Dear Family and Friends,
The Girls Bike Tourney began in 2006 with the main objective of raising awareness on the importance of sending girls to school. Each region of Togo, of which there are five, chooses ten girls to participate in a two-day training and a five-day bicycle tourney. The girls are trained on various subjects (HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancy, forced marriage, child trafficking), they are trained on how to speak in public, how to ride a bicycle (a novelty for most), and how to create and perform educational skits. Armed with knowledge, a bike, and lots of energy, ten girls along with two Togolese homologues and two Peace Corps Volunteers spend the next five days biking and performing at schools, markets and village squares.
The transformation that the girls undergo is quite miraculous. Girls come in barely able to say their name to a group of their peers and leave having presented skits and question and answer sessions in front of hundreds of people. They gain a deeper understanding of major social problems and how to overcome them, self-confidence, and an overall greater desire to succeed. After the five day tourney, the girls return to their respective villages with their new bicycles and are expected to continue training and working with people in their communities.
Peace Corps Partnership enables friends and family of Peace Corps Volunteers to donate to projects that volunteers are trying to complete during their service. Volunteers first submit a grant application to Peace Corps Washington who then puts the project description on the Peace Corps website where interested parties are just a click away from donating.
As a Peace Corps Togo Volunteer, I ask those who are interested in donating to visit: https://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/donors/contribute/projdetail.cfm?projdesc=693-303®ion=africa
Friday, March 21, 2008
Mouse Golf
3/18/2008
I’m a killer. A ruthless and heartless killer to all other living things that enter my home without my consent provided I can catch them. Spiders, crickets, cockroaches, beetles, flies, hornets/wasps, ants, (not lizards because they eat the aforementioned) and, of course, mice. Everything except the mice can be disposed of via insecticide, a handy flip flop or if I’m feeling particularly gruesome, my hand. The mice, on the other hand, are the bane of my existence. My roof is tin with a mat ceiling, so there is quite a bit of space between the roof and the ceiling. The mats are old and by their very nature porous. It’s entertainment enough to listen to the filthy rodents scurry over my head while I try to sleep. Mice are nocturnal, which I never fully appreciated until now. What’s infuriating is that I wake up to mouse droppings all over my house: on my desk, on my shelves, on my counters, on my clothes, in my mouth… just kidding. From time to time, the little bastards get up the balls to venture down into the part of my house that I inhabit. This is not okay.
The first time I found a mouse in my house was after a trip (this is usually the case) hiding behind a shelving unit in my bedroom. I stood there wondering what to do. I couldn’t scare it out from behind the furniture because it would just run to the next hiding place and I would have turned my house upside down trying to catch the little f****er. I decided that since the mouse was lodged between the back of the shelves and the wall that I would squish it to death. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to squeeze the life out of the little thief, so I held the shelving unit against the wall till sweat began to trickle down my face. Once I was sure he was dead, I scooped him up and tossed him outside. This first time, I will admit, I felt a little remorse for killing another living creature, but not the second time.
Same situation as before, I came home from a trip and while I was cleaning up the dust mounds that had accumulated in my absence I noticed small, quick movements out of the corners of my eyeballs. This time, it was my kitchen and this mouse and I danced. He tried for the sanctuary of my stove, but I was tenacious. He tried making a dash for my bedroom, but I slammed the door closed on his furry, little snout. I blocked off all possible escapes routes and cornered the intruder. I caught half his body with a Tupperware container and shoved the other half back under it with a few dexterous movements. I caught this one live, and decided that my host-family’s dogs needed a little fun. I showed the two dogs, the mother named Roly and the son named Dit Vrai, the mouse to make sure they were paying attention. Then I hurled the mouse across my family’s courtyard and watched as the dogs ran after the mouse. The dogs don’t eat mice; they just like to toy with them. I stood guard from front of the doors to the bedrooms and every time the mouse tried to run back toward the rooms, I took my dustpan and smacked the mouse back towards the dogs all the while cackling like a lunatic. I think I went a little crazy because I tortured this mouse the way little kids torture snails.
The third time, I found mice in my house. Not mouse, mice. Three baby mice to be exact. It turned out to be a two-day process. The first day, I found them snuggled together in my yoga mat, and I made the mistake of unraveling the mat in order to try to apprehend them. The babies of course scattered and any sort of capture was futile. The next morning, the mice didn’t learn and were back, snuggling in the yoga mat. This time, I very carefully tipped the rolled-up mat into a bucket and dashed out of my house like a bat outta hell. I showed my host-brother, George, and sister, Freesia, my loot. They both grabbed sticks and poked the babies to death, (everyone hates mice here) except for one, which we gave to the dogs.
