Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas!!!
There is no snow here, but I did see a man carrying a freshly cut evergreen tree on the back of a moto the other day. I have no idea where he found it, but it was pretty funny. I am (hoping to be) opening some newly arrived packages that have been placed under a palm tree...Not quite the same, but close enough!
Friday, December 24, 2010
Embassies and Escapades
We spent the better part of the morning running around and getting letters of accommodation and passport photos in order to legalize my status in the country. After a few hours of waiting and arguing with a cyber clerk about how much needed to be paid for a piece of paper that was printed, but had the format changed en route to the printer (i.e. the paper was printed, but incorrectly and the result wasn’t wanted), we made it to the embassy. As it turns out my fine for not renewing my visa when it expired was the equivalent of $10 and the cost to extend the visa the full 9 months was $25. I paid around $160 to have a company get me my initial visa that was only good for 3 months. Definitely got the short end of the stick on that one.
The rest of the day was spent in the car as the monks in Lomé wanted us to visit the artisan center in Kpalimé (about 2 ½ hours away).We showed up just before sunset, after the center had closed. But there was one shop that had trinkets and a traditional style of paintings. I, always on the lookout for a sweet spur of the moment buy, picked up a 5 foot cloth painting of Togo overshadowed by a woman walking with a jar on her head. Sounds amazing doesn’t it…that’s why it’s a painting so that words don’t have to describe it! After visiting the shop we turned around and came back. Not that I didn’t mind visiting, I really enjoyed it, but it was kind of a waste of gas. And the three monks who tagged along expecting to see the historical sites in the area along with some arts and crafts only saw a very small portion of the arts and crafts. At the very least it was a nice gesture for them to try and find something to entertain us, however unnecessary.
More recently from this morning, there is a very fashionable paper airplane with USAF written on the wing sitting in the far corner of the Ghana embassy. Give me a back seat and make me use it for 3 hours before waiting to find out that I have to come back the next day and I'll tell you to kiss my white ass in style. The two women working the embassy this morning didn't like Colin and I too much and they were lacking in some people skills. In hindsight, they do have my passport, but they took my money so they can't stop the visa from going through or prove that the airplane was mine. Win win.
The rest of the day was spent in the car as the monks in Lomé wanted us to visit the artisan center in Kpalimé (about 2 ½ hours away).We showed up just before sunset, after the center had closed. But there was one shop that had trinkets and a traditional style of paintings. I, always on the lookout for a sweet spur of the moment buy, picked up a 5 foot cloth painting of Togo overshadowed by a woman walking with a jar on her head. Sounds amazing doesn’t it…that’s why it’s a painting so that words don’t have to describe it! After visiting the shop we turned around and came back. Not that I didn’t mind visiting, I really enjoyed it, but it was kind of a waste of gas. And the three monks who tagged along expecting to see the historical sites in the area along with some arts and crafts only saw a very small portion of the arts and crafts. At the very least it was a nice gesture for them to try and find something to entertain us, however unnecessary.
More recently from this morning, there is a very fashionable paper airplane with USAF written on the wing sitting in the far corner of the Ghana embassy. Give me a back seat and make me use it for 3 hours before waiting to find out that I have to come back the next day and I'll tell you to kiss my white ass in style. The two women working the embassy this morning didn't like Colin and I too much and they were lacking in some people skills. In hindsight, they do have my passport, but they took my money so they can't stop the visa from going through or prove that the airplane was mine. Win win.
Road Trip
So I am in Lomé. Surprise! I needed to renew my visa as I am currently an illegal resident here (visa expired a month ago…oops). And Colin and I need to get our visas to visit Ghana for the New Year. Yes, that meant another comfy busload of 10 people including the devil woman (she nailed her head on the roof of the car getting in at 6 in the morning * little giggle by the white kid sitting in the front seat – we dropped her off at a mansion of a redbrick house in the rich quarter of Lomé, it’s not hard to see where her heir comes from). For the most part the trip was rather uneventful. We backtracked a few times after forgetting certain things, no people luckily. We ate bread and bananas for lunch. Our rest stops, oh the rest stops here are to die for. I always remember the stop just outside of Sioux City, Iowa, the one with the huge Teepee (my childhood favorite). The stops here don’t come close to that, but in terms of convenience man Togo has it down. You can basically stop whenever you want to and piss on the side of the road. No waits, no blue signs telling you how much longer you have to agonize and wriggle in pain, and no missing the off-ramp after seeing a sign saying next stop 54 miles. Not to say that I haven’t relieved myself in a cornfield in the middle of nowhere before, but here it’s acceptable.
The one thing of note that did happen en route was the witnessing of an accident. The highway, if you can call it that, is always littered with overturned 18 wheelers, smashed in lorries, and even stampeding cattle; but today I saw an actual accident. Well accident doesn’t quite do it justice. In fact I don’t know what to call it. Imagine one snail going East and the other going North to an intersection. The chances of hitting each other are slim to none, but the Northbounder looks East and misses the Eastbounder. The Eastbounder T-bones the Northie, honestly at a snail pace, and both slowly tip over (you know that feeling when something is happening in slow motion and there is nothing you can do to stop it). It was pretty ridiculous actually. None was injured, but had the Northie been about two feet further into the road he probably would have had his leg broken. The realness of the “crash” did hit me considering that there have been 3 monks, 1 family friend, and 1 teacher who have been injured in moto accidents since my arrival, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the “move into ONE WAY traffic while looking in the wrong direction” mentality. In all fairness, or fate, he had a 50/50 shot at being right.
Upon arriving in Lomé and nostalgically recalling our initial stay here, Colin and I were taken out to supper by our chauffeur who also happens to be the monastery money-man. It’s nice to have well positioned friends. Over dinner we got to chatting about tv shows (which are oddly enough called films here). We found out that Jack Baur, has made his way to Togo and has kept many a monk up from evening prayer to morning prayer with his shenanigans. It was also interesting to see where some of the American impressions are formed considering there was curiosity as to whether or not Jack Baur is a real agent and whether or not some of the cities have actually been attacked. Not that you can blame anyone here, our TV shows look more real and polished than their news. Their tv shows and movies (imported from the Ivory Coast and Nigeria) are a slight step up from a home movie (the only difference is that here there is a script).
And now I am sitting in the house down seeing what the other side of Togolese monk life is like. Not that I don’t like the countryside, but there is something to be said about being able to breath without feeling like your lungs are being coated in ash and mud (the tradeoff is smog, but the smog isn’t as thick as the stuff in Agbang), constant electricity, TV, and limited sat cable. And they think they’re roughing it down here, ha.
Lastly the Prior, who was in Cuba for the ordination of one of the Agbang monks serving down there, can’t get a flight back to Lomé due to the snow in Europe. I am now extending the thought to be down and back in a day trip to a down and wait until Friday for the return trip. Looks like my pack light philosophy kind of screwed me on this one.
The one thing of note that did happen en route was the witnessing of an accident. The highway, if you can call it that, is always littered with overturned 18 wheelers, smashed in lorries, and even stampeding cattle; but today I saw an actual accident. Well accident doesn’t quite do it justice. In fact I don’t know what to call it. Imagine one snail going East and the other going North to an intersection. The chances of hitting each other are slim to none, but the Northbounder looks East and misses the Eastbounder. The Eastbounder T-bones the Northie, honestly at a snail pace, and both slowly tip over (you know that feeling when something is happening in slow motion and there is nothing you can do to stop it). It was pretty ridiculous actually. None was injured, but had the Northie been about two feet further into the road he probably would have had his leg broken. The realness of the “crash” did hit me considering that there have been 3 monks, 1 family friend, and 1 teacher who have been injured in moto accidents since my arrival, but I couldn’t help but chuckle at the “move into ONE WAY traffic while looking in the wrong direction” mentality. In all fairness, or fate, he had a 50/50 shot at being right.
Upon arriving in Lomé and nostalgically recalling our initial stay here, Colin and I were taken out to supper by our chauffeur who also happens to be the monastery money-man. It’s nice to have well positioned friends. Over dinner we got to chatting about tv shows (which are oddly enough called films here). We found out that Jack Baur, has made his way to Togo and has kept many a monk up from evening prayer to morning prayer with his shenanigans. It was also interesting to see where some of the American impressions are formed considering there was curiosity as to whether or not Jack Baur is a real agent and whether or not some of the cities have actually been attacked. Not that you can blame anyone here, our TV shows look more real and polished than their news. Their tv shows and movies (imported from the Ivory Coast and Nigeria) are a slight step up from a home movie (the only difference is that here there is a script).
And now I am sitting in the house down seeing what the other side of Togolese monk life is like. Not that I don’t like the countryside, but there is something to be said about being able to breath without feeling like your lungs are being coated in ash and mud (the tradeoff is smog, but the smog isn’t as thick as the stuff in Agbang), constant electricity, TV, and limited sat cable. And they think they’re roughing it down here, ha.
Lastly the Prior, who was in Cuba for the ordination of one of the Agbang monks serving down there, can’t get a flight back to Lomé due to the snow in Europe. I am now extending the thought to be down and back in a day trip to a down and wait until Friday for the return trip. Looks like my pack light philosophy kind of screwed me on this one.
Relief
It was time for the big task. Boniface was finally at the monastery, had a free moment, and Colin and I were both healthy and up for talking…however apprehensive we were beforehand. We bought him a beer and sat down after dinner and started the 2-hour bitchfest. NO we didn’t actually turn our one chance at improving our situation into a rant about how frustrating life had been up to that point, in fact neither of us said a negative thing the entire time. It wasn’t the most eloquently spoken conversation (*achem – Colin). We got our point across, but I am sure most of the subtleties were lost on the broken French combo search for the right word in English to fill the gap talking style. And not to say that I was anything close to Proust, but my main point about communication difficulties was definitely, inadvertently emphasized when we switched off talking.
Surprisingly, everything that we said was already known by Boniface, at least the overbearing undertones. He listened to us and put together as much as he could (his English is proficient, but probably his 5th or 6th language). Afterwards he graciously accepted our commentary and added the information that we purposely left out (the ranting and raving pieces). He admitted that we had indeed fallen through the cracks during the power changeover. The monks had heard of the program only briefly, but no one outside of Boniface knew the intricacies. Subsequently, our arrival was overlooked, the monastery was unprepared for us, the director of the school (who was supposed to be “in charge” of us did blow off the appointment on account of “not being the leadership/take the charge type (direct quote),” the new prior knew absolutely nothing about us, and all of the other difficulties of living here were described as some of the worst in Africa (referring to being located in the heart of the countryside of an impoverished 3rd world country without reliable electricity/water and without a decent phone or internet connection). This all came straight from the mouth of the founder of the monastery. I was pleasantly surprised. Most of the frustration that I had built up (and still have) was brought up without me having to say a single thing outside of one word – communication.
Things are far from solved, however. The first baby step has been taken and the problems (which are mutual, by no means is it all on the monastery) are known. And Boniface has promised to talk to the prior more in depth about the situation to make him aware of our program. He is also going to recommend one of the monks to be the program supervisor, which we have desperately needed at times considering the lack of mutual communication. And as for our part, that falls to me. My new “job” along with the garden and teaching, is to finish building the foundation for the program here. I will be talking to monks and teachers to educate them on my purpose, which is more than just teaching English as everyone had previously thought. I will also be working with the supervisor to make sure that he is set on the things that will be expected of him in his dealings with future volunteers, and I will be setting up an official pen pal scholarship program for the students at the school (more to come on this later). After I have finished I will be leaving. As most at SJU will tell you I work quickly and intelligently, it will not take long. While I will not be home in time for Christmas (I feel your pain sitting in that foot deep snow as I am cruising around Agbang at a chill 86F, and yes I did wear a pants and a long sleeve shirt for a better part of the day), I will most likely be spending my first birthday at home in 5 years and possibly even Easter.
And at the end of it I will be satisfied. I came halfway around the world to a 3rd world country to work in the countryside building a foundation, and I have done and am continuing to do it from under the floorboards after slipping through the cracks before I ever set foot in Africa.
Surprisingly, everything that we said was already known by Boniface, at least the overbearing undertones. He listened to us and put together as much as he could (his English is proficient, but probably his 5th or 6th language). Afterwards he graciously accepted our commentary and added the information that we purposely left out (the ranting and raving pieces). He admitted that we had indeed fallen through the cracks during the power changeover. The monks had heard of the program only briefly, but no one outside of Boniface knew the intricacies. Subsequently, our arrival was overlooked, the monastery was unprepared for us, the director of the school (who was supposed to be “in charge” of us did blow off the appointment on account of “not being the leadership/take the charge type (direct quote),” the new prior knew absolutely nothing about us, and all of the other difficulties of living here were described as some of the worst in Africa (referring to being located in the heart of the countryside of an impoverished 3rd world country without reliable electricity/water and without a decent phone or internet connection). This all came straight from the mouth of the founder of the monastery. I was pleasantly surprised. Most of the frustration that I had built up (and still have) was brought up without me having to say a single thing outside of one word – communication.
Things are far from solved, however. The first baby step has been taken and the problems (which are mutual, by no means is it all on the monastery) are known. And Boniface has promised to talk to the prior more in depth about the situation to make him aware of our program. He is also going to recommend one of the monks to be the program supervisor, which we have desperately needed at times considering the lack of mutual communication. And as for our part, that falls to me. My new “job” along with the garden and teaching, is to finish building the foundation for the program here. I will be talking to monks and teachers to educate them on my purpose, which is more than just teaching English as everyone had previously thought. I will also be working with the supervisor to make sure that he is set on the things that will be expected of him in his dealings with future volunteers, and I will be setting up an official pen pal scholarship program for the students at the school (more to come on this later). After I have finished I will be leaving. As most at SJU will tell you I work quickly and intelligently, it will not take long. While I will not be home in time for Christmas (I feel your pain sitting in that foot deep snow as I am cruising around Agbang at a chill 86F, and yes I did wear a pants and a long sleeve shirt for a better part of the day), I will most likely be spending my first birthday at home in 5 years and possibly even Easter.
And at the end of it I will be satisfied. I came halfway around the world to a 3rd world country to work in the countryside building a foundation, and I have done and am continuing to do it from under the floorboards after slipping through the cracks before I ever set foot in Africa.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Cold
It’s averaging 90+ here and I have a cold, a bad one. How on earth does this happen? Nothing brings accessibility of tissues to the forefront of my mind like being sick and being here. I used up an entire roll of toilette paper (I am now out and have been regretting it for the past few hours) and am constantly sneezing. It’s a good thing that using your hand is socially acceptable here. Not that I enjoy shooting snotballs into my chalky/dirty hands, but being able to quick rinse with water is making for a decent renewable alternative. It still doesn’t help with the other use for the toilette paper, and no don’t let your mind wander. I am too cunning for that. The bishop who is staying on the other side of the cloister has a personal bathroom that is constantly stocked, booyah! Since we are on the topic I saw a 3 year-old wipe his derriere with a stick the other day – manly men doing manly things anyone? But yeah this cold sucks. As I am writing this I am remembering that I missed a wedding and a worldwide harvest festival today. On the upside, I was the only person in the monastery, which was nice in a way for a little while especially the times when the bell would normally be clanging endlessly. After this trip I think I will have had enough sit alone and think time to last me for the next decade.
House of Flying Green Beans?
Although my main area of expertise in the garden has been limited to creating a compost (throw everything biodegradable in a hole and wait) and watering (carrying buckets of water, pouring them in a tin watering can, and making rain), I have proven to be fairly knowledgeable in building things. My latest contraption is a poor excuse for a lattice, but it should get the job done (pictures to come). I will put the finishing touches on it tomorrow, but the house should provide a decent growing area for the viney green beans that have previously been left to grow on dead tree branches stuck into the ground. We are also expanding the garden by 200 (it will be just over half of a football field long and half a football field wide), which means that my once 30 bucket workload is now turning into 60 and will take a little under two hours to complete. And I get to do it twice a day.
