Togo Randoms: Boobies, Potted Instruments, Bikes and Doggie Raciscm

Boobies at the President's House
Ooo do I have your attention now! According to embassy sources (if Wikileaks can do it, hey, why not me?) the Prez-Man gave himself a Boobie Party on Friday night. Sadly for Joey, he did not receive an invite to said event, but our good friend did. He said he felt like a creepy 40-year-old man watching 20-year-olds dance topless all under the watchful eye of his boss. Awkward! The performance was supposed to illustrate the "traditional virgin's dance" that occurs in villages. Mind you, this dance is typically done in villages by girls aged 11-13 (actual virgins), but, hey. The Prez likes his virgins a little older. Let's hope. Can you imagine the hey-day if Obama threw himself a titty party and invited diplomats around the world to join? Ah Togo.

Dobet Gnahore: A Must-Hear Lady from Cote D'Ivoire
Since I already said "titty" in this post, I should refrain from saying "Badass" but what the h*&%. Badass Dobet Gnahore is. Her concert on Sunday night and it was everything you'd hope to get from a West African concert: raw vocals, awesome percussion (she played a clay pot!!!), and dancing that made me feel very white. It was incredible. See if she's playing in SF or NYC and go to her show.

Bike Riding Makes People Happy
I saw this on Oprah and thought, I should get myself a bike. So I asked Francis to find me a bike with a basket on the front of it and, voila, that afternoon I rode a bike around the neighborhood with Nala and felt like I was 10 again. The main benefit of this is that it makes it possible to visit the fruit lady and buy bread during hours other than 7AM and 6PM. It is SO hot right now that I would previously walk my errands and come home red, sweaty and cranky. Now, with my little red bike, I get a lovely fake breeze as I bring home all of the mangoes, avocados and baguettes I want. I am very happy indeed. Go buy yourself a bike and smile.

Is Nala Racist!?
I came home last week from school and Clara told me that she had been talking to Francis and the guards and they'd decided that Nala doesn't like black people. "Yes, we see Nala act all happy when your white friends come, but she is not like that with us. I need to have a talk with her and tell her that, Nala, you are black too!" This was all said with a smile and a lot of laughter, something that is an interesting thing to get used to. I was embarrassed of my dog's behavior (really she just senses a difference in our relationship because Nala doesn't act this way with our black friends, plus I think I read somewhere that dogs are colorblind) but Clara thinks it's funny. Even today at school my students were joking about painting their skin white to be European Colonizers for International Day. I am learning to laugh with them.

Nunchuck Skills

Boy I have really dropped the ball with this thing. I probably have no readers left after my dismal posting record so far. Jumping back in the saddle!

I recently recalled a conversation I had with one of Joey's friends about my good luck in developing what he called my "nunchuck skills." You know, like bowhunting skills, computer hacking skills... skills! (Sorry for those of you who haven't see Napolean Dynamite...)

Jen's Newly Acquired SKILLZ: Speaking French - check. Becoming a yoga teacher - check. Teaching at an International School - check. Taking tennis lessons & Learning Bridge like the proper diplomat's wife that I am - check. Writing grants for NGOs - check.

The latter nunchuck addition is a recent development. I had the chance to go to Niger as a part of the grant research process. Here's a quick rundown of the experience:

- I had many internal chuckles re: the contrast of my life pre and post Foreign Service. Previous meetings consisted of serious debates over print ads and current ones entail strategizing how to lower birth defects in rural villages. Oh the curve balls life can throw!

- There are camels walking down the streets of Niamey. Huge, awesome camels.

- Almost as cool were the donkey carts everywhere.

- Camels + Donkeys = Love.

- The contrast between Egypt (palpable intensity around the Muslim faith resonating through the streets) and Niger (moderate influences of Muslim religion seen in clothing and prayer mats) was fascinating.

- Sadly, extremists are taking hold there, resulting in kidnappings of Westerners, a mass exodus of expats from the country, and a severe safety regiment for those who remain. We felt safe, but could not leave our hotel at night or visit the country outside of Niamey. Which is a total bummer because apparently there are giraffes and hippos nearby.

- How so many people can survive in the Sahara Desert is beyond me. No thank you.

- Visiting Niger made me very glad that I live in Togo. Who'd have thunk. Niger is only slightly poorer than Togo on the international ranking list of average GDP. But when you're THAT poor, those extra 50 Cents per person make a huge difference. You can't even imagine.

