope that once my feet are a little more planted, the jarring presence of history will soften with what's actually present.

Anyway, here's to thousands of air miles and all the little ones ahead. (Speaking of which, Nala, our runt of a puppy, is doing just fine).

A Trailing Spouse Named Jen

Every organization has its lingo, and the State Department is no exception:

Joe is an FSO (Foreign Service Officer).

Serving as a GSO (General Service Officer). 

Who works alongside DOD (Dept. of Defense). 

Most of whom have EFMs (Eligible Family Members).

Etc. 

There's one piece of lingo that tickles me pink.  Get what they call diplomats' husbands and wives: 

Trailing Spouses.  

Trailing Spouses!  Isn't that amazing?  It brings to mind a tired animal who's fallen behind the pack.  Or some margin you're supposed to be hitting but you're not.  Or the struggling kid in school who's, well, trailing behind his peers.  

I chuckled when I heard this, because it mirrored the tone of many questions I got after we broke the news about Joe's job: but what are YOU going to do Jen?  

That was the million dollar question for awhile.  However, today was Day 1 of my new job!  Well, it's not really a job, it's a fellowship.  With a very cool organization called Kiva that uses social media to connect people like you and me to people in developing countries who have no access to banks or credit.  You can lend small loans to people all over the world and re-lend again after they've paid you back.

I'll be working with local Micro-Finance Institutes (MFIs - see, here we go again) to help them understand how to use technology to get loans from the likes of us.  And I'll go out into the field to collect the photos and stories of people in Togo who want to borrow money for their small business.  

Borrowers are mostly women who, beyond getting out of poverty, are able to begin shifting the power structure that exists between themselves and their husbands.  The ability to bring in money creates a new sense of freedom for these women, and increases the respect they're given in their households.  They gain a voice for the first time in their lives.   

So here's to my role as a Trailing Spouse.  It's given me the opportunity to help those who've truly been forced to trail for far too long.  

Check it out and consider lending even $25 to someone with an idea to improve their lives:

http://www.kiva.org/

Tiny Little Flags

Togo was the last place in the world we expected to hear on Flag Day.  As the Ambassador of Somewhere was up on the stage waving tiny flag after tiny flag of various countries, I sat in the audience going through each posting as it was called in my head:

Istanbul, darn it.  Ciudad Juarez, phew.  Athens, ah well.  Khartoum, thank god.  Kathmandu, bummer.  Caracas, hmm - I thought that'd be it.  Montevideo.  Bujumbura.  Mexico City.  San Jose.  Beijing.  Sao Paulo.  Colombo.  Etc. Etc. Etc.   

When Lome, Togo was called, I was barely paying attention.  We hadn't ranked that country.  I'd honestly never heard of Togo before we got the list a week prior.  It took a minute to register.  What?  Wait - Togo - I know that's in Africa - What? - Is that the country I Googled and saw pictures of cannibals? -  OMG I need to get to the internet.  

But we had to go to a happy hour with all the other people who received tiny little flags that day.  Some of you were kind enough to send more details as I downed a few vodka tonics:

Togo is a country of 6.7 million people.  Over 50% of the nation still practices tribal religions.  The southern Togolese were of the same people as Ghana before colonization, and cultural practices were influenced by Benin on the East as well.  It was once a German colony, so there's still some good beer.  And then it became a French colony, so there's decent wine.  

Voodooism is still commonly practiced.  Haiti was influenced by this part of West Africa when slaves came over and settled there, so many commonalities between the people exist.  It's one of the poorest countries in the world: people make on average less than $1USD per day.  

Beyond the basics, we learned that the Togolese are known to be incredibly warm.  If you walk past in the street without stopping to say Hello, it's considered to be rude.  And greetings can last 10 minutes before you can move on again.  We've heard them called the most socially evolved people in the world.  I liked that.  They'll remember your name when you tell them once and will open their homes and families to you.  

The music is supposed to be amazing.  The food some of the best in West Africa (although I'm wondering if that's a relative statement?).  The fabrics festive.  The fruit markets divine.  It used to have the best wildlife in West Africa but it's all pretty much poached now.  But there are elephant parks up North in Burkina Faso and some small game parks near the lake.  

There are only 2 paved roads in the country.  

Figured that needed its own line.  

We have 3 spare bedrooms.

I'll leave that one hanging for all of you to consider as well.   

Africa Bound

In one year, I got married, quit my job, moved from my beloved San Francisco to Washington D.C., eagerly awaited my husband's first posting within the Foreign Service, found out it was Togo, spent many nights on wikipedia researching said country, freaked out, calmed down, learned French, got a puppy, and now, finally, after 10 months, one of us is on his way to Africa.  

This wouldn't be me, clearly.  I have 13 more days in the U.S. 

Just enough time to finally start this blog so that friends and family can share in this adventure with us! 

I'll start by cluing you all in on how we're feeling right about now.  Check out this Norman Rockwell print entitled "High Dive."  It was Joey's 1st yr. anniversary "paper good" present from me.  It pretty much sums up this year: standing at a ledge, looking down, heart pounding, stomach fluttering, and something between a scream and a huge grin forming around our mouths right before we... jump. 

The unknown is something we both thought we had down pat.  In fact, we sought it out to the extreme with this job and all it entails.  The unknown is exciting!  It's adventurous!  It's so much less boring than the non-unknown!  

But as it turns out, we all create maps of what we think our lives are going to end up looking like.  And how the world we live in takes shape around it.  Whether we know it or not.  And the more we lose sight of those previously drawn shores, the more we realize we're going to need a very, very large eraser.  

And ink smears.  

So we best proceed with a Number 2 pencil.