Cock Fight
I didn’t witness this one luckily, but apparently there was a big quarrel between the LB and another monk about the whereabouts of a plate of food. The LB, who needs to eat a lot due to his size, set aside a second plate of food that he takes back to his room started accusing people of taking it once the dishes had been cleaned. As it turned out, someone had put the food in a pot and covered it because the meal was finished and they didn’t want the food to spoil. Colin said that the argument between the monks was a pretty scary sight and was loud enough for the nearby village to hear. I am glad I missed this one or I might be having second thoughts about staying a little longer after Colin leaves.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Busy as a Bee
Fr. Blaise is the man. This guy works in the garden (he created the garden just before our arrival) all day stopping only to go pound Fufu, which is harder than it looks. And when he isn’t in the garden or pounding Fufu, he is running around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to get things done for random people. The other weekend he was in charge of cleaning the entire monastery for the Bishop’s arrival and the arrival of the Frenchies. The entire time there was nothing but a huge smile on his face. He even skipped out on the wedding in order to finish the work. In doing so he missed an amazing meal and didn’t end up eating until well after the usual lunchtime. He also knows how to have a little fun and understands the rules of the monastery about as well as I understand the motto of anyone trying to get anything done at SJU – “do first, apologize later (if you get found out).” He takes some time out of his day once a week to sneak away to go drink a bowl of Tchuc with me and chat about any problems that I am having trouble dealing with (mostly ones that I have already explained here) or just to shoot the breeze. He is a cool dude who works hard and doesn’t complain about anything and is easily one of Colin and my favorite people here.
Big Beady Black Eyes
I swear this woman who is staying at the monastery is the spawn of Satin. Ok, so maybe not the spawn since she can sit in the chapel, but she is a close relative – maybe a second cousin.
Take a high pitched, scratchy voice and combine it with an emaciated twig of a woman with big beady black eyes that look like Jaws’ and give her a spot on American Idol’s not top 10 candidates (people who think they can sing but can’t). Throw in an immense dislike for white people and give her a superiority complex derived from being a rich, sick person from the city living in a countryside monastery because there is a good doctor amongst the monks. Double Double, Toil and Trouble anyone?
I won’t list everything, but her some of her antics include: not acknowledging Colin and I in any social setting (since her arrival a little over a month ago); walking into the dining hall on the night of her arrival, taking one look at Colin and I and sitting on the other side of the room with a few of the monks (even they were weirded out); singing loudly outside of our doors whenever she gets the chance; ordering monks around like servants and hissing at them when they do something that she doesn’t like; and pretending like she is the only person in the monastery who has any importance. She even had the nerve to call Colin and I her “evil enemies” one night as we were washing dishes (she was watching, Colin and I were washing), but she did it in a sneaky way thinking that we didn’t speak French. I have got some French for you, FU.
I gave her a few days to settle down, but she didn’t and her attitude didn’t change towards Colin and I. Game time. She sits one seat away from us and the bishop from Benin at the table even when there is a place set for her next to us. She goes over gets a new set of dishes and sets up her own place. Well, I started sitting next to her or where she would be sitting in an attempt to get her to move even further away, yeah that one worked. I only do it sparingly, but it gives us and the monks (they don’t like her much either) a good laugh. When she yells across the monastery to a monk she gets the sarcastic mimic treatment (quietly to myself or Colin, who laughs hysterically). And when she sings outside of her room I take it as an open invitation to join in with my harmonica! I don’t think she likes the fact that I limit her solo time to zilch.
She insults the monks (complained about the lack of service and the fact that her needs weren’t ‘catered’ to) and treats Colin and I like dirt under her shoes as she walks by with her nose in the air and her big beady black eyes starring straight ahead. Someone’s getting coal in their stocking for Christmas this year and it isn’t going to be me…I am getting harmonica music!
On that note, I wonder what would happen if I addressed a letter to the North Pole and put it in the mail system here.
Take a high pitched, scratchy voice and combine it with an emaciated twig of a woman with big beady black eyes that look like Jaws’ and give her a spot on American Idol’s not top 10 candidates (people who think they can sing but can’t). Throw in an immense dislike for white people and give her a superiority complex derived from being a rich, sick person from the city living in a countryside monastery because there is a good doctor amongst the monks. Double Double, Toil and Trouble anyone?
I won’t list everything, but her some of her antics include: not acknowledging Colin and I in any social setting (since her arrival a little over a month ago); walking into the dining hall on the night of her arrival, taking one look at Colin and I and sitting on the other side of the room with a few of the monks (even they were weirded out); singing loudly outside of our doors whenever she gets the chance; ordering monks around like servants and hissing at them when they do something that she doesn’t like; and pretending like she is the only person in the monastery who has any importance. She even had the nerve to call Colin and I her “evil enemies” one night as we were washing dishes (she was watching, Colin and I were washing), but she did it in a sneaky way thinking that we didn’t speak French. I have got some French for you, FU.
I gave her a few days to settle down, but she didn’t and her attitude didn’t change towards Colin and I. Game time. She sits one seat away from us and the bishop from Benin at the table even when there is a place set for her next to us. She goes over gets a new set of dishes and sets up her own place. Well, I started sitting next to her or where she would be sitting in an attempt to get her to move even further away, yeah that one worked. I only do it sparingly, but it gives us and the monks (they don’t like her much either) a good laugh. When she yells across the monastery to a monk she gets the sarcastic mimic treatment (quietly to myself or Colin, who laughs hysterically). And when she sings outside of her room I take it as an open invitation to join in with my harmonica! I don’t think she likes the fact that I limit her solo time to zilch.
She insults the monks (complained about the lack of service and the fact that her needs weren’t ‘catered’ to) and treats Colin and I like dirt under her shoes as she walks by with her nose in the air and her big beady black eyes starring straight ahead. Someone’s getting coal in their stocking for Christmas this year and it isn’t going to be me…I am getting harmonica music!
On that note, I wonder what would happen if I addressed a letter to the North Pole and put it in the mail system here.
Black Licorice
There is a mutual dislike for black licorice flavored jellybeans between whites and blacks. Call me evil, but I gave a black jelly bean to one of my students who up until that point had no reason not to trust me as everything I had given him to eat up until that point was out of this world to him. He started chewing and after a few seconds the face of sugary joy turned to pure and utter disgust. He used it against me though saying that he needed another of a different color to wash his mouth out. And later that night I reached into the jar and pulled out a black one and ate it not realizing my mistake. The kid practically fell out of his chair laughing at my face and instantaneous sprint to the window to spit it out.
Which is the best piece on the chessboard?
So there is a bishop from Benin who is on retreat here at the monastery. He is an awesome guy. He speaks Italian fluently along with French, English and multiple Africana dialects. He has visited Europe, living in Italy for 11 years, and North America. But the coolest thing, is that he is down to earth. I think he actually enjoys talking to Colin and I more than the monks because we are interested (not to say that the monks aren’t), but we are people. He works with me in the garden hauling water; he cleaned a bathroom and swept half the monastery the other day. And after all of the labor his real work starts. He is writing a book on the self-reliance of African churches in building new churches and diocese using the Kings and political systems of the Old Testament as his basis. And the look on the monks’ faces when he tells them about all of the work he has done, ooh man. To them this guy isn’t supposed to lift a finger, but you can’t hold a guy back when he is determined. And he is determined to do work and relieve his stress of writing the book before he continues his writing, which is by hand.
Goin’ to the chapel and we’re gonna get married…
Colin and I attended a double Baptism, Confirmation, First Communion, and a Wedding all in the same ceremony. Togolese priests man, they do work! Our good friend and moto taxi driver Dieu Donné (“God Given”) got married to the newly received into the church Immaculé (“Immaculate”). Talk about a punny wedding. But it was really nice, nothing too different from our ceremonies. All you have to do really is cut out the fancy, overpriced costumes and garnishes and replace the alcohol with Tchuc. Oh and there is no cake as I found out to my dismay. But I was a guest of honor in the house partially due to the color of my skin and partially due to the fact that I had a nice big camera and could take lots of photos. I did a lot of the latter, especially with all of the children who kept peering into the room where I and monks/priests were eating our meal. I think I pissed off the director a little bit by egging the children on and making funny faces at them when he wasn’t looking. Naturally they kept coming back to the window to see me and he had to keep shoeing them away. Harmless fun, but I loved it.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wenegue
She is the older of the two girls. She is also the one who people still joke about marrying me. She is in the middle of the class in terms of grades, but she tries harder than most. She is a more stereotypical Togolese girl, taller and bigger, but proportional. She could probably throw around everyone in the class but Kpakpabia if the opportunity arose. And even at that, she could probably give him a run for his money.
Fousseni
Pelimliwa is the jokester smart-alec who can get a rise out of me. Fousseni is the sarcastic smart-alec who really gets on my nerves. She is one of if not the smartest person in the class and she knows it. The prize for this? The thought that she can joke around and give snappy little responses to me. But she is very bright. Physically she couldn’t scare a fly as she is petit and as thin as a rail.
Gnabana
He showed up a week late to school, stayed for three and I now see him about once every three weeks. He has been dubbed the visitor by the other professors. The same questions apply to him that should be asked about Tchalim. Other than that he is a tall, slender kid. He is pretty darn good at soccer, when he shows up. He is very nice and respectful and by far has the best handwriting of any student that I have seen here.
Tchalim
He is the son of the Agbang chief, something I didn’t know until just recently. He is a younger kid and very shy. He is bright when he tries, but a majority of the time he spends daydreaming or staring out one of the 100 windows that are built into the walls to allow for natural light to illuminate the room. He has been dubbed the inspector by some of the other teachers as he only comes to class once every couple of weeks. He is one of the reasons as to why I question the goings on at the school. Joke all you want about the kid, but why doesn’t anyone know why it is that the son of the chief only comes to school occasionally? And what is the school doing to make sure that he is going to continue receiving an education that has already been paid for?
Kpakpabia
He is the oldest kid in the class at 17. Yes I have a grade-schooler who is only 5 years behind me and he still has another 2 years before he moves up to high school. Naturally he is a bit more of a brute when it comes to sports and he uses his physical presence to ward off any negative comments or jokes from the other students. And while he isn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, he makes up for it 10 fold with effort. He is one of those kids that you just want to do well and almost will to succeed. He is also the only male practicing Catholic in my grade. The other 3 are Muslim or Animists. He along with Pelimliwa make up a majority of my class on a daily basis even though he lives more than 10k away from the school… and it is uphill both ways.
Pelimliwa…my little brother in Africa
Here it is as promised, the first of many descriptions of my students. Pelimliwa, very easily and frankly put, is my little brother in Africa. Take Eric, put him in the countryside of a 3rd world country and paint him black. Oh and cut the mop of a head of hair that he has. Voila Pelimliwa, well not quite, but he is darn near close. No one could ever replace my brother, but there are certain nuances that I see in Pelimliwa that are scary close to the way that Eric acts: the intelligent (Eric don’t let your head get to big on this section cause you still have a long way to go), too smart for your own good, athletic, defiant against all odds, younger brother mentality, stay up all night to play games attitude… to name a few. And yes we did stay up until 1 in the morning on a school night playing checkers and card games and there was one night where he brought a friend and fell asleep on my floor while I was taking on the other kid in checkers. Sound familiar Eric?
As I said, no one will ever replace my brother. And it is actually him who has helped me stay here this long in a roundabout way. I have noticed that in being so far away from my native family I have imprinted the aspect that has been most important to me on someone here. Not to diminish any of my relationships with my family members, but the one that I have with my brother is incredible. Family members have seen it and outsiders have seen it. It isn’t a typical brotherhood. And that one aspect of my life has been something that I haven’t talked about much in being here until now. It is extremely difficult to deal with not being there and being here, but this kid has filled in. Talk about a 5 star blue chip prospect. He has done about everything humanly possible without even knowing it that has allowed me to maintain a part of my identity that is amazingly important to me so that when I do go home I can pick up right where I left off.
I can honestly say that if it weren’t for this kid, I would have left the school and maybe the country a long time ago.
As I said, no one will ever replace my brother. And it is actually him who has helped me stay here this long in a roundabout way. I have noticed that in being so far away from my native family I have imprinted the aspect that has been most important to me on someone here. Not to diminish any of my relationships with my family members, but the one that I have with my brother is incredible. Family members have seen it and outsiders have seen it. It isn’t a typical brotherhood. And that one aspect of my life has been something that I haven’t talked about much in being here until now. It is extremely difficult to deal with not being there and being here, but this kid has filled in. Talk about a 5 star blue chip prospect. He has done about everything humanly possible without even knowing it that has allowed me to maintain a part of my identity that is amazingly important to me so that when I do go home I can pick up right where I left off.
I can honestly say that if it weren’t for this kid, I would have left the school and maybe the country a long time ago.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Quick Update
So here I am in Kara. All is well for the time being. I just wanted to clarify a few things about some of the previous posts. I decided at the last minute not to put up a 3 page description of some of the more recent struggles here that details more clearly why Colin is leaving and my thoughts on the matter. I appologize if there are any nuances that are missed in the blog posts, but if something doesn't quite make sense you can just blame it on those two posts that didn't go up. They may make it up at some point, but for the time being I thought it better to hold off. Thanks for reading and there should be some more pictures coming in the weeks leading up to Christmas!
The Keeper
It is no secret that I am a venturesome American living in a strange place. But what is a secret to many of the people here is the reason as to why I am still here. While giving Colin his due respect because I probably would not have made it this far without him and still had my sanity, he is not it. It is family. I have been accepted into many families as a visitor and a few families as a member of that family. It is those few families that have kept me here this long - enduring. The one in particular in Kara has been amazingly rewarding. There is a one-year old girl in the family and upon my first visit to the house she cried at the sight of me. They had to take her into a bedroom to get her to stop crying. Each successive trip has brought with it a slightly stronger connection between us and I am expecting to finally be able to hold her upon my next trip in. But just in seeing the eyes light up of family members as they see me turn the corner into the house from the dusty dirt road is amazing. That feeling of being wanted and accepted for more than just having a token white guy in around the house, is really powerful. And that aspect of my life here will continue to help me stay here until my mission has finished.
This place is laughing at me…
And I am laughing right back at it. You almost got me today Africa. You almost had me completely spinning in circles and ready to book the next flight out. I walked out of my room to fill up a water bottle from the faucet near my door when I spied a man talking to a tree. He stopped when he noticed me looking at him. I paid little attention to it as I figured there was someone under the tree in the shade listening to him. He started again and finished his conversation rather quickly and left. From the moment he turned his back to the tree my eyes were constantly scanning the area for any sign of movement. I decided to look inconspicuous I would go check my laundry drying on the other side of the monastery. I walked towards the tree with a fixed gaze and peered around it as I passed by…no one. To add to it, I was the only person in the monastery at the time. It was surreal.
I later found out that there is a mentally handicapped man living with the monastery workers who sees spirits.
I later found out that there is a mentally handicapped man living with the monastery workers who sees spirits.
Angels
Colin and I were referred to as angels today.
Fr (frère – Brother) Blaise and I had a nice long chat over a bowl of Tchuc today. I needed to reach out and talk to someone that I trust, other than Colin or my mom, for advice. He got the French version of the previous rant about the school along with a few other minute details. Except this wasn’t a rant. It was a plea for help, from a friend.
After trading experiences and stories dealing with situational problems he told me that the best thing to do would be to talk to Boniface when he comes for Noel. If anything he still holds the “founder” position of the monastery and has as much if not more power than the prior, although they often work together. He also confided in me that the school has long been known to have problems. It is not just Colin and I who recognize them, but in the backwards f'ed up world that we live in, it is only us who can do anything about it.
Place a frog in a boiling pot of water and it will realize that it will die if it stays there so it jumps out. But if you place that same frog in cold water and slowly heat it up it will acclimatize and slowly allow itself to get cooked to death. – Dante’s Peak (paraphrased).