The grant I'm writing is for a massive program to prevent and rehabilitate people with disabilities (physical and mental). It involves everything from training more doctors to planting gardens and teaching families with a disabled child to feed themselves and generate extra income.

I used to have $2 Million to plan a Super Bowl ad and buy the media. Now I have it to save starving babies in Africa. I smell the makings of a very cliched memoir! Heehee.

This whole thing Joey and I are doing is not always easy. Not even close. For instance, the place we stayed at on Saturday night was flea infested with brown amoeba filled water coming from the faucets, and we recently had to tell our cook that, no, we can't give him a $600 loan so that he can get electricity for his daughters to study over more than a tiny lantern. (Don't judge too harshly on the last one - we did the math on his salary and were concerned that he doesn't have enough to pay us back plus keep food on the table and keep his daughters in school).

But it's opportunities like this trip to Niger that make me thankful for being put in what's quite often a difficult place. Don't get me wrong. I am seriously hoping for Spain or Argentina next post. In the meantime, I admit that it's a pretty cool thing to see a little bit of life from this lens.

Ghana's Wonderful Jesus Classic Cosmetics

I know it's been awhile, but I have an excuse. Since the beginning of January, I've been traveling. Five weeks were spent jetting between Ghana, Egypt, Israel and Benin.

I'll begin the chronicles with some nuggets from Ghana (see a few photos here).

As soon as we crossed the border from Togo to Ghana, a shift was apparent. First of all, everything was in English, and we soon saw that the majority of signs had something to do with God or Jesus. With all respect to God and Jesus, it was quite funny. Here are some of our favorites:

Wonderful Jesus Classic Cosmetics
Amen Cold Store
Hope in God Auto Shop
I Am Saved Herbal Clinic
In God We Trust Barbering Salon and Business Center
God Is Able Electrical Works
God's Glory Fashion
The Lord is My Shepherd Food Stand
Glory Gas
Try Jesus Fashion
God's Will Architecture Services
By the Grace of God Fast Food
Psalm 100 Radiator Specialist

As I was generally in the middle seat between Don and Carol, and the roads were generally atrocious, I did not get photos of this amazingness. Next time for sure.

Layer on ever-present Ghanaian music, complete with tom-toms (bongos), and the scene gets better. Music is an essential part of West African culture and for whatever reason, Ghana blares its music while Togo keeps it private. A fun soundtrack awaited us at every village.

In general, it seems that Ghanaians are more proud of their country than the Togolese is of theirs. Ghana is touted as the golden-child of West Africa and, although it's still very poor as well, you see signs of development everywhere. They sometimes seem minor on the surface: street lights outside of the capital city, the occasional 4-lane road, official signs to villages, and more cars than motos. But if things continue this way, Ghana will be very much changed in 10 years, while Togo will be exactly where it is now.

My favorite part of the trip was visiting the slave castle in Elmina. If you ever have the chance to visit Ghana, don't miss this stop. Although it's tough to see such a terrible side of human history.

Aside from the sites, Carol started learning to play Bridge (yes, I now play Bridge and tennis and all sorts of ladies-who-leisure type things). It was a fun beginning to the upcoming travels!

Joey makes quite the Santa

Christmas is not that big of a deal in Togo. People celebrate it, but nothing like back home. But the American International School, where I work, likes to infuse bits of U.S. culture into the environment. And what's Christmas for little ones without Santa?

Pretty Crappy, that's what.

The original Santa Clause bailed at the last minute. The director asked me the day before Santa's scheduled appearance if Joey would be willing to play the part.

What the director didn't know is that Mr. Joseph never turns down the opportunity to be in costume. Ever.

So it was her lucky day.

A few things to note about these pictures of Santa Joey:

1. The Santa suit was WAY too short for him. We all assumed this would be the case, so he came prepared with tall black socks. This worked to cover his legs when he was standing, but when he sat down you could see a strip of hairy-man-leg above his knee socks. If I didn't know better I might have thought he was of the creepy Santa sorts ;)

2. We couldn't get the pillow to stay on his stomach. It kept creeping up, making him look like a skinny santa with big boobs.

3. The morning assemblies are held under a Paillote, or little Tiki hut type thing. "Santa" had to bend down in order to come under and say hello to the kids. You'll see from the pictures that their initial ecstatic expressions turned wide-eyed as they looked up at him. As one little one said in a hushed voice: "I didn't know Santa was so tall."

4. Before that he rang that huge bell you see in the photos as he came down the hall. The kids were screaming their little heads off. Joey later told me that he was actually a little nervous about the whole thing: "I could see in their eyes that they actually thought I was Santa Clause."

