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.