It is a part of the culture here. You do not speak of things that you see. You see and you quietly go on your merry way, for fear of the negative ramifications that will come your way if you do stand out. But for me, the stranger, there are no ramifications, which is why I must tread carefully. I know that my feelings and ideas about what needs to happen are right, but I have no idea what will come about if I speak. Add an increasing amount of tension to an already strained mind.
I also found out from Blaise, and this gives me even more of a peace of mind that my self discerned mission is in fact my mission, that the prior is only away from the monastery because he has to be. He is a new prior, part of the power change and reason why the BVC got lost in the paperwork, and thus has to travel and learn about all of the other monasteries so that he can best accommodate others when they come to visit. He also has to see who he will be working with and allow them a chance to meet him. And it is for the sole purpose of being able to protect us in the time of need that he is lockdown tight on Colin and my whereabouts. He wasn’t just some power hungry man who tinkered around outside of the monastery while traveling the world and leaving us to deal with water, power, and food issues. The look in Blaise’s eyes and the long “ahhhhhhhhh” when I told him that that was all I needed to know to give me a peace of mind about that specific situation. A simple two-minute explanation cleared up hours of conversation between Colin and I. The confusion, the frustration, the talking, the distress all could have been avoided by knowing things like that.
It is a simple matter of miscommunication in most regards, with the exception of the school, and I aim to correct that, to leave this site better than I found it with a solid foundation for making future keys for other young men.
As for the angels, Blaise was telling me about how he was working nonstop to get this garden started and up and running and how difficult it was getting support for it amidst the power and water problems while still having the demand for fresh food at the kitchen and he was overworked and didn’t want to see his hard work wilt away in the African sun after a year of intense labor….(enter Colin and Greg stage left). We are the new monastery work horses that power the garden machine responsible for supplying visitors and monks alike.
Fr (frère – Brother) Blaise and I had a nice long chat over a bowl of Tchuc today. I needed to reach out and talk to someone that I trust, other than Colin or my mom, for advice. He got the French version of the previous rant about the school along with a few other minute details. Except this wasn’t a rant. It was a plea for help, from a friend.
After trading experiences and stories dealing with situational problems he told me that the best thing to do would be to talk to Boniface when he comes for Noel. If anything he still holds the “founder” position of the monastery and has as much if not more power than the prior, although they often work together. He also confided in me that the school has long been known to have problems. It is not just Colin and I who recognize them, but in the backwards f'ed up world that we live in, it is only us who can do anything about it.
Place a frog in a boiling pot of water and it will realize that it will die if it stays there so it jumps out. But if you place that same frog in cold water and slowly heat it up it will acclimatize and slowly allow itself to get cooked to death. – Dante’s Peak (paraphrased).
It is a part of the culture here. You do not speak of things that you see. You see and you quietly go on your merry way, for fear of the negative ramifications that will come your way if you do stand out. But for me, the stranger, there are no ramifications, which is why I must tread carefully. I know that my feelings and ideas about what needs to happen are right, but I have no idea what will come about if I speak. Add an increasing amount of tension to an already strained mind.
I also found out from Blaise, and this gives me even more of a peace of mind that my self discerned mission is in fact my mission, that the prior is only away from the monastery because he has to be. He is a new prior, part of the power change and reason why the BVC got lost in the paperwork, and thus has to travel and learn about all of the other monasteries so that he can best accommodate others when they come to visit. He also has to see who he will be working with and allow them a chance to meet him. And it is for the sole purpose of being able to protect us in the time of need that he is lockdown tight on Colin and my whereabouts. He wasn’t just some power hungry man who tinkered around outside of the monastery while traveling the world and leaving us to deal with water, power, and food issues. The look in Blaise’s eyes and the long “ahhhhhhhhh” when I told him that that was all I needed to know to give me a peace of mind about that specific situation. A simple two-minute explanation cleared up hours of conversation between Colin and I. The confusion, the frustration, the talking, the distress all could have been avoided by knowing things like that.
It is a simple matter of miscommunication in most regards, with the exception of the school, and I aim to correct that, to leave this site better than I found it with a solid foundation for making future keys for other young men.
As for the angels, Blaise was telling me about how he was working nonstop to get this garden started and up and running and how difficult it was getting support for it amidst the power and water problems while still having the demand for fresh food at the kitchen and he was overworked and didn’t want to see his hard work wilt away in the African sun after a year of intense labor….(enter Colin and Greg stage left). We are the new monastery work horses that power the garden machine responsible for supplying visitors and monks alike.
Wake Up
My student came to visit me the other night. As he was leaving I gave him a little bread for the walk home. He spotted a few spoiled oranges on my windowsill and asked if he could have them. I was curious as to why, maybe he was going to help me out by throwing them out? No, he wanted to eat them. He wanted to eat the parts of the orange that still had some nutritional value. I was flabbergasted. I didn’t even consider the fact that someone could make use of them as I was going to feed them to the compost that I had created for the garden. I allowed him to take one, making him promise me that he would only eat the edible parts if there were any. Yes Greg you are in a 3rd world country and this is your wake up call.
I also went through an inquisition of sorts when Pelimliwa started naming off the things that I had bought since arriving in Togo after I told him that I had no money to give/buy him something (I forget what it was, but it was a modest request) I think my total expenditures have been less that $400 including travel money since I have been here. And I have been skimping since leaving Lomé, where most of the major purchases took place – phone, hotel, and food from the restaurant 3 times a day. It was very difficult to stand there and listen to him rattle off the little things that I have purchase (ex a cd, a soccer kit – shorts and a shirt, a pair of cheaply made soccer shoes, my moto rides in to Kara…etc). I didn’t give him any money afterwards on principle, but holy buckets was it tough. I haven’t bought anything here out of the want to be extravagant and in fact everything that I have purchased has had a very specific use. And it is not that I have forgotten the very favorable exchange rate here, but my few expenditures here is the equivalent a small fortune to the people here. Crazy
I also went through an inquisition of sorts when Pelimliwa started naming off the things that I had bought since arriving in Togo after I told him that I had no money to give/buy him something (I forget what it was, but it was a modest request) I think my total expenditures have been less that $400 including travel money since I have been here. And I have been skimping since leaving Lomé, where most of the major purchases took place – phone, hotel, and food from the restaurant 3 times a day. It was very difficult to stand there and listen to him rattle off the little things that I have purchase (ex a cd, a soccer kit – shorts and a shirt, a pair of cheaply made soccer shoes, my moto rides in to Kara…etc). I didn’t give him any money afterwards on principle, but holy buckets was it tough. I haven’t bought anything here out of the want to be extravagant and in fact everything that I have purchased has had a very specific use. And it is not that I have forgotten the very favorable exchange rate here, but my few expenditures here is the equivalent a small fortune to the people here. Crazy
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Snail Mail
I have two of the most wonderful grandmother’s in the world. Both very different and very similar at the same time. Two packages were sent out at roughly the same time a few weeks ago. The first one arrived a few days ago with a boatload of sports articles, magazines, Christmas candy, a stocking, some window stick ‘ems, old family photos, and a harmonica of all things. The other one has probably arrived to wherever it was going in South Africa. The postal worker keyed in the wrong code and my box is now a half a continent away. Looks like I will be getting a nice surprise package for my birthday by the time they forward that thing up here.
Ok this is getting to be a bit rediculous
When I first started teaching at the school here I thought that there might be a slight disconnect between my teaching style and that of the former English teacher (who is still teaching the two classes that Colin and I are not). Well there is a huge disconnect. And it’s not just with him. The often absent director is in on the disconnect as well. Considering that the English teacher kisses the ass of the director daily, this makes for a rather powerful combo that is not very open to new ideas.
I’ll start more or less from the beginning. I knew about the French grading system coming into this year and adjusted accordingly. For those of you who don’t know, the French grade out of 20 and a perfect score is a 14, that’s almost a failing grade in the US. Colin, had some trouble with this. But within the first few weeks of the school year, he asked the director for some help in figuring it all out. The response was “oh yes of course, we can go over it, but not right now. I am busy.” About two months go by with a few reminders, but nothing ever happens. It wasn’t until after Colin turned in his class exam scores for the second testing period that anything was done to “help” him. Over half of Colin’s class had a 17, 18, or a 19 (graded on the American scale, because there was no help). Oh no no no, “the exam was too easy, you need to make it harder. You need to try and trick the children.” (That is a direct quote) The director finally did something, he responded by giving the other English teacher permission to give Colin’s class a pop exam, without telling Colin. Not only that, but Colin found out about it from his students. BIG MISTAKE. He went off on the director, politely, and almost strangled the 6’6” linebacker of an English teacher who thinks that Nowledge can only come with age (more on that later). But the exam was covering Unit 1 and 2, concepts that they haven’t covered for over a month as seeing that they were working on Unit 4. Strike 1 for the school.
The next round of testing, Colin and I both showed our exams (pre-exam time) to the director for his approval, which we had done for all of our previous exams. And we got the approval from him like he had given for all of the previous exams. I now realize that content means nothing and that all that anyone cares about is the format. You have to follow the format. Trick the children? How about trick the school, I could write anything I wanted on that exam, I could throw in some football scores, a couple of pick up lines, and maybe even a few things about my experience here and they wouldn’t notice, so long as it follows the format.
Well, Colin graded this round of exams and was asked by the LB if he could look over the scores. I guess “look over” means re-grade here. He handed them back saying that they were all finished, new grades and comments. Nope, Strike 2.
I have only just recently put together the fact that I have not been approached by anyone or anything because, 1) I was right and I do scare people – my personality fends off any potential miniscule or moderate conflict, 2) I am turning in grades according to the system, and 3) Money. What a shitty realization to come to. For the first one, if people are afraid to approach me about something they need to grow a pair. If anything they should realize that I am more wiling to learn than to teach and am always open for new ideas. Second, yes I know how to grade in the French system. You keep grading and finding miniscule things to take off from the overall score until you get an accurate representation of the class. Basically scale down the American system until you have everyone below 14/20. At least then on paper, I am right on track with all of the other previous 5e English classes. Third, the school needs help. I realize that and am trying to help financially and have asked many of you to do the same. The aid will benefit the school and help the students. But I am certain now more than ever that I will be overseeing every purchase. And everything will have an immediate effect. The director said that the school needs new books. Well Sherlock the books aren’t going to do any good sitting in your office as seeing that you took them away from all of the students who haven’t and presently can’t pay! Well they can’t or haven’t paid. Yes that is a problem, especially in the 3rd world in the countryside. FIGURE OUT A SOLUTION, it’s your freaking job! Taking the books is doing nothing more that making the teacher’s (mine and Colin’s especially) much more difficult, and you are reducing the quality of a private education hurting both the students and the name of the school. They could be getting the same quality, bookless education at a public school at a fraction of the cost.
Time for the big one, talking behind people’s backs. The other night I got into a moral/philosophical debate with some of the monks about what to do if a drunk man and his friend come to the monastery kitchen (which sells beer) and asks to buy a few drinks. Obviously there are two sides to this one, I and the more aged monk took the sure why not stance, and the other side was taken by none other than the LB and some rando from Nigeria who is (literally) as dumb as a rock. There are pros and cons to both sides that went along with a certain language barrier. The conversation fluxuated between 3 languages and the LB is only very skilled in the one that I don’t speak.
He got so frustrated with the conversation and the language barrier that at one point he made it personal. He told me that he was my superior in age and thus he was more intelligent (he must have forgotten the older monk who was arguing against him as well). He also said that I need to be educated. Along with that he said that I need to act more professionally around my students and that there are a lot of people who talk behind my back about how I walk around aimlessly and talk aimlessly around the village. Gloves came off…in my head. Immediately after that I looked at him and his massif head that probably wouldn’t fit into a helmet and walked away fuming. I found Colin. Here we go are you ready for this…
1 Age does not equal education, experience equals education (most of the time) and naturally more aged people have more experiences and thus are generally more sage. A 33 year-old LB from Ghana couldn’t come close to the amount of pure experiences I have had outside and inside the classroom, in his lifetime.
2 I am not the one who can’t speak French or English with proper grammar. The entire conversation I spoke French and he told me not to disgrace myself by doing so. The only problem with that is that he doesn’t speak American English and his vocabulary is considerably smaller than mine (not boasting, but simple living doesn’t require extensive vocabulary) Besides having a great vocabulary didn’t help the Thesaurus from avoiding extinction, extirpation, eradication… Going back, he has spent his entire life in Ghana and Togo and speaks French at the level of a child. He can’t even completely follow along in the French mass.
3. Aimlessly? Are you kidding? Have you or any of the others talking about me been with me when I visit my students or other villagers? I can’t definitely say that there was a purpose all of the time, sometimes I walk just to get away, but all of it falls into the realm of curiosity. I wasn’t born in Africa, I haven’t been here before, I know nothing about life here, I know nothing about the hardships of living in a semi-polygamous society where families need to be large in order to work the fields in the countryside’s. I have read about this stuff in books, not experienced it. So yes, sir, you’re damn right that I need to be educated in that sense, don’t spin it on me and call me a wondering fool with no aim or purpose.
What the LB said wasn’t so much a bother to me as the fact that he said it. I knew for the most part that there were some who were curious as to where I am all of the time, but the fact that they talk about it in a negative light without even asking for an explanation pisses me off. And part of it is the fact that the some of the teachers (director included) don’t respect the fact that Colin and I come from a completely different world. The are also jealous that I prefer to spend my time with my students as opposed to sit under a mango tree and get asked for money or make jokes about other people. Sorry dudes, that doesn’t interest me. And the one thing that I am afraid of is that these other teachers will take out their dislike for me on my students. That happens and Boniface is getting a call ASAP.
Time for Strike 3. I showed up to class a minute after the whistle, nothing major considering that most teachers have missed entire classes or show up in the middle of a period. Well the director was there holding one of my student’s notebooks. With a sentence from it written on the board. “He start school in 1928.” He then handed the book to me and started forcefully saying to me that this notebook was full of huge mistakes. I stood there and let him rant while thinking two things “tic-tac and good morning to you too.” It wasn’t until he left that I actually looked through the notebooks of all of my students wondering why I needed to check them. They take notes in their notebooks in my class; there homework is handed in to me separate from the notebooks as is traditional in the US grade schools. The only single part that he read was the first page from the first day of class when I had them work in their notebooks. I hade to see what level of English I was dealing with. The review of the previous book, taught by LB the year before, was a good place to start. The couldn’t do the first exercise dealing with present v. past tense verbs in simple sentences (as the sentence above shows). I found this out by walking around and seen all of the mistakes. Instead of correcting every single sentence in every workbook, I decided to start from square one. Why explain the answers if they don’t know how to get them. I created a box on the board and began to teach the past tense of verbs and how to create the words. IF the director had bothered to read a line down from the first exercise in the book he would have seen that I was in need of reteaching something that the book they are using (errr is sitting in the director’s office) assumed that they had learned something when they clearly did not. So no shit Sherlock, these kids need to be taught and their notebooks need to be checked, when and where the teacher decides. I realize the panic that must have struck him when he read that, but look beyond the surface, give the white kid a little credit and not because he is trying to help with financial aid for the school.
With all of that, Colin has decided to leave. He has the love of his life back home and prolonging the suffering of being away from each other for the purpose of teaching in a place where his ideas and styles are not wanted and where his questions only necessitate a “we’ll work on it later” response, he is finished. I have a great deal of respect for that.
And I will make sure that nothing negative is said about him here. If there is, I am out. I am committed to staying here and if anything is keeping me here it is the kids and the relationships I have with them. But I am not and will not work against a system that doesn’t want and not only that but takes destructive social measures against me. I can do it with a partner, but not solo. Not in this environment, not with my current surroundings, and not with a 6’6” LB breathing down my neck because he thinks that his way of teaching automated responses in the children is better than the “less educated” and aimless nomad of a white person.