So far, no other mice have dared to come down into my house, however, I have been out of village for the past 2 weeks, so we’ll see what happens when I get home. The good news is that I will be replacing all the mats in my ceiling since the Medical Officer visited my house and was appalled at my living conditions. I shrugged and said c’est la vie ici au Togo. Everyone has mice problems here.
I’m a killer. A ruthless and heartless killer to all other living things that enter my home without my consent provided I can catch them. Spiders, crickets, cockroaches, beetles, flies, hornets/wasps, ants, (not lizards because they eat the aforementioned) and, of course, mice. Everything except the mice can be disposed of via insecticide, a handy flip flop or if I’m feeling particularly gruesome, my hand. The mice, on the other hand, are the bane of my existence. My roof is tin with a mat ceiling, so there is quite a bit of space between the roof and the ceiling. The mats are old and by their very nature porous. It’s entertainment enough to listen to the filthy rodents scurry over my head while I try to sleep. Mice are nocturnal, which I never fully appreciated until now. What’s infuriating is that I wake up to mouse droppings all over my house: on my desk, on my shelves, on my counters, on my clothes, in my mouth… just kidding. From time to time, the little bastards get up the balls to venture down into the part of my house that I inhabit. This is not okay.
The first time I found a mouse in my house was after a trip (this is usually the case) hiding behind a shelving unit in my bedroom. I stood there wondering what to do. I couldn’t scare it out from behind the furniture because it would just run to the next hiding place and I would have turned my house upside down trying to catch the little f****er. I decided that since the mouse was lodged between the back of the shelves and the wall that I would squish it to death. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to squeeze the life out of the little thief, so I held the shelving unit against the wall till sweat began to trickle down my face. Once I was sure he was dead, I scooped him up and tossed him outside. This first time, I will admit, I felt a little remorse for killing another living creature, but not the second time.
Same situation as before, I came home from a trip and while I was cleaning up the dust mounds that had accumulated in my absence I noticed small, quick movements out of the corners of my eyeballs. This time, it was my kitchen and this mouse and I danced. He tried for the sanctuary of my stove, but I was tenacious. He tried making a dash for my bedroom, but I slammed the door closed on his furry, little snout. I blocked off all possible escapes routes and cornered the intruder. I caught half his body with a Tupperware container and shoved the other half back under it with a few dexterous movements. I caught this one live, and decided that my host-family’s dogs needed a little fun. I showed the two dogs, the mother named Roly and the son named Dit Vrai, the mouse to make sure they were paying attention. Then I hurled the mouse across my family’s courtyard and watched as the dogs ran after the mouse. The dogs don’t eat mice; they just like to toy with them. I stood guard from front of the doors to the bedrooms and every time the mouse tried to run back toward the rooms, I took my dustpan and smacked the mouse back towards the dogs all the while cackling like a lunatic. I think I went a little crazy because I tortured this mouse the way little kids torture snails.
The third time, I found mice in my house. Not mouse, mice. Three baby mice to be exact. It turned out to be a two-day process. The first day, I found them snuggled together in my yoga mat, and I made the mistake of unraveling the mat in order to try to apprehend them. The babies of course scattered and any sort of capture was futile. The next morning, the mice didn’t learn and were back, snuggling in the yoga mat. This time, I very carefully tipped the rolled-up mat into a bucket and dashed out of my house like a bat outta hell. I showed my host-brother, George, and sister, Freesia, my loot. They both grabbed sticks and poked the babies to death, (everyone hates mice here) except for one, which we gave to the dogs.
So far, no other mice have dared to come down into my house, however, I have been out of village for the past 2 weeks, so we’ll see what happens when I get home. The good news is that I will be replacing all the mats in my ceiling since the Medical Officer visited my house and was appalled at my living conditions. I shrugged and said c’est la vie ici au Togo. Everyone has mice problems here.
Metamorphosis Materializing
3/16/2008
I was dying on the inside. Six months. Six months since I had done any serious dancing. The prospect and anticipation of tearing it up on the dance floor at All Vol (All Volunteer Conference) was almost more than I could entertain. I needed this; I was counting on it. For the few individuals that are cognitive of my leisurely pursuits, know that I transcend reality when I can thrust my hips this way and that, when I can shimmy and shake my shoulders and when I can kick up my heels to a bumping baseline.