5. Joey missed the best part of the morning when he was in hiding. Before Santa came, the little ones did some traditional African dancing for the school. You'll see the kids in a line and then each one stood in a circle drawn with chalk on the ground to do this funny little dance with their hips. It was a riot. I wish I had video to share.

We miss all of you very much during this holiday season. Enjoy this little tid-bit of the holidays in Togo!

Bet you Didn't Know!: This Week's Top 5

Last week I had the opportunity to attend a week-long training with an NGO on grant writing.

There was an interesting group of people in attendance: a Polish woman who heads the regional NGO office here, two German men from the International office, a Dutch woman who lives in Northern Ghana and heads up a childhood disability program, an Ethiopian eye surgeon who lives in Guinea and leads an eye care program, a Nigerian man working on self-help programs for women, an a man from Niger doing disability prevention work.

I wanted to share a few little nuggets from the week that you might find interesting:

V. There is such a thing as "Professional Crier" in West Africa. They are hired to attend the huge funeral celebrations that are culturally imperative here. Families will spend their life savings on throwing the biggest, most lavish funeral they can afford to honor those who've passed. In addition to live music, drinks, food, and gifts for guests, particularly well-off families will hire people to cry loudly at the burial. Those who can produce tears as well as hysterics are in very high demand.

IV. There's a belief among pregnant women in Northern Ghana that they can not eat eggs, as eggs are another creature's baby. Per their voodoo beliefs, if they eat eggs, some harm will be done to their own fetus. This belief has caused many a problems for non-profits who've come in preaching the importance of eating enough essential fats and proteins during pregnancy and saying there's a perfect solution for poor women in villages: eggs.

III. Similarly, if a child is born with a disability in Ghana, Togo, Benin and Burkina Faso, it's largely thought that the mother is to blame. She must have done something wrong to deserve the punishment of bearing a disabled child. These babies are hidden away from society (including doctors) and, in extreme cases, left to die. So when researching country data on disabilities, consider questioning Togo's report that only 3% of the population has any disabilities.

II. Throughout Central Africa, there is only 1 eye specialist for every 510,000 people. There's a neat program in Guinea that is trying to build up Africa's base of medical specialists in this field. It's touted as the only medical school in many surrounding countries to have things as basic as state of the art microscopes (3 of them) and a laser to actually do the eye surgeries. With the help of funding, they offer the chance to gain 2 years of specialty training in exchange for giving 4 years to a rural community in Africa.

I. There isn't a single doctor in all of Togo who can perform the surgery that heals vaginal fistulas. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I highly recommend watching A Walk to Beautiful. Once you see this documentary (YouTube or NetFlix), you'll understand how terrible this is.

It was a really neat week. Maybe someday I'll get to see some of these programs in remote Ghana or Niger in person.

Prez's Main Lady Friend

The other night I accompanied Joey to a work dinner. It was a "casual" event, extended to all US Officers via the Ambassador, at her good friend's house in Lome. This friend just so happens to be a leading member of the opposition party here, and the likely candidate for Mayor. "Casual" is in quotation marks on purpose, just in case you didn't catch that.

I ended up sitting next to a Togolese woman at dinner who I'd been introduced to by name only. Based on the bling dripping from her neck and hands, I assumed she was the wife of a wealthy businessman. Mostly I was just trying to act normal while sitting at a dinner table with top government employees who were all being "casual" with each other.

Somehow manis, pedis and massages came up amongst the women and I mentioned a massage place down the street where you can get an hour and a half massage for $20. !!! Bling-Woman and the host's wife immediately perked up and started asking specifics: Where is said parlor? What does it look like inside? Is it classy? Are the massage rooms private? What kind of clientele does it have? Who's the masseuse? What is his name? What is his last name?

I was confused by the sternness of their tone, as is typical in many of my conversations with people here, because I lack the cultural cues I took for granted back home. I was equally clueless when Joey kept mentioning to the woman that she should call me to join me the next time I get a massage. It was weird.

I am typically the one who doesn't miss the meaning behind a single glance. But here I'm dumbfounded by an interrogation. It's unsettling to me and I find myself less confident in social situations.

The truth came out about the questions and who this woman was in the car on the way home. Turns out, Bling Woman was the President's Main Woman. Despite his many, many mistresses, she is the one the locals call "Mrs." and appears to be as close to a wife as this guy will ever have.