I’ll start more or less from the beginning. I knew about the French grading system coming into this year and adjusted accordingly. For those of you who don’t know, the French grade out of 20 and a perfect score is a 14, that’s almost a failing grade in the US. Colin, had some trouble with this. But within the first few weeks of the school year, he asked the director for some help in figuring it all out. The response was “oh yes of course, we can go over it, but not right now. I am busy.” About two months go by with a few reminders, but nothing ever happens. It wasn’t until after Colin turned in his class exam scores for the second testing period that anything was done to “help” him. Over half of Colin’s class had a 17, 18, or a 19 (graded on the American scale, because there was no help). Oh no no no, “the exam was too easy, you need to make it harder. You need to try and trick the children.” (That is a direct quote) The director finally did something, he responded by giving the other English teacher permission to give Colin’s class a pop exam, without telling Colin. Not only that, but Colin found out about it from his students. BIG MISTAKE. He went off on the director, politely, and almost strangled the 6’6” linebacker of an English teacher who thinks that Nowledge can only come with age (more on that later). But the exam was covering Unit 1 and 2, concepts that they haven’t covered for over a month as seeing that they were working on Unit 4. Strike 1 for the school.
The next round of testing, Colin and I both showed our exams (pre-exam time) to the director for his approval, which we had done for all of our previous exams. And we got the approval from him like he had given for all of the previous exams. I now realize that content means nothing and that all that anyone cares about is the format. You have to follow the format. Trick the children? How about trick the school, I could write anything I wanted on that exam, I could throw in some football scores, a couple of pick up lines, and maybe even a few things about my experience here and they wouldn’t notice, so long as it follows the format.
Well, Colin graded this round of exams and was asked by the LB if he could look over the scores. I guess “look over” means re-grade here. He handed them back saying that they were all finished, new grades and comments. Nope, Strike 2.
I have only just recently put together the fact that I have not been approached by anyone or anything because, 1) I was right and I do scare people – my personality fends off any potential miniscule or moderate conflict, 2) I am turning in grades according to the system, and 3) Money. What a shitty realization to come to. For the first one, if people are afraid to approach me about something they need to grow a pair. If anything they should realize that I am more wiling to learn than to teach and am always open for new ideas. Second, yes I know how to grade in the French system. You keep grading and finding miniscule things to take off from the overall score until you get an accurate representation of the class. Basically scale down the American system until you have everyone below 14/20. At least then on paper, I am right on track with all of the other previous 5e English classes. Third, the school needs help. I realize that and am trying to help financially and have asked many of you to do the same. The aid will benefit the school and help the students. But I am certain now more than ever that I will be overseeing every purchase. And everything will have an immediate effect. The director said that the school needs new books. Well Sherlock the books aren’t going to do any good sitting in your office as seeing that you took them away from all of the students who haven’t and presently can’t pay! Well they can’t or haven’t paid. Yes that is a problem, especially in the 3rd world in the countryside. FIGURE OUT A SOLUTION, it’s your freaking job! Taking the books is doing nothing more that making the teacher’s (mine and Colin’s especially) much more difficult, and you are reducing the quality of a private education hurting both the students and the name of the school. They could be getting the same quality, bookless education at a public school at a fraction of the cost.
Time for the big one, talking behind people’s backs. The other night I got into a moral/philosophical debate with some of the monks about what to do if a drunk man and his friend come to the monastery kitchen (which sells beer) and asks to buy a few drinks. Obviously there are two sides to this one, I and the more aged monk took the sure why not stance, and the other side was taken by none other than the LB and some rando from Nigeria who is (literally) as dumb as a rock. There are pros and cons to both sides that went along with a certain language barrier. The conversation fluxuated between 3 languages and the LB is only very skilled in the one that I don’t speak.
He got so frustrated with the conversation and the language barrier that at one point he made it personal. He told me that he was my superior in age and thus he was more intelligent (he must have forgotten the older monk who was arguing against him as well). He also said that I need to be educated. Along with that he said that I need to act more professionally around my students and that there are a lot of people who talk behind my back about how I walk around aimlessly and talk aimlessly around the village. Gloves came off…in my head. Immediately after that I looked at him and his massif head that probably wouldn’t fit into a helmet and walked away fuming. I found Colin. Here we go are you ready for this…
1 Age does not equal education, experience equals education (most of the time) and naturally more aged people have more experiences and thus are generally more sage. A 33 year-old LB from Ghana couldn’t come close to the amount of pure experiences I have had outside and inside the classroom, in his lifetime.
2 I am not the one who can’t speak French or English with proper grammar. The entire conversation I spoke French and he told me not to disgrace myself by doing so. The only problem with that is that he doesn’t speak American English and his vocabulary is considerably smaller than mine (not boasting, but simple living doesn’t require extensive vocabulary) Besides having a great vocabulary didn’t help the Thesaurus from avoiding extinction, extirpation, eradication… Going back, he has spent his entire life in Ghana and Togo and speaks French at the level of a child. He can’t even completely follow along in the French mass.
3. Aimlessly? Are you kidding? Have you or any of the others talking about me been with me when I visit my students or other villagers? I can’t definitely say that there was a purpose all of the time, sometimes I walk just to get away, but all of it falls into the realm of curiosity. I wasn’t born in Africa, I haven’t been here before, I know nothing about life here, I know nothing about the hardships of living in a semi-polygamous society where families need to be large in order to work the fields in the countryside’s. I have read about this stuff in books, not experienced it. So yes, sir, you’re damn right that I need to be educated in that sense, don’t spin it on me and call me a wondering fool with no aim or purpose.
What the LB said wasn’t so much a bother to me as the fact that he said it. I knew for the most part that there were some who were curious as to where I am all of the time, but the fact that they talk about it in a negative light without even asking for an explanation pisses me off. And part of it is the fact that the some of the teachers (director included) don’t respect the fact that Colin and I come from a completely different world. The are also jealous that I prefer to spend my time with my students as opposed to sit under a mango tree and get asked for money or make jokes about other people. Sorry dudes, that doesn’t interest me. And the one thing that I am afraid of is that these other teachers will take out their dislike for me on my students. That happens and Boniface is getting a call ASAP.
Time for Strike 3. I showed up to class a minute after the whistle, nothing major considering that most teachers have missed entire classes or show up in the middle of a period. Well the director was there holding one of my student’s notebooks. With a sentence from it written on the board. “He start school in 1928.” He then handed the book to me and started forcefully saying to me that this notebook was full of huge mistakes. I stood there and let him rant while thinking two things “tic-tac and good morning to you too.” It wasn’t until he left that I actually looked through the notebooks of all of my students wondering why I needed to check them. They take notes in their notebooks in my class; there homework is handed in to me separate from the notebooks as is traditional in the US grade schools. The only single part that he read was the first page from the first day of class when I had them work in their notebooks. I hade to see what level of English I was dealing with. The review of the previous book, taught by LB the year before, was a good place to start. The couldn’t do the first exercise dealing with present v. past tense verbs in simple sentences (as the sentence above shows). I found this out by walking around and seen all of the mistakes. Instead of correcting every single sentence in every workbook, I decided to start from square one. Why explain the answers if they don’t know how to get them. I created a box on the board and began to teach the past tense of verbs and how to create the words. IF the director had bothered to read a line down from the first exercise in the book he would have seen that I was in need of reteaching something that the book they are using (errr is sitting in the director’s office) assumed that they had learned something when they clearly did not. So no shit Sherlock, these kids need to be taught and their notebooks need to be checked, when and where the teacher decides. I realize the panic that must have struck him when he read that, but look beyond the surface, give the white kid a little credit and not because he is trying to help with financial aid for the school.
With all of that, Colin has decided to leave. He has the love of his life back home and prolonging the suffering of being away from each other for the purpose of teaching in a place where his ideas and styles are not wanted and where his questions only necessitate a “we’ll work on it later” response, he is finished. I have a great deal of respect for that.
And I will make sure that nothing negative is said about him here. If there is, I am out. I am committed to staying here and if anything is keeping me here it is the kids and the relationships I have with them. But I am not and will not work against a system that doesn’t want and not only that but takes destructive social measures against me. I can do it with a partner, but not solo. Not in this environment, not with my current surroundings, and not with a 6’6” LB breathing down my neck because he thinks that his way of teaching automated responses in the children is better than the “less educated” and aimless nomad of a white person.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Silly Words
I have come to the realization that the English language has some really messed up words. Not that it matters too much when I speak, but teaching the American pronunciation is rather difficult yet very entertaining. Words like “sword” and just about any word that begins with the letter “r” are completely rrrrrrrediculous. Maybe it is just being in front of classroom of kids who have lost the ability to make a true “r” sound as we know it, but I even feel slightly absurd repeating the word and catching myself make a weird shape with my mouth to produce the sound. And almost every time it happens everyone including me breaks up in laughter because they can’t make the sound and everyone looks like they’re going through lips stretching exercises. Something that is helping me with this is the fact that in West African English, r’s are rolled; don’t be surprised if I come back and rice sounds more like (roll the “r” in rice, I can’t write the word phonetically-it’s beyond my current skill set).
And yes it is possible to lose the ability to make certain sounds. During the babbling stage for babies, their set of makeable sounds is shaped based on the things that it hears. Ha, it – he or she. The baby then attempts to reproduce those sounds and is reinforced by the huge-faced creatures starring he or she in the eyes grabbing it by the cheeks and giving compliments or repeating a certain word until the cows come home, or the baby itself says the word – whichever happens first. It works kind of like a mouthgaurd. Starts out able to fit any mouth (all sounds), but then is shaped into something that only one person (one phonetical language) can use. Sometimes, depending on the quality (of the teacher), it can be remolded if the need arises (ie braces). But in this instance some of the finer-tuned adjustments can be lost (i.e. particular sounds that aren’t reproduced often).
And yes it is possible to lose the ability to make certain sounds. During the babbling stage for babies, their set of makeable sounds is shaped based on the things that it hears. Ha, it – he or she. The baby then attempts to reproduce those sounds and is reinforced by the huge-faced creatures starring he or she in the eyes grabbing it by the cheeks and giving compliments or repeating a certain word until the cows come home, or the baby itself says the word – whichever happens first. It works kind of like a mouthgaurd. Starts out able to fit any mouth (all sounds), but then is shaped into something that only one person (one phonetical language) can use. Sometimes, depending on the quality (of the teacher), it can be remolded if the need arises (ie braces). But in this instance some of the finer-tuned adjustments can be lost (i.e. particular sounds that aren’t reproduced often).
The Fires of Winter
The entire country is ablaze – one giant holocaust. With the cool, dry winds out of the Sahara comes the snowless and rainless winter. The fields are now full of stripped cornstalks. The countryside that was once dancing before my eyes in the wind is now lifeless and bare. There is no utility for anything left in the fields and wasting valuable time and energy in the blistering sun to clean the fields is for lack of a better word, pointless. That means, that in a country where machines that do the farming for you is about as silly as dancing for rain, the only thing to do is spark a fire. It is fast and it is efficient. It is also extremely dangerous to roofs made of straw. Smokey the Bear would have a hay day here. I think the Togolese people might see the other side of him, the one that mauls unintelligent campers who don’t completely put out the ashes.
My last trip to Kara left me with a very crisp image of an entire mountainside painted with a brilliant reddish-orange against a black, obscure sky. I was told that the fires would last until January when the scorched earth would be left smoldering in the equatorial sun. And while the dust and ash that permeates the air stirs up the allergies and cakes to sweating skin, it does create some of the most amazing sunsets that I have ever seen (pictures to come).
My last trip to Kara left me with a very crisp image of an entire mountainside painted with a brilliant reddish-orange against a black, obscure sky. I was told that the fires would last until January when the scorched earth would be left smoldering in the equatorial sun. And while the dust and ash that permeates the air stirs up the allergies and cakes to sweating skin, it does create some of the most amazing sunsets that I have ever seen (pictures to come).
The Small Things
This is the official one-week anniversary of not being sick! For just over a month and a half I was not able to go a full week without coming down with something, but I have broken through!
Also the other day when I was in Kara, I saw on the news that the temperature was a cool 37¬º. I didn’t think too much of it at the time considering I had forgotten the conversion rate between Celsius and Fahrenheit. I actually caught myself thinking, “God I wish it was 37º (the F version)” Well, I found out that my phone has a nice little automated conversion dealio. I wish I had never found it. 37º C = 98.6º F. That is an average temperature for their “winter.” FML. In March, the temp is supposed to get upwards of 45ºC = a cool 113ºF. I can’t wait.
On that note, I am becoming very tan. And I have no doubt that after suffering through the Togolese winter and summer; I will be darn near black. That is especially so when compared to everyone back home who will be a nice pasty-white – reminiscent of PWG1 & PWG 2 after the coldstayinsidedontgetsunlight winter.
Oh yes, and since we are on the topic…add frog to the wonderful world of things that Greg has eaten. Apparently Togolese don’t have the same sentimental value for Kermit as anyone who grew up with the Muppets does.
Also the other day when I was in Kara, I saw on the news that the temperature was a cool 37¬º. I didn’t think too much of it at the time considering I had forgotten the conversion rate between Celsius and Fahrenheit. I actually caught myself thinking, “God I wish it was 37º (the F version)” Well, I found out that my phone has a nice little automated conversion dealio. I wish I had never found it. 37º C = 98.6º F. That is an average temperature for their “winter.” FML. In March, the temp is supposed to get upwards of 45ºC = a cool 113ºF. I can’t wait.
On that note, I am becoming very tan. And I have no doubt that after suffering through the Togolese winter and summer; I will be darn near black. That is especially so when compared to everyone back home who will be a nice pasty-white – reminiscent of PWG1 & PWG 2 after the coldstayinsidedontgetsunlight winter.
Oh yes, and since we are on the topic…add frog to the wonderful world of things that Greg has eaten. Apparently Togolese don’t have the same sentimental value for Kermit as anyone who grew up with the Muppets does.
New Power
So I guess the monks finally got tired of not having a legit power source, luck me! The new generator was delivered yesterday. Unlike the previous generator, which was bought/rented solely for the Jubilee, this one is actually meant to power an entire complex. And barring any complications, I should have power and running water for the remainder of my stay (fingers crossed).
That is especially good news for my new part time work as a gardener. I decided to pick up where I left off up at school, except this time I am working with food, not flowers. And the work isn’t decided by some overpaid college president who thinks that men should be kept in a cave and brought out for breading. Not a fan. Anywho, I mostly just carry buckets of water for watering. But, I have started constructing a compost to create a renewable source of nutrient rich soil and I have plans in the works a green bean trellis.
That is especially good news for my new part time work as a gardener. I decided to pick up where I left off up at school, except this time I am working with food, not flowers. And the work isn’t decided by some overpaid college president who thinks that men should be kept in a cave and brought out for breading. Not a fan. Anywho, I mostly just carry buckets of water for watering. But, I have started constructing a compost to create a renewable source of nutrient rich soil and I have plans in the works a green bean trellis.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Finding Me
It’s a good song by Vertical Horizon. It’s also a hot topic around the monastery.
So apparently there has been some hush hush chatter in the monastery about the ninja-likeness (Eric I can’t believe I used that word, and I will punish you accordingly when I get home for ever putting it into my vocabulary) with which I move around. Yes, believe it or not most of the time there are very few people, if any, who know where I am. And if they do, the knowledge is only good for a short period of time. For the most part it’s rather harmless as seeing that I am usually at visiting students, photographing, drinking Tchuc with the locals, or wondering around. Not that it’s was a bad thing last week when people noticed that Colin and I weren’t at 3 consecutive meals, but spontaneity is my middle name, right behind danger, stupid, lucky, jump before you look, pissin’ in the wind, ninja (double that punishment Eric), and invincible.
It’s not to hard to see how this came about either considering the do first and play ignorant/apologize later mentality that has been grilled into me by life and SJU in particular. And if none call me out on it, I keep on truckin’. This philosophy works really well (or poorly) in the do anything at all costs to avoid a negative confrontation with Greg society. And I am not trying to be self-appreciating here; even the top guys put on a front in front of me (hehe). I get to hear about everything from Colin who gets the still very non-confrontational talks from the monks who hint at the inner workings of the monastery. I think I scare people.