All Vol is a once-a-year conference in which all volunteers in Togo, from all sectors or programs, come together to “discuss” issues related to… well… volunteers. For example, committee members are elected (I am now the Chairperson of GAD or Gender And Development committee), information about camps (UNITE and Espoir) and tournaments (AIDS Ride, Bike Tourney and Soccer Tourney) is distributed, and funds are raised for scholarships (Karen Wade Girl’s Scholarship Program). The real motivation (or deterrent), however, for coming to All Vol is the opportunity to socialize with other volunteers, especially the ones we hardly ever see. Inevitably, there is some debauchery often stimulated by our friend Al Cohol.
I would say the two most anticipated events at All Vol are the GAD Live Auction, when both goods and services are auctioned off for the Karen Wade scholarship and the Talent Show, which just serves as cheap entertainment. This year All Vol was from the 14th to the 16th of March, with the Auction and Talent Show on Saturday night. A couple of events unfolded prior to Saturday night, which resulted in my participation in both. I wanted to sign myself up for the auction but was troubled as to what service would be 1) worthwhile and 2) feasible. I wouldn’t say that I’m particularly adept at any one skill but rather a dabbler and make attempts at a variety of venues. So the resulting internal conflict prevented me from signing up… that was until I was recruited for the Kara Girl’s Dance Troupe for the Talent Show. In case you forgot, I live in the region of Kara and thus a member of all things Kara. After a few rounds of practicing our ass-slaps, I nonchalantly drop-in the idea of auctioning off a lap dance, wondering if they thought it would be a good idea. Heck Yeah! They thought it was a good idea! They pretty much thought I was a genius for coming up with the idea. ;-) My hesitation stemmed from a little bit of stage freight and looking completely inept in front of the entire volunteer community. Because you know… an awkward lap dance by an amateur is just painful to watch. On the other hand, the glory and power I would possess if I could successfully pull it off was too alluring not to say, F*** It! Let’s Do It! …Despite the fact that I have no training in the arts of the lap dance nor ever performed a lap dance, let alone performed one in front of an inebriated crowd of 100, plus or minus. I wasn’t completely unprepared. I had watched Death Proof and received my iPOD, which has the Full Monty Soundtrack. Plus, I am moderately confident in my abilities to improvise dance moves. The key, in my opinion, was to make my corporeal seduction fluid and graceful.
At the last minute, I ran up to the emcee to add my name and service to the auction. Btw, I would like to reiterate that 100% of the money raised went to the Karen Wade Girl’s Scholarship. I was doing it for the girls. Since it was so last minute, when the emcee announced what was being auctioned, it created quite a commotion as people whispered, “Is she serious?” One second. I want to paint a little picture for you. Imagine a room full of intoxicated 20-somethings in the riotous throws of casting away their meager salaries by the handful and loving it. Meanwhile, I’m standing before this mob, in my jeans, off-the-shoulder 80’s top, dangly earrings, black eyeliner and mohawked hair trying to come off as sexy so people will bid higher. Not cute. Babies are cute. Think: “…hot, sticky, sweet…” (You know the rest of the song.) I did my best to throw a couple moves at my blushing male volunteer (gender is important here) without exhausting all my ideas. I was surprised to see that none of the guys were bidding, but the ladies were going crazy. Ladies and gents, I managed to sell myself to the lovely (and hot) lady in the back for 25,000 francs, which is about $50 USD. Not too shabby for volunteers who make only $8 a day.
Moving onto the Talent Show portion of the evening, I had previously decided that the lap dance had to be showcased at All Vol in front of a crowd. There really was no other way to do it. Remember, I was already performing with the Kara Girls in the Talent Show, which was already sexually suggestive with our buckets of water and butts in the air (you’ll have to see the video). My colleagues were about to see a whole new side of me and I was uncertain how my reputation (or lack of one) would be shaped by my exhibitionism. I actually love being on stage (hence the Theatre minor). I find it exhilarating and a bit addicting despite any nervousness I may feel.
The song I chose was called The Stripper and I opened my dance 10 feet away, on the ground, crawling on my hands and knees toward my benefactor. I can’t really give you a play-by-play because to be honest, it was all a big blur, but there was lots of straddling, rubbing and brushing up against the poor girl, lots of hip thrusting and a kiss – nothing big. She deserved it. That was one expensive lap dance. When it was over, I do remember getting a standing ovation and people bowing down to me. I couldn’t stop smiling – the crowd loved it. The general impression I got from people afterwards was that their jaws pretty much dropped. There is nothing like putting on a good show for people. I think there are pictures somewhere…
So my first ever lap dance was a hit, which has only motivated me to do it again next year. But next year, it’s going to the next level. I’m thinking a more risqué outfit and more acrobatics in the show. I’ve got some ideas that involve back bends. Remember, I’m doing for the girls.