Obviously I spent all evening sitting next to the friggin' President's wife and had no idea.
It is flabbergasting how foreign and inaccessible this place is at times. How is that possible in this day and age with information galore that I've never seen a single picture of this woman, or heard of her? How can I have lived in a country for almost 6 months and be so unaware of this kind of thing?

Yet it happens to me all the time. This kind of thing happens ALL THE TIME. That fact is completely bizarre to me. I read the local news when I can get it, slim pickin's that it is. I listen to Joey's work-talk and know some of the unclassified embassy happenings. I've done as much homework on this country as any normal expat can do.

But information is hard to come by. Top officials make no bones about the fact that they have no obligation to explain themselves or their lives to anyone. They own the press. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that there's so little said about the inner workings of this country. But it does. There aren't many countries left in the world that remain so foreign.

I've been so curious since that evening. What is that woman's life like? How did she meet the President? How does she handle his 16 other woman? And even more kids? Is she with him for the money? Is it family influence? Power? Or does she love him? She seemed smart and articulate - does she feel passionately about her country's dire situation? Does she support the President in all he does to his face, or does she challenge him? Would we have anything in common?

I honestly can't begin to fathom the answers to the above.

I've never been so clueless. I take back my "WTF? face" to Joey a million times over for his valiant attempts to pimp me off on the President's Lady. I should have given her my number, per his many hints. ;)

BouBous

Sometimes when a few weeks go by and I haven't had a chance to write, I continue to stall and stall because there are just too many things to share.

So pardon my lack of chronology over the next couple of weeks as I attempt to catch up, as there are fashion shows and taxi dramas and detours in the middle of nowhere to describe. But for now, I will introduce you briefly to the glorious world of the African BouBou (pronounced Boo-Boo, yes, laugh, we did!).

Aunt Pat is visiting us right now. The poor thing arrived in Africa for the first time sans her suitcase. This isn't exactly a place you want to arrive while your luggage is stuck in Paris. There are no malls. No stores. I honestly still don't know where one would go to buy underwear (thank God she had that in her carry-on at least!). The director of my school, an American woman who's lived here for years and years, could only direct me to what the locals call the "Dead White People's Market," a place where tons of used clothing shows up and gets sold outdoors.

It's not actually filled with clothes from Dead White People, it's just that locals can't imagine why we'd all give away perfectly good clothing to strangers unless we'd died.

Imagine that.

Needless to say, Aunt Pat didn't want to go shopping there.

So we headed into the Grande Marche instead, the only other alternative, where African robes and Western clothing alike hang from lines strung between old tree branches that serve as store posts.

We were in search of BouBous.

The name itself provided some much needed comic relief to the experience as we wove through the packed, muddy streets of downtown Lome. Joe and I had walked through the Grande Marche before. But only as tourists. Never in search of something specific, which makes for a striking difference.

After avoiding all of the stalls of things we didn't want - drums, masks, fruit, beads, mobile phone cards, toasters, soccer cleats, crocodile bags, woven baskets and bedazzled Obama T-shirts - we finally spotted some BouBous: long, loose dresses made of African prints or batik materials. They said the one we wanted was 10,000CFA ($20) and Joey responded with the generous offer of 2,000CFA ($4). Thus began our first 10-minute-long negotiation in a mixture of French and Ewe.

The women all stood around awkwardly grinning at each other while our men haggled it out. One of the many gendered roles here I gladly abide by when I can. But that's for another day.

We eventually landed on 5,000CFA ($10) and the Togolese man who begrudgingly agreed on the end price smiled brightly as soon as we paid, broke into English to tell us that he'd studied briefly in Michigan, and started calling Joey a Togolese name (Kokou, meaning Tuesday - the day of the week Joey was born) as he took us in search of more BooBoos.

By the end of the day we had three BouBous for our efforst. Two for Trish to survive until her suitcase came, and one that I promised to wear with her in public. Which I amazingly got her to do. Once. Otherwise her two shirts from her carry-on ended up seeing a lot of Togo in the first week!

Trish was certainly glad to see her suitcase (7 days after she arrived) and will likely never travel without an overstuffed carry-on bag again. She might even some day forgive Air France. But one pleasant surprise did come out of the whole fiasco: we discovered that the African BouBou is about the most comfortable thing in the world to wear, and will likely be seen from time to time wandering around our homes in ancient tribal wear.

Who knew.

It's telling me that it will take approximately 12 hours for a picture to upload. You'll have to use your imagination for now and I'll try to update with an image on a faster internet speed day.