But seriously, there is no way in hell that someone is going to be able to keep tabs on me. I can’t even do that! If I had to let someone know where I was going all of the time, I wouldn’t make it anywhere. To use another song (what have you learned – carbon leaf) “you’re like a butterfly on a windy day, you use directions in round’about ways.” The scenic route is my short cut and gets me where I am going every time. But I do now have monks asking me a plethora of questions whenever I look like I am going somewhere; that’s about as close to keeping up with someone who doesn’t ever really know where he is going as they are going to get unless they are right there with me (which is where some of the monks find themselves occasionally).
So apparently there has been some hush hush chatter in the monastery about the ninja-likeness (Eric I can’t believe I used that word, and I will punish you accordingly when I get home for ever putting it into my vocabulary) with which I move around. Yes, believe it or not most of the time there are very few people, if any, who know where I am. And if they do, the knowledge is only good for a short period of time. For the most part it’s rather harmless as seeing that I am usually at visiting students, photographing, drinking Tchuc with the locals, or wondering around. Not that it’s was a bad thing last week when people noticed that Colin and I weren’t at 3 consecutive meals, but spontaneity is my middle name, right behind danger, stupid, lucky, jump before you look, pissin’ in the wind, ninja (double that punishment Eric), and invincible.
It’s not to hard to see how this came about either considering the do first and play ignorant/apologize later mentality that has been grilled into me by life and SJU in particular. And if none call me out on it, I keep on truckin’. This philosophy works really well (or poorly) in the do anything at all costs to avoid a negative confrontation with Greg society. And I am not trying to be self-appreciating here; even the top guys put on a front in front of me (hehe). I get to hear about everything from Colin who gets the still very non-confrontational talks from the monks who hint at the inner workings of the monastery. I think I scare people.
But seriously, there is no way in hell that someone is going to be able to keep tabs on me. I can’t even do that! If I had to let someone know where I was going all of the time, I wouldn’t make it anywhere. To use another song (what have you learned – carbon leaf) “you’re like a butterfly on a windy day, you use directions in round’about ways.” The scenic route is my short cut and gets me where I am going every time. But I do now have monks asking me a plethora of questions whenever I look like I am going somewhere; that’s about as close to keeping up with someone who doesn’t ever really know where he is going as they are going to get unless they are right there with me (which is where some of the monks find themselves occasionally).
One of those things…
So the picture of my Husker flag and I got tagged on facebook under the BVC site. It’s a good picture and I am glad that it got put up there, because it saved me a little bit of time in uploading it. However someone commented on it (among the “boo Nebraska – Yay Greg” posts from disgruntled Iowa fans) saying (rather lengthily) how great it was that there someone is bringing the light of Christ to the corners of the globe. Not that I am not a missionary of sorts (the closest thing that I do to missionary work is draw attention to the fact that I am a white teacher at a private school run by a monastery – hardly the same thing as walking around with a bible converting people. In fact I think I would be a terrible “traditional missionary” given my laissez-faire attitude towards cultures – I am more interested in learning about other ways of life than trying to change the way they do it. Learning and helping out where I can is as much if not more than teaching; the monks can do the converting), but for Pete’s sake it’s a football picture! The only thing religious about it is the fact that I am supporting my team and spreading the light of my other god (Tom Osborne) whom I worship on the true Sabbath (Saturday) in my temple (Memorial Stadium) that was taught in by my other savior (Tommy Frazier), was blessed by the other Holy Trinity (check the offensive backfield of the 1983-1984 team), where the sign of peace only takes one finger and the Hail Mary is more of a weak side Triple Option out of the Power I. I am from Nebraska and I bleed Husker Red. Leave the missionary stuff out of my football. In any case the family is Muslim so the light of Christ point is moot.
°Just so that the random reader knows that I am not completely blaspheming, the true Sabbath is Saturday (check your Bible), there are no “temples” for Roman Catholics, T.O. is the god of stoicism and class, only once has there been three players from the same team finish in the top four of the Heisman vote, the sign of peace is exchanged after every lead taking/building point, and as for the savior and the Hail Mary – if you don’t know anything about Husker football in the ‘90s, I won’t be able to explain the significance of these two and there is no hope for you.
°Just so that the random reader knows that I am not completely blaspheming, the true Sabbath is Saturday (check your Bible), there are no “temples” for Roman Catholics, T.O. is the god of stoicism and class, only once has there been three players from the same team finish in the top four of the Heisman vote, the sign of peace is exchanged after every lead taking/building point, and as for the savior and the Hail Mary – if you don’t know anything about Husker football in the ‘90s, I won’t be able to explain the significance of these two and there is no hope for you.
GBR
Oklahoma V Nebraska – no better way to end the BIG XII. Oops, excuse me. Oklahoma V Nebraska for the BIG XII Championship with the knowledge that everyone in Austin will be watching the game from the basement of the Big 12 knowing that they won’t get to put on the burnt orange until NExt September! F U Texas, who ya gonna hook now?
And Boise St. blew the one chance they had at cake-walking into a national championship. That’s too bad, have fun getting relegated to the Humanitarian Bowl. I’ll be sure to tell Gary Patterson down at TCU to send you some roses.
And I would like to correct something that I wrote in a previous post. Boise St. is not going to play with the beach boys next year in the PAC 10 as I had initially thought. They are moving the Mountain West, which is now lacking the Mountain aspect. That is the three teams that traditionally make the conference, TCU, BYU, & Utah, are all leaving. While TCU in the Big East doesn’t exactly ring, it was a smart move. And Boise now looks like they are jumping one substandard conference to another where they can continuously pound opponents into the ground and boast about how good they are. But, and this is a big but, at least they won’t have a national championship under their belt when they do it.
It was a good night and I am happy. I got to talk to my brother, who is pressing me for photos of a monkey that I haven’t yet bought. And I got the football scores from traditionally one of the best weekends in college football. And I ate dog, again… Rocky forgive me, but it was delicious.
And Boise St. blew the one chance they had at cake-walking into a national championship. That’s too bad, have fun getting relegated to the Humanitarian Bowl. I’ll be sure to tell Gary Patterson down at TCU to send you some roses.
And I would like to correct something that I wrote in a previous post. Boise St. is not going to play with the beach boys next year in the PAC 10 as I had initially thought. They are moving the Mountain West, which is now lacking the Mountain aspect. That is the three teams that traditionally make the conference, TCU, BYU, & Utah, are all leaving. While TCU in the Big East doesn’t exactly ring, it was a smart move. And Boise now looks like they are jumping one substandard conference to another where they can continuously pound opponents into the ground and boast about how good they are. But, and this is a big but, at least they won’t have a national championship under their belt when they do it.
It was a good night and I am happy. I got to talk to my brother, who is pressing me for photos of a monkey that I haven’t yet bought. And I got the football scores from traditionally one of the best weekends in college football. And I ate dog, again… Rocky forgive me, but it was delicious.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Togolese Thanksgiving
The unofficial official date of Thanksgiving in Togo is the first Saturday after the 25th of November. As I said, Colin and I moved our celebration back a few days due to among other things being under the weather and poor planning. But we had it today and it was great!
We told Johanas (the monk who was helping us get the supplies) that we wanted to do most of the work since it was our holiday, he happily obliged. Step one, aside from paying roughly $16 for three chickens and $6 for a bucket of Tchuc, was to kill the chickens. It was kind of amusing at first watching a 6’5” built (this guy could be a linebacker) monk round up the squawking chickens, but then he finally did and we had to get down to business. He didn’t let us do the execution this time, but I was fine watching this one. I am not exactly use to watching the turkey get slaughtered, just the golden brown body coming out of the oven when its eating time. So yeah, rusty knife sharpened on a concrete slab, one little cut across the throat, grab the head and pull it back a little to open the mortal wound, toss it in the air and watch the show! These things just kinda bounced around like popcorn, flapping their wings and squawking occasionally. I get the saying now.
After the show was over, we plucked ‘em clean, dissected them with a machete washed the pieces in water and threw them into a pot. We added a few spices and random other things, I am keeping the recipe a secret, and voila – delicious fufu sauce.
Before the meal, Johannas explained to everyone (sadly only 12 people as most of the monks were either in Kara or Lomé) why it was a special day for Colin and I. And then the feast started. In honor of the one day where I eat more than I should, I ate more than I should have. I hobbled my way back to room and laid down for a nice little snooze. It hurt to move and even breath I was so full. After the most painful rest of my life, I got up and went for a little stroll in the evening sun and returned just in time for dinner. Thankfully I didn’t feel the need to eat quite as much as I did earlier, but in honor of eating Turkey Day leftovers (we made so much food that there was enough to feed everyone a second time) I still ate more than I should have. There was also enough Tchuc for 2nd and 3rd rounds. It was fun at the time relaxing and talking and drinking, but oh man did I pay for it on Sunday. Minus the huge mess and random sleepoverers that I generally woke up to, I felt like I was back in college - hangover and all.
We told Johanas (the monk who was helping us get the supplies) that we wanted to do most of the work since it was our holiday, he happily obliged. Step one, aside from paying roughly $16 for three chickens and $6 for a bucket of Tchuc, was to kill the chickens. It was kind of amusing at first watching a 6’5” built (this guy could be a linebacker) monk round up the squawking chickens, but then he finally did and we had to get down to business. He didn’t let us do the execution this time, but I was fine watching this one. I am not exactly use to watching the turkey get slaughtered, just the golden brown body coming out of the oven when its eating time. So yeah, rusty knife sharpened on a concrete slab, one little cut across the throat, grab the head and pull it back a little to open the mortal wound, toss it in the air and watch the show! These things just kinda bounced around like popcorn, flapping their wings and squawking occasionally. I get the saying now.
After the show was over, we plucked ‘em clean, dissected them with a machete washed the pieces in water and threw them into a pot. We added a few spices and random other things, I am keeping the recipe a secret, and voila – delicious fufu sauce.
Before the meal, Johannas explained to everyone (sadly only 12 people as most of the monks were either in Kara or Lomé) why it was a special day for Colin and I. And then the feast started. In honor of the one day where I eat more than I should, I ate more than I should have. I hobbled my way back to room and laid down for a nice little snooze. It hurt to move and even breath I was so full. After the most painful rest of my life, I got up and went for a little stroll in the evening sun and returned just in time for dinner. Thankfully I didn’t feel the need to eat quite as much as I did earlier, but in honor of eating Turkey Day leftovers (we made so much food that there was enough to feed everyone a second time) I still ate more than I should have. There was also enough Tchuc for 2nd and 3rd rounds. It was fun at the time relaxing and talking and drinking, but oh man did I pay for it on Sunday. Minus the huge mess and random sleepoverers that I generally woke up to, I felt like I was back in college - hangover and all.
3 Months
So it’s been three months since I landed in Lomé; bright eyed and ready to take on the continent that has not yet been tamed. So far I have eaten rat, chicken, pintade, sheep, dog, fish, goat, snail, and countless fruits and other strange things. I have been sick four times totaling 12 days using roughly 16 rolls of TP (entire stay). I have participated in 2 traditional dances and seen 4 in all. I can speak conversational French fluently and can greet/say goodbye/say feed me I am hungry or I am thirsty and would like some Tchuc in Kabiy. I have knocked heads with a few people, but have made exponentially more friends. I have been proposed to, offered to be given a girl, offered to use someone’s bedroom if I ever found a girl that I wanted to sleep with, offered to have a girl snuck into the monastery at night, offered just about anything you can imagine dealing with girls and marriage (and I censored this section). Oooh this one I am especially proud of, but I can single out and wiggle my big toe! There is a lot of down time here. I have almost doubled my lifetime exposure count to roughly 2500 – thank God for digital cameras….and I am not even halfway through my time here. It’s gonna be a wild ride.
One of those days…
Sick again. This is fun. I don’t even know what caused it this time, I haven’t eaten anything that strange lately. Kinda sucks that it had to happen on Thanksgiving Day too. No eating monkey today like I had planned. But, Colin and I decided that we would celebrate on Saturday in hopes that I will be back up and running by then. We are planning to make Fufu and buy Tchuc for the monastery as our way of celebrating. It’ll be about as feasty as things get here.
AHHHHHHHHH, this is so frustrating! I don’t mind so much being sick anymore, I have come to more or less expect it. It is the down time that’s the killer part. Partially there isn’t much energy to do anything because food doesn’t stay in my system long enough to get any real nutrition out of it. And there isn’t much to do with the little energy I have. I went on two walks, taught an absolutely lifeless class (which I felt bad about because there is a school-lwide English exam tomorrow), and spent a majority of the day lying in bed…thinking. That’s where I get into trouble. At least on the solitary walks I can get distracted by a butterfly or an interesting photo composition in front of me. But lying in bed, my mind wanders. It doesn’t have anything to occupy it and fill the visual void, so it either imagines or remembers. It did more of the latter today. Generally, I don’t mind trips down memory lane; I rather enjoy them. But not today. Not on the family holiday where everyone but me is together celebrating being together.
I couldn’t help but think about what I would be doing right now (drawing on past memories) if I were at home, even if I was sick. Instead of lying under a mosquito net listening to my body yell and scream at me, I would be sitting on a comfy couch with my feet kicked up watching football while dozing in and out of the tiredness from the overly filling meal around a table of family members. Reminiscing about past Turkey Days I stumbled upon a memory that actually has nothing to do with Turkey Day, but the last time I was bestruck by an unfortunate and untimely trip to the hospital. It actually brought me to laughter as I remembered sitting in the ER constantly asking about the score of a hockey game that I was missing. The real kicker was when I had to go to take a piss and the male nurse handed me something that resembled a milk carton and said to holler if I needed anything else. I would have hollered but I don’t think he could have helped me find my dignity after I almost filled a 1.5 liter container.
AHHHHHHHHH, this is so frustrating! I don’t mind so much being sick anymore, I have come to more or less expect it. It is the down time that’s the killer part. Partially there isn’t much energy to do anything because food doesn’t stay in my system long enough to get any real nutrition out of it. And there isn’t much to do with the little energy I have. I went on two walks, taught an absolutely lifeless class (which I felt bad about because there is a school-lwide English exam tomorrow), and spent a majority of the day lying in bed…thinking. That’s where I get into trouble. At least on the solitary walks I can get distracted by a butterfly or an interesting photo composition in front of me. But lying in bed, my mind wanders. It doesn’t have anything to occupy it and fill the visual void, so it either imagines or remembers. It did more of the latter today. Generally, I don’t mind trips down memory lane; I rather enjoy them. But not today. Not on the family holiday where everyone but me is together celebrating being together.
I couldn’t help but think about what I would be doing right now (drawing on past memories) if I were at home, even if I was sick. Instead of lying under a mosquito net listening to my body yell and scream at me, I would be sitting on a comfy couch with my feet kicked up watching football while dozing in and out of the tiredness from the overly filling meal around a table of family members. Reminiscing about past Turkey Days I stumbled upon a memory that actually has nothing to do with Turkey Day, but the last time I was bestruck by an unfortunate and untimely trip to the hospital. It actually brought me to laughter as I remembered sitting in the ER constantly asking about the score of a hockey game that I was missing. The real kicker was when I had to go to take a piss and the male nurse handed me something that resembled a milk carton and said to holler if I needed anything else. I would have hollered but I don’t think he could have helped me find my dignity after I almost filled a 1.5 liter container.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Je suis là!