I was dying on the inside. Six months. Six months since I had done any serious dancing. The prospect and anticipation of tearing it up on the dance floor at All Vol (All Volunteer Conference) was almost more than I could entertain. I needed this; I was counting on it. For the few individuals that are cognitive of my leisurely pursuits, know that I transcend reality when I can thrust my hips this way and that, when I can shimmy and shake my shoulders and when I can kick up my heels to a bumping baseline.
All Vol is a once-a-year conference in which all volunteers in Togo, from all sectors or programs, come together to “discuss” issues related to… well… volunteers. For example, committee members are elected (I am now the Chairperson of GAD or Gender And Development committee), information about camps (UNITE and Espoir) and tournaments (AIDS Ride, Bike Tourney and Soccer Tourney) is distributed, and funds are raised for scholarships (Karen Wade Girl’s Scholarship Program). The real motivation (or deterrent), however, for coming to All Vol is the opportunity to socialize with other volunteers, especially the ones we hardly ever see. Inevitably, there is some debauchery often stimulated by our friend Al Cohol.
I would say the two most anticipated events at All Vol are the GAD Live Auction, when both goods and services are auctioned off for the Karen Wade scholarship and the Talent Show, which just serves as cheap entertainment. This year All Vol was from the 14th to the 16th of March, with the Auction and Talent Show on Saturday night. A couple of events unfolded prior to Saturday night, which resulted in my participation in both. I wanted to sign myself up for the auction but was troubled as to what service would be 1) worthwhile and 2) feasible. I wouldn’t say that I’m particularly adept at any one skill but rather a dabbler and make attempts at a variety of venues. So the resulting internal conflict prevented me from signing up… that was until I was recruited for the Kara Girl’s Dance Troupe for the Talent Show. In case you forgot, I live in the region of Kara and thus a member of all things Kara. After a few rounds of practicing our ass-slaps, I nonchalantly drop-in the idea of auctioning off a lap dance, wondering if they thought it would be a good idea. Heck Yeah! They thought it was a good idea! They pretty much thought I was a genius for coming up with the idea. ;-) My hesitation stemmed from a little bit of stage freight and looking completely inept in front of the entire volunteer community. Because you know… an awkward lap dance by an amateur is just painful to watch. On the other hand, the glory and power I would possess if I could successfully pull it off was too alluring not to say, F*** It! Let’s Do It! …Despite the fact that I have no training in the arts of the lap dance nor ever performed a lap dance, let alone performed one in front of an inebriated crowd of 100, plus or minus. I wasn’t completely unprepared. I had watched Death Proof and received my iPOD, which has the Full Monty Soundtrack. Plus, I am moderately confident in my abilities to improvise dance moves. The key, in my opinion, was to make my corporeal seduction fluid and graceful.
At the last minute, I ran up to the emcee to add my name and service to the auction. Btw, I would like to reiterate that 100% of the money raised went to the Karen Wade Girl’s Scholarship. I was doing it for the girls. Since it was so last minute, when the emcee announced what was being auctioned, it created quite a commotion as people whispered, “Is she serious?” One second. I want to paint a little picture for you. Imagine a room full of intoxicated 20-somethings in the riotous throws of casting away their meager salaries by the handful and loving it. Meanwhile, I’m standing before this mob, in my jeans, off-the-shoulder 80’s top, dangly earrings, black eyeliner and mohawked hair trying to come off as sexy so people will bid higher. Not cute. Babies are cute. Think: “…hot, sticky, sweet…” (You know the rest of the song.) I did my best to throw a couple moves at my blushing male volunteer (gender is important here) without exhausting all my ideas. I was surprised to see that none of the guys were bidding, but the ladies were going crazy. Ladies and gents, I managed to sell myself to the lovely (and hot) lady in the back for 25,000 francs, which is about $50 USD. Not too shabby for volunteers who make only $8 a day.
Moving onto the Talent Show portion of the evening, I had previously decided that the lap dance had to be showcased at All Vol in front of a crowd. There really was no other way to do it. Remember, I was already performing with the Kara Girls in the Talent Show, which was already sexually suggestive with our buckets of water and butts in the air (you’ll have to see the video). My colleagues were about to see a whole new side of me and I was uncertain how my reputation (or lack of one) would be shaped by my exhibitionism. I actually love being on stage (hence the Theatre minor). I find it exhilarating and a bit addicting despite any nervousness I may feel.
