Landlords and Fufu and MJ, Oh My!

The last almost-week was a blur of dinner parties and other festivities.

I hate to do the chronological rundown, but can't think of any way around it. So here we go:

Friday night Marine Movie Night: Our escapism into a faux movie theater (there are no cinemas in Togo) - complete with a large screen and projector installed into the ceiling of the Marine house. Iron Man 2 was more enjoyable than I thought it'd be. Especially with my Bailey's on ice and two bowls of buttery, salty popcorn (you will understand my appreciation for this American gastronomic moment by the end of this post).

Saturday Village Artisinal: I promised before to talk about the artists' market. Once you know what's available, you can visit an individual stall and get things made to order: shoes, bags, dresses, pots, carvings, etc. In our case, we requested a traditional African baby outfit, complete with hat, for little Lachlan. It will be ready on Saturday for the outrageous price of 7000 CFA ($14). I love that this is an outrageous price here.

Saturday Night Landlord Dinner: Joe had some representational event for all landlords, bankers, and shipping kings (the perfect recipe for some shady dealings, most def') the other week. We received a dinner invite from one of the landlords, who also happens to own a Pharmaceutical company in West Africa, along with some other business in Benin (and obviously a rental property or two to boot).

After arriving at a massive home, a butler opened the door for us and we were taken into a small room with couches and a single photo on the wall (the hosts' wedding photo). The butler closed the door behind him on his way out, and returned shortly with water. The Togolese man with us who works with Joey explained that it's tradition to offer guests water before coming to greet them.

We drank our water and proceeded to the pool/jacuzzi area for champagne and cookies. Finally the host and his wife came to meet us. After many moments of awkward silences due to language barriers and simply not knowing each other in the slightest, we moved onto the first of many ridiculously huge meals of the weekend.

The feast for 5 included plantains, yams, fish (whole), fish (stew), fish (skewered), chicken, beef, shrimp, beans, rice, couscous, sauces of every color, vegetables galore, salad, and too many wine bottles to count. I ate as much as I possibly could, and the hostess kept telling me I needed to eat more. "Eat, Drink! You didn't try this fish - here. Why you not eat and drink?" Then came dessert. She seemed genuinely heartbroken when I passed on the huge chunk of watermelon after just finishing a half of a giant pineapple.

We had to apologetically excuse ourselves after 3 hours because someone was already late for the finals of Miss Togo.

Sunday Morning: Off to another Togolese feast. Still full and slightly ill from the night before.

Frederik Egbe was one of Joey's French professors at the Foreign Service Institute in Virginia. He was back in Togo visiting family and invited a group of us to his home for traditional Togolese food.

We showed up at 11:30 and asked the driver to pick us back up at 3PM. Our comrades were aghast, but Joe just left it with, "Trust Me," and got out of the car.

Frederik greeted us with his gregarious energy and two bottles of liquor: Scotch and Malibu Rum. One for the gents and one for the ladies. He told us to get a glass and proceeded to pour each of us straight liquor. I tried to protest and say that I hadn't yet eaten anything that day, could I possibly wait until after the first course? No, no, no, that wouldn't do, he said. See, the Malibu is exactly the right thing to have on an empty stomach. It will open up your stomach and prepare you for the fufu.

Yes, yes, trust me, he says.

After our early afternoon shots, small talk lead to the news that none of us had yet tried Fufu. Laughing heartily, Frederik took us out back where men and women were pounding raw yams into a paste-like substance with huge wooden sticks. He insisted we all give it a try and pose for a photo op. The sticks were surprisingly heavy, and the yams suctioned to them in a pounded, gluey paste.

The Malibu hadn't yet worked its magic on this so-called opening up of the stomach. Pass the bottle fellas!

I knew it was going to be a looong afternoon once the first course of beans and goat liver came out. Followed by some unknown corn starch and fish stew (this was actually decent). And then the fufu.

It came out in giant goopey globs on a platter. We were all given one glob and awaited the sauce. Fufu is really just a cheap starch base that people eat to fill up. The sauce is what gives most of the flavor. (Although we all agreed it tasted kinda like mashed potatoes with an unfortunate Playdough-like texture).

The sauce that came around is still a mystery to me. I watched the ladle pour the following over my fufu: 2 wrapped tentacle thingies (that I later discovered were intestines), some chunk of something that had odd bony looking things (that I later discovered was a goat hoof), and two of the spiciest yellow peppers I've ever had in my life.

No matter how many times I told myself that it must be good if all these people eat it, I should just try it, I couldn't bring myself to bite down into a nice chunk organs from an unknown animal. At the time, I was internally gagging and thinking that I was a weak, terrible, unforgivably rude guest.

Self loathing didn't do the job though. I only managed to get down about 5 bites of my fufu. Like a 6 year old, I made a mess of what was left on my plate in a futile attempt to trick someone into thinking I ate more than I did.

As 3 o'clock in the afternoon approached, and all of our stomachs churned with too much new food, Scotch and Malibu, we had to once again apologize for being the first guests to leave.

We all had about 2 hours to prepare for our next dinner party at the Deputy Chief of Mission's home, in honor of a parting officer. I'm not kidding. But I will spare you the details.

Tuesday night was the final dinner party of the marathon. It was at the home of the Public Affairs Officer, and it was her 61st B-Day. She's spent most of her career in Africa, so the guest list was a mix of embassy and local people.

After another multiple course meal, a surprise performance began. The DJ put on Michael Jackson's "Rock With You" and out walked an MJ look-alike, in full costume, to dance for all of us. Next was a contemporary dancer who did lots of crazy thing with his arms. MJ came back to finish the show off with "Thriller."

That, and the Milli Vanili that followed, was the perfect end to our 5-day stretch of festivities.

Tonight we're locking ourselves inside our house and watching hours of The Wire.