I played an amazing game of soccer the other day. We extended our playing area by roughly 20 ft, so there isn’t the micro soccer – everyone flock to the ball – feeling. I like our new style of play a little bit more than the previous. Not that I don’t like knocking over kids like a bowling ball everytime I try to move, but this way the teams can actually use tactics and the winner is generally the better “team.” Also my favorite student, Pelimliwa, and I are an unstoppable force on defense. It definitely helps having someone on the team other than me who isn’t concerned about being the hotshot goal-scorer. Although as I write this I am remembering that I scored one of the two goals and had the assist on the other. Not bad for a defender. We even have our battle cry of “je suis là!” whenever an attacker comes or one of us makes a break for the goal.
I am also beginning to realize why no one here has long hair…sweaty hair + dust and bugs = no beuno.
I am also beginning to realize why no one here has long hair…sweaty hair + dust and bugs = no beuno.
ChitChat
Colin and I had a nice walk this evening, no there isn’t anything more manly that we could have done together, so yes we went on a walk. And I think that I have decided upon a final return date back to the states. But I am not going to tell you yet. Yes, I know I am a dickfor…(high-pitched voice in the background) “what’s a dickfor?” It’s for peeing stupid, any other questions? Nope, ok good.
But yes, I think I know when I am going to come home. Among other things, I have come to the realization that I will not live anywhere that has a summer longer than 4 months. I need cold weather. It was roughly 55 degrees the other morning when I woke up and I was walking around in shorts among shivering Africans. They’ll eventually get the last laugh when the heat comes in February, and we are talking African equatorial heat (120+).
In mass today, at a local Parish celebrating ChristRoi, I came to the realization that the local language wasn’t singing praise to the god of cheese, but rather that their word and pronunciation of Christ sounds like queso. I am going to hell.
Also the first thing that I am going to eat when I get back to the states has been narrowed down to a Quesada, a crème filled bismark, or a cheese steak.
But yes, I think I know when I am going to come home. Among other things, I have come to the realization that I will not live anywhere that has a summer longer than 4 months. I need cold weather. It was roughly 55 degrees the other morning when I woke up and I was walking around in shorts among shivering Africans. They’ll eventually get the last laugh when the heat comes in February, and we are talking African equatorial heat (120+).
In mass today, at a local Parish celebrating ChristRoi, I came to the realization that the local language wasn’t singing praise to the god of cheese, but rather that their word and pronunciation of Christ sounds like queso. I am going to hell.
Also the first thing that I am going to eat when I get back to the states has been narrowed down to a Quesada, a crème filled bismark, or a cheese steak.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
School Update
So the teaching situation hasn’t gotten any easier. My lost 6th student decided to start coming to class again. He’s only 2½ weeks behind the rest of the class. On top of that half the class no longer has books (a.k.a. in class assignments correspond w/ talking or copying answers and homework is basically nonexistent at this point). And sadly, it all has to do with money. The students haven’t paid the tuition yet, and thus lose the books. But there isn’t any money to pay with so for the foreseeable future, my teaching career becomes slightly more interesting.
AutoVisa
There are around 10,000 students at the University of Kara. The campus is roughly the size of the College of St. Benedict (where there are 4,000 students who split time between SJU and CSB). Class sizes generally fill an auditorium (500+), and that goes for each of the 4 grades (1st, 2nd, 3rd, and Terminal). Tuition is 25,000 CFA = $50 or a tank of gas for a Suburban. At around 6h30 there is a flood of students of all ages walking to school. At the university it is the same situation as the overcrowded public schools. If you come early you’ll get a seat, if you’re late – it’s going to be a long day. For those students who have money, they can leave later and take a moto to School. Those with a little less money can cram (and I mean cram, think of a Tokyo subway picture) into one of the 7 university busses that pick up students as far as 20 km away. And for those with even less money…as mom would put it, “that’s why God gave you legs.”
Of the 10,000+ university students in Kara, all are placed in a lottery system for an Automatic Visa to the United States. Of them, a small percentage is chosen for an interview at the embassy and of those, the ones who are deemed worthy are placed into yet another lottery. When all is said and done, 5 are selected. Christian’s sister Judith happened to be one of them. She leaves sometime around the new year and is going to Washington DC. She told me that she wanted to see snow while she was in the United States. I told her to wear about 5 coats when she gets off the plane because chances are good that it’ll be on the ground by the time she lands. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation as to why the AutoVisa begins with the new year, but it must be good if they are they are throwing students, who have never seen a day below 50, into the dead of winter on the Patomac.
Of the 10,000+ university students in Kara, all are placed in a lottery system for an Automatic Visa to the United States. Of them, a small percentage is chosen for an interview at the embassy and of those, the ones who are deemed worthy are placed into yet another lottery. When all is said and done, 5 are selected. Christian’s sister Judith happened to be one of them. She leaves sometime around the new year and is going to Washington DC. She told me that she wanted to see snow while she was in the United States. I told her to wear about 5 coats when she gets off the plane because chances are good that it’ll be on the ground by the time she lands. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation as to why the AutoVisa begins with the new year, but it must be good if they are they are throwing students, who have never seen a day below 50, into the dead of winter on the Patomac.
Happy Turkey (or monkey) Day!
I have pretty much decided that monkey is going to be my Thanksgiving meal. There aren't very many turkeys here and I don't want to eat chicken on Thanksgiving. By the time you get this, Texas will be getting ready to hang up their helmats on the broken horns of Bevo as the only bowling that they will be doing is with a ball and pins. And Nebraska should be doing their pre-gameday drills and clearing their minds of the past week's madness. I won't even begin to comment on the game or anything dealing with it, I will get too worked up. So heres to one last shot at putting the pesky Buffs in their place - jumping half a continent to play with the beach boys. GBR
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Welcome to the 5th World
During the vacation + monk stuff (i.e. retreat) up at SJU over the summer one of the one of the novices was talking about the differences between 1st and 3rd world countries. He then went on to say that there is such a thing as the 4th world. And that is where the people living in a 1st world country have 3rd world practices. Sorry Newark, NJ, but he was referring to you. I am going to take it a step further and explain a 5th world.
There haven’t been too many people who can honestly say that they have even been there, I am not even sure that I have. But the 5th world is where someone who was raised in a 1st world country goes and lives in a 3rd world country. And this isn’t something where you can boast about having been there and back, especially if you only visited an impoverished place for a few weeks. Yes the “living” there is difficult, but a few weeks just isn’t enough time to be completely immersed in a culture and have your entire way of living, everything that you have ever known come crashing down on your head until all that is left of what you have lived are your memories, friends and family, and occasionally faint glimpses of the life you once had.
I will digress for a moment. There is a quote that I have more or less lived by when it comes to religion and it is, “Going to church and calling yourself a good Catholic makes about as much sense as standing in your garage and calling yourself a car.” While it may be true, there are more things that define a good Catholic and a car than simply their location. And I am by no means putting myself on a pedestal. Hell, it took me 22+ years and three continents before I started going to church on a regular basis (without my parents). That is also not to say that there aren’t some special circumstances that are helping my current streak (accessibility – I live about 20 ft from the chapel entrance, it’s a conspiracy I tell you; time – I have a boatload of time on my hands, so why not go; dependence - my stipend depends on it – to name a few). But at least I am going. As for the talking to God piece, I get more quality “God” time in helping other people and using my gifts and talents to create a seemingly better world. I guess you could say that I am a car parked on the street, not perfect and most likely roughed up by the elements, but a working car nonetheless.
Pulling it all back together, you need to completely experience something like the 5th world in order to have a greater appreciation for and understanding of it. And in writing this I am thinking that I haven’t even fully experienced this yet, but knowing that I will still be here for at least 6 more months and that is enough to make me think that by the end of my time here I will have. Even just knowing that everything that was once familiar is still a half of a year away is simply mind-boggling. That also makes me think that the 5th world is as much of a mental place as it is virtual. And as I stated earlier, the longevity of a stay makes the experience. I will say that having lived here, even for this short of a time period I have a much deeper appreciation for the easiness of the life I once had….running water, reliable electricity, internet, air conditioning or at least a fan, medicine and the EASE OF MIND knowing that I would be relatively safe if something happened to me, my bed and blanky, a plethora of nutritional and non-nutritional food, a mode of transportation, leisure activities, reliable access to news sources, ESPN, friends , family, girls, and last but not least sterile bathrooms.
Welcome to the 5th World.
There haven’t been too many people who can honestly say that they have even been there, I am not even sure that I have. But the 5th world is where someone who was raised in a 1st world country goes and lives in a 3rd world country. And this isn’t something where you can boast about having been there and back, especially if you only visited an impoverished place for a few weeks. Yes the “living” there is difficult, but a few weeks just isn’t enough time to be completely immersed in a culture and have your entire way of living, everything that you have ever known come crashing down on your head until all that is left of what you have lived are your memories, friends and family, and occasionally faint glimpses of the life you once had.
I will digress for a moment. There is a quote that I have more or less lived by when it comes to religion and it is, “Going to church and calling yourself a good Catholic makes about as much sense as standing in your garage and calling yourself a car.” While it may be true, there are more things that define a good Catholic and a car than simply their location. And I am by no means putting myself on a pedestal. Hell, it took me 22+ years and three continents before I started going to church on a regular basis (without my parents). That is also not to say that there aren’t some special circumstances that are helping my current streak (accessibility – I live about 20 ft from the chapel entrance, it’s a conspiracy I tell you; time – I have a boatload of time on my hands, so why not go; dependence - my stipend depends on it – to name a few). But at least I am going. As for the talking to God piece, I get more quality “God” time in helping other people and using my gifts and talents to create a seemingly better world. I guess you could say that I am a car parked on the street, not perfect and most likely roughed up by the elements, but a working car nonetheless.
Pulling it all back together, you need to completely experience something like the 5th world in order to have a greater appreciation for and understanding of it. And in writing this I am thinking that I haven’t even fully experienced this yet, but knowing that I will still be here for at least 6 more months and that is enough to make me think that by the end of my time here I will have. Even just knowing that everything that was once familiar is still a half of a year away is simply mind-boggling. That also makes me think that the 5th world is as much of a mental place as it is virtual. And as I stated earlier, the longevity of a stay makes the experience. I will say that having lived here, even for this short of a time period I have a much deeper appreciation for the easiness of the life I once had….running water, reliable electricity, internet, air conditioning or at least a fan, medicine and the EASE OF MIND knowing that I would be relatively safe if something happened to me, my bed and blanky, a plethora of nutritional and non-nutritional food, a mode of transportation, leisure activities, reliable access to news sources, ESPN, friends , family, girls, and last but not least sterile bathrooms.
Welcome to the 5th World.
Festival of Sheep (Pt. 2)
Time for a few awkward moment stories…1) I don’t think there are too many whit folks who have showered outdoors in plain view of every passerby on the main road to the university. Not only that, but there were two of us and we both have long hair (the likes of which most Togolese have never seen in person let alone touched, which seems to be a point of amusement for the kids and even some of the women – not that I should ever need to, but if I ever get in a scuffle with a Togolese woman I always have the line in my back pocket, “but my hair is real, and it’s got bounce!”). Also the showers are private peeing stalls, if one feels the need to be descrete about it, which isn’t often. But I reminisced about the Seinfeld episode where they get into an argument about peeing in the shower…”IT’S ALL PIPES!” With that said I let it flow.
Well that was the only awkward moment, but there was one other time when I felt just slightly uncomfortable. That is your one and only warning. So the morning after spending the night, it was kind of chilly out for Togo (a brisk 60 degrees), and I was walking around outside at 6 in the morning when I realized that I had to poop. Nothing too bad right, just nature calling. Well there isn’t running water here, and unlike the monastery there isn’t any real plumbing where dumping buckets of water (when there isn’t running water) down the toilettes acts like plumbing. Here, there is a hole in the ground. But it’s classy. There are cement slabs where you stand and a nice little slot where you squat. Not that I was that curious, but I looked down and my initial reaction was that there was a giant glistening rock that you poop on and then dump water on to wash everything down the hole. Then I realized that I was one of the first one’s up that morning and there wasn’t yet water in the barrel to use for the daily chores. The rock wasn’t glistening. There was no rock. I was pooping into a maggot hole. At least they keep the smell down and there’s no water required!
Ok moving on. The next day, Colin and I visited with the family a little and then took off for the cyber to get our internet fix for the week. I got most of my work done, but the ESPN college football site was glitchy so I only got half of my scores (not including the Temple-Ohio game ) But I did manage to get the main scores and the game notes of the Big12 games for the past week. Let’s just hope that the Blackshirts can hold yet another QB to career lows in just about every category. And not that anyone in the BCS/AP/USA Today reads this, but TCU is the best team in the country. I don’t care how badly Boise beats up on the weak WAC foes, or how good their statistics are. TCU’s defense has been the most impressive week in and week out. Read the game log of the game against SDST (who is actually a decent team, believe it or not – they are two plays from being ranked in the Top 15). And there are only 2 teams who have held a Top 10 team under 10 points: Iowa against an overrated Michigan St and TCU against Utah (who can be argued to have lost twice to TCU considering they had nothing to play for against ND a week after getting pounded by the best team in the country – if Virginia Tech lost twice to Boise, then I think it’s fair to say the same for Utah). Sorry, I can’t vent my frustration at the ESPN writers so I figure at least someone will see this and maybe if I can get it right from across the great big ocean then someone sitting in a pressroom in the same country can do it.
Anywho, we finished off our day with a birthday meal for Christian (he turned 21 on Tuesday) followed by some more walking and talking and finally the 30 minute moto ride back to Agbang.
Well that was the only awkward moment, but there was one other time when I felt just slightly uncomfortable. That is your one and only warning. So the morning after spending the night, it was kind of chilly out for Togo (a brisk 60 degrees), and I was walking around outside at 6 in the morning when I realized that I had to poop. Nothing too bad right, just nature calling. Well there isn’t running water here, and unlike the monastery there isn’t any real plumbing where dumping buckets of water (when there isn’t running water) down the toilettes acts like plumbing. Here, there is a hole in the ground. But it’s classy. There are cement slabs where you stand and a nice little slot where you squat. Not that I was that curious, but I looked down and my initial reaction was that there was a giant glistening rock that you poop on and then dump water on to wash everything down the hole. Then I realized that I was one of the first one’s up that morning and there wasn’t yet water in the barrel to use for the daily chores. The rock wasn’t glistening. There was no rock. I was pooping into a maggot hole. At least they keep the smell down and there’s no water required!
Ok moving on. The next day, Colin and I visited with the family a little and then took off for the cyber to get our internet fix for the week. I got most of my work done, but the ESPN college football site was glitchy so I only got half of my scores (not including the Temple-Ohio game ) But I did manage to get the main scores and the game notes of the Big12 games for the past week. Let’s just hope that the Blackshirts can hold yet another QB to career lows in just about every category. And not that anyone in the BCS/AP/USA Today reads this, but TCU is the best team in the country. I don’t care how badly Boise beats up on the weak WAC foes, or how good their statistics are. TCU’s defense has been the most impressive week in and week out. Read the game log of the game against SDST (who is actually a decent team, believe it or not – they are two plays from being ranked in the Top 15). And there are only 2 teams who have held a Top 10 team under 10 points: Iowa against an overrated Michigan St and TCU against Utah (who can be argued to have lost twice to TCU considering they had nothing to play for against ND a week after getting pounded by the best team in the country – if Virginia Tech lost twice to Boise, then I think it’s fair to say the same for Utah). Sorry, I can’t vent my frustration at the ESPN writers so I figure at least someone will see this and maybe if I can get it right from across the great big ocean then someone sitting in a pressroom in the same country can do it.
Anywho, we finished off our day with a birthday meal for Christian (he turned 21 on Tuesday) followed by some more walking and talking and finally the 30 minute moto ride back to Agbang.