The song I chose was called The Stripper and I opened my dance 10 feet away, on the ground, crawling on my hands and knees toward my benefactor. I can’t really give you a play-by-play because to be honest, it was all a big blur, but there was lots of straddling, rubbing and brushing up against the poor girl, lots of hip thrusting and a kiss – nothing big. She deserved it. That was one expensive lap dance. When it was over, I do remember getting a standing ovation and people bowing down to me. I couldn’t stop smiling – the crowd loved it. The general impression I got from people afterwards was that their jaws pretty much dropped. There is nothing like putting on a good show for people. I think there are pictures somewhere…
So my first ever lap dance was a hit, which has only motivated me to do it again next year. But next year, it’s going to the next level. I’m thinking a more risqué outfit and more acrobatics in the show. I’ve got some ideas that involve back bends. Remember, I’m doing for the girls.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Zombie Flowers & Mouse Bones
2/13/2008
I’ve been in a funk since I got back to village. It’s hot; I’m sweating. I may have a fever and the only cure is—no, not more cowbell, but early 90’s dance music: Technotronic, Amber, Cece Peniston. Not even my raver cohorts have seen me dance like I do when I hear Automatic Lover by the Real McCoy. Fine. Go ahead. Snicker. I don’t give a F---! I embrace it with the ferocity of a crack ho who has been with out a fix for… What? A day, or two?
Warm water trickling out of my ear has the potential to throw me into a fit of lunacy, which is why I relish jamming Q-Tips into the waterslides of my ear canals despite the warnings from Johnson & Johnson.
All the mundane details of your daily grind life, I want to know. I don’t care if you tell me whether you had to choose between Captain Crunch or Golden Grahams for breakfast (always a difficult choice, I know) or what a-hole cut you off on the way to that job you just love or what’s on sale at the grocery store this week (I especially want to hear about fresh produce, no frozen dinners, please). I have none of that here. Do you hear me? Are you listening? None of that. I live very differently (err, mostly) here. I often wonder how it will feel to drive a car again after 27 months of being chauffeured around by drunken moto drivers. I stand in my shower looking up at Orion’s Belt almost every night, dousing myself with water, wondering what you all are doing over there. What new product has Apple come up with? What new movies are coming out that you think I would like? Remember… I wanted to see the movie Hot Rod before I left. What new music? Ahhh… music. That makes me ache to the core. The only media I am really exposed to on a consistent basis is Newsweek (International version), the BBC on my shortwave radio and Radio Dawool 99.2 FM (Togolese). Give it up! I want the juice!
As independent as I thought I was or am, one thing is sunshine bright to me now– that insufferable need of other people… in a desperate kind of way. Humans are naturally gregarious animals. And while it is still true that I appreciate being alone from time to time, there are many times when I wished for someone by my side, so I could slap them and tell them to shut the hell up—at least that would be something.
I’ve been in a funk since I got back to village. It’s hot; I’m sweating. I may have a fever and the only cure is—no, not more cowbell, but early 90’s dance music: Technotronic, Amber, Cece Peniston. Not even my raver cohorts have seen me dance like I do when I hear Automatic Lover by the Real McCoy. Fine. Go ahead. Snicker. I don’t give a F---! I embrace it with the ferocity of a crack ho who has been with out a fix for… What? A day, or two?
Warm water trickling out of my ear has the potential to throw me into a fit of lunacy, which is why I relish jamming Q-Tips into the waterslides of my ear canals despite the warnings from Johnson & Johnson.
All the mundane details of your daily grind life, I want to know. I don’t care if you tell me whether you had to choose between Captain Crunch or Golden Grahams for breakfast (always a difficult choice, I know) or what a-hole cut you off on the way to that job you just love or what’s on sale at the grocery store this week (I especially want to hear about fresh produce, no frozen dinners, please). I have none of that here. Do you hear me? Are you listening? None of that. I live very differently (err, mostly) here. I often wonder how it will feel to drive a car again after 27 months of being chauffeured around by drunken moto drivers. I stand in my shower looking up at Orion’s Belt almost every night, dousing myself with water, wondering what you all are doing over there. What new product has Apple come up with? What new movies are coming out that you think I would like? Remember… I wanted to see the movie Hot Rod before I left. What new music? Ahhh… music. That makes me ache to the core. The only media I am really exposed to on a consistent basis is Newsweek (International version), the BBC on my shortwave radio and Radio Dawool 99.2 FM (Togolese). Give it up! I want the juice!
As independent as I thought I was or am, one thing is sunshine bright to me now– that insufferable need of other people… in a desperate kind of way. Humans are naturally gregarious animals. And while it is still true that I appreciate being alone from time to time, there are many times when I wished for someone by my side, so I could slap them and tell them to shut the hell up—at least that would be something.
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