Festival of Sheep
So Tuesday was the Muslim New Year. But the new year for just about every fully grown adult male goat wasn’t exactly what I would call “happy.” Basically the only thing shown on the news that night was Imams sacrificing goats with steak knives. Wait, TV? As in a working television with world news? I guess I should probably start from the beginning…
Colin and I were invited by our friends, Christian and Judith (whom we met in Kara at the mass with the Primate and once again at the Jubilee), to come visit them in Kara on Tuesday since it was a Muslim holiday and there was no school. On a sidenote, it’s nice teaching at a Caltholic school in a Muslim country…more holidays! Anywho Colin and I decided that it would be a worthwhile decision to go in on Tuesday and break from our normal routine although I was a little bummed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the result of the Temple v. Ohio football game. It doesn’t sound like much, but the game was a Tuesday night game and decided who would get to play in the MAC (the same conference where Turner Gill made his name at Buffalo) title game against Northern Illinois. I decided that it was a small sacrifice to pay.
We figured that in order to get the most out of our time with our friends we would call a moto and let him know what time to pick us up at the monastery in the morning so that we could leave right away. We even planned for Africa time and told him to meet us earlier than we wanted to leave. As it turned out, he never showed. Even after I called him two more times…each call was an hour apart. So much for getting in early. Colin and I went off on each other. It was a nice little shouting match that stopped occasionally to say “Bonjour” in cheerful unified voices before going back at it. In the proceeding hour of waiting for our friend and another moto to come from Kara to pick us up we came to our senses and made good. We even drew attention to the fact that the entire time we were arguing we were standing behind (I was grabbing onto) a steel grate window of the monastery looking out over the entrance. We were caged and it finally got to us. That microcosm explains a whole heck of a lot about how we both felt over the past few days (weeks for me).
The motos finally arrived and we sped off to the city hoping to salvage some part of our previously disrupted plan of a day. I had planned to meet with two people (one of whom was a professor who unecessarily canceled his entire morning agenda, which I didn’t know about until after the fact) in order to translate a recommendation for a program that I am applying to. The brilliant minds behind the French Teaching Assistantship make the application in French with an English translation (just so no one screws up), but they make the recommendation forms solely in English (as if they don’t trust the French professors who are supposed to be writing the recommendation to correctly fill out a multiple choice questionnaire on an applicant’s English and French skills). I think for the most part this is just a formality for me as seeing that I am currently teaching English in a francophone country, but a formality that needed to be done none the less. Let’s just say that all said and done it took roughly an hour and a half to finish something that I could have had done in about 2 minutes. In case you didn’t know, computers aren’t exactly a top priority for many people here (including academics). For example, the French professor who is the head of the literature department at the University of Kara can type (through no fault of his own, this is just to show the differences in needed skill-sets for related positions) at roughly the same speed of a middle school student in the states. Typing and using computers just doesn’t carry the same weight here, or better yet, there isn’t enough money in the education system to allow it to carry the same weight as it does elsewhere.
After finishing the translations (for which, if anyone from the Assistantship happens to see this blog, I made sure not to comment on the responses or aid in the decision), I sped off to meet up with the others at the Palais de Congres for a drink before walking through the city. While walking and chatting, we were invited to spend the night at their house and happily obliged thinking that a night away from the monastery would do us some good. It did, let me tell you!
The rest of the night was spent walking, chatting, and meeting the family. And not that I need any extra incentive to go into Kara, but Judith has a rockin body; just throwin it out there. Also father of our friend liked us so much (or maybe just the fact that I had a camera and took a picture of him – never underestimate the power of a camera) that he took us out for drinks…twice (once before lunch and the other after supper)! He is the headmaster of a local public school in which he has roughly 100 students per classroom. Good God, that’s a lot of kids for a grade school class. 3 to a desk if you get to school early enough and standing room in the back if you’re on time…And the girls’ tuition is cheaper in an attempt to encourage them to pursue and education, which I thought was nice.
That night I slept with a fan on, I was cold, and it was glorious.
Colin and I were invited by our friends, Christian and Judith (whom we met in Kara at the mass with the Primate and once again at the Jubilee), to come visit them in Kara on Tuesday since it was a Muslim holiday and there was no school. On a sidenote, it’s nice teaching at a Caltholic school in a Muslim country…more holidays! Anywho Colin and I decided that it would be a worthwhile decision to go in on Tuesday and break from our normal routine although I was a little bummed that I wasn’t going to be able to see the result of the Temple v. Ohio football game. It doesn’t sound like much, but the game was a Tuesday night game and decided who would get to play in the MAC (the same conference where Turner Gill made his name at Buffalo) title game against Northern Illinois. I decided that it was a small sacrifice to pay.
We figured that in order to get the most out of our time with our friends we would call a moto and let him know what time to pick us up at the monastery in the morning so that we could leave right away. We even planned for Africa time and told him to meet us earlier than we wanted to leave. As it turned out, he never showed. Even after I called him two more times…each call was an hour apart. So much for getting in early. Colin and I went off on each other. It was a nice little shouting match that stopped occasionally to say “Bonjour” in cheerful unified voices before going back at it. In the proceeding hour of waiting for our friend and another moto to come from Kara to pick us up we came to our senses and made good. We even drew attention to the fact that the entire time we were arguing we were standing behind (I was grabbing onto) a steel grate window of the monastery looking out over the entrance. We were caged and it finally got to us. That microcosm explains a whole heck of a lot about how we both felt over the past few days (weeks for me).
The motos finally arrived and we sped off to the city hoping to salvage some part of our previously disrupted plan of a day. I had planned to meet with two people (one of whom was a professor who unecessarily canceled his entire morning agenda, which I didn’t know about until after the fact) in order to translate a recommendation for a program that I am applying to. The brilliant minds behind the French Teaching Assistantship make the application in French with an English translation (just so no one screws up), but they make the recommendation forms solely in English (as if they don’t trust the French professors who are supposed to be writing the recommendation to correctly fill out a multiple choice questionnaire on an applicant’s English and French skills). I think for the most part this is just a formality for me as seeing that I am currently teaching English in a francophone country, but a formality that needed to be done none the less. Let’s just say that all said and done it took roughly an hour and a half to finish something that I could have had done in about 2 minutes. In case you didn’t know, computers aren’t exactly a top priority for many people here (including academics). For example, the French professor who is the head of the literature department at the University of Kara can type (through no fault of his own, this is just to show the differences in needed skill-sets for related positions) at roughly the same speed of a middle school student in the states. Typing and using computers just doesn’t carry the same weight here, or better yet, there isn’t enough money in the education system to allow it to carry the same weight as it does elsewhere.
After finishing the translations (for which, if anyone from the Assistantship happens to see this blog, I made sure not to comment on the responses or aid in the decision), I sped off to meet up with the others at the Palais de Congres for a drink before walking through the city. While walking and chatting, we were invited to spend the night at their house and happily obliged thinking that a night away from the monastery would do us some good. It did, let me tell you!
The rest of the night was spent walking, chatting, and meeting the family. And not that I need any extra incentive to go into Kara, but Judith has a rockin body; just throwin it out there. Also father of our friend liked us so much (or maybe just the fact that I had a camera and took a picture of him – never underestimate the power of a camera) that he took us out for drinks…twice (once before lunch and the other after supper)! He is the headmaster of a local public school in which he has roughly 100 students per classroom. Good God, that’s a lot of kids for a grade school class. 3 to a desk if you get to school early enough and standing room in the back if you’re on time…And the girls’ tuition is cheaper in an attempt to encourage them to pursue and education, which I thought was nice.
That night I slept with a fan on, I was cold, and it was glorious.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Diary of a Vegetarian
I made it all of one day on the veggie diet. It’s not gonna work here. I am just going to have to revert to my old ways of being a super picky eater when it comes to meat…but I have and always will be a fan of PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals).
The next bit of news that I have for you is that grading papers for ETL (English as a Third Languga) students is not fun. No fun involved whatsoever.
Also today I was proposed to by a 10 year-old girl and a 45 year-old woman. I think I am going to have to find a way to close the gap a little bit.
Lastly I was looking through my football magazine, again, and I dumbfounded myself with a stupid yet interesting question… “who is the best 4 win team in the nation: Texas or Notre Dame? You can look up their records and scores if you’re really intrigued by the question, but it stumped me for a while. I would have say that ND is the better team, but Texas has a better shot getting another win (unless the Florida Atlantic Owls suddenly decide to pull a Baylor and become the little brother school from the bigshot state to make a name for himself). But I don’t see either making it to a bowl this year. And if Texas doesn’t sacrifice Bevo to the football gods on Thanksgiving in order to right the ship for next season, at least they’ll be able to use the horn for hooking their helmets ‘cause they ain’t gonna be needing them for a long time!
The next bit of news that I have for you is that grading papers for ETL (English as a Third Languga) students is not fun. No fun involved whatsoever.
Also today I was proposed to by a 10 year-old girl and a 45 year-old woman. I think I am going to have to find a way to close the gap a little bit.
Lastly I was looking through my football magazine, again, and I dumbfounded myself with a stupid yet interesting question… “who is the best 4 win team in the nation: Texas or Notre Dame? You can look up their records and scores if you’re really intrigued by the question, but it stumped me for a while. I would have say that ND is the better team, but Texas has a better shot getting another win (unless the Florida Atlantic Owls suddenly decide to pull a Baylor and become the little brother school from the bigshot state to make a name for himself). But I don’t see either making it to a bowl this year. And if Texas doesn’t sacrifice Bevo to the football gods on Thanksgiving in order to right the ship for next season, at least they’ll be able to use the horn for hooking their helmets ‘cause they ain’t gonna be needing them for a long time!
Nietzsche
The current background on my computer is a picture of a Nebraska football helmet being clasped and raised by the facemask next to the Nietzsche quote, “and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” I have been called every kind of crazy for being a Nebraska football fanatic. But for me and about a million others, it’s a way of life.
But football aside, this quote is second only to “learn the rules so you know how to break them properly (The Dalai Lama’s 18 Rules for Living – Rule 5).” I can’t exactly argue with a guy who is on the brink of total consciousness. Two more rules that I will share briefly due to the fact that I am constantly thinking of them and working on them as much as is presently possible… 12 A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life. Yes, and it’s what I hope to emulate after this year of volunteering. 17 Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other. This one’s still a work in progress, but as soon as I find her – game over.
But football aside, this quote is second only to “learn the rules so you know how to break them properly (The Dalai Lama’s 18 Rules for Living – Rule 5).” I can’t exactly argue with a guy who is on the brink of total consciousness. Two more rules that I will share briefly due to the fact that I am constantly thinking of them and working on them as much as is presently possible… 12 A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life. Yes, and it’s what I hope to emulate after this year of volunteering. 17 Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other. This one’s still a work in progress, but as soon as I find her – game over.
Gameday
It’s Saturday night and I am sitting in my room listening to music instead of watching football. Not that I would be watching the Husker game considering it doesn’t start for another SIX hours. By the time you read this the game will be long over, but just know that even for a game against Kansas the anticipation and anxiety of not being able to watch is killing me. What’s worse is the game won’t be over until after I wake up tomorrow morning. Not gonna get much sleep tonight. In other news, pre-game food consisted of Togolese cheese (which is made from a type of bean – still don’t know how it qualifies as cheese and not sure if I want to) and boiled cornflower. I was offered rat, but politely declined. Also just about all of Agbang knows that its gameday for me because of my red bandana, which I only sport on gamedays. GBR
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
My Little Bro is AWESOME!
I don’t know what the monks are going to think of the poster that my brother is sending me, but frankly I don’t care…the signed Nighthawks Cheerleader poster is going up and staying up until I leave!
Celebrate Good Times...Come On!
Today was the jubilee celebration for the monastery. Three monks made their final vows, which was nice. The food was spectacular, which is great now. But tomorrow when everyone leaves and we go back to boiled cornstarch and gumbo I am not gonna be a happy camper.
As promised there were a ton of people here, and as shocking as it is most of them only came for the free “concert” that followed lunch. The concert was actually pretty cool all things considered. Concerts here consist of the lead singer having a sing-a-long with their own CD, which is being blasted through two speakers that were shipped special delivery from a vintage 1970’s Woodstock concert. But they worked, which is more than I can say for a lot of things here. There were four singers in all, one of whom I have already referred to in this blog. While her table manners still need a little work, she is much more down to earth than I initially gave her credit for.
Before the concert even got started there was a ton of commotion and a lot of it was centered around my camera. I have more pictures than I care to look at right now of kids posing and doing goofy things. Even the adults were trying to get my attention. If you ever need a conversation starter, try explaining the difference between a film camera and a digital camera to someone who has never seen yet alone used anything more technologically advanced than a lightbulb. And when I wasn’t getting pulled in every which direction by a group of kids/adults who wanted their pictures taken, I was being heckled by the older girls in mine and Colin’s class to go and dance. As it turns out, I was the only one of any of them who ended up dancing.
If you are ever in a situation where you are the only thing not like any of the others and you are surrounded by a group of children, don’t shake hands with a snap of the finger with one of them and expect to not have to do it with all 25 of the others.
After listening to the music for a little while and laughing at some of the Germans/Austrians trying to dance, I figured that it was my turn to go and make a fool out of myself. Basically, the dance that I did is one that young girls perform as their final initiation before being able to be married – it’s not to hard to see why they perform this dance either. All you do is alternate lifting your feet and stomping the ground to the rhythm of the music or clapping while at the same time slapping your ass to the same beat. I felt like a penguin on epinephrine. Not only that, but I was wearing my very vibrant Togolese pants…make that an out of place penguin on steroids. It didn’t matter, I had a blast! And the crowd loved it, especially my students who will probably have a whole line of jokes ready to go tomorrow morning. Luckily for you there were enough cameras and phones about that I managed to get a few pictures of myself. I will put them up so long as I have no superenlarged photos of me dancing hanging in my room when I come home.
Just in case you were wondering there is no such thing as any man whatsoever dancing with the cute little girl in Africa like in all of the older Hollywood movies. BIG Cultural Taboo here.
As things were winding down, I spied Colin talking to a friend of the monastery and his sister. They are college students in Kara and want us to go in and hang out with them. Finally, peers! Next step…night clubbing.
The afterparty was fairly exciting as well… I was messing around with some kids and picked one of them up, spun him around, and managed to explode the grape drink packet he had in his pocket. 1 pair of pants injured in action for the night. Later at dinner, after I had showered and gotten cleaned up wearing a newly washed pair of pants; I was on the receiving end of a tray full of beer. The nun who was serving my table (the one with all the Germans hence the beer) hadn’t had much practice at lowering a tray full of drinks in her line of work. 2 pairs of pants injured in action within 30 minutes of each other. I also got a nice lesson in leaving died cotton clothing in a bucket full of soapy water with white and non-died clothes. I think I got most of the blueish green tint out of my shirt and boxers. If not, my new Sunday best is going to be Togolese pants and a tie-dyed t-shirt.
As promised there were a ton of people here, and as shocking as it is most of them only came for the free “concert” that followed lunch. The concert was actually pretty cool all things considered. Concerts here consist of the lead singer having a sing-a-long with their own CD, which is being blasted through two speakers that were shipped special delivery from a vintage 1970’s Woodstock concert. But they worked, which is more than I can say for a lot of things here. There were four singers in all, one of whom I have already referred to in this blog. While her table manners still need a little work, she is much more down to earth than I initially gave her credit for.
Before the concert even got started there was a ton of commotion and a lot of it was centered around my camera. I have more pictures than I care to look at right now of kids posing and doing goofy things. Even the adults were trying to get my attention. If you ever need a conversation starter, try explaining the difference between a film camera and a digital camera to someone who has never seen yet alone used anything more technologically advanced than a lightbulb. And when I wasn’t getting pulled in every which direction by a group of kids/adults who wanted their pictures taken, I was being heckled by the older girls in mine and Colin’s class to go and dance. As it turns out, I was the only one of any of them who ended up dancing.
If you are ever in a situation where you are the only thing not like any of the others and you are surrounded by a group of children, don’t shake hands with a snap of the finger with one of them and expect to not have to do it with all 25 of the others.
After listening to the music for a little while and laughing at some of the Germans/Austrians trying to dance, I figured that it was my turn to go and make a fool out of myself. Basically, the dance that I did is one that young girls perform as their final initiation before being able to be married – it’s not to hard to see why they perform this dance either. All you do is alternate lifting your feet and stomping the ground to the rhythm of the music or clapping while at the same time slapping your ass to the same beat. I felt like a penguin on epinephrine. Not only that, but I was wearing my very vibrant Togolese pants…make that an out of place penguin on steroids. It didn’t matter, I had a blast! And the crowd loved it, especially my students who will probably have a whole line of jokes ready to go tomorrow morning. Luckily for you there were enough cameras and phones about that I managed to get a few pictures of myself. I will put them up so long as I have no superenlarged photos of me dancing hanging in my room when I come home.
Just in case you were wondering there is no such thing as any man whatsoever dancing with the cute little girl in Africa like in all of the older Hollywood movies. BIG Cultural Taboo here.
As things were winding down, I spied Colin talking to a friend of the monastery and his sister. They are college students in Kara and want us to go in and hang out with them. Finally, peers! Next step…night clubbing.
The afterparty was fairly exciting as well… I was messing around with some kids and picked one of them up, spun him around, and managed to explode the grape drink packet he had in his pocket. 1 pair of pants injured in action for the night. Later at dinner, after I had showered and gotten cleaned up wearing a newly washed pair of pants; I was on the receiving end of a tray full of beer. The nun who was serving my table (the one with all the Germans hence the beer) hadn’t had much practice at lowering a tray full of drinks in her line of work. 2 pairs of pants injured in action within 30 minutes of each other. I also got a nice lesson in leaving died cotton clothing in a bucket full of soapy water with white and non-died clothes. I think I got most of the blueish green tint out of my shirt and boxers. If not, my new Sunday best is going to be Togolese pants and a tie-dyed t-shirt.
A Night at the Movies…
So there are about 3 or 4 Togolese Children who now think that penguins talk, sing, and tap dance. And that’s not to say that they knew what a penguin was beforehand because I had to look up the French word of the animal for them. I can’t wait for them to get to college and be on the wrong end of a conversation about the capabilities of penguins. Yes, I did screen a legally copied (for my personal records) version of Happy Feet for some of my students. And yes it was the first actual film that they have ever seen. They were captivated. Not that they could understand anything that was being said or sung, let alone the nuances of the family relationship and the Elvis archetype of a father. But they loved it, and I feel that my nights will soon be taken up with playing reruns of the few films (again, legally copied and not reproduced or sold) that I have with me.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
African Power
I was skeptical when I heard rumors about Black Magic ruining cameras if any pictures were taken of this tribal dance. Don’t worry nothing happened to my camera and there will be many more photos to come. But Black Magic is not the reason why there will not be any photos of African Power. No, there will be no photos of this because I was told that the dancers can become very aggressive if they see a camera (so much so that some of the monks have witnessed cameras getting taken and smashed against rocks). I wasn’t willing to take the chance, not until I knew it was going to be worth it.
But it is very easy to see how something like that can come to pass. This dance would be equivalent to something straight out of a nightmare for anyone who is unfamiliar with Togolese culture (me included). The dance essentially included every male person including young boys wishing to secure their power (this dance happened to be performed in front of the president of the country, so naturally there were a lot of them). And every single participant had a black painted face, a shirtless back, and a combination of an antler helmet, knives, spears, machetes, arrows, metal noisemakers, maraca-like instruments, and frogs.
As I said - African Power. The dancers were huddled together in a large circle and jumping up and down to the beat of the overwhelming drums. Not only that, but they were brandishing their weapons as well. Those with knives and machetes either cut themselves or mad large cutting motions all over their bodies. Those with arrows either pierced themselves and let the arrows hang or continued to make the piercing motion on either their arms or necks. All of this, again, is being done to the beat and rhythm of the drums. If you weren’t doing one of the previously mentioned actions, you most likely had a half-dead frog (not the nice little green kind like Kermit, the large, ugly, fat, lumpy one that you see on the NatGeo channel) hanging from your mouth and probably another one or two skewered on your spear. Hanging from your mouth is a little vague so please allow me to go into further detail. Upon arriving most of the frogs were hanging with a leg or two in the mouth. By the end of the dance, there was no frog. The little critter was generally pulled (between the teeth and one hand) apart into roughly 4 or 5 pieces with each one subsequently being placed next to the others in the mouth. The parts looked like long slimy teeth. And then yes, the frog would be eaten throughout the course of the dance.
So imagine this image…a college aged, black guy with black face paint, a double or quadruple 3 ft (apiece) long antler helmet, a serrated spear, and a quartered frog hanging from his mouth. Multiply that by about 60 and vary the age range by about 15 years on either side, through in some deafening drums and a mosh pit. Voila. African Power.
There were also men climbing trees and jumping on the branches to the beat of the drums which created a powerful scene of the shimmering leaves moving to the beat of the dance. These trees were roughly 3 stories high and hung over a mosh pit of people with spiked antler helmets and every other crude weapon imaginable.
Can you imagine stumbling upon something like that while on a nice little stroll through the African bush? Holy Shit it was intense. And I couldn’t get enough. The German priest who was with us was actually challenged by one of the dancers (he speared the ground leaving the end with the semi-dead frogs up in front of our faces). He was waiting to see if we had as much power as him and could take a frog. Luckily it wasn’t me who was directly challenged because I probably would have done it and deeply regretted it tomorrow as I later found out that most of the dancers take a local medication that allows them to eat the frogs without getting sick. But omg, it was hard not to get swept up in it all, and part of me wishes that I had jumped in and taken the challenge from the priest (who politely declined to accept and waited for the dancer to move on).
Did I mention that the Togolese president was in attendance? As president it is his job to preserve the culture and attending a dance is a great way to do that. I caught a glimpse of him, and I didn’t have to wait in line for 2 hours to go through a metal detector to do it. Nope, I think he figured that having a regiment of specially trained soldiers with M50s loaded onto the back of military jeeps would deter just about anything. I think he was right.
But it is very easy to see how something like that can come to pass. This dance would be equivalent to something straight out of a nightmare for anyone who is unfamiliar with Togolese culture (me included). The dance essentially included every male person including young boys wishing to secure their power (this dance happened to be performed in front of the president of the country, so naturally there were a lot of them). And every single participant had a black painted face, a shirtless back, and a combination of an antler helmet, knives, spears, machetes, arrows, metal noisemakers, maraca-like instruments, and frogs.
As I said - African Power. The dancers were huddled together in a large circle and jumping up and down to the beat of the overwhelming drums. Not only that, but they were brandishing their weapons as well. Those with knives and machetes either cut themselves or mad large cutting motions all over their bodies. Those with arrows either pierced themselves and let the arrows hang or continued to make the piercing motion on either their arms or necks. All of this, again, is being done to the beat and rhythm of the drums. If you weren’t doing one of the previously mentioned actions, you most likely had a half-dead frog (not the nice little green kind like Kermit, the large, ugly, fat, lumpy one that you see on the NatGeo channel) hanging from your mouth and probably another one or two skewered on your spear. Hanging from your mouth is a little vague so please allow me to go into further detail. Upon arriving most of the frogs were hanging with a leg or two in the mouth. By the end of the dance, there was no frog. The little critter was generally pulled (between the teeth and one hand) apart into roughly 4 or 5 pieces with each one subsequently being placed next to the others in the mouth. The parts looked like long slimy teeth. And then yes, the frog would be eaten throughout the course of the dance.
So imagine this image…a college aged, black guy with black face paint, a double or quadruple 3 ft (apiece) long antler helmet, a serrated spear, and a quartered frog hanging from his mouth. Multiply that by about 60 and vary the age range by about 15 years on either side, through in some deafening drums and a mosh pit. Voila. African Power.
There were also men climbing trees and jumping on the branches to the beat of the drums which created a powerful scene of the shimmering leaves moving to the beat of the dance. These trees were roughly 3 stories high and hung over a mosh pit of people with spiked antler helmets and every other crude weapon imaginable.
Can you imagine stumbling upon something like that while on a nice little stroll through the African bush? Holy Shit it was intense. And I couldn’t get enough. The German priest who was with us was actually challenged by one of the dancers (he speared the ground leaving the end with the semi-dead frogs up in front of our faces). He was waiting to see if we had as much power as him and could take a frog. Luckily it wasn’t me who was directly challenged because I probably would have done it and deeply regretted it tomorrow as I later found out that most of the dancers take a local medication that allows them to eat the frogs without getting sick. But omg, it was hard not to get swept up in it all, and part of me wishes that I had jumped in and taken the challenge from the priest (who politely declined to accept and waited for the dancer to move on).
Did I mention that the Togolese president was in attendance? As president it is his job to preserve the culture and attending a dance is a great way to do that. I caught a glimpse of him, and I didn’t have to wait in line for 2 hours to go through a metal detector to do it. Nope, I think he figured that having a regiment of specially trained soldiers with M50s loaded onto the back of military jeeps would deter just about anything. I think he was right.
Release
I have no release here. In the states I took many of the things that made me happy for granted. That is not to say that there aren’t many things here that do not make me happy, because there are. But, I have no release.
Previously when I had an overabundance of distress I would fall victim to my adrenaline junky side. That is to say, I played sports. I worked out. I did physical activities that would clear my mind in the action and replenish my energy afterwards. This was my way of channeling and venting. If I was upset, I focused that negative energy towards something positive. I can’t do that here.
I mean, I cannot physically release myself. There are no weightrooms, no basketball courts, no baseball diamonds, no hockey rinks, no rock walls, no racquetball or tennis courts, no football fields, no pools, no lakes or substantial rivers, and most importantly no equipment. I guess all of that pales in comparison to the idea that even if there were release points such as these I would have to drastically change my eating habits to use them. I can barely get enough calories into my system as it is (playing soccer a few times a week on a dirt patch, yoga, minor bucketfullofwater lifting). Anything more strenuous than that and it would take me a month to recover on my current nutritional intake.
I was a hardcore athlete and solely because it was fun. There was nothing material to be gained from any of the sports that I participated in (crew in particular), it was all personal. I enjoyed it and it was good for me. It is such a huge part of who am that I have come to realize that I need to do something in order to hold on to it. I will not allow myself to forget who I am.
Just to keep the thought out there… there are no release points for my distress and there are no girls AND I am now a vegetarian. Not that anyone is keeping score, but AFRICA-3 : Greg-2 (1 because I am still here and 1 because of the previous post)…eh make that 3½ for Africa, that whole vegetarian thing really erks me.
Previously when I had an overabundance of distress I would fall victim to my adrenaline junky side. That is to say, I played sports. I worked out. I did physical activities that would clear my mind in the action and replenish my energy afterwards. This was my way of channeling and venting. If I was upset, I focused that negative energy towards something positive. I can’t do that here.
I mean, I cannot physically release myself. There are no weightrooms, no basketball courts, no baseball diamonds, no hockey rinks, no rock walls, no racquetball or tennis courts, no football fields, no pools, no lakes or substantial rivers, and most importantly no equipment. I guess all of that pales in comparison to the idea that even if there were release points such as these I would have to drastically change my eating habits to use them. I can barely get enough calories into my system as it is (playing soccer a few times a week on a dirt patch, yoga, minor bucketfullofwater lifting). Anything more strenuous than that and it would take me a month to recover on my current nutritional intake.
I was a hardcore athlete and solely because it was fun. There was nothing material to be gained from any of the sports that I participated in (crew in particular), it was all personal. I enjoyed it and it was good for me. It is such a huge part of who am that I have come to realize that I need to do something in order to hold on to it. I will not allow myself to forget who I am.
Just to keep the thought out there… there are no release points for my distress and there are no girls AND I am now a vegetarian. Not that anyone is keeping score, but AFRICA-3 : Greg-2 (1 because I am still here and 1 because of the previous post)…eh make that 3½ for Africa, that whole vegetarian thing really erks me.
A Touching Story
It started downpouring tonight during supper. Colin and I (after countless times of getting caught in the rain) were the only two of anyone to think to bring a raincoat/umbrella (and not because we are the only ones who have them, most of the monks and visitors at least have an umbrella). I gave mine to a young mother who was with her two year-old daughter. After a brief exchange of pleasantries at the house and returning of my coat I had a feeling that I have never experienced before. I don’t even know if I can describe it… but I will try.
If anyone has ever seen the movie Hitch with Will Smith, there is a brief interaction between him and the female lead where he is at a bar and sees a woman being hastled by some other guys. He walks over and pretends to be her boyfriend to get them to leave her alone (she plays along). Afterwards she thanks him and then says something to the extent of so now I guess you’re going to give me your best line and try to buy me a drink? And he surprisingly responds by saying no, now I am going to get up and walk away because I am just a nice guy who was helping out someone in need (or something to that extent, look up the quote or watch the movie if you really want to know).
But essentially in the movie and for me there was that feeling of unexpected generosity whereby the last person on earth (Will Smith – a total player and guy who makes his living helping guys hook up with girls, and me – the “seemingly well-off” white MAN who for no logical reason would think to think about the wellbeing of a mother and child in a third world country) helped when it wasn’t asked for and most importantly didn’t expect anything in return. In the movie, Smith didn’t expect or want the right to be able to “claim” his prize in getting to be the knight in shinning amour and give his best pick-up line. Being repaid for lending my coat to someone who could use it more than me? Never crossed my mind. And I could tell that it was unexpected (not wanting or needing to be repaid) by the tone of her voice when I said goodnight, waved, and walked on. I definitely sensed that she was tense and didn’t know how to react because I think was probably a first for her as well. And that final act of saying goodnight and moving on without any expectation for anything liberated her from that tension. I haven’t quite done the feeling justice, but at least you have an idea. Not that it adds anything to the story, but she is one of the most beautiful Togolese women that I have seen.
No one but Colin witnessed it. He later said that after watching us walk back together in the shared silence of the falling rain was amazingly moving. He told me that he held back and didn’t walk with us because the moment was to special to ruin – two people from completely different walks of life sharing an act of kindness.
I am giggling right now because I told him not to make a huge deal out of it, yet here I am writing a book about it. “All I did was give her my coat!” But it was so much more than that.
If anyone has ever seen the movie Hitch with Will Smith, there is a brief interaction between him and the female lead where he is at a bar and sees a woman being hastled by some other guys. He walks over and pretends to be her boyfriend to get them to leave her alone (she plays along). Afterwards she thanks him and then says something to the extent of so now I guess you’re going to give me your best line and try to buy me a drink? And he surprisingly responds by saying no, now I am going to get up and walk away because I am just a nice guy who was helping out someone in need (or something to that extent, look up the quote or watch the movie if you really want to know).
But essentially in the movie and for me there was that feeling of unexpected generosity whereby the last person on earth (Will Smith – a total player and guy who makes his living helping guys hook up with girls, and me – the “seemingly well-off” white MAN who for no logical reason would think to think about the wellbeing of a mother and child in a third world country) helped when it wasn’t asked for and most importantly didn’t expect anything in return. In the movie, Smith didn’t expect or want the right to be able to “claim” his prize in getting to be the knight in shinning amour and give his best pick-up line. Being repaid for lending my coat to someone who could use it more than me? Never crossed my mind. And I could tell that it was unexpected (not wanting or needing to be repaid) by the tone of her voice when I said goodnight, waved, and walked on. I definitely sensed that she was tense and didn’t know how to react because I think was probably a first for her as well. And that final act of saying goodnight and moving on without any expectation for anything liberated her from that tension. I haven’t quite done the feeling justice, but at least you have an idea. Not that it adds anything to the story, but she is one of the most beautiful Togolese women that I have seen.
No one but Colin witnessed it. He later said that after watching us walk back together in the shared silence of the falling rain was amazingly moving. He told me that he held back and didn’t walk with us because the moment was to special to ruin – two people from completely different walks of life sharing an act of kindness.
I am giggling right now because I told him not to make a huge deal out of it, yet here I am writing a book about it. “All I did was give her my coat!” But it was so much more than that.
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